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cowboys-of-tombstone · 5 months ago

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Fixing a Broken Fence (Curly Bill x Rancher!Reader) 1/4

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A roaring red ember brought forth the worn faces of men from the darkness. Along each of their darkened silhouette’s, their bloody red sashes glowed from the fire’s radiating light, making their collective allegiance as apparent as the burning smell from the source that they all centered around.

And the one closest to this bright burning flame, in the middle of the Arizona desert, almost transmogrified into existence from nothing, was Curly Bill Brocius, the leader of The Cowboys. He circled around the camp’s fire, seemingly attempting to garner a premonition from the fire’s dance. His allies watched weary eyed, when their boss was at a loss for words, something serious had to be on his mind.

In one last act to bolster himself, Curly Bill spat into the flame, and said, “Well, boys, seems we got ourselves in a hell of a pickle. Those Mexicans finally wised up to us. They gone and locked up their border.”

The rag-tag posse simply sat in silence, with one of them quietly spitting in the dark.

“Three times this month we went out to fetch ourselves a good rustle and found the police breathing down our necks. And as many of you know, we lost a few of our own every time. So I gathered y’all here today because I wanna know what y’all think about our problem. How are we going to make us some money, now that rustling in Mexico is drying up?”

Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd. It wasn’t often that The Cowboys had a round table discussion. More often than not, what Bill said was the final say, so for him to ask for input brought further confusion.

“Why don’t we get regular jobs?!” Hollered one in the back.

The crowd erupted into boos and other vile curses, while bottles were flung into the general direction the suggestion came from.

Curly Bill held his hands up, halting the crowd, “Alright, that’s enough! Now, does anybody have any real ideas?”

“Is there absolutely no way back in Mexico?” Another faceless Cowboy asked.

“Not as far as I know, why do you ask?” Curly Bill rubbed his chin.

“Well, as big as the border is, you don’t think there ain’t some way we could sneak in and out of it?”

Curly Bill shifted his mustache to one side, “I suppose it’s possible. But that could take weeks of planning, and I know many of you are strapped for cash right now.”

Another blurted out, “I wanna ask a question. Why don’t we’s just steal them cows from here? That way we never gotta go to Mexico! The trip’s too long anyway, and it’s too damn hot!”

Whispers continued to whistle throughout the crowd and some even agreed with the idea. Yet, Curly Bill slowly shook his head and rubbed his scalp. After a long pause, he explained, “See, I was hoping nobody woulda said that. The reason we’ve been having it easy, is because our ‘business’ is Mexico’s problem. Whaddya think would happen if we made our business America’s problem?”

The initial agreement was quickly hushed. They were safe at home, and if they made an enemy of the States, where could they go?

One man stood up and exclaimed, “Well what’re we gonna do then?! We gotta eat!”

The crowd began to stir like a hornets nest. Arguments broke out between the gang members without any real reason. Before shoving matches developed into something further, Curly Bill took out his revolver and shot several rounds into the air until the camp was silenced.

“Alright, fine! This is what we’re gonna do, since y’all are so keen on having your bellies full, we’ll have a vote. We can’t just go and rustle here like we did in Mexico. But knowing the risks, those of you who reckon we ought to do business here, until we find a way back across the border, say aye.”

Without a second thought, the crowd erupted into cheers and gunshots. Much to their leader’s dismay. Although The Cowboys had proudly earned their reputation to be brothers to the bone, Curly Bill knew how quickly that would change once money was out of the picture. Even still, despite his worry, he felt confident that they’ll only need a couple of good rustles until a way through the border is found.

“It’s settled then.” Curly Bill called out, “In the meantime, we’ll need someone to comb through the border. Juanito, take Billy, Sherm, Charlie, and any others who you’d think will lend a good hand. Everyone else, myself included, are gonna stay here and scout around for some easy money. Any questions? No? Then rest up boys, we ridin’ out first thing tomorrow morning!”

Instinctually, The Cowboys began to see to their chores around camp. They tossed water on the bonfire, tended to the horses, and checked their supplies.

Bill watched over their busy bodied work and scratched his neck with doubt. The bond between them all was laced with blood and gold. Bill personally got to know just about all of the members who sat fireside that evening. To lose any more of them than they already had would be such a waste of good men.

Yet, even still, the solemn faces that had gathered around the bonfire initially, had returned to the life-loving, foolish smiles that Curly Bill always knew. With that, he deeply exhaled and turned himself in for the night.

The next morning, after breakfast, everything was set to go. Johnny Ringo and his posse set out just before dawn, heading southbound for the Rio Grande. The rest of The Cowboys followed suit, spreading out in all directions like a spider’s web. Many went together in pairs or groups of three. Curly Bill, on the other hand, decided to ride alone as he journeyed eastward.

Before the sun could stretch far into the sky, Bill came across his first cattle ranch. It was moderately sized with a herd of beefy longhorns lazily chewing in the fields. Although the haul could have fetched a good price, Curly Bill thought to himself that the ranch was far too close to town. Something about maintaining the local economy and trust with the locals. Although The Cowboys were on good terms with the sheriff and marshal, if they fell out of favor, the law could drop on them something fierce.

Oh well. There’s always another fish to fry.

By about noon, a few small, suicidal clouds attempted to cover the sun, only to be torn apart by its ravenous gaze.

Yet, despite this, a small stream of cool water emerged from the searing desert that kept a few blades of grass alive at its bank. Bill led his horse to it, and as it drank, he looked around as he fanned himself with his hat.

A couple of flies zipped past Bill’s ears as he aimlessly wandered the area. The small stream seemed to supplement water to much of the half dead flora. And further down, rows of trees gently settled their roots at the edge of the water. Bill pressed his lips together with curiosity. He looked back to his horse, who continued to drink like a withering camel, and left it to its business.

The Cowboy King followed the watery path to the trees. They tightly hugged to the water’s bank, collectively creating an archway of shade that Bill could walk through without feeling the sun’s spite on his neck and shoulders. At the end of the grove, light from the other side shined through blindingly. Yet, when Bill squinted his eyes, as he got closer, he recognized jagged, horizontal lines ran across the opening.

“Barbed wire? Way out here?” he mused. Bill’s lazy walk broke into a light jog to feed his curiosity.

The light at the end of the tunnel became overwhelming, the closer he came. Bill rubbed his eyes and when they adjusted, sure enough, a barbed wire fence stood as his only opposition to whatever laid ahead. What awaited beyond this rudimentary guardian, was a vast emerald field, littered with bovine of just about every hide Bill had ever seen.

Bill’s jaw slowly dropped and he placed a hand over his brow. It was one of the largest herds he could recall, and was sure there was enough to keep every wallet, of every Cowboy, full for weeks.

In the distance, however, the sound of barking dogs sprung him back from his fantasies. Amongst the large groups of domestic beasts, rode a handful of wagons full of cowhands tossing out bundles of hay for them. All of them, with some sort of firearm slung over their shoulders or tucked in their belts. And that didn’t even account for the mangy mutts that aimlessly followed along. Curly Bill was thankful that the air was still, as he was sure they would’ve caught onto his scent otherwise.

Quietly, he slinked back into the grove, deep in contemplation. Even if he brought every single Cowboy along, those bastards didn’t look the type to take things lying down. The last thing the Cowboys needed was another bout of heavy casualties, even if the spoils of victory were hard won.

That Red Devil spat into the stream that flowed into the ranch. He hoped that his boys were having better luck at finding some easy money than he did.

Back on his well-watered horse, Bill set out to continue his search. Alas, even the bleached bones of oxen seemed to crawl under the shade of cacti in order to escape the rage of the sky’s vengeful star.

Sweat leaked from the side of Bill’s face. The canteen he had freshly refilled at the stream already ran low and sizzled against his lips as he drank. He could hear the foam dripping from his horse’s mouth and land on the road with a spongy slap.

“Well boy,” Bill noted, licking his leathering lips, “you’ll be no use to me if you keel over! Let’s see if we can find us some shade around here.”

All around Bill and his horse were endless fields of shifting golden grass, the Arizona mountains almost a mirage in the rippling horizon. Yet, like a deserted island emerging from the golden sea, a hilltop stood above the surrounding land, with a black silhouette of a tree proudly standing atop the middle of it.

Curly Bill patted the cheek of his horse and pointed towards the hilltop. Initially, it grunted in confusion, but, once it recognized the distant shelter, it eagerly sprinted to its master’s destination.

The hot air blasted against their face, hardly ceasing once under the tree. Yet, their hides no longer winced from the heat and they both could rest.

As Curly Bill slid off his horse, he gave a quick look around from his new slight vantage. He craned his neck in all directions, until finally, he made out something in the distance. Bill dug into his horse’s satchel and pulled out a monocular. On the other end of its tunneled vision, was a humble homestead.

A dozen or so fat cows indolently chewed straw while their calves hid underneath their shadows. There was a small barn to store the herd for the night, and an even smaller cottage. And best of all, there was only one lone woman tending to the place, with a herding dog.

“Huh, where do you think her ol’ man is?” Bill asked his horse, who nickered in reply.

“Widowed, you say?” Curly Bill continued the imaginary conversation, “A pretty thing like that? It would be a cryin’ shame!” He plopped down onto the cool dirt and flicked his hat onto his back with a grin, “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

And so, Curly Bill waited. He watched the beautiful woman go about her daily life. All the while, her skin glistened with sweat as she washed clothes, swept her porch, laid feed for her chickens, and even, to Bill’s surprise, made repairs on her barn’s roof.

All day, into dusk, Bill watched the humble ranch with the eyes of a vulture. And yet, despite his expectations, no one else seemed present. Not another soul came to or from the property, and only the woman herself seemed to tend to the ranch.

The sky and sand had turned lavender, the coyotes began their shrill chorus and Curly Bill found it high time to get back to town and see how the rest of his boys fared. The rugged thief took a deep stretch once he stood, “Hoo, boy! I am starving! I wonder what stew they got brewin’ at camp?” Just before Bill got on his horse, he looked back to see the gentle billowing smoke coming from the cottage’s chimney.

“Well…” He pondered with a grin as he scratched his chin, “I suppose it would be unneighborly if I didn’t drop by and say hello.”

As the cottage drew near, Curly Bill could smell the savory scent of buttery soup leaking from the openings of the home. Bill dusted himself off, and quickly combed his hair and stache. He knocked and leaned against the coarse frame, mustering the most toothiest grin he could make. Although it was too late to turn back, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was forgetting something.

The door opened and you, the rancher, peeked out from behind it with a dimly lit candle in hand.

“Yes? Can I help you?” you ask with a hint of worry.

Watching you with a monocular was nothing compared to looking at you up close. Bill soaked in every detail about you, from the size of your eyes, to the color of your skin, and every other detail that made you uniquely you.

“Howdy, young Miss, ‘scuse me for the intrusion, I was riding to Tombstone, but it seems I got a little off course. I’d hate to be a bother, but I haven’t eaten all day and I was wonderin’ if you’d allow me to join you for supper?”

The timid flame of your candle trembled in the outside air. Its wavering shine barely had any cast upon the stranger’s face, causing it to ripple like a reflection morphed in running water. What of his face you could see was ever shifting, and you wanted to just close the door, and hope he would go away. Yet, you couldn’t deny his warm, friendly voice. What if he was as troubled as he said?

You bit the corner of your lip as you peered into the corners of darkness, as if you were expecting an ambush. Bill carefully observed you weigh your options, before you finally relented.

You sighed as you pulled the door open, “Come on in, then.”

The splintered door creaked open, revealing your humble home. Inside, the various hides and skulls of wildlife adorned the walls. At the leftmost end of your home was a kitchen complete with a hearth, and multiple potted herb plants that were hung from the ceiling. The rightmost end sat two rotund, heavyset armchairs. It was easy to see that they, along with most of the house, were made by a clumsy hand, but certainly with love. Behind them, Bill noticed, was a set of uneven stairs that lead up to a loft. He pondered what treasures may have lied in wait, just out of his sight.

Before Bill stepped in, you briskly walked to your kitchen table, while not so subtly, revealing a shotgun you had on you the whole time. Bill swaggered in, a smile never leaving his lips. He took a seat and made himself at home. Meanwhile, you tightly wrapped your arm around the shotgun as you poured two steaming bowls of soup. You placed both bowls on the table and sat down. Unbeknownst to him, you make sure to lay your gun on your lap and roughly pointed in his direction.

Bill peered into the bowl of warm, red liquid. Thick chunks of meat and vegetables swirled in the tomato broth. He took a spoonful and it gently burned his tongue. Steam escaped his nostrils as he carefully chewed the tender morsels. Swallowing reminded him of a simpler time, one before violence, before survival, just a warm home. Or at least, so he thought.

“My, my, my,” Bill began, while soaking some bread in the broth, “I am envious of your husband, Miss. I would kill to have cookin’ like this every night!”

“Thank you, sir. I try my best.” You replied, earnestly. Occasionally, you attempted to glance over to your unwelcomed guest. However, your gaze always met his, forcing you to turn away.

Bill smiled cheekily, “Oh, pardon me, this is your husband’s ranch isn’t it?”

“It’s my father’s.” you responded sharply.

“Of course it is! Pardon me. I assumed a lady as… fetchin’ as yourself would’ve had a feller wrapped around her finger. As for your pops, I hope he doesn’t mind a gump, like myself, thrompin’ around his home at this hour.”

“I reckon he would.”

His eyes squinted as Bill glanced up to the ceiling. Maybe your old man was sick and resting in the loft. Even still, Bill figured that he and a couple of the boys could wipe this place clean, if it was only you and some sick geezer guarding it.

Bill tapped his forehead, “Excuse my manners, again. I would’ve thought, then, he would’ve joined us for dinner. He’s in good health, I hope?”

“He’s just fine.” You answered firmly.

“And what a wonderful daughter you must be to help him around his ranch! He doesn’t work a pretty thing, like you, too hard, does he?"

“I take care of everything around here. You’ll find that I can take care of myself without much help, Mr…?”

“Please, just call me Bill. Forgive me, and your name is?”

You tell him your name with an air of reluctance. As handsome and charming as Bill was, you knew with certainty he was up to no good.

Bill rested his chin in his palm, “A pretty name, for a pretty girl.”

“You said you were heading to Tombstone, what do you do over there?” you asked suspiciously.

“Oh, I’m just some ol’ churn twister at the Clanton Ranch. If them or the McLaurys need an extra pair of hands, I’m the guy to do it.”

“Aren’t both those ranches a front for cattle rustling these days?”

Slyly smiling, Bill pshawed, “Every bushel has a few bad apples, Miss. Gotta take the good with the bad sometimes.”

The Cowboy found himself in enjoyable frustration, it was like he was fishing and trying different baits. You, the catch of the day, just weren’t biting, however. But just as patient as a seasoned fisherman, he was sure he’d have you figured out.

“But,” Bill continued, “It’s a lot easier to work with all of them, than just you and your Pa, I’d assume.”

“I make it work. There’s enough to keep me busy without crumbling. Don’t need anybody worrying about this place, ‘cept me.” You folded your arms proudly.

Bingo. In other words, no one will come looking for you.

Bill sighed contently and leaned back into his chair. He was charmed by your attempts at independence, but he had everything he needed. It was a shame, having to take everything from a pretty thing like yourself and your ol’ man, but that’s the way life is in the West.

“I’d imagine a dozen cows and some chickens would keep you pretty busy…” Bill ho-hummed as he buffed his nails on his shirt.

“How’d you know how many cows I had?”

“Pardon?” he choked.

“And how’d you know I had chickens? No one could see the coop while it’s dark out.” you answered flatly.

Click!

The familiar sound of a shotgun’s hammer cocking, turned Bill’s blood to ice.

“Now why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?” you squinted sharply.

The jig was up. Although perspiration collected on his brow, the Red Devil chuckled and shook his head, “I guess you can already tell that I’m not just some random feller at your doorstep, huh?”

“I reckoned that from your red sash you forgot to tuck in.” You notioned.

“Dagnabbit.” Bill muttered, looking down to see his sash dragged on the ground. He knew he forgot something, he kicked himself for forgetting such a simple mistake as tucking his sash. Here he thought he was finding the perfect bait for you, when you already had him in the net! His tongue flicked into a smile, without him noticing. His heart thrummed out of his chest, though, it seemed more out of curiosity than fear.

You rose from your stool, shotgun at your hip, “You’re one of those Cochise Cowboys, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.” Bill relented, shrugging with his hands in the air, “Got yourself a big fish, Miss. I’m Curly Bill Brocius, King of The Cowboys.”

Pins ran up your spine and into your neck. If he was just some thief, then you’d have bait to poison the coyote’s with, but now there’s a possibility that you’d have every thief from Cochise County breathing down your neck. And he saw all of that in your eyes.

“Why don’t we put the gun down, we wouldn’t want to worry your Pa, would we?” Bill reasoned with a nervously, crooked smile.

“My Pa’s dead, you damn fool!” You snapped and took aim. “This is all I have left of him, only for a snake like you to come and take it away!”

A grimace squeezed out from under Bill’s mustache as the shotgun hovered inches from his face, “Alright! No need to get hasty, I didn’t pick up that he was dead. Sorry.”

You continued to weigh your heavy options, with his life and yours in the balance. Finally, it struck you.

“Did you come here alone?” You asked urgently.

“Uuh-” Bill hesitated.

“Did you?!”

“I didn’t! I got four other boys waiting for me under that tree on the hilltop!” Curly Bill insisted, pointing towards the front door.

“Liar!”

Although he was lying, Bill took offense to it, “Oh yeah?! Well go ahead then! Once they realize something ain’t right, they’ll burn this place to the ground!”

His bluff worked and the barrel of your gun lowered, but never left his direction.

“I suppose only a fool would go into someone’s home without having a way out.” You mused woefully.

Bill hissed through his teeth, “Yup, not me though!”

Many branching thoughts twisted around in your mind. This man was a Cowboy, for sure, and even you knew that they took care of their own. If you killed him, and he did have backup at the hilltop, your ranch was as good as gone. If he was lying, you figured that the rest of them knew where he was going anyways, and might start crawling all over to find him. If you let him go, he could come back with reinforcements, regardless. But, at least you would have time to prepare. However, perhaps if you reasoned with him, then maybe, just maybe, he’d leave you alone and never come back.

It was worth a shot.

“Alright, Cowboy, here’s the deal,” you began as your mind scrambled to form an ultimatum, “ if I let you go, you must never come back. This is all I have and I can’t let you take that away from me. If you do come back, I will make sure that, even if you take my farm, you will look back and say it wasn’t worth it.”

“Deal.” Bill nodded with ease.

You pressed your lips together hard. It was almost too easy and he treated it all like some big game. Even still, in that moment, you saw no choice in the matter. With the flick of your head, you motioned for that thieving devil to get to his feet. Slowly, you both tiptoed to your front door.

“Remember,” you warned as you pushed him out the door, “never come back.”

He smugly grinned, “Thanks for the warning, and for supper. Have yourself a wonderful evening, ya hear?” Tipping his hat to you, he began walking backwards into the darkness. When he was out of sight, you slammed the door, and began preparing for what you thought was inevitable.

Meanwhile, Bill stumbled through the darkness as his eyes adjusted to it. He was giddy, having just gotten away with his life. Laughing and panting up the hill, he finally caught up with his horse that brayed upon his arrival.

“Aw quiet, you old bag o’ bones! It’s just me.” Bill huffed, leaning against the tree to catch his breath.

Realizing it was his master, the horse lowered his head with a snort.

“It went well, thanks for asking. I almost died too!” Bill laughed while untying his horse and mounting it. “But she let me go, you know the spell I can put on the ladies.”

His horse shook its head, refusing to further listen to his tall tales, until they made it home.

“I dunno, I woulda shot me if I was her. But I like her spunk. Real easy on the eyes too, I tell ya. It’s a shame she’ll have to get to farmin’ chickens when I’m done with the place! Hiyah!” Bill snapped his reins and raced for camp.

Days later, The Cowboys regrouped at camp to go over their findings. As opposed to their last meeting, the boys were rabble roused with excitement. Many were already sharing the places they had found with the rest of the camp. Ringo and his posse also made their return, much to the anticipation of everyone else.

Curly Bill lit the camp’s center fire, calling for the meeting to begin. He clapped his hands together and bellowed, “Welcome back, boys! Glad to see y’all made it back in one piece. Now, I know that a lot of y’all are excited with sharin’, but our boy, Juanito, has also come back to fill us in on what he found. Tell us what ya got, Johnny!”

The stoic second in command, rose from his seat and regretfully shook his head, “Nothing yet. We’ll need more time.”

A few disappointed sighs were uttered from the crowd, until Curly Bill rose up and applauded, “That’s alright, Johnny boy. If anyone is gonna get us back into Mexico, it’ll be you and your boys.”

The rest of the crowd joined in on his applause. With his ace in the hole laid to rest, Bill switched it over to Plan B.

“So, you all know what that means. Any of y’all found a good stake for us to pull out there?”

Stilwell raised his hand, “Me and Barnes found this big ol’ ranch heading North towards Tucson. I think if we got enough fellas with us-”

“Alright, Stilwell, hold your horses. I like your enthusiasm, and I’m sure many of you got at least one big score in mind. But the fact of the matter is, if we go around hitting up all the big ranches around here, we’ll have the law breathing down our necks. Instead of thinking big,” Bill explained with his hands shrinking a square shape within them, “we gotta think real small.

“Let me give y’all for example. After ridin’ around all day, finding a whole bunch of nothing, I found myself a small cattle ranch about a quarter of a day out. The place is ran by a pretty little thang and her pops, at least, until he kicked the bucket.”

“How’d ya find out about that, Bill?” One of the crowd asked.

Bill flicked his tongue in anticipation, “Why, it’s like you don’t know me at all! I went up and talked to her, she even invited me for dinner.”

The Cowboys blew wolf whistles while Bill soaked it all in.

“This pretty bird only has a dozen cows, give or take. She lives in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbors. Most of all, no one’s gonna be mad if all of her cows are stolen, because everyone’s relying on those big ranches y’all have your sights set on.”

The men nodded in understanding with a few whispers, mentioning smaller farms that were passed up.

“Keep your groups small, so everyone’ll think it’s some other up and coming band of fools. They all know The Cowboys only bring in the big bucks! This’ll be our little secret until we get back on our feet. Now if none of y’all got any questions, find yourself in small bands and get ready to head out tomorrow!”

The boys eagerly formed war parties with their closest friends and companions. Stilwell and Barnes made their way up to Curly Bill and found Ike tagging along from behind.

“Heya Bill!” Barnes waved, “Me and Stilwell didn’t find anything like you were talking about. We’s was hopin’ we could help you out with yours.”

“I’m in too.” Ike nodded, “Billy’s still with Ringo and ‘em, so I’ll head out with y’all.”

Their boss replied cheerily, “Glad to have y’all comin’ along! Just so you know, I’ll be heading out tonight.”

“Why’s that?”

“That girl I was talkin’ about is a persnickety little bird. I’d reckon if I don’t catch her off guard tonight, I won’t have another chance to.” Bill explained while checking the provisions in his horse’s satchel.

“So, what’re we gonna do when we get there?” Barnes asked as he and the others got on their horses.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you.” Bill winked.

They rode out shortly after, late into the night. The moon was out in full, showering the sands in a white bluish hue. Thanks to the clear skies, there was no humidity in the air and a slight cool wind brushed past their faces. In no time, they passed the first farm that Bill scouted out, and then the creek with the grove. Soon, the dry ocean of grass swallowed up their surroundings. And emerging from it, like a behemoth whale of earth, was the lonely hill and its tree.

“Alright boys, we’re getting close. Let’s set up on that hill and I’ll give you everything you need to know.” Bill waved to his men.

Up on the hilltop, The Cowboys huddled close and peered down to your farm like a pack of coyotes.

“That sure is a dinky little farm, ain’t it?” Ike notioned with curiosity.

“Well, if it’s too small for ya, you can always go back to camp.” Bill slapped Ike on the back. “But something’s better than nothin’. Now quit your belly achin’ and take a look over there.”

Bill pointed towards your simple home that quietly dreamed of the simple life.

“All we got to do is break open the barn door and get the cows going. An easy in and out.” Curly Bill explained.

“You said there was a cute girl sleepin’ in that house, right? What do we do about her? Why don’t we, uh…” Stilwell asked while dragging a thumb across his neck.

Barnes nodded, “Yeah, maybe her dad left her a few bucks lyin’ around in a coffee tin.”

Ike agreed, “It could be worth a look, what do ya say, Bill?”

Bill’s mouth tightened to one side and his scruffy brows lowered heavily. It felt like such a waste to snuff out a feisty spirit like yours. And for you to have him on the ropes, like you did, was charming to him.

“I must say, boys, that little darlin’ grew on me a bit with her spunky attitude, havin’ me join her for dinner and such. Let’s just take her bovine and leave it at that.” Bill half confessed, making sure to hide how spunky you had actually been.

Bill’s men grumbled in agreement, what he said went, after all.

They slithered down the hill with their horses close behind. Bill led them to a wooden gate that surrounded your property, but did little more than simply show your cattle how far they could wander. Thick wooden beams were heavy enough to keep cows from knocking it over, but spaces in between them were large enough for foxes, coyotes, and even a couple of Cowboys to squeeze through. The thieves’ combined efforts tore the splintered posts from their foundation, leaving a gaping maw in its place.

“If we draw them through here we can make a clean getaway. She won’t even hear us come or go.” Bill whispered.

There was always a thrill to rustling that never got old. Their footsteps on the soft dirt were silent, reminiscent of a wildcat on the prowl. It was like a primitive game, except the stakes were just a bit higher. The air was still and the occasional cricket chirped his sweet melody, that is, until The Cowboys stepped upon his unassuming stage.

It didn’t take long to reach the barn, and from inside, they heard soft mooing. It was the sound of money!

Bill rubbed his hands together, “Alright, Ike. Let’s get that door open and see what we got!”

The older Clanton hobbled to the barn door with elation, but as soon as his sandpaper hands reached for the door handle…

SNAP!

Ike’s shrill cry was loud enough to be heard all the way back at camp. And from the cottage, a dog’s baying signaled to everybody of The Cowboy’s presence. The thieves turned in unison to your home as a light flickered on. Barnes and Stilwell scrambled to get a hold of Ike and cover his mouth.

“What the fuck happened, Ike?!” Bill hissed, “What’s the matter with-”

Through Ike’s muffled screams and flailing arms, Bill noticed he was vaguely pointing towards the ground. He squinted through the darkness and saw a bar of metal gleaming on Ike’s foot.

“Son of a bitch! He’s got a fox trap on him!” Bill gasped. He slid to Ike’s feet and attempted to pry the trap off of him. “Stay still, damn it!” But poor Ike bucked like a freshly caught stallion. A loud bang rang out from the cottage and multiple objects whizzed past The Cowboys.

“I’ll take care of this.” Stilwell sneered, drawing his pistol.

“Wait! She could have backup!” Bill exclaimed.

“I thought you said it was only one girl?”

“I did, I said it would be easy too, now look what happened!” Bill grunted, still prying at the trap. “Look, we need to get Ike out of here. If you wanna start shootin’ off, take a horse and go distract ‘em for us.”

Even in the dark, they could glimpse Stilwell’s gnarled smile, ever ready for a taste of bloodshed, “Got it, boss.”

The twisted Cowboy leaped onto his horse and made a mad dash towards your cottage. Slowly he shrank into the backdrop until he became a black smudge. Blinks of light shot out from his amorphous form, before the reverberation reached the other’s ears.

From your cottage, came return fire. But then, a string of light was thrown from one of your windows, before splashing down in a bright yellow pool of flame.

“What is she throwin’, flamin’ liquor bottles?” Barnes squinted.

Stilwell continued to shoot into the small home, nearly getting showered with the liquid blaze.

“I don’t know, but…” Curly Bill answered gruffly. Ike finally simmered down enough for Bill to set the trap’s base to the ground. With one swift push, he reset the trap, freeing his friend from its vise. “It’s time we get the hell out of here.”

The old Clanton tried to rest his foot but his toes pulsed with agony. “I can’t…” Ike shook his head in shame.

Bill lifted Ike up from one shoulder as Barnes took the other, “You’re alright, Ike. Let’s get you a beer to sleep that foot off.”

The trio quickly hobbled to their horses, and once they lifted Ike onto his, Bill whistled to Stilwell.

The sadistic lackey’s heart pounded with delight, but hearing his boss’s call was like his reins were to his horse. The party was over and he pulled out to join his comrades again. Soon the group became whole, and they sped off into the night.

“Hey, Bill!” Stilwell called, “I was lookin’ real hard, and I didn’t see anyone else in there!”

Bill glared at Stilwell with shock. Could it be that you, alone, gave the four of them such a hard time? But the more Bill thought about it, the more he began to smile. The thought that a humble dairy farmer had made a group of Cowboys fall into a sweat, was hilarious to him.

Bill began to chuckle before erupting into a roaring laughter. Barnes and Stilwell looked to each other in confusion, but soon joined him, either through group think or by virtue of having lived another day. Ike on the other hand, could not find such virtue as his foot swelled to fill his entire boot.

The night echoed with the eerie combination of Curly Bill’s laughter and the distant sounds of their horses’ hooves kicking up dust as they rode away from your ranch. The moonlit Arizona landscape bore witness to the aftermath of a failed cattle rustling attempt, leaving behind a lone figure standing on the porch, shotgun in hand.

You, unnerved by the intrusion, watched the retreating Cowboys with a mix of relief and trepidation. The rhythmic thumping of your heart gradually subsided, replaced by the lonely symphony of nocturnal creatures.

Inside the modest cottage, you tended to the aftermath. The flickering flame danced in the hearth, casting shadows on the walls adorned with the trophies of a life lived close to nature. The night air was tinged with the acrid scent of gunfire and the lingering fear of a confrontation.

As you nursed your adrenaline-fueled nerves, thoughts swirled in your mind. The sudden intrusion into your quiet life had left an indelible mark. The vulnerability of solitude clashed with the resilience that fueled your resolve. It was as if you were alone, the only conscious being in a land of beasts and devils that were only driven by their instinct and fleeting whims.

In the distance, the Cowboys rode on, their laughter fading into the vast expanse of the Arizona night. For Curly Bill, the encounter left a bitter but amusing taste – an unexpected twist in the ongoing saga of life in the unforgiving West.

And so, beneath the vast canopy of stars, the night settled back into its silent vigil, as you, the lone rancher, pondered the events that transpired and prepared for the uncertain challenges that awaited on the horizon.

#curly bill #curly bill brocius #curly bill x reader #tombstone #tombstone 1993 #cowboy #cowboys #western #old west #western romance #romance #drama #x reader #reader insert #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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tigorrrr · 2 months ago

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𝗦𝗸𝗶𝗻-𝗗𝗲𝗲𝗽 || 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗿𝘁

Banners made by @infinitnei / @blind-premonition

"Let's start a band!"

Reiko was used to his roommate spewing nonsense in the middle of the night by now, but he considered this idea wasn't one of the stupidest Kung Lao came up with, and it genuinely impressed the hockey player that the basketball player still has some braincells left in him.

"Count me out..." Reiko grumbled, voice hoarse and turned into his other side to escape his roommate's peering eyes from atop the bunk bed.

But Kung Lao never took 'no' for an answer. Which Reiko knew, of course, that didn't stop him from trying to dismiss the teen — who is just a year younger than him, but somehow still ended up sharing a dorm room, and Reiko had specifically asked for a solo room... Did he piss off the dormitory supervisors last year? Or his grandmother?

The bunk shook a bit when Kung Lao wormed underneath his covers closer to the edge, laying his chest on his floded forearms. "I know you can play bass, Rei'. And chicks dig bass players!"

Reiko dug his fleshy nose into the pillow and groaned, in no mood whatsoever for enthusiasm at 2 in the bloody morning. It's bad enough to be walking on eggshells when he sees the ice hockey fans, how was he supposed to avoid potentional groupies?

"I don't desire to be a walking sex fantasy for those middle schoolers, Lao." Reiko rolled on his back, rubbing at the corners of his eyes with his digits. "Go ahead if you want that, but I already got enough on my plate."

Kung Lao's upper body slumped, disheartened. He watched his roommate below him a moment longer before exhaling longly. Sure, he really wants to try it, but not without his buddy.

"Come on.. Will you really leave me and Raiden all alone in it?"

"Don't you try guilt trip me, asshole." the hockey player quickly snapped.

"Fine!" Kung Lao huffed and shifted to lay down on his back, his head nearly bumping into the low ceiling. "I didn't wanna be a dick, I only wanted my pal to join me."

Reiko stared at the underside of the bed above him, jaw working, he couldn't believe he's giving it a second thought. "Why would Raiden join anyway? A little off for a software engineering careerist, don't ya think?"

The basketballist heaved a dry snort. "He ain’t as innocent as he looks like."

"Imagine my suprise..."

Kung Lao detected the humor in the tired tone of his friend and tittered quietly, folding his hands underneath his pillow. "He'd play on the drums, by the way."

"Not that different from a keyboard, is it?" Reiko chuckled and his friend laughed along.

"Right?!"

Their howling laughter was interrupted by another guy's voice from the doorway, they didn't hear him knock nor enter their room.

"You two know I can hear you, these walls are thin." Raiden said mid-yawn and approached his friends. The two of them now stared back at him with held breath and pursed mouths.

"Sorry—"

"Did you know Lao wanted to start a band?" Reiko interrupted his bunk buddy, sitting up with his libs draped over his propped knees.

"Yes. He wasn't talking about anything else this week. I thought I would not survive his idealistic blether..." Raiden feigned a headache, rubbing at his temple and ducked down from Kung Lao's swat, sitting by Reiko's feet in the spiralling moment.

Barking a belly laugh, Reiko shook his head as the basketballist tried to reach at Raiden from above who had only laid further back, flopping his limbs around fruitlessly.

"What? That is the truth, you barely could catch your breath at times!" Raiden's grin met an offended scowl of Kung Lao's over the mattress' edge.

Kung Lao huffed in retort and ceased his attempts at hitting his friend's head; "Then why didn't you stop me if it annoyed you?"

"I didn't say that. I only said it was taxing to try keep up with your speedy chatter."

"He does talk fast." Reiko bobbed his head in an agreeing nod.

"Whose side are you on, Grocery Stick?!"

Kung Lao began to atteck them with his pillow instead and while Raiden was the pacifist, Reiko was not above being petty. The IT high schooler kept mostly out of the way, while his friends battled, and just waited for the moment the dormitory supervisor on night duty will come stop their childish behavior.

#Reiko #Raiden #Kung Lao #Skin-Deep AU #And that's. gents and lads and laddies. how those three were before current Skin-Deep event 😃#edgy teens starting an edgy rock band why the hell not hehe

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incognito-lionbeast · 2 years ago

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AU MDZS drabble (donghua continuity) partly inspired by fanart drawn by @forgetallenvies --- except instead of transmigration, I decided to go with “Lan Wangji receives premonitions/memories of the future, including Wei Wuxian's eventual death”

The result is still a hug, tho. There’s a bit more to this scene in my head, but words hard & I don’t know if/when I’ll get around to writing the second part. So, I figured I’d just post what I had.

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

“As for what it does to my mind… that’s none of your business.”

Ghostly green fire danced in his periphery, casting dark shadows upon the face of a loved one that grew only further and further distant. Lan Wangji’s usual composure failed him, a name caught on his lips–the wrong one. Wei Wuxian! Whether through fate or miracle, there it stayed. There it died, staining his expression with something not wholly unlike the swath of anguished, battered corpses at Wei Wuxian’s disposal. Though, it lacked their resentment.

Flickering memories played amongst the shadows and flame, hypnotizing—captivating Lan Wangji’s woeful gaze for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. Flashes of words and scenarios almost real enough to touch, if he could only reach out to try. Dark places, people Lan Wangji recognized – some he didn’t, couldn’t possibly, yet their voices still echoed in his heart as if they’d been there all along. Cherished. Amongst the good, the bad… a blade pierced his soul. A sense of loss so devastating and tangible, Lan Wangji staggered, suddenly brought back to reality in a painful bout of clarity. A voice, yet a different memory, fresh in his mind:

‘I don’t know why I thought you hated me.’

Yet somehow Wei Wuxian failed to notice, gesturing to topple his army of corpses all whilst staring right through his former companion–unable to see much more than what he’d already assumed was the truth. And who was there to correct him? Jiang Cheng? Didn’t he assume much the same..? There could be no help, would be no help.

Though words often failed him–and he knew, inexplicably, that whatever he’d been meant to say here would have–Lan Wangji tried another way. Wei Wuxian had never given up on him, not til now, and wouldn’t it be too much a shame not to repay that? His brows pulled together, voice faint yet firm. Imploring.

“I don’t hate you,” Lan Wangji answered the memory. A non-sequitur.

From a few metres away, Jiang Cheng scoffed, regrouping with the crowd of two unceremoniously. He crossed his arms, as if debating what particular brand of scathing commentary would be necessary–if necessary. His brother didn’t seem inclined to invite him into the conversation, either way, studying Lan Wangji from a distance with fierce, silvery eyes. ‘I don’t hate you’? Wei Wuxian could have laughed at such an absurd sentiment. What, he wondered, did the great, incorruptible Lan Wangji think of him, then?

Wasn’t he the one always rebuking his friendly advances? Hadn’t he already voiced disdain for such evil practises? What then, Lan Wangji, would you have him believe?

“Wei Ying…” Lan Wangji steadied his fragmented expression, stepping forward.

Wei Wuxian's frown deepened, though he remained steadfast.

Hesitation nearly paralyzed Lan Wangji, but only nearly. Frivolous, he scolded himself. Yet, the miserable, imaginary blade what still ran him through hadn’t left, twisting a horrible, bloody mess of his insides. With naught a soul left to witness save for the two brothers, Lan Wangji seized it by its hilt, drawing it forth from his chest–allowing what sprang forth from the wound to simply spill at their feet unabated.

Thus, in an elegant arc nevertheless becoming of his reputation, a hand–wrapped in a slender ribbon of white silk–found Wei Wuxian’s wrist. No matter how hackles raised, how he struggled, or how Lan Wangji’s hand trembled slightly with pent-up emotion, his grip never faltered. A sudden tug jerked Wei Wuxian forward into the forceful embrace of a man too awkward to even pretend he could express the level of affection he truly felt. Come Hell, high water, or the abuse of a man desperate to escape, Lan Wangji held him firmly, nearly painfully, in place–neither fearing retaliation nor judgment.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian accused in a voice bordering on familiarity.

Yet, Wei Wuxian’s ire could no longer pierce him. So, Lan Wangji’s hand slipped a little further down the captive wrist til it wasn’t at his wrist at all, and–still held out awkwardly beside them–Lan Wangji’s insistence pressed the treasure it carried into Wei Wuxian’s half-open palm. A gesture from the heart, raw and sincere, though soft against war-worn hands.

Though, it was perhaps for the best that Wei Wuxian didn’t fully understand. It was even better that Jiang Cheng–who most certainly did–said not a word. His face only wrinkled detestably, unable to believe what he was seeing or why he was seeing it. So, he decided, he simply wouldn’t see it anymore, turning away from the showy display to admire Wei Wuxian’s prior handiwork instead.

The flames flickered green, then orange.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian reiterated.

Lan Wangji adjusted his grip so that both arms encircled him.

Wei Wuxian felt the smooth length of silk in his hand, staring uncomprehendingly over Lan Wangji’s shoulder as its long ends billowed dramatically around them. It took him, perhaps, far too long to understand, only sure of the fact that Lan Wangji was nearly crushing him to death… til eventually it occurred to him all at once. Somehow, his right hand was now in possession of Lan Wangji’s precious forehead ribbon.

How vexing.

#Mo Dao Zu Shi #mdzs #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #bay scribbles #is this IC? the world may never know #but I want them to hug so they wILL HUG

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brummiereader · 2 years ago

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I'm back 👋❤️! Eeek let's get started 😀!

Firstly, how adorable is Arthur, he's so devoted to his brother! No matter how Tommy is with him, he will always be there for him, his "best man". I think Tommy knows it aswell, I just hope that one day he will start to appreciate his brothers devotion.

I love how proud he is to have Heaven by his side, he's like a love sick puppy 🥰.

There's a little bit of empathy there for Tommy, which is really endearing to see. Heaven is such a complex character, she puts up a hard exterior almost instantly if she senses animosity towards her. But deep down I think she just wants to be loved and accepted. It was so sad to see her reflect on the deaths of her family members, will we get to learn more about her past? It's so heartbreaking 😥.

She doesn't like champagne, maybe shes more of a red wine girl! I could drink champagne morning and night if I could afford it🥴😂. To stop myself becoming too much of a drunk I have to swap it out for Champomy 😂.

I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE!! Arthur, Heaven and John's interactions 😩❤️! You write it so well! Does John have a little thing for Heaven 🤨😅? "Lemme smack him, please Angel. Just one little tiny punch in his fookin’ face.” He begged, “Just to shut his bloody mouth, eh.” 😂😂, this was too perfect, I could literally hear Arthur saying it in my head when I was reading this part, you never let me down when it comes to Arthur and John's brotherly "love" 😂.

Heaven! You are far too intune with things going on around you for it not to be more than a coincidence anymore, I'm desperate to know if she knows there's more to her.

Even though Heaven is not a fan of Tommy, it was interesting to see her start to panic along with him as she tried to find his son, maybe she felt a small amount of guilt since she had a premonition about his safety ❤️.

God...the scene when she enters the room, I was on the edge of my seat waiting for Tommy to literally pounce on her in anger. This part is so intense Shark, I feel like I'm in the corner munching on popcorn, wide eyed watching everything unfold 😳😂. Me reading this part👇.

I never expected Arthur to question Heaven, I felt so sad for her in that moment, I felt like the whole room was closing in on her as she had to defend herself. Will Tommy and Heaven always be clashing? I'm interested to see how their relationship develops over the series, I just hope she's not going to become one of Tommy's " dogs", just being used for her powers.

I absolutely hated Father Hughes in the series, so I'm glad he met his end in this series too 😌.

😯😳 You honestly had me thinking Charlie was dead for a moment...shark, don't do that to me!!😂. Heaven...I'm in shock...I'm relieved she saved him, but how, what, when did she do all this?? And when she passed by Father Hughes... "See you in Hell, sale fils de pute" 😯. Each part I read I'm more drawn in by what she's says " His question brought a faint yet terribly melancholic smile to your lips for it reminded you that you had broken the only promise you did to yourself. The promise of not taking another life ever again" Who's life?? There's so many unanswered questions, I'm in a frenzy trying to figure everything out, but you keep dropping more little confessions here and there, my mind's going wild 😂.

" I am the one they should have really burned"

I KNEW IT!! She's a witch! Oh my god Shark this part is fantastically written, the cloud of smoke coming from her mouth and the reference to hell! Now the part where she tells Father Hughes that she will see him in hell makes sense 😈🌜. You're an incredible writer, your story telling is out of this world! I normally only read Tommy Shelby fics, I'm so happy I branched out and started reading this Arthur Shelby one, I am HOOKED! This series is amazing, it deserves so much more love ❤️!

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: What is supposed to be a chill afternoon at the grand opening of the Grace Shelby Institute for Orphaned Children, turns out to be a nightmare: Charles is kidnapped and chaos spreads in the Shelby family. This is when Thomas remembers something you had told him: "You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.” He suddenly understands: You did it.

Words: 5K

TW: Angst, Child kidnapping, typical canon violence, graphic description of violence, death of secondary characters, murder, a very quick allusion to child abuse, gruesome kills, a lot of blood I guess

Notes:

✞ This chapter is based on the event of S3 Episode 6. Italicized parts are taken from the show. However, it contains many changes from the show's script, especially to accommodate this fanfiction's purposes and the characters' development.

✞ Theme song to listen to on repeat while reading if you want

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS PART || Masterlist || NEXT PART

“Say it Tom, say it to ‘em! ” Arthur’s loud voice exclaimed in a joyful tone, calloused hands clapping with strength to encourage his little brother and his speech. The whole crowd, as well as you, followed his example and stood up to applaud the founder of the Grace Shelby Institute for Orphaned Children. Admittedly, you recognized that the idea of opening such an establishment was surprising yet excellent, especially coming from the family’s boss. Quickly glancing at Arthur and his smile, you could not help but melt. The blinded love and trust he had for Tommy had something admirable despite your rocky relationship with little King Shelby.

You sit back and, as you did, Arthur gently put his hand on your thigh and took a look at you, his magnificent blue eyes shining with affection. He did not need to say a single word for you to understand what was going through his mind: he was just proud. Proud of Tommy, obviously, but particularly proud to attend such a significant ceremony with his stunning woman by his side. Even though most of the town knew about Arthur’s mysterious angel, attending the event with you had something official. The butterflies in his stomach flapped their wings when he introduced you to some guests as his sweetheart — you had even overheard him calling you his “future wife”. The way some of the visitors looked at both of you, their traits stretching in surprise as they realized that the sweetest creature they have ever seen was deeply enraptured with him, was enough to fill his heart with pride. A faint smile flattered your juicy lips at such an endearing vision, the joy it brought upon you making the whole crowd disappear for a few seconds as you lost yourself in Arthur’s beauty. Another thunder of applause popped your daydreams and forced you to shift your focus back on what was going on.

In fact, the first lyrics of Immortal Invisible brought you back to reality as it echoed in the room. You were about to join the chorus, Arthur’s fingers discreetly reaching for yours as a silent request to hear you sing with that lovely voice of yours, when you caught sight of Tommy leaving the room with hastened footsteps. The aura of sorrow that emanated from him stirred both your empathy and your worries — even though you did not get along, you could not help but commiserate with him on this difficult day that reminded him of Grace far too much to handle the event properly. Thomas’ beloved wife was everywhere around you, you could sense it. Her presence was so overwhelming that one could have expected to see her walk into the room at one moment or another. The cruel truth was that she was gone for good, and what was left of her slowly pushed Thomas Shelby to the edge of depression. Instinctively, your cold little hand tightened its grip around Arthur. His company kept your mind from drifting too far in the dark waters of your own loss. And by loss, you meant your Dad, hung high on a tree, as well as your Mom and little sister who had burned on the pyre.

The room was filled with chatters and guests, whose discussions blended together in an unintelligible cacophony. Alone in a corner, a glass of champagne in your hand, you swept the room with interest without really taking part in any conversations. Somehow, huge gatherings had never been your cup of tea — you came from a small town lost in the mountains after all, not from the city. Moreover, you were well aware of the curious, sometimes snobbish looks other ladies gave you and you were not sure they would be particularly delighted by your presence. They thought you did not fit the picture with your long and braided white hair, your ivory sun dress, and Arthur’s long and black coat resting on your shoulders. To be true, you could not blame them, you did not fit in but you were also surprisingly fine with it. When your lips grazed the sparkly alcohol, you winced a little bit. As ironic as it sounded for a French girl, you despised the taste of champagne, even though you still took the glass you had been offered out of sheer politeness. Giving up on the idea of drinking it, you just sighed. It did not take long for you to grow bored with analyzing people’s faces — they were more or less the same, and most of them took the shape of women giggling when Thomas walked past them. You soon caught sight of Arthur and John, both talking to their brother.

“Fuck me, Tom. I don’t know how you do it.” Arthur stated, his gruff voice and harsh words contrasting drastically with Thomas’ elegant elocution. He had barely finished his sentence when the latter was once again forced into another formal conversation with aristocratic ladies. He took a quick look at John, who was sipping on a tea, and rolled his eyes, annoyed. Understanding that having a real conversation with Tommy was going to be difficult, he waved off the idea and finally headed back to you. As soon as his eyes fell on your frame, his face relaxed and enlightened with a loving smile.

“Oi. Why are you all alone, Angel?” He inquired, his arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you close to his body for he could not keep his hands off you for too long, “want to go back home?” Arthur laid a tender kiss on your cheek, gently rubbing the tip of his nose against your skin in signs of deep affection. Your smile widened at the sensation of his mustache, to the point you could not hold the light chuckle that escaped from your mouth. He was so worried about your well-being that he went straight to the point: if you wanted to leave you had every right to do so.

“No need to go back home dear, I do enjoy the party. I’m just not really good at social gatherings nor making new friends I guess!”

“Ada told me you can join in her conversations if ye want.” His thumbs caressed your hips in a circular motion.

“I don’t want to bother Ada. She seems rather busy.” You put down your glass on a nearby table, and snuggled in his arms, more than thrilled to have his whole attention for yourself. The slight anxiety you had been feeling vanished into dust at his soothing warmth and his manly perfume. A perfume that had started to blend with yours, hence creating that unique fragrance of your love.

“Hey Arthur, move. You know she likes me hugs the best.” John teased — he had also decided to keep you company rather than waiting on Tommy.

“I’m really going to kick yer ass John, don’t care if I do it in front of all the people of this bloody room.” He growled, pulling you even closer for he refused to let you go. Even if it was with his own brother. Your grin widened, their never-ending sibling arguments never failing to amuse you.

“I would take your brother’s threats with the utmost seriousness if I were you. But at the same time, I really appreciate your dauntless nature. C’m’here.” One of your arms left Arthur’s neck to welcome John in the hug despite the hoarse complaints that followed. John, not hesitating for a slight second, joined in and held you in his arms for a few but indescribably comforting seconds. Each time he would pull you in a bear hug, he would make you feel at home.

“Okay, enough —“ Arthur nudged his little brother in the ribs, the corner of his lips curling up in a sadistic smirk only older siblings knew how to do.

“Why don’t you hug me longer? Afraid to show your sensitive side, Mon amour?” John said, making his best impression of your French accent and the pet name you were always giving to his brother. This time you could not help but genuinely laugh, a part of you astounded by John’s ability to be that annoying. The face Arthur made, contorted with both shock and anger, only cracked you up harder. Still, you softly stroke his neck to keep his spirit quiet and avoid him throwing a tantrum in the middle of the room.

Finally resigning himself not to bounce on John and beat the shit out of him, Arthur looked at you with the most irresistible puppy eyes he could do. Sometimes you had trouble realizing he, who could look like a beaten dog, was the same man that could kill someone with his bare fists out of jealousy and fuck you roughly in the shower still covered with fresh blood right after.

“Lemme smack him, please Angel. Just one little tiny punch in his fookin’ face.” He begged, “Just to shut his bloody mouth, eh.”

You raised a brow, your hand trailing up his neck to fix his hairstyle — Arthur shivered at your touch, his whole body responding with tremors of lust that shook him to the core, “Not here. But you’ll find a good moment to avenge yourself, Mr. Shelby” You said, punctuating your sentence with a knowing wink.

“Woah, calm down Devil. I thought you’d defend me!” John retorted, pretending to be outraged by your betrayal.

“Not my fault if you’re stupid enough to believe that.” Your grin turned into a sharky smile.

“That’s my girl,” Arthur purred when looking at you, “always on her good ol’ Arthur’s side,” He pressed his lips on the side of your head, laying an enamored kiss upon it. How much you liked his way of showering you with love no matter where you were. Nevertheless, the lighthearted conversation did not last long, for an unpleasant gut feeling alerted all your senses. You slightly pulled away from Arthur and frowned, instinctively looking in Thomas’ direction. He was talking with Ada, his face veiled with a deep worry you had never seen him wearing. Something happened, that was the first thought that crossed your mind — and how right you were. At this moment, Thomas walked to you, his piercing blue eyes expressing concern. You saw him coming before his own brothers.

“Heaven, love? Are ya alri—“

“Boys, have you seen Charlie?” Thomas cut him off.

“Eh…” Arthur softly released you from his sweet embrace to focus on Tommy, “I don’t know. He is playing, ain’t he?” His smile faded away as if he had just sensed that something was wrong.

The wind changed for Thomas Shelby, whose legendary self-control broke down at the moment he realized Charles had disappeared. As your mind proceeded with what was happening, he had already started to go from guest to guest asking if they had seen his son. The more he asked, the more his placid tone turned into the painful roars of a wounded lion. All it took was one tiny second for the whole ceremony to dive into chaos.

Deafened by the sound of your own beating heart racing in your chest, you started to look around you in a vain attempt to find Charles maybe playing under a table or behind furniture. That was all you could do, for your feet seemed stuck in invisible roots that were keeping you from moving. You stood there, useless, for you did not know what to do. Maybe Charles was still here, hidden somewhere to prank his nanny? But all Tommy’s hopes and yours crumbled when Ada, so stunning in her elegant outfit, caught everyone’s attention with precious information.

“Tommy. Someone said they saw a nurse take him through the back door.”

Fuck, you thought.

“Fuck.” Arthur swore out loud, grabbing his sister by the wrists before storming out of the room with the other Shelbys.

Boom. Boom.

You brought your hand to your chest, now convinced your heart was about to burst. Something had definitely happened to Charles — as you had sensed weeks ago at the Garrison. Ripping through the lethargy you were embroiled in, you ran up the stairs and rummaged through each room to look for Charlie. Voices, all mixed, came through the opened window. You froze, listening to them.

“Arthur! Somebody saw a woman and a kid getting into a car.”

“Ah, fuck!”

“CHARLIE!”

“Where is he? Tell me.

_Someone took him. Listen to me! They put in in a car. They put him in a car and drove south. We’ve got roadblocks, we’ve got spotters. I’ll set up shop and put every man we’ve got… between here and Maypole.

_ Right. You do that.

_ You gotta go to the office. You gotta sit by the phone. Whoever took him is going to call. Polly! Let’s go, Pol! Stay by that phone. Me and John will cover the roads.”

And that was how the world collapsed on Thomas’ head. Again.

You looked at his car disappearing in the dull horizon, knowing that dark hours were awaiting all of you. Lost in your thoughts, you did not notice the mighty silhouette of the crow that was staring at you from the nearest tree with his dark beady eyes. A dull caw sound tore the silence that had fallen upon the mansion and snatched you from your anxious mind.

Caw. He mocked.

And to think it had warned you!

When Tommy stormed into the office, all of the family already gathering there, the sound of his soles hammering the wooden floor made the whole skies shiver with fear.

“Where’s Heaven?” He asked, blue eyes looking dagger at Arthur because if someone knew about you it was obviously him.

“Coming. She was with Esme.” His gruff voice retorted, trying to remain calm for Tommy’s sake.

“Esme’s waters broke,” John answered right away, “I was just with her. Running around fucking broke the waters.”

“Where’s Finn?” Thomas insisted.

“With the young’uns looking for the Riley. We couldn’t reach him.” Arthur informed before bringing a glass of whisky to his mouth and taking one big gulp. The fire that trailed down his throat almost made him sigh with momentary relief.

“I need to know who spoke. Our enemies know everything. Everything. I need to know who spoke about business outside of the family. I need to know who spoke, who they’ve spoken to.” Tommy was trying hard to remain calm but his erratic breath and the quick pace of his words betrayed the rage that was boiling within him.

“Tommy…

_ Your future wife, Arthur?”

Arthur’s pinched his lips, swallowing the furious urge to yell at his little brother for uttering such an obnoxious accusation. He looked away as he tried to keep his composure.

“I’m gonna tell myself you’re not thinking straight. Your mind’s not clear.”

“I want to see her now, you hear me?”

It was at this moment you entered the room as if you had been summoned by Thomas’ words. You had appeared in the doorframe without a single noise, Arthur’s dark coat contrasting with the unsettling porcelain of your skin and the fair aquamarine of your iris. There you stood, all the family’s eyes staring at you for they had told you it would have been probably better if you did not come. All of them were more or less aware of Tommy's hostility toward you, and they knew he would certainly find a way to blame you in one way or another.

“Speaking of the Devil.” He said with his most collected tone, while his gaze darkened at the sight of your doll face. If Arthur saw an Angel when looking at you, Thomas could only recognize the threatening shadow of death floating around your silhouette, the long coat you were wearing reminding him of the Grim Reaper’s cloak. All that was missing from the picture was a scythe in your hand, “Did you speak?” He asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You simply replied, walking to Arthur. The wooden floor creaked under your heels. You were already exhausted by his accusations you knew that were awaiting you. But still, you came, because all you wanted was to be where you belonged: by Arthur's side, supporting him.

“I know Arthur can’t keep his fucking mouth shut and tells you everything.” He quickly glanced at his brother, who was staring at an invisible dot on the wall to keep calm, and shifted all his focus back to you again. You clenched your jaw at the petty comment, “So I’m gonna reiterate the question and you’re going to answer me, eh. Did you speak?"

“I did not speak, Tommy. I said nothing.”

“Don't lie to me.” He retorted right after you finished your sentence. His hands, pressed against the table, were now trembling with a rage he desperately tried to tame, “I know you’ve got something to do with all this shit. I know that’s you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Arthur was quicker. Grabbing your wrist in case he needed to protect you from his brother, he stepped between the two of you, “Come on Tommy, I know yer angry and anxious, but that ain’t a reason to accuse her. She didn’t do anything.”

“Ah. Arthur Shelby protecting his damn fallen Angel, I was expecting it" His eyes went from him to you several times, "Do you think she didn’t? So, can you explain why did she tell me to keep an eye on Charles weeks ago?” Tommy's words were coated with poison. The quietness of his voice, highlighted by the rumble of his growling soul, only rendered him more impressive. Silence fell over the office at such a revelation no one knew.

Astounded, Arthur turned to you and, with his brows furrowed in confusion, stared at you, “Did ya — Did ya really say that?”

You blinked, stunned by Thomas’ vivid memory and by the gleam of shock in Arthur’s steel blue eyes.

“Hey, listen. I did not plot behind this family’s back nor did I hurt Charlie or anything.”

“Why would you say that to me then?” Tommy took a few steps toward you. He would usually avoid coming to close to you when other people were around, but you were not sure he would do so this time. You wanted to back off but Arthur’s grip tightened around your wrist, for he did not know what to think anymore. “Whose side are you on, uh?” Tommy asked, "Did anyone ever wonder whose side she's on?"

“I saw a crow on my way to the Garrison and I felt it was a bad omen. And then I had a gut feeling after our conversation. That’s all, Thomas! It was just a damn clairvoyant gut feeling!” You defended yourself, before looking at Arthur, “I swear it’s the truth.”

"Yeah, the truth," Arthur repeated, trying to overcome his insecurities.

“Oh my God, keep your witchcraft-coated excuses for someone else, Heaven. You talked at best, you work with Hughes at worst. After all, you knew him before you came into our lives” Tommy tried to come closer again but Polly grabbed him by the arm, keeping him at a safe distance, “No matter the makeup and the jewels you wear they won’t hide the Devil under there.”

“Don’t imply I have something to do with that fucking bastard!” You hissed through your teeth, hatred blooming within at the sole mention of the name. This time, Arthur’s calloused hands grabbed you by your shoulders to keep you still, for you were starting to get agitated. At this point, he was not sure if he did it to protect you from Tommy, or to protect Tommy from you.

“Heaven, calm down…” He said softly, trying to ease the wildfire of your anger.

“He’s accusing me of Charles’ kidnapping, Arthur! I can’t fucking believe it!” You protested, your doll face wearing injustice like the most beautiful jewel ever crafted. Arthur kept you firmly against his chest, his arms locking around you and his hoarse voice whispering “I know love…” in your ear.

“And I can’t believe you think I'm naive enough to believe you talked to a bloody crow and got a bad feeling. Tell me where’s my son, you Devil.” Thomas growled in the background.

Polly pulled his nephew’s arm, for he was starting to be too harsh with you “Why not? She has brought a bird back to life Tommy. I would not be surprised if she saw it coming one way or another.”

“'Scuse me?” He turned around in one vivid movement, his eyes diving into his Aunt’s. He could not believe what she had just said.

Another silence flew over the room as the rest of the Shelby family confirmed Pol’s information with a nod of the head. All the people in this office had witnessed the extent of your power at the last gathering you had organized in your garden — hence the fact they were not particularly surprised by your sharp instincts. John swallowed, recalling the way the bird first twitched in your small hands before flying away, wings flapping with newly breathed energy.

“Pol’s right, Tom,” Ada started, “I usually don’t believe in these kind of things but it’s true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

It was too much for Tommy, who already was on the very edge of his patience. There went his mind, aching at the thought of his sweet son trapped between the monstrous and disgusting claws of that twisted priest. His boy, the last thing that kept Grace’s memory alive, had been snatched from him and here his family was, defending the one that probably did it. Of course, he believed in supernatural forces — he was convinced a curse took Grace away from him — but Tommy needed a more rational explanation. He needed anything that could help to get Charles back. He brought one of his trembling hands to his mouth, gathering all his remaining strength to restrain himself in such a catastrophic situation, “She resurrected a damn bird, and no one told me…” He said to himself, " She resurrected a bird," He repeated, a faint and nervous chuckle escaping from his lips before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

“Heaven‘s really sensed it, nothing else. You know she would never harm Charles. She felt it coming Tommy. She is… She is gifted. Do you understand how useful she could be?” Polly’s words, coated with both softness and authority, managed to soothe the hurricane of violence that was raging within him. Thomas had stopped talking yet he kept looking at you with anger burning in his ice-cold eyes.

You frowned —still trapped in Arthur’s arms for your own sake—, and looked at Polly.

“Forget it, Pol. He’s not going to change his mind.” You finally said after letting out a long sigh. A part of you was well aware that bargaining with Thomas Shelby was useless. Moving your shoulders, you managed to free yourself from Arthur’s embrace and, to his greatest surprise, made your way to the exit. He almost jumped, catching your hand in his.

“Heaven.”

“No Arthur, this is fucking useless. I am not going to stay here and let him blame me for everything that happens to this family while I did nothing but share my clairvoyant feeling with him. He wants me to prove whose side I’m on? Fine! I’ll do it then! ”

Arthur opened his mouth, thinking about something that could convince you to stay but he knew you were right. He finally lowered his head, jaw clenched and eyes avoiding yours.

“Gonna come with you then,” His gruff voice mumbled.

“No, you stay there.” You said, which made Arthur frown even more and look at you with utter confusion, “Thomas needs you. He’s aching and vulnerable. Stay with him and do what you have to do, Arthur. I'll wait for you.”

“Alright.” He resigned himself, worries making his magnificent eyes shine, “ one last thing.” He said after a few seconds of hesitation.

“Hm?”

“Tell me you have nothing to do with Charles’ kidnapping.” He dared to say, feeling utterly ashamed by the fact he needed reassurance about it. But he had always trusted Tommy more than anyone else and now, he was conflicted between his loyalty to his brother and the maddening love he had for you.

“Arthur… Are you serious?” You asked, your heart hurting at such a demand. A sigh fell from your lips, whose red lipstick made even more hypnotizing. “ I promise I'm not involved in Charles' kidnapping. You have my word.” You finally said as you looked at him right in the eyes, trying to hide the pain.

“I— I trust you,” He paused, “I trust you.” He repeated, then he pulled you in a quick hug to soothe his inner turmoil. To be true, he would have probably died if it turned out you had been toying with his heart all along. But Arthur refused to believe Tommy was right, this awful thought almost leading him to the path of madness again, “Take care, love. See you later.”

You replied with a faint, exhausted smile and left the building, disappearing in the fog of Birmingham’s streets.

The fact remained that Tommy did not feel better after you left.

Or Esme getting cash for cocaine, eh, John?

All of a sudden, back in the family, Ada, eh. That’s a surprise. Out of the blue. On whose orders?

And you and your painter…

Down he went, spiraling into a paranoid craze and, to everyone's greatest surprise, you were not the only one that had triggered it.

The sound of Death Knell resonated in the night, its threatening shadow floating over Birmingham houses and souls. Following Tommy’s plan, John and Arthur roamed through the train station with the firm will of spreading calculated chaos at 10 o’clock in a grandiose murderous explosion. You can go with them but it’s better if you let them do the job, that was more or less what Arthur had told him before he left. Despite the orders given, Michael managed to leave the two henchmen behind and reached Hughes’ church without getting caught by another Peaky Blinder. It was not that Tommy’s plan was poor, but he indubitably needed to take care of this business alone. No one around him seemed to understand how deep his pain was entangled with Father Hughes. He had to wipe the priest out by himself — he had promised it to his little self after many sleepless nights recalling his dirty hands wandering on him.

And he did.

Michael was panting, a mix of thick repugnant blood and sweat dripping from his face. Still straddling Father Hugues’ corpse, the young Blinders’ hands were frozen on the knife he had thrust into the priest’s throat. The hot and sticky sensation almost made him throw up when it first poured over his skin. A crimson puddle had already formed under the body, growing bigger and bigger as minutes passed. And when that same puddle reached the floor’s grooves, it filled them with dark red blood and drew patterns on the wood.

Another grunt escaped from Michael’s quivering lips as he slowly realized what he had done. He killed. Again.

All wobbly on his legs, Michael Gray still managed to stand up and took a few steps back, his hand leaning on a bench. His fair eyes did not shift from Father Hughes’ motionless body for he forced himself to look at him— there lied the monster who had terrified him for years. There lied the child eater, his neck opened and his obscene glassy eyes staring blankly at the church’s ceiling.

Coming back to his senses the best he could, Michael stumbled to the heavy door of the room from which Father Hughes came out and opened it. All he wanted was to carry Charles in his arms, telling him everything would be fine, and flee from this cursed place. Yet, his heart missed a beat when he entered the small room and realized Charles was not there.

“Fuck!” Michael blurted out. Panic kicked in again as he tried to come up with a solution, or at least an idea of what to do. He knew he had to think, and he had to think pretty fast because Charles' life was threatened. He needed to find the kid before it was too late. The main reason behind his dedication was not only to show his worth, but also to keep a child from suffering at an Hughes’ hands ever again. However, Michael's thinking process shattered in pieces when he heard the heartbreaking cries of a kid yelling at the top of his lungs. Blood froze in his veins as he recognized Charles’ voice.

Following the screams, there was a thundering noise of something heavy dropped to the floor, and nothing. Nothing except a chilling silence that brought goosebumps to his pale flesh.

Oh no.

Michael stood still in the loud silence, as petrified as an animal in front of the blinding headlights of a car.

No, no, no!

They’ve killed him, he thought. Of course, they did. Father Hughes was probably not alone in that bloody church, even though Tommy said he did not expect them to come. Someone was here and took advantage of the chaos of his fight with Hughes to grab Charles and hurt him. Whoever his accomplice was, they had just ended Charles's life and it was all his fault. If only he had listened to Arthur. If only he had let the two henchmen do their job and handle the situation. Guilt started to beat him.

Michael shook his head, hoping it was not too late, and ran toward the direction the noise and cries came from. His heart raced in his chest as his legs almost automatically moved, winding up his anxiety like a mechanical toy, and led him to a second room he did not see at first.

“HANDS UP YOU BASTARD!” Michael yelled, storming into the room that was directly linked to a backdoor exit: the perfect spot for Hughes’ accomplice to flee with the kid in case of emergency. Or to kill him in case something happened to the priest. Pointing his gun in front of him, Michael was ready to shoot, hatred blazing in his eyes. He winced at the foul and slightly metallic smell of blood that jumped at his face as he entered the place. Michael was a brave boy. He was ready to use violence. He was ready to actively take part in the family business. Hell, he was even ready to die if that was what he had to do, but there was one thing no one prepared him to face and it was what he saw in this place.

“Oh my God!”

He cried out, his breath hitching with panic as his blue eyes, filled with tears, first caught sight of a second corpse lying in a lake of blood. If Hughes' dead body was already gruesome, it was nothing compared to his accomplice's.

The man, who was strong in stature and impressive in height, was staring at him with blank eyes, silently begging for help. His petrified face, splattered with dark blood, was distorted in a terrified expression as if he had seen the Devil itself before dying. Yet the cause of the poor lad’s death was not fright, but rather the dozen stabbing wounds that scattered his body, and the pair of huge scissors that was deeply stuck into his neck. Michael could not help but step back, so disoriented by the macabre spectacle that was in front of his bewildered eyes that he dropped the gun Tommy had given him. The sound it made when it crashed on the floor caused Charles to cry again.

“Shhhh, everything’s fine Charlie. Everything’s fine. Keep your eyes closed.” A soft and enchanting voice raised in the room, like it did the night Arthur wandered aimlessly to church. For a few seconds, Michael was convinced the voice did not come from a human being. It sounded so foreign, so alluring, it could only belong to an angel of justice, whose avenging blade fell on Hughes' associate. Then he saw her, the creature, and his eyes widened even more.

“Bloody fucking hell.“ He really tried to say something else but his brain could not proceed with the sight of Arthur’s woman holding Charles in her arms, her sweet angel face and frail body entirely covered with crimson stains.

“I know.” You simply replied, one of your hands tenderly resting behind Charles’ head to keep him from looking at the butchered dead man that had fallen on the floor when your scissors tore his jugular vein.

Michael stood still, staring at you with utter shock.

"How?" He managed to ask, one sole tear running down his cheek.

"Please Michael, don't ask questions. I just — I just want to go home." You whispered, the far too familiar smell of blood and after-taste of murder making your head spin. You closed your eyes for one second to keep the traumatizing images of your past from flooding your brain and let out a shaky exhale. When you came back to your senses, you walked to Michael and put Charles in his arms, still careful to keep the corpse out of his sight. Then you left the room.

As you passed by Father Hughes, you stopped and looked at him from above, indescribable hatred blazing in your iris.

"See you in Hell, sale fils de pute — You son of a bitch — "

Michael followed, still unable to keep his eyes away from your mesmerizing frame scattered with blood drop like millions of precious rubies. The way you looked at Hughes' corpse resonated with him so much he could not help but talk.

" Did he..." He left his sentence hanging, but you understood what he meant.

"No, he did not. But he still found another way to be the cause of my sorrow," You glanced at Michael from above your shoulder, "I'm glad you killed this bastard. There are people whose souls can't be saved, and he is one of them."

"Yes, he definitely is." Charles had calmed down in his arms, lulled by the soft movements as Michael walked outside the church by your side, "what about the second man?"

"He was about to kill Charlie and then come for you." You replied, trying your best to forget the unpleasant sensation of half coagulated blood on your delicate skin. Michael took a while to process the information and realized you had probably saved his and Charles' life.

"Are you okay?" He asked. His question brought a faint yet terribly melancholic smile to your lips for it reminded you that you had broken the only promise you did to yourself. The promise of not taking another life ever again.

"Are you?" You replied to his interrogation by another one.

"No, I'm not. I feel... Empty."

"So, you already know the answer."

When the door opened and Michael entered the house with Charles sobbing in his arms, Polly and Ada ran towards him and cried in relief as they hugged the child. Polly soon focused on his own son, whose blank expression left no doubt on what he had to do to save Tommy’s kid… He killed, and it changed him forever. She laid a gentle hand on his cheek, checking on him with tears in her eyes, knowing she could not do anything to ease Michael's pain anymore -- and what was more awful for a mother than watching his child suffer without being able to do something about it? What snatched her from the sorrowful conclusion she had come to was Ada’s gasp, who had just realized Michael was not alone. You had followed him, a cold expression etched on your face and a myriad of red ink stains soiling your whiteness.

“She helped,” Michael stated with a tired voice before anyone had the time to say something, “She helped me save him.”

Ada looked at you with surprise, trying to discover the mysteries your traits hid so well, but her focus was far too disrupted by the frightening amount of blood that was covering you. Blood everywhere on the stunning, little, murderous creature she never thought you were. Many questions raged in her skull, like a tornado of thoughts and speculations. After what seemed to be a whole eternity, she managed to speak,

“For God’ sake… It could have been dangerous!” She said, blinded to the simple possibility you had just killed someone without batting an eye, "You are wounded! Look at the blood!"

You sighed and remained silent, stealing the silver cigarette case that was on the nearby furniture. The tip of your tongue moistened your juicy lips, whose corner was stained with red lipstick you smeared all over your skin when you had tried to wipe the blood that had splattered on your face.

"It's not mine."

Your hands were still shaking from what you had to do, unpleasantly recalling their past crimes. Then, you slipped one cigarette between your teeth and lit it with the zippo you found in the pocket of Arthur’s coat that was still on your shoulders. Shivering with cold despite the fire burning in the hearth, you nestled a bit more in his coat in a desperate attempt to find a substitute for your man's comforting warmth.

"I beg your pardon? Whose blood is it?" She almost choked with surprise. Then it struck her. "Heaven..."

You did not say a single word and kept smoking in almost religious silence.

"Who the hell are you?" Ada inquired, her shaky voice coated with an odd mix of fear and fascination stirred by the eerie aura that was all around you.

You took a long puff from your cigarette before staring deep at Ada’s beautiful eyes. You looked at her for a while, then shift your focus on the fire burning in the fireplace. You watched the flames dance, the sound of wood cracking sending shivers down your spine. Ada swallowed, waiting for your answer. She, who had defended you in front of Tommy a bit earlier, could not tell anymore if you were the hero they needed or the villain they had to fear.

Saint or sinner? Spell or prayer? Blessing or curse?

Who are you, she asked.

“I am the one they really should have burned.”

A cloud of smoke came from your mouth as if hellfire was burning within you.

And somehow, it was certainly the case.

✞ gif by the talented @alicent-targaryen

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Normally, each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alone but not this one. It's far more enjoyable if you have read at least the previous chapter.

Tag: @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybridrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd

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l0velylecter · 2 years ago

Text

say yes to me — simon ‘ghost’ riley / f!reader

— “like a barge at sea, in the storm, i stay clear.”

— 'FAITH WILL GET YOU KILLED.’ HE sounded tired, sad even. The mist was starting to crowd you from all sides. Above, snowflakes danced in the light: a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. You tentatively reached out to brush the masked cheek with your thumb, putting on your best smile even if tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

‘ Well, you've kept me safe. Haven’t you, Simon?’

summary : when his enemies used your history with simon against him, the soldier begins to reflect on your relationship, well, whatever was left of it: even after the divorce, life still finds a way to drag you back into the crossfire, back to him. pairing : simon ‘ghost’ riley / f! reader fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii rating : m for mature and suggestive themes, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, cursing, references to past substance abuse, arguments that may be anxiety inducing to some, anger management issues from simon tags : angst, hurt and comfort, simon struggling to face his emotions, divorce, reunion after years, scenes with brief descriptions of sex in it, female parts, fab!reader, told in parts, refrences to his past from the comics, a small headcanon about his (dead) mom word count : 1.7k song used for inspiration : yes to heaven by lana del rey & my blood by ellie goulding

01 | Simon rescued you in winter. Sedated by the wind, the city's heartbeat begins to fade; the air — cold with the promise of snow. It distracted you from the fact that you were bleeding, your blouse clinging to the warm and wet wound. It also made hearing harder: past the ringing in your ears, you could hear him shouting, movements rushed as he knelt to haul your body atop his lap. The familiar string of curses erasing any suspicions of his identity.

" Simon." You rasped, smiling even if everything was hurting," My Simon."

" Keep your eyes open." He ordered, " Don't you fucking close them."

He told you to focus on something, anything to keep you awake. So you anchored yourself to how he curled his finger around your shoulders because even if his eyes were stern to save his composure, his grip says otherwise. He has always held onto you as if you were going to slip away, tightly, surely. As if Simon wanted to convince himself that you weren't a dream ready to be ripped away from him by the morning ( but maybe this was the first time he wished otherwise). He'd tap your cheek from time to time. The brief and sharp sting prying your eyes open.

Simon adjusted you across his lap, your body rocking as the helicopter landed roughly. Somewhere along the way, a confession had slipped past your mouth, "I thought...you wouldn't come."

There was a quick flash of anger across his face: fingers twitching and knees tensing beneath you.

" I won't next time."

When you woke up in a hospital bed, a nurse went to alert the doctor, the empty chair by the foot of the bed staring back at you. 02 | Simon left you in spring. He didn't visit, didn't call, didn't write. You didn't expect him to anyway, carrying on with your life as if you'd never seen him in the first place. The whole thing felt like a hallucination. Seeing Simon again felt like witnessing a premonition of a ghost who should be good as dead to you. Yet your stitches said otherwise, and so did Captain Jonathan Price, his visit an overdue prediction that came true late in May. The bouquet resting against your vase was supposedly an apology for the intrusion — " I was raised proper."

" Let me guess. Simon's angry with me."

Price lowered his cigar, mouth curling downwards, " No. Not at you."

You relaxed against the couch. You wouldn't be so careless to claim that Simon trusted him, but at the very least, you knew he respected the man. You reminisced about the first time you met Price ( even then, he had a cigar hanging from his mouth). He had hauled Ghost past your doorway: bloody, battered, and bruised. That must've been at least seven or eight years ago when you'd just started living with your husband.

Right, you swallowed, catching yourself — when he was your husband.

As if hearing your thoughts, Price sighed, " You weren't on any official records. There was no documentation, no pictures. Nothing. No one knew about you."

" And now?"

" His team suspects, but I doubt there'll be any external witnesses left to ever pull a bloody stupid stunt like that again."

You raised your brow.

" He went after everyone in that warehouse. No survivors. No witnesses."

The image of Simon covered head to toe with blood, eyes furious and lethal, flashed before your eyes. It would make sense why he wouldn't want to rescue you next time because, after his purge, you doubt there would be anyone — anything left to hurt you. He's on leave now. Simon says he wants to be thorough.

You could barely keep it together when gesturing at the flowers, " Tell him I said thank you."

Price asked how you knew it was from Simon — " The staff in the center used to teach classes on flowers. That included gardening, making bouquets, and learning meaning behind them. After...after what they did to him, he wouldn't talk for months. I guess that class was his way of trying to fill in the silence. Daffodils bloom first during spring: new beginnings, sorries. I taught him that. He used to get me them all the time.”

You shook your head, feeling helpless, “He hasn't changed." 03 | Simon’s kisses felt like summer: hot, intense, and angry — his lips burned against your skin. He crowded you against the wall of your apartment, a behemoth of a man even out of his tactical gear, leaving you with barely any space to touch him.

You whined, begging him to slow down, yet he kissed you with teeth and tongue and urgency. When he cupped your chin roughly with both hands, angling your face under the dim light from the kitchen: peeling back the silhouette to take a good look at you, flushed, panting, and crying.

He growled into your mouth, hoisting you up his waist, " You should've paid more attention. He could have fucking hurt you."

You winced, recalling the events that took place: how the midsummer heat stung your skin as you quickened your pace to get away from the man who had followed you down the block. The moment you pulled your keys out to unlock the door, he had picked up his pace, only to scram the moment Simon appeared behind you. He would have gone after the attacker if you had not gripped his arm for support, overwhelmed: your knees nearly gave out. As if possessed by an irresistible force, the sight of you weakly clinging onto him and on the brink of tears had compelled Simon to undo years of restraint — which would explain why you can taste the frustration in his mouth.

" You'll always protect me. I know it," You managed in between kisses. Briefly, you wondered how long Simon's been looking out for you. Was this what he chose to do on the rare occasions he was off the field? All those times he probably saw you on dates: trying and failing to get over him. All those times you cried about him. All those times you bought yourself daffodils.

There was something bittersweet at how he seemed to remember the way to the bedroom you used to share, legs finding their way when he was too occupied with you. And you couldn't swallow the tinge of sadness swelling in your chest when you remember every touch, from how he loves to kiss down your back to how he feels inside you; angling you in a way that hits all the right spots. He pistoned in and out of you almost brutally, your body pliant and welcoming under him, blooming at the memory. And when he inserts himself to the hilt, you moaned because you never forgot: how could you forget? It was as if time never passed between the two of you, it was natural, it was instinct, it was like coming home.

When he finally pulled out, leaving you throbbing and empty, you whispered for him to stay — fingers latching onto his when he stood up. And you scrambled to seize the moment he sat back down, breaking down against his chest, words pouring out of your mouth. I missed you. I never wanted you to leave. I still love you. I'll always love you.

He didn't need to take off the rest of his balaclava for you to know what he was thinking: I don't want to hurt you. Because I will hurt you.

You lay in the dark for a few seconds, five seconds turn to fifteen, turn to thirty, sixty. And when the first rays of sunlight came to wake you gently, Simon was gone. With the bedroom door slightly ajar, the left side of the bed was neat and spotless. Your legs — still warm and wet. 04 | Simon married you in autumn. You remembered how cold it was that day. Even inside the church, the air was frigid, yet still — the silence was only interrupted when the vicar entered. ( The church was not only for privacy, he said, but also for his late mother. Finally, it was a first and rare glimpse into his past. She was baptised here.)

You had nervously glanced at him, smiling lopsidedly with eyes bright and hopeful. Yet Simon remained passive, eyes only wavering when you started reciting their vows. It was the only time Simon had shown any real fear in front of you, and you remembered what you did that day. You had gripped his hand tightly in yours the entire time, kissing each finger before he gave you your ring.

You explained how the joy of having him carry you up the steps of your home was short-lived, washed under the reality of his pain. There was the temper, the drinking, the insults. The moment arguments got out of control and silent treatments turned too cruel — he started pushing you away, hoping to cut you off to prevent watching you fall apart himself.

"You underestimated me, Simon. That was the worst part," you finished, ending your story with a weak shrug, " I would've stayed if you had just asked me to. You know I would. I have faith in you, Simon. In us. I still do."

Outside, the shades of yellow and orange swept over the barren ground, except for a few sprouts of daffodils, stubbornly persevering through small miracles. The wind down the mountain slithered past the holes of the old wooden roof as whistles. They ring softly against the silence, echoing down the Rhenish helm. Today would have marked a decade's worth of anniversary, but now it's just become a resting ground for him to haunt — the sight of Simon without a mask, sitting by the pew and staring up at you, a memory you want to burn on the back of your head.

" Faith will get you killed," he sounded tired, sad even. The mist was starting to crowd you from all sides. Above, snowflakes danced in the light: a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. You tentatively reached out to brush the masked cheek with your thumb, putting on your best smile even if tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

" Well, you've kept me safe. Haven’t you, Simon?"

There was a pause, and you swore the wind held its breath in anticipation with you, waiting, pleading for him to agree at the chance to start again with you. Say yes to me, your fingers whispered, tentatively brushing his hand. Heavy snow is due to arrive early, marking new beginnings: the birth of a new season, the start of his deployment, but to you, a long and terrible winter just ended the moment he kissed each finger to hold your hand.

a/n : zoo wee mama, that took a toll on me. all in one sitting because i am yearning for a domestic life with this man even if i know it will not be easy. fear not simon, i might be senstive and cry the moment someone slightly raise their voice at me, but i am loyal to the bone ( and just delusional enough ). i know this leans more on the reader’s perspective and very ‘read in between the lines’ aka vague, so i hope this style is enjoyable still to read. i personally have to mark this as one of my favorite ficlets / works , cause i love seeing simon suffer. speaking about seeing simon suffer, this is dedicated to : → @flaneurpastel : your support of my angsty simon fics and my work overall in general is something i really cherish, i’ve only briefly had this account but i am so thankful for your support !! and your works are amazing... here’s to more angsty simon fics ! → @gh0stswh0re : you are the first page i follow on here and the first account to actually get my ass moving to write about cod : mw ii because your works are jiust *chef’s kiss*, and i’m so excited for your december writing plan... i’m booking front seat ! → everyone who reblogged and liked my angsty simon fics... you guys keep me going mwah x + note on timeline : → the comics talk about simon’s past, he was tortured and needed to go to rehab around 2003-2004 ish, so i assumed he spent a couple years then in therapy / rehab for substance abuse because he needed to cope, and that’s where you met him. marriage happened right after he got revenge on roba and right when he was first employed by 141 ( which probably was why it didn’t work out ) and ever since then it’s just been longing and heartache. and 2022 rolls up, which is cod : mw ii, and i assume this is probably before or after las almas and shadow company ! → feel free to adjust it if it’s better for you or correct me if i’m off or wrong !

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hanmaenthusiast · 3 years ago

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Always and Forever

“I like the sound of that Angel.”

inui x f!reader

warnings - mdni🔞, praise, mutual pining?, sofa sex, oral (female receiving), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, riding, body worship, creampie, basically vanilla smut, slight fluff, profanity, use of pet names such as angel and darling, one mention of blood.

synopsis - you and Inui had been living together for a while, one night he comes home wounded after being attacked at work, you have no choice but to help him out in one way or another.

a/n - this is my first post on tumblr & first time attempting smut! apologies for any mistakes, i’m hoping to write more in the future & get better at it lol, anyway the lack of inui on this app is killing me >:(

wc - 2,950

It was late, much later than usual. Seishu still hadn’t come home considering his shift finishes around 4 on a Saturday, you kept your gaze on the clock which continued to tick past 7pm. You found yourself worrying again, worrying about all the possibilities that could’ve happened to him. I mean it was normal to be this concerned, especially since your long term roommate was an ex gang member.

Once again you started pacing around the room, fingers etching to send another distressing ‘where are you?’ or ‘tell me you’re not dead’ text. Seishu’s stern words replayed in your mind ‘Stop worrying about me Y/N, focus on yourself for once’ as you remembered his constant lectures.

Finally gathering yourself together, a set of keys jamming into the front door caught your attention. Sprinting down the stairs your eyes glued onto Inui’s figure as he stood slightly hunched with a prominent bloody gash on his forehead.

“Seishu what the fuck?” you exclaimed, almost passing out at the sight in front of you. It was like you had premonitions about this scenario only seconds before he made his apperance.

“Agh, not so loud, my head is sore.” he groaned, running a hand through his hair after locking the door behind him. He shuffled his way into the room latching onto your arm for support.

“I can quite well see that, sit down over there i’ll clean you up.” you helped him over to the dining table, placing him down onto one of the wooden seats.

Inui told you what happened, how he was suddenly attacked by a group of presumed male gang members at the motor shop unbeknownst to why it played out. Your gut tightened at the story, afraid of any future encounters with them.

“Jesus, they got you good huh. You have to be more aware from now on, where was Draken hm? You better tell him i’ll-“

“Y/N.” Seishu let out a low sigh, he cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

His gemlike pearls fixed onto yours, exchanging a sombre look. You could tell he didn’t need to hear your berating.

“Sorry.” you muttered continuing to clean up his wound.

Ever since you met Inui, you stuck together like glue both having similar interests and mutual acquaintances made it easier to find a blossoming friendship. Of course, you felt a little more than friends towards Inui continuously expressing your feelings from early on.

“Y’know you’re super cute Seishu-“ you tilted your head, hovering it above his “no wonder there’s tons of people feening over you, me included.” you added, tracing a finger over his scar as he lay his head on your lap.

“Yeah? Same goes for you Y/N.” he replied with his tone full of sarcasm, according to him you were making a joke.

This continued for months, constantly sharing flirty remarks but never pursuing one another. Some people had their suspicions, Draken especially, always assuming you’re both in a secret relationship.

“Oi, Seishu your girlfriend’s outside.” Draken nodded towards the entrance of the shop, wiping his hands clean with a rag.

Inui exhaled followed with a roll of his eyes. “She’s just a friend Ken, i’ve told you this multiple times.”

“Seriously just a friend? That mean i have a chance ‘nupi?” Draken giggled, elbowing his colleague in the arm.

“Don’t you dare even try it.” Seishu warned him.

“There, all cleaned up. There’s some leftovers in the fridge too if you’re hungry.” you declared, but before you could retreat back to the sofa, a soft hand grasped you wrist.

“Thank you, genuinely Y/N. I hope you know i’m grateful for everything you do.”

His glossy eyes stared into yours as his sincere words spilled from his mouth. Seishu’s gaze left you with butterflies, a feeling of comfort you would admit, it was odd to see him so thankful seeing as you should be considered a burden to him for how often you seek his safety.

“I know you are, buuut all that praise will have my ego inflating, on another note it was kinda hot seeing your face all bloody.” you laughed kissing above his wound gently before finding a seat on the sofa.

Moments later Inui joined you, resting his head on your shoulder making use of the rest of the couch as he sprawled out his legs. Once he was settled, you both shared a mutual silence watching the TV.

...11:04pm

Your narrowing eyes scanned over your phone, squinting at it’s bright screen shining into your pupils as you attempted to read the time. ‘Shit, must’ve fell asleep.’ you concluded, shifting your weight onto your elbow as you propped up.

You noticed the familiar blondie sleeping tirelessly beside you, an arm positioned lazily over of your waist. Seishu was sound asleep, or so you thought, his ruffled hair tickling your cheeks as you found yourself laying back down facing towards him.

“So precious.” you whispered, lifting your palm gently onto his face as your thumb rubbed slow circles against his pale skin. This was probably the closest you and Seishu had been, cuddled together, bodies attached to one another seeing as the sofa wasn’t roomy enough.

“That feels nice.” Seishu whispered, his soft spoken voice breaking the silence. He brought his hand to yours, placing it on top as he matched your movements, fingers delicately tracing your skin.

“Oh- uhm, well it looks like we fell asleep, i hope you feel somewhat better after having a nap.” you croaked, suddenly feeling the heat rush to your face from embarrassment. Before you lingered around any longer, you sat upright as your back faced Seishu’s figure “I’ll let you rest a little longer-“

“No, stay.” he grabbed your wrist once again, restricting you from fleeing the scene. “Please…for me?” he pleaded, one arm resting on top of his forehead as the other hand was still wrapped around your wrist.

You hesitated, only for a second until you shortly gave into his innocent eyes face paired with a soppy look. “Anything for you Seishu.” you lay back down, again facing towards him on your side.

“Perfect.” he muttered a breathy whisper, a small smile formed on his face along with his emerald eyes flexing a lustrous stare. A dainty finger of his trailed across your cheek moving a strand of hair from your face.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed again, almost tongue-tied especially in this situation. You and Seishu were admittedly always close but never this intimate.

Once again the atmosphere grew silent but before you could mutter a word, Seishu let out a sigh. “You’re…perfect.” Inui murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Seishu…” a soft exhale escaped your lips.

Inui’s hand found it’s way to your chin, gently lifting it upwards so you were eye level to him. “Can i kiss you, Y/N?” his thumb swiped a slow stripe along your lower lip.

You nodded in reply, discreetly trying to hide your inner enthusiasm as you closed your eyes allowing Inui to take the lead. Seishu’s lips planted a longed for soft-lipped peck against yours, gradually finding motion as he continued kissing your lips.

The thumping of your heart increased, focusing only on the rhythm of how soft and velvety Seishu’s lips felt against your own. His a hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer against him without breaking contact.

Your free hand grasped his blonde locks, running your fingers messily through his hair. Your lips begun to plump, meshing together with Seishu’s perfectly as he slipped his needy tongue into your mouth.

“You- don’t know…how long i’ve- wanted this.” his voice muttered between kisses, claiming your lips after every word. You felt yourself grinding ever so slightly against Inui’s thigh, hoping to release the friction caused by his tongue senselessly invading the depths of your mouth.

Faint whimpers escaped your lips as you continued to slowly rock yourself against Inui’s lower half. “Seishu~“ you panted quietly “N-need more.” your hand balled up his shirt, gripping onto it for support.

Inui’s hand which recently held onto your waist found itself sneakily travelling under your cami, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra. He made quick work of removing your shirt slowly followed by slipping off your undergarment.

“God, you’re gorgeous Y/N. So fucking gorgeous.” he admitted, lips tracing along the outline of your jaw as his eyes glistened at the sight of your naked breasts exposed in front of him. “Prettiest tits ever.” His soft hands ghosting over your breasts, thumb and pointer finger capturing one of your hardened nubs beginning to knead the flesh of your mounds.

Seishu slowed his pace, a small string of saliva connected your lips as he broke the kiss. “Tell me what you need angel. Although i must say, the rutting against my leg isn’t very discreet darling.” he joked letting out a small chuckle, eyes glancing down to your clothed needy cunt.

“Want you to…“ you struggled to express your needs, unable to finish your sentence as you buried your face into his chest out of embarrassment. “Don’t go all shy on me now angel, use your words for me okay?” Seishu placed a hand over your tight shorts, pads of his fingers rubbing against your clothed pussy as moved them up and down ever so slightly.

“Ngh! Want more of that, please Seishu.” you choked, almost begging on your knees asking him to please your throbbing cunt. Seishu made quick work of removing your lower garments, pulling down your shorts as he was met with your drenched panties.

“Look at that mess darling, you got this wet just for me?” he caressed your face again, helping you lay underneath him as he moved further down to your lower area, delicately peppering kisses along your stomach.

Inui’s hot breath fanned lightly over your clit “May i?” he questioned. “Yes Seishu.” you replied almost immediately, lifting your hips a little higher to allow easier access to your heat.

Inui’s hands spread your things, gripping onto them for support. His tongue licked a stripe between your folds, coating your cunt with his spit. “Mhm, just how i imagined.” Seishu continued to speak careless whispers into your cunt, his tongue twirling it’s way onto your throbbing clit ultimately forcing you to grind your hips on his face.

His tongue toyed with your bud, circling hearts as he pleasured your arousal. Inui slipped a finger into your entrance, slowly pushing it further before adding a second finger in to accommodate it. “Seishu! Fuck!” you cried out, moaning into you palm.

“Let me hear that voice of yours Y/N.” Inui encouraged you, his eyes staring from above your seeping cunt fingers pumping into you at an increasing speed. “Ngh! Seishu- i’m close!” your hand pushing his head further into your pussy.

Inui’s fingers padded against your sweet spot, curling in motion as he pumped them in and out of your cunt. His tongue continued licking your throbbing clit sucking onto it simultaneously. “Fuck, Y/N, gonna make me cum from that look on your face.” he moaned, fingers scissoring into you faster.

“Fuck~ Seishu- i’m-“ you were cut off by your own moans, legs shaking from the sudden orgasm as your wet slick spilled from your entrance. “Good girl.” Inui let out a hoarse whisper as he pulled his fingers out which glistened in the dim light covered from the tip of his finger to his knuckles in your own cum.

Inui stuck his digits into his mouth, sucking off every last drop of you. “You did so well for me angel, i’ve waited so long for this exact moment.” he exclaimed, hovering above your face before kissing you on the lips again.

“Seishu…i need more of you, right now.” you demanded, a hand palming the tent growing in his pants. Seishu picked you up, resulting in you straddling his lap on the sofa as he sat beneath you. You lifted your hips before quickly pulling down his shorts letting his cock immediately spring free.

Your eyes grew wide. You never expected Seishu to have such a pretty cock, nevermind larger than you’d have imagined. “Like what you see? Seem’s like you underestimated me darling.” he caressed your waist “Lift yourself up for a sec.” as he tapped the outer side of your thigh.

“Wait- wait…i’m on birth control.” you mentioned stopping Inui from getting a condom from the drawers. “You sure about this?” he smirked somewhat enjoying the fact he gets to fuck you raw the first time.

You nodded again, his tip begun toying against your wet folds before casually slipping the head into your dripping entrance. “Agh~ Fuck Seishu!” you let out a breathy moan, eventually taking the full length of his cock. “So tight, ngh- oh fuck.” Inui spoke, guttural whimpers releasing from the depths of his throat as he buried himself deep inside your cunt.

His hands gripped your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he pulled you gently down onto him. You both adjusted to the position, flashing Seishu a look of encouragement as he slowly started to bounce you on his cock, his hips slightly lifting along with yours.

“You like that yeah? Look at those pretty tits.” he mewled as he buried his face onto one of your exposed breasts, tongue ravaging your perky nipples. “Faster- please.” your hand finding its way to the back of his neck.

Inui bucked his hips into you, bouncing you faster onto his rock hard cock. The smacks of your ass echoed throughout the room as they collided with Seishu’s thighs, your tits bouncing along with every movement as Inui pounded further into your cunt. He quickened his pace again, this time you begun grinding faster matching with his speed in which your legs almost turned to jelly from the fastened movements.

“G’na cum so quick baby~.” you whined, dragging out his pet name whilst throwing your head back as he plowed into your pussy. The adrenaline mixed with arousal was too much, your eyes beginning to roll back from the way Seishu’s tip prodded against your g-spot like he was a miner digging for gold.

Seishu kept a firm grip on your ass, still pounding into you as he continued sucking on your tits giving each one equal attention. “Need- agh- your cum on my cock darling.” manoeuvring his hand to your pulsating clit as he thumbed your nub generously. “Yes ngh~ want you so bad Seishu, want your cum inside me.” you choked out, drawing out your moans from the stimulation his cock was causing as he abused your sex.

Inui flipped you over, cock still fucking your tight cunt as you lay on your back, legs wrapping around his waist. “I’ll fuckin’ give it to you Angel, fill- agh- you up with my cum real good.” he cooed, voice almost gravelly from his own moaning.

He smacked his hips against your ass, cock slipping from your hole a few times. “Wettest cunt I've had.” Inui quipped. “The only cunt you’ll ever have from now.” you sent another remark back.

“I like the sound of that Angel.”

His fingers padded against your clit, vigorously rubbing against it paying close attention to the nub. “Shit- g’na cum gorgeous.” Inui let out another guttural moan “Let’s- cum together.” he ordered you, quickly intertwining your fingers with his as he took your hand.

Seishu somehow gathered his stamina letting out a few final hard thrusts along with you bucking into him, your walls gradually spasming around his cock. “Agh- Fuck~” you simultaneously croaked, Inui came inside your cunt. Your wet slick spilled all over his cock along with your insides overflowing with Seishu’s seed.

A slow and steady pace allowed you to both ride out your highs, Seishu caressed your cheek removing your hair stuck to your face. “My god you’re gorgeous Y/N.” he pulled himself out, the mess inside leisurely spilling from your entrance.

“Hold on Angel, I'll clean you up.” Seishu grabbed a rag from the washroom, helping you gently as he tided the mess. He came back in his nightwear, seemingly grabbed a shirt that was his which he placed over your head, covering your exposed body just before he lay beside you on the sofa.

Inui held you tight against him, wrapping his arms around your figure. He knew how to make you feel safe and extremely comfortable, only two of the things on your never ending list of praise for him.

After a short lived moment of silence, you exhaled out a tired sigh “Seishu...I think I lo-”

“I love you, Y/N.”

You jolted. Almost speechless at his sudden confession, dumbfounded even, burying your face away from his vision once again “No fair, I was gonna say it first.” you complained, lightly pushing his chest. “I wanted to be the first to say it-” he reassured your complaints “I was just looking for the right time.”

“Crazy how it was after you fucked me, eh?” shooting a cheeky wink towards his face. “Yeah right it was a spur of the moment, you were about to say it too.” he spoke in defence, giving you a kiss on the forehead as an apology.

“Not sure why I waited so long, I guess I was just afraid of hurting you.” his answer was sincere, stroking your hair tenderly “I really do love you Y/N-”

“Not to mention how my head no longer hurts, all thanks to you.” Inui gloated.

You sighed, probably in relief after realising the love you shared for him wasn't just some one sided waste for all these years. “I love you too Seishu-” you replied.

“...always and forever.”

#seishu inui #inui seishu #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #inui x y/n #inupi seishu #tokyo revengers inui #inui x reader #seishu inui x reader

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milf-harrington · 2 years ago

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actually i know i already replied @that-was-anticlimactic but im also gonna make this its own post bc it means that much to me so:

Seftan and David's wedding.

Like i said in an earlier post, Seftan was raised in a rich family. So he spent a majority of his childhood being dragged to these huge fancy events and forced into uncomfortable fancy clothes, reprimanded for not using the right knot for his tie, told to stand up straight and be polite and look nice.

Because of this, Seftan always dreaded the idea of an actual wedding. He always knew he was going to marry a man, but the details around it had also always been blurry, the kind of premonitions that are never clear until he's in the moment; so he was more than happy with simply going to a courthouse and getting it over with. A big event just felt too similar to his stifling, snobby childhood.

But David- David had always wanted a wedding. It was one of those things he secretly dreamed of as a kid, something he joked about with his sister and his cousins when they were drunk as teenagers. He wanted the flowers and the dance and the walk down the aisle.

A wedding was something theyd talked about, bc they learned to communicate after the rockier moments in the early years of their relationship, and David understood and respected Seftan's discomfort surrounding the idea of a wedding, and he tried to make his peace with not having one.

But Seftan loves his man so much.

So he gets coffee with David's sister, and a few months later claims he wants to try his hand at landscaping and starts clearing out the backyard like some sort of possessed gardener.

On their anniversary, Seftan tells David to dress up nice and then to wait in the kitchen for further instructions, and David does bc he's gotten used to just going with Seftan's weirdness, but then. his fucking dad walks in, also dressed nicely (but like. a comfortable nice yknow? like a button up and good jeans, v similar to davids own outfit) and he's all grinning and excited and now David is suspicious but he follows along when his dad links their arms and leads him outside and it's just.

Its fairy lights strung between the trees, and rows of garden chairs and flowers and an archway that Seftan very stubbornly tried to build on his own before asking for help from David's cousins and nephew, and the song playing is from Seftans cleaning playlist, the one they always dance to, and basically: they have a surprise backyard wedding on the anniversary of the day they agreed to be boyfriends, and they fully wing their vows (but its not that hard, its the same promises theyve been making with every touch or kiss or act of service their entire relationship) and Seftans wearing floral jeans and a white button up and glittery eyeshadow and he'd recently given himself a buzzcut and bleached his hair bc its his wedding and his parents arent invited and he can wear what he bloody well wants to

and they have the reception just,, in their house and their wedding cake is just a woolies mud cake that Seftan stuck a little man on top of, and they toast to a life together with lemon lime bitters and just. they mean SO MUCH TO ME

#macncheese (my ocs not the food) is everything to me #macncheese (s+d)#arson and other crimes (original work)#captain speaks

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

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Kingdom Collisions XVII

masterlist; my links

CW: blood, death

Phew, when i first started this fic (way back when in august last year, i think) i didn’t expect it to become a multi-chapter nor did i expect it to go in literally any of the directions it went in. with each new chapter the boys cooked up something different and apparently more and more dark. nonetheless this has been one of the most absolute fun, exciting, and rewarding fics i’ve ever put out there because 1. i just kind of did whatever i liked with it (plot holes be damned) and 2. because the interaction i got from this fic was mind-boggling. Every plot twist brought a gasp, an angst gremlin, and a sweet supporter to my doorstep (i cant name anyone because you all swopped roles continuously).

when i started writing this chapter tbh i was dreading it because how on earth do i get myself out of the sheer monstrosity that i dug myself into in the last one? but i wrote some words and even though they were all wrong and it was only seven hundred of them at least i had written something you know? but then i was at the beach and the ocean water was shoving itself into my lungs and the salt was stinging my eyes and i literally couldn’t have been happier if i tried and suddenly i just kind of knew what i wanted to write... or rather i knew i wanted to write and these troublesome princes knew how they wanted their story to close. yes, indeed, close. somehow, without me realising it, we kind of got to the last chapter. i truly didn’t think this would be it but with each word i put down it just kept drawing closer and closer to a close. and i can’t force this fic to be anything but what it is. So, my dear ones, this is the last chapter of Kingdom Collisions. thank you for coming along, i hope with all my heart you enjoyed it even a fraction as much as i did. I love these Princes so hard and Nish, Gretch, and A can tell you how sad i was to see them end. Nonetheless, please enjoy!

Since it’s been a hot minute since the previous chapter, here’s a recap:

Prince Jason Grace stumbles from the mouth of the arena and falls to his knees in front of the platform.

“Kill him Perseus.” A voice glimmers around him, leaking in through the ringing in his ears.

“Come home Prince,” That voice lilts, “Do not die so far from the sea.”

Jason looks up at him, blue eyes hazy, a dagger loose in his clasp. “Hello Prince.”

Percy steps down from the platform, and takes the dagger from his husband’s hands. It is almost sickening how easily he gives it over.

The crowd stomps its feet: they are ready for blood; they are ready for slaughter.

He holds the dagger up, making sure it glints in the sun. And then he draws his husband close until there is nothing between their bodies, not space, not even air.

“Let’s go home my love.” He whispers. “We will not die so far from the sea.”

Prince Perseus Jackson brings the blade down.

[image has alt text]

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Prince Perseus Jackson knows he’s going to die today. It is not a feeling, or a morbid premonition. It is the cold, hard truth. If he does not the world will continue to suffer for it. And what kind of prince would he be if he allowed his people to suffer? His father would say he’d be a coward. His father did not know the meaning of the word until he screamed as a blade sunk into his chest. Percy wonders how a man made from the Rivers themselves, can die by knife. He supposes when you spend long enough pretending to be human, you die like one too.

All the same Percy must take his last breath today, before the setting sun has managed to hide for the night. Before the darkness can wrap around his bones like cigarette smoke, and keep him trapped once more.

But first, Percy must kill his husband.

The crowd is violent; their need for bloodshed a hyena’s cackle in his head. He cannot keep them out. He cannot keep them at bay. It drives into his blood, makes every dangerous drop slosh through him, as wild as the rivers of his father. As wild as the blue eyes staring him down.

Perseus Jackson looks at his husband, barely an inch apart, so close it seems no room is left for air. He can’t breathe, so it must have been pushed away, pushed out. Those blue eyes, as striking as the brilliant sky above them, are looking at him with so much… sorrow, love, joy, rage? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know and it terrifies him. He knows and that scares him more. Prince Jason Grace is looking at him with delight and it makes him want to sin.

“I will find you again, my love.” His lips brush the sensitive skin of his ear. He feels that beautiful body shudder underneath him.

The musician’s box echoes with the notes of the wind, a melody that rackets around in his head, bouncing off the walls of his memories. He has died to this tune many times. Died as a king, and a peasant, and a squallor, and a whore, and every form of human scum and royalty alike. They all bleed the same in the end. All die with regrets on their tongue, and the unconquering falsehood of love in their hearts, as if that alone is enough to save them. He has never been safe from death. But love saves him all the same. He wonders if he will die again.

“I will not be lost.” Jason whispers back, so quiet, so full of sweet darkness.

Percy slams the blade into his Jason’s heart and watches as the light from beckoning eyes morphs into a smile that surrenders the world. He doesn’t acknowledge the warmth at his side. There is only his Prince, his husband, his other half, his, his, his.

“I will be waiting.” Jason Grace grins. Jason Grace dies.

Already he can feel the absence of his other. It is not a dull ache, nor a sharp one. It is not really an ache at all. Rather as if a veil has been placed over him, leeching the world of colour and light. Leeching him of any goodness. What is a destroyer, without his healer?

The Prince of Mare pulls the knife out of his husband’s chest and holds it up to the crowd. His smile dances, violence coating the angles of his face like a liquid mask. The colosseum responds in vigour, chanting his name, chanting the name of Princess Piper Mclean, chanting victory as if they’ve won. Dust begins to settle at his feet, settle then jump as they jump, then settle once more. And endless dance. He knows the score by heart.

“What you have witnessed today my good people,” The woman in power stands in her box, surveying the scene before her with triumph in her brown, glinting eyes. “Is the beginning of forever, again.”

The people cheer, clap, stomp their feet, make the stone underneath them quiver.

A drop of blood falls to the floor.

“We have completed what our ancestors could not. We have made sure that the threat— ” She sneers at them; at him in his bloodied rags, and the husband still in his arms, limp and fast growing cold. “The threat of Our Downfall may never rise from the ashes.”

The deafening sound of celebration is a vice around his throat. He wants to rip the air from their lungs, make their joy a noose around their necks. They celebrate the loss of a life as if it were the birth of a thousand more; they celebrate the death of his husband as if they had won the war. But they have never seen war. And his past selves, rushing up to him in these moments, like reeling pictures, smile at the prospect. They seem to gather in his mind, grinning with endless terror and say, so very softly, “You think this is war? We’ve only just begun.”

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

“My people,” Piper’s voice is a lull in the tides, a blind comfort to distract from the storm ahead. “We have severed the wings of a phoenix so it may never rise again.”

The crowd stomps, he stomps with them. A fissure runs under his feet, small, unnoticeable. Blood drips down, down, down, into the cracks. There is nothing left for him here. He smiles, soft and small. It is a smile only he knows exists.

With a gentleness he does not possess for anyone else but the man before him he lays his husband down, wincing as the dusty platform touches that beautiful golden skin. But he does not have time to make it clean. To give him a worthy place to rest. He only has right now. Eternity is a second in itself.

And when Prince Perseus stands, straight and unburdened. He reveals the last piece in a twisted puzzle. For sticking out of his own side— the side his prince was pressed against— is a dagger of his own. One that is killing him slowly.

The people are still cheering, Princess Piper is still revelling in her glory. She looks ethereal up on her dais, every bit the goddess she craves to be. Her brown skin shines in the brightening sun, her black hair flowing down, down, down past her hips, swishing at her thighs. And the crown that sits on her head, perched there as if it was too scared to be trapped to such power, glints almost menacingly, jewels reflecting onto the people closest to her. To the woman at her side. Annabeth, sister to Jason, lover to Piper, and honorary daughter of Hekima, sees him. Sees all of him and goes as pale as the moon. She grabs her lover’s arm, points a shaky finger in their direction, at the blade in his side.

The look of horror on their faces is almost enough to make him laugh; it’s certainly enough to make him smile. He watches on as their plans unravel, remembering the deadly words Piper had said to him all those days ago. “Instead we will kill one of you and keep the other continually alive.” But what good would that do, if he had killed them both, if he made sure his blood was smeared across his husband’s wound; if he made sure his husband’s blood could not be used to heal them. He has become the destroyer they so badly wanted.

Prince Perseus Jackson falls to his knees, at the symphony of a princess’s screech. And as he looks to his side, his fingers find the cool hand of Jason Grace. The sky is a lover’s blue. He closes his eyes. He finds his husband amongst the dead. And ever so slowly, the colosseum starts to crumble. For the blood from his wound seeps into the cracks running rivers of their own, and eats at the stone that holds the people, the power, the world. He has become his father. His mind is fill of his own stories, just like his mother. He feels the cold band on his husband’s finger. He becomes life.

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

The walls behind her turn to dust in slow motion. She sees particles fall, land at her feet in never-ending waterfalls. Her gaze tilts to the sky where she half expects to find it raining blue, as if the whole world would collapse on top of them. She can hear the screaming, she doesn’t known if it’s joy or fear. Sh doesn’t know if anyone has realised what’s just happened, if they know the true extent of her failure.

“PIPER!” That voice is so far away, but it is one she recognizes. One she has loved since she was left on a lover’s bench ten years prior. “We have to go, we have to stop it from reaching the water.”

A pale hand gestures in front of her, to the crimson rivers speeding across the ground. They are the prettiest canals she’s ever seen. She wants to—

“PIPER,” The time for shock has gone, and in it’s place is a violent need to save herself, to be saved. “We have to get out of here, this whole place is going to come down.”

When she looks to Annabeth, grey eyes bright with fear, she is struck with feeling so deep she fears she may drown. It wouldn't’ matter; she’ll be dead before she gets to submerge.

“My people,” Her voice is loud, blessedly steady, as she surveys the uneasy crowd who are only now noticing the red brooks bubbling up to meet them. “We must leave here at once. The colosseum is no longer safe. I urge you to go home to your famililes, to pack important things and make your way as far from the oceans and rivers as possible. Danger is here, and it is not a force we can fight.”

A thousand eyes look at her, emotions blatant on their faces ranging from denial, to anger, to fear, to the worst of them all, resignation. Those are the ones, she knows, who have lived through this before, in some way or the other. Whether in a past life, or the echo of their current one through stories carried down.

The ground underneath them shakes, making their feet stumble, their legs quiver. It is laughing at them, at the idea that they can escape this destruction. It has done this a thousand times before, it will do it a thousand more. The end has never been about them. They cannot escape it, no matter where they run, how hard they pray. And people are. Praying. They don’t know it is their gods who order this. Their gods who have no care for the lives of them when they can create a million more. In the end they are pawns to an endless game of chess. The first to be discarded, despite how hard they fight to prove useful. And Jason, her lover’s brother, and Perseus, her own ex lover, are soldiers sent to do their duty. Pawns themselves, maybe knights. But gods they have never been, and gods they will never become.

Annabeth’s hand is warm in hers as they race to their death. Her blonde curls fly behind her and Piper thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. And then the princess looks to her and she changes her mind. With each glance, each step, each squeeze of their skin, she changes and changes and changes. Until the beauty cannot be pinned to a single thing, until it is a tapestry continuously incomplete, of all the features that make up her love. If she— when, when she dies she will do it with this image in her mind.

And then they’re at the river, the one that feeds her kingdom, the one that runs into to the forest and branches to the five other kingdoms, before feeding into Perseus’s own and out to the ocean. There is no red tainting it’s glistening blue. They have time, maybe, just maybe they have time to save the only home they have ever known, the only one they ever will.

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Quickly, with a haste she has never seen, Annabeth pulls a single match from her pocket.

“Will you grant me permission, my love?” Her princess nods to the little stick.

There is only one way to stop a stream from turning towards a river. She nods. “For the kingdoms.”

“For the kingdoms.” The blonde echoes. She strikes the match.

Sunshine yellow flame bursts from the small head, and as it settles it turns orange, blue, goes back to yellow. Annabeth lets it fall to the floor.

And they both watch, flames dancing in their eyes, as the little match catches a dry leaf, which catches dry wood, which catches, and catches, and catches.

They clasp hands, look at each other. Piper runs a finger down a freckled cheek, skin already so warm from the blaze before them.

“Let us live.” Her princess whispers.

They jump into the river. The forest burns to an inferno behind them.

But there, trickling slowly, as if it has all the time in the world, is a single stream of blood. It creeps through the forest, turning already charring soil to nothing. The fire jumps over it, around it, beyond it. The fire does not stop it.

A single drop of blood catches on a shard of blackened stick, once a match, and as the wind blows it carries the wood over over over. It lands in the river. The stick floats away. The blood spreads wide.

And two princesses, still hand in hand, frantically swimming for their life, start to crumble to ash, like the forest they had left to burn.

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Perseus Jackson opens his eyes to sky blue, ice blue, saviour blue. And he cannot help but smile.

“Where have you been, my love?”

“Just had to take care of some things before i could join you.” He reaches up a hand to caress a golden cheek, warm and reddening under his touch.

“Are we finally free?” That voice is so soft, full of angled hope.

“Till the next time.” He sees that hope startle and shape before him, as if it can bend to fit around steeled will.

“What shall we do while we wait?”

“As long as we are together,” He brushes back a lock of gold. “It does not matter to me.”

“Might i suggest, staying here for the next decade at the very least?” A laughing reply, one that heats him to his bones.

“Your wish,” His green eyes sparkle dangerously, deliciously, “Is my salvation.”

“Wicked, wicked being.” Lips find his, press to him. It is so familiar, and somehow new all at once. As if the shadows they are made from need to get used to the light within them once more. As if they have not done this for a millennia, longer.

“I cannot help it when i’m with you.”

“And you are always with me,” Those blue eyes set him on fire.

“Yes,” He says simply. He touches the golden chest, the heart within. His heart.

“What shall we be in the next life?” The question is soft against his skin, raising bumps across his arms.

“I think i shall be a painter,” He muses, lips falling to a shoulder. They trace their way up, catching on collarbones and the crook of a neck, and the dimple behind an ear. “And you, my sweet? How do you intend for us to meet?”

“I think i shall like to be your nude model.” That grin is enough to cause a flush through his form.

“And who will be our heroes?”

“The queen of course.” The blonde’s voice gets conspiratorially low, “I’m her favourite servant you see, and she cannot bear the idea of anyone else seeing me naked.”

He cannot hold in his laughter, the mind of his other half an endless stream of amusement. “And how do we intend to end it this time?”

“That’s up to you dear one.” The being curled into him smiles, “I can only heal, and you know i will only heal you.”

“You make me such a villian.” His expression is violent, and beautiful, so so beautiful.

“We have never been anything else.”

He stares into the face of eternal love and is struck by the thought that it is all for him, that it has only ever been for him. He cradles a golden face in his hand, and with a deep unhurried breath, kisses Jason.

For the infinite time in his endless life, Perseus tastes fire.

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

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01 : to Nish for loving this fic harder than anyone, and for loving me harder still.

@queen-of-demons-and-hell : to Gretch for always being there even though were many countries, and many timezones apart

@leyontheway : to Ley for the endless and unwavering support and for making me smile no matter what

@sparkythunderstorm : to Lily for the continuous love and the wonderful comments

@comradefurudate : to avatar for the hilarious interactions and for loving this the way you did. Your comments made my day.

@aalikun : to ali for the theories and the comments that made me smile so hard my cheeks hurt

to A : you don’t have a tumblr account but you asked if you could read one of my fanfics and i sent you this one and you sent me back a 3 minute long voice note telling me every reason you loved it and i cannot begin to explain to you how much it means to me. i listen to the vn all the time. i love you.

and to every single one of you who liked, and/or commented on this fic: you are special to me in every way that matters and i think about you all the time.

#kingdom collisions #part 17 #jercy #jason grace #percy jackson #pjssg series #pjssg fanfic #pjjg series #pjjg fanfic #jaso #grac #percy #jackson #piper mclean #annabeth chase #royal jercy #royal jercy au

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bauslut · 3 years ago

Text

ii. what makes a man?

pairing: aaron hotchner x rowan rivers

word count: 3.840k

warnings: canon typical violence -- blood, gore, mentions of murder, discussion of murder, discussion of weapons, cursing, trauma, dealing with trauma, death of children

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“here you are,” jj bore a kind smile as she slid a manila folder towards the brunette, “here’s your official welcome to the bau. i’m sorry it wasn’t on more.. positive terms.”

“oh,.it’s quite all right,” rowan’s eyes widened, “this is what we’re here--”

“she’s sitting in my spot,” rossi chuckled, “but i don’t mind.”

“are you sure?” rowan stammered, a rosy blush painting her cheeks, “i-i can get up and move--”

“don’t sweat it,” rossi nodded curtly, “there are plenty of open seats.”

“hey baby girl,” a wide, jovial, grin painted morgan’s lips as a woman entered the room, her blonde locks intricately woven into an up-do, “don’t you look delicious today?”

“as always,” the woman scrunched her nose, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, “how are you this morning baby-cakes?”

“hey there!” a chirp startled rowan, sounding from her left, “i’m emily, but around here, i’m referred to as prentiss.”

she was met with kind eyes, a warm mocha hue. they were bright, glimmering as they followed every minute movement as rowan studied her features. the woman was gorgeous without a doubt, with full lips and an oblong face. her hair was luscious, parted down the middle, styled into bouncy curls.

“hi,” rowan breathed, sticking out a hand, “i’m rowan riv--”

“i am afraid we do not have time for introductions,” a stern voice echoed through the space, “we are fbi agents, not kindergartners. we can have icebreakers or whatever it is you’re doing on the jet.”

rowan choked back a sharp retort as hotch strode towards a whiteboard, his spine straightened, chest puffed out slightly. sliding into her seat, her hands settled on the armrests, a puff of air exhaling from her lips. she was sandwiched between two seasoned agents, as morgan was munching on a bag of cookies on her left, prentiss sifting through papers to her right.

maybe if she just shut her mouth, she would blend in and he wouldn’t pay any sort of attention to her. which, wasn’t such a bad idea in the moment. the less he focused on her and berated her, the better.

“cookie?” morgan rattled the bag.

“not right now. thank you though,” rowan whispered, lips curving into a small smile.

“i’m about to begin discussing the case,” hotch shot rowan a glare, words barbed with venom, “so listen up.”

he pinned several images on the board, bile rising in rowan’s throat as her focus transitioned to the pictures. prentiss sucked in a shaky breath, while morgan muttered a strand of incoherent sentences.

the images progressively became more grotesque as they spanned across the board. mangled, beaten, and bloodied corpses were presented, the bile approaching the back of her mouth as she realized the age range.

the bodies were children, their jugulars slashed, lacerations and bruises littering their tiny frames.

“there has been a surge of murders in the rural farm town of homer, illinois. in the past week, there have been a total of five. all of the victims were children, with no specific physical attributes,” hotch cleared his throat, “however, all of them bear one aspect in common.”

“they’re all boys,” reid murmured, “from the images it appears as if they’re about ages eleven or twelve.”

“then they are pre-pubescent boys,” rowan’s voice was clear, pairs of eyes falling on her as she spoke, “i’ve seen something like this before, when i was working in columbus. we had a ring of traffickers who preferred this age range.”

“and?” morgan arched a brow, “why pre-pubescent boys?”

“hotch,” rowan nearly trembled as the supervisor’s cold gaze shifted on her, “i-if i may ask, were there any signs of assault or rape?”

“the severity of sexual assault varied on each victim.”

“you said that they have no physical attributes in common but looking at these photos,” reid shook his head slightly, “the brunettes are the only ones who have lacerations covering their entire bodies. the blondes, the only sign of violence demonstrated is the murder itself, the incision along the jugular.”

“could it be that our unsub has something against brunettes?” morgan inquired.

“potentially,” rowan blinked, scanning over the text, “it also says here in the autospies that the only boys who were sexually assaulted were the brunettes. i may be going on a whim here, but i think our unsub is lashing out on the brunettes for a reason. it could be power, dominance, you name it. perhaps the hair color is a stressor, or was the initial stressor. he might be reliving a traumatic event from his childhood.”

rossi whistled, “look at you, rivers. already building a profile and we’ve only met for five minutes.”

“sadly i’ve seen a lot of this before,” rowan let out a sigh, rustling through papers, “it also says here that the bodies were all found at homer lake forest preserve. i have a strong premonition that our unsub is male.”

“and what makes you say that?” hotch countered.

“by the way the bodies were handled,” rowan shrugged, “they were beaten, mutilated, and dragged through the woods. the amount of physical strength to do that is just an inherent trait males have."

“how were the bodies discovered?” jj bit her lip, a trace of fear glimmering in her icy blue depths.

“they were found by a new fisherman every morning around dawn, in the same location. they were located about half a mile from the entrance of the preserve,” hotch tossed the file onto the table, “our unsub is bold.”

“he wanted the bodies to be found,” rossi added, “he’s arrogant.”

“or he’s sloppy,” rowan remarked, “he’s devolving. he could be killing just on that need burning within him, with no remorse or any sort of emotion within him at all--”

“we need to get to homer as soon as possible,” hotch interrupted, glancing at his phone, “it’s ten o’clock in the morning. it’s only a matter of time before another body is found.”

“where’s the closest airport?” jj folded her arms across her chest.

“willard airport in champaign-urbana,” reid piped up, “other than that, the other closest one is in bloomington-normal.”

“and how do you know that?” morgan’s eyes widened.

“champaign-urbana is the home of the university of illinois,” reid swallowed thickly, “i’ve been there a few times. it’s an exceptional school for engineering, truly one of the greatest in the country--”

“all right, all right,” morgan stuck out a hand, “you answered my question.”

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, plucking the file off the shiny wood.

rowan followed the others in suit, filing out of the space. trailing reid, she was the second last to leave the room, hotch right behind her, deep, smooth, voice filling her ears.

“i need to speak with you agent rivers.”

“yes?” she swiveled on her heel, facing the supervisor, folding her arms across her chest.

“i hope you’re aware that i do not tolerate any sort of childlike behavior. we’re not teenagers reuniting on the first day of class. i did not appreciate the interruptions in my conference room. you can socialize on your own time.”

“you’ve never once interrupted anything in your entire life? wow, you really must be mr. perfect. i mean look at you, all put together. i doubt you’ve even done anything wrong in your life you’re so per--”

“you realize you’re speaking to your boss with this tone, right?”

“i don’t fucking care,” tears brimmed rowan’s eyes, “this is my first day and it’s even worse than i could have ever imagined.”

“excuse me?”

“you’ve really made sure i’ve had a warm welcome to the bau, mr. perfect,” rowan scoffed, rolling her eyes, “it’s been an amazing first day, i’ll tell you that.”

for just a moment, hotch’s tough exterior cracked, a flicker of sympathy flashing in his gaze, “i’m sorry.”

“‘i’m sorry’?”

hotch paused, inhaling a deep breath, “i was going to write you up. however, i may have been a little too harsh on you. after all, this is your first day. strauss put in a good word for you, and i want to see your skill set out in the field. come on, we’re going to be left behind.”

******

“gotta love the midwest,” morgan placed his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling.

“you love it?” reid’s lips curled in disgust, “it smells like manure.”

“it smells like home,” rowan giggled, shouldering her way through the men, “c’mon, let’s go.”

“well she’s eager,” rossi chuckled, turning to hotch, “where are we setting up?”

“there’s the local p.d. in homer,” hotch slung his bag over his shoulder, “the station is only about four miles from the forest preserve.”

“i was doing some reading on the village of homer,” reid stated, “there’s only about one thousand people who live there. it’s such a tiny place, and as hotch mentioned, it’s only four miles from the preserve, surely the unsub lives there.”

“or he lives close to the lake,” rowan pointed out, “there are so many homes out there surrounding the lake in the countryside. with these rural communities, your neighbors could be a mile down the road, or miles away. it gives him the perfect opportunity to make frequent trips to the lake without being noticed.”

“you make a good point rivers,” hotch remarked, “we’ll have to keep that in mind when we investigate the lake and the surrounding woods.”

“this murder isn’t going to solve itself,” rossi cleared his throat, nodding his head towards the cluster of suvs, “we need to get to the police department and we’re losing time.”

stepping into the vehicle, rowan slid into the back seats, figuring that hotch would take the wheel, while rossi would sit shotgun. yet, curiosity buzzed in her mind as rossi took the wheel, while reid settled into the passenger seat.

“you’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered as hotch thrust open the door, “rossi, are you usually the one who drives?”

“typically, no,” in the rearview mirror, rowan snorted when she noticed the shit-eating grin plastered on the agent’s face, “but i figured that you and hotch would love to get to know one another on the way there.”

“can i pick the station?” reid bounced in the seat, hands flying to the knobs and levers.

“pick something good, find an oldies station or something. maybe they’ll play back in black,” within seconds, the suburban was in motion, rossi revving the engine, “i plan on racing morgan, jj, and prentiss to the station. whoever loses has to buy dinner.”

“this is ridiculous,” hotch rolled his eyes, the vibration of his phone piquing rowan’s curiosity.

“by the way,” reid turned in his seat, facing hotch, “who’s been calling you so frequently today?”

“haley,” rowan tilted her head as the name spat from hotch’s mouth, “it’s not important.”

haley. from the sound of it, she was hotch’s significant other, girlfriend, fiancee, even a spouse, maybe. rowan’s eyes drifted downwards to his lap, where his hands rested on his knees. in the light, a golden band gleamed on his left ring finger.

so, hotch was married. he had a wife.

but there was something in his tone that was unsettling. were they fighting? having the typical lover’s quarrel? maybe that’s why hotch was so distant and cruel, he was constantly dealing with his marriage.

“so tell us a little about you, rowan,” rossi was far ahead of the other suburban, shades resting on the bridge of his nose, “i never got an icebreaker.”

rowan scoffed, fidgeting in the leather seat, “there’s not anything too riveting, i can spare you guys the details.”

in the corner of her eye, rowan felt his eyes pierce through her, digging deeps within the confines of her psyche. he was profiling her, desperate to get some sort of read. perhaps he was well aware of how uncomfortable she was by rossi’s query. the way her palms were slick against her pants, sweat prints clinging to the fabric. the way her cheeks were tainted pink, her jaw tightened, throat dry.

“didn’t you go to ohio state for undergrad?” reid licked his thumb, scouring through some novel or book.

“yeah,” she nodded, “i’m from a tiny town in ohio, called tiffin. i went to ohio state for an undergrad in psychology, along with a few minors in criminal justice, linguistics, spanish, so on. i stayed there for grad school since i loved the city, and the university. from there, the bureau picked me up from the academy, and i was thrown into the infamous case.”

“the child sex-trafficking bust,” hotch murmured, “i remember glancing over that in your file.”

“how long did that case go on?” rossi turned the radio dial, lowering the volume.

“longer than it should’ve been,” rowan brought a hand to her temple, a dull pain seeping into her skull, “hey, does anyone have ibuprofen?”

hotch’s eyes softened, concern painting his features, “i think i have some in my briefcase. hang on.”

rowan brought a bottle of water to her lips, sipping as hotch placed a couple of pills in her open palm. as he set them in her hand, skin grazed skin, her heart skipping a beat.

for someone as rough and callused as hotch, his hands were so utterly soft.

“thank you,” she whispered, “i appreciate it.”

“of course,” he murmured, “do you usually get frequent headaches?”

“yeah,” rowan admitted, a new wave of blush spreading, “i’m just prone to them i guess.”

“the humidity is also high today,” reid remarked, “and from the way the wind just picked up, along with the darkness of the clouds, i think it’s going to storm. your headache could be from the low pressure.”

“fantastic,” rowan threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, “you know reid, that’s kinda a myth.”

“actually research has been inconclusive.”

“how many did you take?” hotch nudged rowan, inflections of concern within his inquisition.

“six.”

“jesus christ,” rossi’s lips pursed, “are you trying to kill your liver?”

“we’ll see about that,” a giggle bubbled up in rowan’s throat.

as the suburban sailed down the interstate, her lashes fluttered, sleep threatening to pull her into its clutches. she blinked, rubbing soothing circles onto her temple, lips falling to a frown as a dull pain seeped into her forehead.

biting her lip, she fought back tears, inhaling a shaky breath. this was no place to show any weakness.

not with him around.

*****

“good afternoon, chief sellers. i’m supervisory special agent hotchner with the fbi,” hotch stated, his voice ringing with authority as he shook an officer’s hand, “and these are my colleagues.”

“thank god you’re here,” the officer’s voice was hoarse, wavering as he spoke, “it’s been a living nightmare these past few days.”

“i can only imagine,” jj murmured under her breath, “there’s someone out there killing little boys.”

“he looks so shaken up,” prentiss exhaled, folding her arms across her chest.

“we had most of the state p.d. flock out here once the second body was discovered,” chief sellers cleared his throat, his focus directed on hotch, “we’re all doing the best we can, but of course, as other duties call, we tend to be short-handed at times.”

“we’re going to do everything in our power to help,” rossi’s words were warm, brimmed with sincerity, “we’ll catch this guy, i promise.”

“and we’ll help you all in every way we can,” chief sellers nodded curtly, “anything you folks need, let us know.”

“should we start by heading out to the crime scene?” hotch inquired, “it might also be best to split some of us up.”

“of course,” chief sellers strode over to a pair of state officers, “these men will escort you to the scene. what else do you need?”

hotch’s eyes flickered over to his team, “i want morgan, reid, and rossi to go investigate the scene. prentiss and jj, would you speak with some of the locals? we need to gather as much information as possible in order to rule out anyone or gain essential details about our unsub.”

“what about me?” rowan coughed.

“you’re staying with me here at the station,” he commanded, “and you’re going to answer every phone call we get from garcia.”

“good luck newbie,” rowan rolled her eyes as morgan teased her, his breath hot against her ear.

“you might want to listen to morgan,” rossi shot her a wink, “you’re going to need it.”

“thanks,” the reply was a deadpan, the agent’s shoulders slumping as hotch approached her, “putting me on a short leash, are we?”

“you’re the one who understands the profile of our unsub the best,” he retorted, “and before you fire back with another verbal assault, think before you speak. this is your big girl job now. act like it.”

“don’t you think it’s interesting that the unsub stopped killing?” hotch murmured a few words of gratitude to an officer who handed him a coffee, cocking his head as he took a sip.

“do you think that there’s a reason behind that?”

“possibly,” rowan shrugged, denying the same styrofoam cup, “hey, where’s the closest gas station?”

“about half a mile away,” the officer replied coolly, “would you like a ride? a few of the guys and i are going to pick up pizzas for lunch.”

“i’m okay,” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “thank you, though.’

“you don’t like hot coffee?”

“i prefer iced,” the agent muttered, surveying the empty desks, “i assume they cleared some space for us?”

“indeed,” hotch huffed, “if your phone rings, assume it’s garcia.”

“i feel like i’m at columbus p.d. all over again,” the brunette slid into the seat, rolling a few inches as she plucked the file out of her briefcase.

“well this is nowhere near that,” hotch rolled his eyes, leaning against the wooden surface.

“well it sure feels like it,” his throat tightened as her eyes drifted upwards, locking with his, “it sure fucking feels like it. now, if you don’t mind, i’m going to look over the file.”

“would you like some company, agent rivers?”

“i’m sure you have ‘unit chief’ matters to tend to,” the words were barbed, hot and venomous as she spat them out, “hovering around your new recruit like she’s some child is quite ridiculous don’t you think?”

“i should have you turn in your badge right now.”

“you seem like you’re all bark and no bite. you scolded me only only hours ago about the conference room, threatening to write me up. that tough exterior of yours is only an act. or at least, i think it is. you’re not going to write me up until you have a valid reason to. also, like you claimed earlier, ‘strauss put in a good word for me.’ i know you won’t terminate me. plus, you just went through all of that paperwork to get me here. do you really want to go through all of that again?”

“you piss me off.”

“good,” she puckered her lips, “maybe you should chat about that with strauss hmm? she’d probably just tell you to suck it up and that i’m here to stay.”

hotch’s jaw clenched, prepared to retaliate, yet the vibration in his pocket distracted him momentarily, the shrill ringtone piercing through the air, “yes?”

biting her tongue, rowan glanced back at the file, bringing her hand to her cheek. part of her was wailing, screaming and kicking, fighting the urge to study those horrid images. but the other part was driven, adrenaline coursing through her veins, pumping into her body.

even the slightest detail that she hadn’t noticed initially would be immensely helpful to building the profile, piecing together who this deranged individual was. flipping through the photos, rowan’s eyes narrowed.

although the team held a short briefing before departing from headquarters, there was one minor aspect about the way the bodies were laying in the shrubbery. the boys were all on their backs, dried blood coating sliced flesh. not a single article of clothing framed their bodies, just the thin layer of briefs or boxers.

her heart lurched as one arm was pressed tightly against their sides, while the other was raised. right hands pointed upwards, three fingers: the index, middle, and ring. yet, the pinky connected with the thumb, almost as if the children were purposely holding up three fingers.

“garcia called with an update,” his voice floated into her ears, “with the bits and pieces fed to her from jj and prentiss, we still have a lot of ground to cover. are you up for a drive?”

“wait,” rowan held up a hand, “hotch, were you ever a member of the boy scouts?”

his brow furrowed, confusion settling across his features, “what?”

“just look,” she huffed, gesturing to the images, “look at the way the unsub left their bodies. it’s a clear message, almost like how he dumped the bodies in clear sight. his arrogance blinded him, goading him to taunt us. but little did he know i would see right through his bluff. i think he stopped the killing spree because he knew we’d be looking for him. it’s like he wants us to find him.”

leaning over, hotch’s chest hovered above her shoulder blade, a hand settling on the desk. the ghost of his badge hung over her cheek, a speck of white in her peripheral vision. a hum rose in his throat, “you’re onto something here. let me call garcia.”

“did i make a break in the case?”

“perhaps, but don’t let that get to your head,” the supervisor brought his phone to his ear, “hey, garcia, i need you to run something for me. how many boy scout troops are in champaign county?”

*****

“you up for some drinks tonight?” prentiss giggled, wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, “it’s all on me, especially since we should be celebrating your first case with the bau!”

“i’m fine,but thank you,” rowan beamed, “i still have a forty minute drive ahead of me. i shouldn’t stay out too late.”

“oh come on,” jj groaned, “we won’t be out for long. just a couple rounds.”

“pleaseeee?” garcia practically pranced over to rowan, jutting her bottom lip out, “we don’t know a single thing about you. hotch had you under his watch all day.”

“okay,” she exhaled, “a few drinks, and then i need to get to my apartment. i’ve barely finished unpacking so i’ll have to rummage for my towels and pajamas when i get back.”

“you have an apartment?” prentiss queried, “do you have a roommate or do you live alone? did you bring a boyfriend with you, by chance?”

rowan blinked, “uh, no. i live alone.”

“good thing you’re a fbi agent huh?” garcia winked, “c’mon, we know the perfect bar.”

“maybe we’ll get you loosened up and you can spill some secrets,” jj chuckled, the sound airy and light.

“sometimes,” rowan felt the corner of her lips tug into a wide grin, “sometimes i truly wonder what i’m getting myself into working with all these other profilers.”

*****

{feel free to ask for a tag or let me know what you think! :))}

tagging: @tempus-ut-luceant @daffodin @kleinbluu @inlovewithaaronhotchner @spencerreidsbitch @art-and-thoughts @criminallminds @ethade3

#hotch #hotchner #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #cm

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docholligay · 3 years ago

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Divided by Four: Eighteen

Basic training would begin in three weeks, and she had been bouncing about in anticipation, but for the time being, Lena Oxton, who was kicking around what she thought her callsign might be, was still a civilian pilot, walking around the tiny little plane she shared with at five other people and afforded with her hours collecting glasses and washing up Saturdays and weeknights at the pub.

It helped that the other five were also Oxtons, and so Lena was expected to pay a fair share if not necessarily an equal one.

It was not an impressive plane, she supposed, as she crouched by the landing gear, tightening a bolt, but she loved it nonetheless. It was only a little Cessna that wanted a bit of a new paint job and had nothing to recommend itself in the field of agility, but any blemishes against it were removed the moment she got it in the air. On the ground, she might have dreamed about owning something more along the lines of a Piper, or a Cirrus, depending on the direction she wanted to go, but Lena found that once she was in the air, her favorite plane was the plane she was currently flying.

Which didn’t make her any less enthusiastic for the sort of planes she would fly in the RAF.

Her mother had been a squadron leader during the crisis, and her dad was a decorated pilot, and she had the Oxton name behind her, which would either give the instructors confidence in her or make them twice as hard on her.

Well, they could be twice as hard on her if they wanted. She was twice as good, and she knew it. She was born under a lucky star, and had the near-misses to prove it.

“So you think you’ll get into fast-jet school?” Her dad walked around the side of the plane, running a hand across the tail to check it as he did so.

“Oh, so you doubt me now?” Lena laughed and sprung to her feet, tossing the wrench from one hand to the other. “If I don’t, it’s you who taught me to fly, so doesn’t say much for you.”

Bert chuckled. “No, I’d suppose it doesn’t. MIght be a bit too short, eh?”

“‘Ave you know I am the exact minimum ‘eight required, I am.” She held herself straight. “Checked just this morning.”

Bert studied the edge of the window and smile. ‘Be sure you stand up straight.”

Lena looked at him for a moment. “Dad,” she waited for him to look at her, “Do you not want me to go?”

He looked at her for a long moment, scratched the back of his head, and put his hands on hips. “Lena--”

“Because I’m going any’ow. I love you, but I am going.”

Lena and her dad had been--well, it wasn’t fair to say on their own in a family like the Oxtons, but without a mum certainly--since Lena was six years old, and mum had died. She was an only child, and he hadn’t even thought of dating until Lena herself started two years ago. It was, of course, difficult in bits, but all lives were difficult in some way, and Lena knew of no one else as close to any parent as she was. They’d spent years taking care of each other and confiding in each other, and though she never would have said so, there was a part of her that wasn’t anxious to leave, either. Her father had promised to take care of her, when her mum has died. To keep her safe. He’d dragged himself up from his own grief, and done it, and because they had learned love could be lost so easily, they rarely took the other for granted.

So nothing was all bad, really.

“I want you to go,” he sighed, and chuckled, ”Just wait till it’s you ‘alf past forty--”

Lena scoffed. “I’m never going to be forty--”

“Lena, please don’t say that.” She looked at his face, darkly serious, “Dangerous work, and I know that, know it better than most, but I lie awake nights quite enough without ‘aving your morbid premonitions about your own demise, love. Lost your mum, lost me sister, so could you please, as a personal favor, resolve to outlive your old dad?”

“I was only ‘aving a go,” Lena tossed the wrench into the box, “Been talking to Parvati, ‘aven’t you? Can’t keep anything a bloody secret in this family, can I? You know, me entire bloody life I’ve been told, “She put her hands on her hips and tossed her head, “Lena, you fly like someone aiming to be no one’s nan,” and that’s all right, innit, but if I make a bloody joke about it--”

Bert shoved a clumsily wrapped box at her. “Happy birthday love. Please shut up and tell me you’ll be careful. Lie to me, if you must, though I’d prefer it to be the truth.”

“I’ll be careful, Dad.” She smiled as she took the package, “Almost forgot it was me birthday.”

“Ruddy terrible liar, you are.” He sat down on a metal box at the edge of the hangar. “Just ‘ave to keep ‘oping your skill is as good as you seem to think it is.”

“One day,” she nodded at him a finger under the paper, ready to open it, “I will be the best pilot in the world. Going to work for Overwatch, I am, you just watch.”

“That’s as may be, love, and I wish you all the luck, but it don’t change me concerns whether you’re wearing a roundel or a...whatever they’d call it. I suppose it’s a roundel of a sort, as well, innit? Well, you understand me.”

Lena started to open the package. “I understand you’re a nervous old wo--Dad.”

What she held in her hand was not, as a rule, very impressive. A small pair of aviators, rose gold on the frames, a few stray scratches across the lenses. You might have found them in a bin at any charity shop, a few pounds for the pair of them.

“You won’t want to use them for flying, of course, too beat up for that safely, not made for the sort of acrobatics you get up besides, but I thought you should ‘ave them.” He chuckled, “What good are they doing me?”

Lena turned them over in her hand. For as long as she could remember, this pair of sunglasses had sat on the one of the shelves in her house, next to a photo of her mother and father in their flight suits from the crisis. Lena looked back to him.

“You sure?”

“Didn’t want to give you ‘er jacket, as you should ‘ave your own, right? Course anything of ‘ers you want is yours, far as I’m concerned, so you can ‘ave it as well, but--”he smiled sadly, ‘She would be so proud of you. You’re a brilliant pilot, Lena, really you are. You are the best daughter we could ‘ave ‘oped for. ‘Appy birthday, love.”

She sat down next to him, still looking at the glasses. “I’ll outlive you, promise.”

He shook his head. “Don’t think about it in the air. Makes you a poor pilot, given what we do. Can’t think about who’s waiting for you on the ground. You know that.” He chuckled. ‘I should know that.” He grinned and slapped her knee, “I do ‘ave presents for you beyond some of your mum’s old rubbish. Eighteen! Properly an adult. Be wanting a place of your own soon, I’m sure.”

She saw her reflection in the glasses. Eighteen years felt like so many. Forty would be twenty two more. What was a year, here and there, whatever her father said about it?

“Not if don’t you want me to go.” She smiled. “Moving’s a chore, only coming ‘ome every so often any’ow. If you’ll ‘ave me.”

“As long as you’d like.”

When she was older, sometimes Lena would wonder what might have happened if she’d gotten married while her father was alive. If they simply would have swapped bedrooms and kept on with the easy rhythm of their domestic arrangement. The older she got, the more pleasant it sounded to her. But of course, they would never know, because Lena kept her promise, though Bert never got to know that. Life has a dark sense of humor that way.

She remembered that promise, in the shifting static of time. How it had been her birthday, but her father’s wish. How, at the time, eighteen had seemed like so many years.

So many.

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juulcharg3r · 4 years ago

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Why’d It Have to Be Hermione?

Summary: Your boyfriend and best friend suck. Based on the song Hailey by WRENN

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Girlfriend!Reader

Word Count: 2,030

WARNINGS: Swearing, cheating, angst I suppose (I don't think I'm very good at making things sad outside my own brain oops)

Same day, same night

Always feeling our fights

Like a fire in an empty house

Gone off somewhere

All I know is you’re not here

You think I’d have learned by now

You had had a premonition that this birthday wasn't going to be as pleasant as the last three with Ron had been. Maybe it was the rain, though you usually rather quite liked the rain, or maybe it was the screaming match you were currently having with your boyfriend of four years.

“Are you kidding me, Ronald? It's my BIRTHDAY!” You’d been with Ron since your days in Hogwarts, since 5th year, and he had never missed your birthday before.

“Bloody Hell, Y/N, it's not like I can control it! It's an emergency meeting, I have to go.”

“You promised we would spend the whole day together.”

“And we will! Just not right now. I have to go.” You watch Ron grab his wand and bag and head towards the door, “I’ll see you later.”

“Fine. I love y-” The door slams, effectively cutting you off. “Great. Best birthday ever.” You let yourself fall backwards onto the bed you shared with your boyfriend, “The Dark Lord is dead. What the fuck could they possibly be having a meeting about at 6A.M.?”

You stew in your thoughts, your anger slowly subsiding. Maybe you were being unreasonable. Ron was right, he couldn’t control when they had meetings. You were just hurt because he always had meetings and had canceled many dates for them. You just wanted to spend your birthday with him, to have one day where he spent the entire day with you and all his focus was on you for once.

Eventually you sit up and mope downstairs to make yourself coffee to wake up. There was no point in trying to get a few more hours of sleep, not after a fight with Ron. They always left you feeling empty and you were left sitting alone in a desolate house.

It was awful. Constantly fighting with Ron about the littlest things, about the stupidest things. It had been going on for months and it was always the same. Ron would either miss a date or one of you would do the littlest thing, then you’d fight, he’d leave and go somewhere, and you’d cry yourself to sleep in the spare bedroom. He would come home eventually (he always did), though you never knew when and if you’d ask he would say he went to the pub and then things would go back to normal between you two.

But when you would do laundry the next day, you'd notice his clothes would never spell like the cigarettes and beers that normally came along with a trip to the pub.

The fights would eat you alive. For days after you would feel awful, like you were being burned from the inside out. The arguing left you feeling empty inside but as if you were on fire. You were like an empty house on fire, nothing inside to burn but the structure was slowly but surely succumbing to the flames.

“Why haven’t I learned?”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ron finally came home, six hours later. There was no way in hell a meeting lasted six hours, but you were tired of arguing.

“Hey, Baby.” Ron grins at you as he walks in and kisses you on the lips.

‘Hey!” You smile tightlipped at the man you love, “How was the meeting?” He seemed to be in much better spirits than he had been this morning.

“It was fine.” Came the simple response.

“Oh, what was it about?”

“Y/N you know I can’t tell you that.”

“Right…” You trailed off before you remembered your original plans for today and became excited again, “Well do you still want to go to the art museum? I want to see the new exhibit on Picasso!”

“I’m tired from the meeting and I just want to relax. I’m going to nap before dinner tonight, Babe, you go without me.”

“What? The whole point was… Okay. Fine.” You accio your wand and wallet and apparate to The National Gallery in Muggle London. “Fucking piece of shit,” you stomp into the gallery, but the sight of the paintings quickly erases your anger. You had always loved art and were impressed by the skills that some people hold. You could see their passion in the brushstrokes and the feelings poured into the paint.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Eventually you made your way to the exhibit on Pablo Picasso. Something about his art just spoke to you, you weren’t sure what it was.

An hour and a half later, you thought you had seen all his work encased in the exhibit until in the back corner of the room you saw it. A painting you had never seen before entitled The Melancholy Woman.

You stood staring at it with an air of familiarity, though this was the first time you had laid eyes on it. You realized it was because you had been sitting in the same position all this morning. After getting your coffee you had spent several hours sitting on your couch facing the window but not looking out. You instead wallowed in self-pity wondering what had happened between you and Ron that caused all the fighting.

“Oh my god.” Faced with the reality of your own sadness you all but ran out of the gallery and to a good spot to apparate home.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You say she’s just a friend, well okay

Why’s she showing up at midnight on my birthday?

Why’s she crying in your arms looking a mess?

And you’re looking at me like you gotta confess

Not the first time you held her

You were home now and were curled up next to Ron on the couch watching your favorite movie. Ron was stroking your hair and you felt lighter than you had in months. You and Ron had had a wonderful evening at dinner, for the first time in a long time. You went to your favorite restaurant and laughed all night long, but the sense of foreboding from this morning lingered. You shook off the feeling and thought maybe your premonition was wrong and you were just being silly, nothing bad had happened after you came back from the art gallery.

Then the doorbell rang.

You and Ron look at each other weirdly, who was showing up at your house this late at night? You both pad to the door, Ron looks through the peephole and then opens the door with hesitance, “Mione? What are you doing here? It’s nearly midnight.” Hermione, your best friend since second year, looked like a mess, her hair was knotted, and clothes wrinkled.

The foreboding feeling that had been licking at you all night was now crashing over your entire body.

Hermione was crying and was well past ruining her mascara, “I... I don't know.” Then she threw herself into your boyfriend's arms and started sobbing violently.

You were too shocked to move. What do you do in this situation? Your best friend was sobbing in his chest at midnight on your birthday. You were about to ask if she was okay when Ron looked at you and the expression turned your blood to ice. He looked like he was about to confess something horrible to you and you knew then that this wasn’t the first time this had happened. This wasn’t the first time he had held her, crying and not.

You took a step back, shaking your head, “No no no no no. You didn’t. No-”

“Y/N let me explain!”

“No, you fucking didn’t. This is a lie. This can't be real. Did you really? Are you serious? With her?”

“Baby please,” Ron untangles himself from Hermione and leaves her on the floor to approach you.

You hold out your hands to stop him from getting closer, “Did you even have a meeting today? Or were you just with her? Were any of these ‘emergency meetings’ real or were they just excuses to go see her?”

“Y/N…”

The sound of your name on his lips told you everything you needed to know, “That's what I thought.” You glare at him with more anger and sadness than he thought possible, “And on my fucking birthday. Fuck you, Ron Weasley.” You dash upstairs to the bedroom you once shared with your boyfriend.

Mascara stains dripping down your t-shirt

Now I’m packing a bag, but I gotta ask

Out of everyone, everyone else

Why’d it have to be Hailey?

You throw clothes blindly into an old, ratty backpack while ignoring as Ron begged you to stay. As you pack you stew in your own thoughts, wanting to scream at him, wanting to punch him in the face, stomp on his head, and just ask why.

“I gotta ask… Why’d it have to be Hermione?” Your brain was stuck on the mascara stains on his shirt as he stood in the doorway of your bedroom. She ruined everything, both Ron’s shirt and your heart. She was your best friend, how could she? She knows how much you love him.

“W-what?”

“Out of everyone, everyone else in the entire fucking wizarding world, why did it have to be Hermione?”

“Y/N, I…” Ron trails off, he doesn’t know the answer to your question.

“I mean I guess that explains what I heard in the back of Harry and Ginny’s birthday card to me,” you open your bedside table drawer and take out an envelope with a card in it. It's one of those cards where you record a birthday message in your own voice for the recipient. You throw it at your boyfriend and cross your arms. When he opens it, the sound of Ginny and Harry’s voices yelling out greetings and the lyrics to Happy Birthday to You burst out. After their offkey rendition that had initially put a smile on your face, in the background there is the faintest conversation going on.

“Are you gonna tell her?” The first voice asks.

“There’s no point.” The second responds.

“She’s gonna find out eventually.” The first voice presses.

“I mean it doesn’t matter if she does at this point.” The second voice concludes. Then Harry and Ginny finish their well wishes for you and say goodbye and that they love you. When you first listened to it you thought you were hearing wrong, but after this… There was no mistaking it now, those were the voices of your boyfriend of four years and your best friend of seven years.

You say that I’ve got it all wrong, but I think I know you better than myself

Don’t you get tired of always playing the victim and running your mouth?

“No, Baby, no. You- you’ve got this all wrong! I wouldn’t-”

“Ronald, we have been together for too long. I know you better than I know myself sometimes and this is one of those times. You would because you did.”

“No Y/N I didn't I swear!! Hermione came onto me! I love you; you know that! I wouldn't cheat on you, it was an accident, I swear!”

At this point you couldn't hold back the tears and were openly sobbing, “It wasn't an accident, Ronald.”

“YES, IT WAS!”

“Maybe it was an accident the first time, but you chose her over me every time after that. It was a choice that you made and now you have to live with it.” And with that you shove past him, bag and wand in hand and sprint down the stairs. You pause to stare at Hermione who no doubt heard your entire conversation. “I hope you’re happy, Hermione. You got what you wanted.”

“Y/N/N, I’m so sorry-”

“Save it. I do not care what you have to say. I hope you and Ron are very happy together.” You step over her body on the floor, out the door, and out of their lives forever.

Why’d it have to be Hailey?

Out of everyone, everyone else

Why’d it have to be Hailey?

FINISHED

#harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley x reader #ginny weasley #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #ron weasley imagine #hp #hp imagine #x readers by Jules #Why’d It Have to Be Hermione?

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Taste Your Beating Heart, Chapter Three (Taywhora) - Holtzmanns

word count: 5490 | ao3 link

Tayce needs to do it. Aurora would understand, if it were the other way around. It’s just the way things have to be.

Aurora freezes under her touch though doesn’t move away, because she trusts Tayce. A fatal mistake on her part. Sad, really. “What are you-”

It’s almost entertaining, the way her words cut off when Tayce bares her fangs and finally, she can have something to drink, as if she hasn’t been hungry for ages, and she closes the distance between them in less than a second and-

AN: Thank you all so much for the wonderful response on this fic, it makes me so happy! This chapter took a little while to update because real life has gotten a bit busy, but nonetheless, I hope you like it. Thank you Writ for betaing and being the best person to brainstorm with and Pop for taking out anything too Canadian sounding. Enjoy and tell me your thoughts!

_________

There are no more blood bags left. Tayce is thirsty, and there are no more blood bags in the fridge.

Bimini’s gone to visit a pal up north and Cara’s out hunting, and the last time any of them went to pick up more blood was at least a month ago, and crap, Tayce should have gone to stock up when their stash had first started to run low.

Maybe she can go for a hunt. There’s not enough time to get some more blood bags now but she can always grab someone off the street, for a quick snack.

Ding dong.

Shit. Shit . Aurora’s not supposed to be over for another hour, she can’t be here already-

“Open up! I have a surprise for you and I couldn’t wait at home tapping my toes any longer.”

Bloody hell. Tayce can smell her, there’s no need for Aurora to announce herself, really, but today the scent is more potent, wafting under Tayce’s nose, and she can’t help the way that her eyelids flutter as she lets out a breath.

“I’ll be there in a minute!” Tayce gets out before turning on her heels, running towards the fridge and throwing it open with desperation as if its contents will have changed from the last time she opened it five minutes ago.

There’s Lawrence’s three cheese lasagna that she’s yet to drop off to the neighbours’, but otherwise the fridge is empty of the blood bags that usually line the shelves. No surprise appearance of any blood. Tayce lets out a grunt in frustration.

“What’re you doing in there, taking a bath? Solving some maths equations? Masturbating? Don’t have all the fun without me,” Aurora snickers audibly through the door.

Maybe, just maybe, it’ll be fine. Tayce can put up with a few hours in Aurora’s presence without having fed already. She has good self control, she knows that after being with Aurora for a few months. She hasn’t done anything stupid yet.

She’ll just pay extra attention to herself.

“Shut up, I’m coming,” Tayce mutters, reaching the door handle to unlock it and steeling herself with a deep breath, which turns out to be a bad, bad idea.

Because when she pulls the door open Aurora launches herself at her in a hug, her legs wrapping around her waist and shit, she smells so good and Tayce’s mouth is watering and Aurora’s heart is pumping fast and the blood rushing through her veins is loud, much too loud in Tayce’s ears and it would be simply too easy to just twist her neck, wouldn’t be painful at all for her-

“Finally. And here I thought I was going to live the rest of my life out on your doorstep.” Aurora’s smile is easy, almost as if she doesn’t know how delectable her blood smells, how warm her touch is, before her brow furrows. “Hey, you okay?”

“What?” Tayce barely hears the question as she closes the door behind her, not when Aurora’s heartbeat is the loudest sound echoing in her brain, when all she can think about is how fucking thirsty she is.

She needs it.

Fuck it.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Tayce murmurs, and the words are almost a relief, even though Aurora’s eyes widen when Tayce takes a step closer, brushing her hair away from her neck.

Tayce needs to do it. Aurora would understand, if it were the other way around. It’s just the way things have to be.

Aurora freezes under her touch though doesn’t move away, because she trusts Tayce. A fatal mistake on her part. Sad, really. “What are you-”

“Fuck!”

Tayce shoots up into a sitting position, the sheets rumpled around her waist as she tries to catch her breath, rub her eyes before opening them once more.

Bed. She’s in bed. Not her own bed but Aurora’s, the girl still peacefully slumbering beside her, her lips slightly parted as her chest rises and falls.

She hasn’t gone and killed her girlfriend. Fuck. Thank god. It had just been a dream, nothing more, and Aurora’s scent isn’t as overpowering as it had been in her sleep because Tayce isn’t hungry right now and the temptation is easy as always to ignore.

Nonetheless, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and pads towards the fridge, throwing it open. Beside the takeaway containers and the surely expired orange juice in the corner there are two bags of blood, the ones always stored in Aurora’s fridge for safekeeping.

Aurora is fine. Tayce is fine. Everything is fine.

Aurora’s still breathing when she looks over and Tayce isn’t hungry, because it had been a dream. Just a dream.

Tayce’s heart stopped beating centuries ago but she can almost still feel a phantom hammering in her chest, reminding her along with the beads of sweat on her forehead just how precarious of a situation this is. Climbing back into bed beside Aurora, resting her head back down on the pillow feels almost dangerous. What if she goes and snaps? What if she has another dream but wakes up and doesn’t realise it and goes for Aurora’s jugular anyway, the hunting side of her taking over as it does when she’s on the prowl? Aurora’s her girlfriend, yeah, but she’s also human, and what if Tayce gets to a point that she just can’t resist?

What if the short term pursuit of something to drink means that Tayce will eventually lose Aurora by her own hand?

Fuck, this is why she never does this. She’s seen it happen before, like with Asttina and her girlfriend back in the sixties, or when Cara had tried to date that human pirate in the late 1700s. It doesn’t ever end well with humans, Tayce knows that.

A tiny part of her wants to believe that she’ll never hurt Aurora, that she’ll always be in control of herself because god knows, she never wants anything to happen to her. It can’t, not when Tayce is going to be the one to have to pick up the pieces of her own shit actions and Aurora’s going to be the one to pay the price. Tayce is always careful - she drinks every time before seeing Aurora, even when she’s not thirsty, and she’s good at tuning out Aurora’s scent after months with her. There’s very little risk in Tayce’s rational brain, because Aurora herself is more important. The fact that she’s living and breathing and has so much in front of her.

She’s not ever going to lose that because Tayce is hungry. Not in a million years.

But then again, what if Tayce is fooling herself and sooner or later her sleep-addled mind is just going to go for it? What if Aurora will simply be in the way and Tayce won’t be able to control herself?

She’s really fooling herself with trying to form a sense of normalcy with Aurora, in this quasi sort of relationship. As if Tayce is human herself and can enjoy human things, as if she even deserves them. As if she’s not going to outlive every human alive on earth today and see their graves, only for a whole new group of humans to roam the planet.

The thing is, Tayce wants it. She wants it so badly. She wants to be able to wake up with someone who she can call her girlfriend, she wants to go to uni and go clubbing and stop at a kebab shop on the way home. She wants to visit her parents on holidays and have goals and career aspirations and a lifetime to look forward to.

Instead, she’d buried her parents back in the 1600s and has survived precisely one burning at the stake and three town mobs under suspicion for being a witch.

Idiotic humans, never quite getting their monsters right.

Tayce can pretend, though. Sometimes, when she’s in Aurora’s bed and has an arm around her as she’s starting to doze off, she can imagine that she’s only twenty two, maybe, still with so much to experience in life ahead of her. She can pretend she has human problems like having a shit boss at work or looking for the perfect gift to buy for an anniversary. Sometimes it feels real, when she can feel how warm Aurora’s skin is against hers and how her heartbeat is steady.

But then Tayce holds two fingers up to her pulse point on her neck and feels nothing at all. And why would she, when she stopped having a pulse centuries ago?

Aurora shuffles beside her, turning over onto her side and mumbling something into her pillow and it’s dangerous, really, how much Tayce’s heart swells when she sees it. How much Aurora’s affecting her after only a few months, how much she doesn’t want to lose her already.

Because it’s inevitable, when with someone immortal. Bound to happen.

The clock on Aurora’s bedside table reads 03:13, and sleep is the last thing that Tayce wants to do anymore. Not when she remembers the sight of how Aurora had been so close and easy to-

No. Tayce won’t even think about that. Not if dreams can ever have a chance of being premonitions.

Humans are too fragile for their own good. If only Tayce could build some armour for Aurora to keep her safe, protect her from anything that could possibly hurt her. Tayce pushes away the thought that what Aurora needs protection from most is, well…her.

The unselfish thing to do would be to let Aurora go, to stop sleeping over at her flat and spending time with her and going on little dates and let her live her life the way that she deserves to. To let her grow up, maybe get married and start a family of her own the way Aurora should have the chance to do if she wants.

The thing is though, Tayce is selfish. Very selfish, because she loves the rosiness along Aurora’s cheeks and the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles and the way Aurora’s hands tangle in her hair when she’s between her legs and eating her out. Tayce doesn’t want to let it go, and honestly, she can’t.

She’ll just have to be careful. Really, really, careful.

Everything is fine. It’ll continue to be fine.

Maybe if Tayce tells herself that enough, she’ll start to believe it, too.

Tayce lies awake for the rest of the night, forgoing the sleep that she doesn’t require as a vampire to function in favour of fiddling with the edge of the blanket, her eyes flitting over Aurora’s sleeping form. The way Aurora’s chest rises and falls as she sleeps is a tease that Tayce can’t look away from, rubbing salt into the reminders that the two of them are so irrevocably different.

It’s almost a relief when the morning takes over and the room around them begins to lighten, as Aurora blinks away the sleep from her eyes and snuggles a little into Tayce’s side before pressing a kiss into her shoulder. Tayce can feel her lips pull into a smile without meaning to.

“Morning, sleepyhead. Was starting to think you’d never rise from that slumber.”

Aurora raises an eyebrow, adorably rumpled as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“No!” Maybe Tayce sounds a little too defensive, because Aurora starts to snicker. “Not on purpose. I couldn’t sleep, and your snores were so loud that I couldn’t help but gape in astonishment.”

Aurora squeaks, shoving Tayce’s shoulder. “I don’t snore! Take it back.”

“How would you know? You’re gone to dreamland when you do,” Tayce grins, leaning in to kiss the pout that begins to form on Aurora’s lips.

She does feel a little bit bad, though, considering that Aurora doesn’t snore in the least, and so she pushes herself off the bed amidst Aurora’s protests and grabby hands, and pads toward the kitchen.

“What d’you want for breakfast? You want me to make you something small before your morning lecture? Can’t have you falling asleep on your professors, can we?”

“So mean today,” Aurora huffs, sitting down at the counter, but there’s a small smile on her face, almost bashful at the offer. “Some beans and toast?”

“Coming right up, your majesty.”

Human food isn’t too appetizing to Tayce anymore, but the process of putting it together remains somewhat soothing. Maybe it’s the different parts, the methodicalness of it all. Maybe it’s the way Aurora’s face lights up when Tayce puts the plate in front of her. Either way, she doesn’t mind it in the least.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Aurora mumbles through a mouthful of her breakfast, putting the toast down on her plate.

Tayce’s movements stutter slightly as she’s washing the saucepan in the sink. “Hmm?”

Maybe it’s nothing. It’s not like Aurora knows about Tayce’s dream from last night, or the slight twists of uneasiness that run through her system at the idea of having Aurora entangled in her messes. But then again, Aurora’s not one to tread lightly, closer to a bull in a china shop than any sort of graceful creature. She never hesitates when expressing an opinion or any sort of emotions, which is why Tayce isn’t sure why she nearly drops the pan at her question.

“What is it exactly that we are, Tayce?”

“So you just…”

“Ran back here, obviously. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You absolute, fucking eejit.”

Lawrence’s words are stated with the weariness of a tired mum, and Tayce can’t blame her, frankly, not when she’s pacing back and forth in the living room herself.

“She asked what we are!” Tayce exclaims, crossing her arms as if it’ll rid her stomach of the pit of dread that’s started to form.

It’s not as if Tayce hadn’t known it was coming. She’s not stupid. It’s just that…

There are things she’d rather not think about if she doesn’t have to.

“You’ve been shacking up with her for months now. You don’t think the girl was bound to get a bit restless?” Lawrence asks, rubbing her temples. “No self-respecting woman’s going to hang around like a wee koala on your back without a good reason to do so.”

“Why does everything need to have a label? Can’t we just go with the flow, isn’t that a thing?” Tayce asks, flopping down on the couch beside Lawrence. “Naming it makes it complicated.”

“As if getting cozy with a living, breathing, human rather than sucking her blood for dinner wasn’t complicated enough,” Lawrence tuts, shaking her head. “You’ve made your bed, babes. And your girl’s about to leave it ‘cause you did a shit job with the sheets.”

Tayce sighs, sinking lower onto the couch. The pool of dread in her abdomen feels like it’s growing larger and larger, creating a web that feels like it’s going to overwhelm her at a moment’s notice, drowning her in what ifs and hypotheticals that all end negatively.

“Okay, think of it this way,” Lawrence starts. “D’you want to drink her blood and all that? Get a little snack?”

Tayce shoots up from her slouched position, indignation rising in her chest at the suggestion. “What? No! Why would you ask that?”

“Then d’you want to break up with her instead? Let her go?”

“No, I…” Tayce trails off, pausing. “I should, right?”

Maybe she should. Maybe it would be for the best. Maybe Tayce can resign herself to the single life, on her own forever and ever. Aurora can find a nice girl and live her life and die of old age in sixty or so years, the way a human should.

That’s what Aurora deserves, right?

“No, you shouldn’t, you numpty,” Lawrence says, cutting through her resignation with a smack on her shoulder. “You’re having fun. She’s having fun. What’s the harm? Why not call it something?”

“Because that makes it…”

Real.

Putting a label on it means that Tayce has to acknowledge the fact that she’s really, truly doing this. That if there’s the chance that this could become something long term, Tayce will have to deal with the consequences that will inevitably arise. If she doesn’t lose Aurora to her own fangs, she’ll lose her to time.

Wouldn’t it be better to cut this off before it becomes infinitely more painful on Tayce’s still heart?

Lawrence raises an eyebrow. “Newsflash, it’s already real. You brought her here to meet all of us, didn’t you? I don’t see any other humans that you’ve brought around these parts.”

“Well, that would be because I haven’t done this with any other humans, have I?”

The words make Tayce pause as they leave her lips. She’s never thought about it before, the fact that Aurora’s the only human she’s spent time with like this. Sure, there was the werewolf girl in the early 1800s, and that fae Tayce met when visiting Snowdon once, and Tayce certainly can’t forget the siren she’d had a fling with when her and Cara and Lawrence and Bimini last went to the coast.

But a human? Before Aurora, humans had been a means to an end, an occasional treat. Humans represented Tayce’s past and her old life that she’d had to let go of after being turned, a mosaic of unreached aspirations and plans that Tayce won’t be able to see to fruition despite her immortality.

Aurora had started off as a hunt, a quick snack, before turning Tayce’s world upside down, waking up her heart and making it flutter a bit after four hundred years. But now, Aurora’s captured her in her grasp and Tayce is not sure that she necessarily wants to let go.

Even if it’s going to be painful, eventually, when they do.

Because what Tayce has with Aurora right now is certainly not going to last forever. Not when humans have an expiry date written in fine print across their rib cages.

“Y’know what I think?” Lawrence starts, patting Tayce’s shoulder, “I think you need to talk to her. What’s wallowing on your own going to do? She’s probably pouting all on her own, too. Go pout with her, it’s a nice couples activity.”

Tayce snorts, despite the uneasiness flowing through her veins at the prospect. “You’re certainly one to talk. Shouldn’t you go and pout with your wife?”

“We are here to talk about your relationship problems, not mine,” Lawrence huffs, waving a hand. “I’m the one playing agony aunt here.”

“Why don’t you just call her, Lawrence?”

“Well, she hasn’t called me either, has she?” Lawrence’s voice increases in pitch just a tad, matching the crease that forms between her eyebrows.

“Tell you what,” Tayce starts, “I’ll talk to Aurora if you talk to Ellie.”

It’s a silly prospect, considering that Tayce knows that she has to talk to Aurora regardless, sort out this web of nonsense and confusion while also figuring out what she wants. She’s certainly not going to pull a Lawrence, by running away and just not talking to Aurora for the foreseeable future, because that’s not her.

Well. The second part, at least. She’s already gone and run away from Aurora upon the first question about commitment.

But Lawrence, though? After eighty years of not seeing her wife? Her stubbornness is only matched by Ellie’s, and from the way Lawrence scoffs, Tayce isn’t sure if the idea is enough to convince her.

“Tell you what,” Lawrence counters, “I’ll wait for Ellie to call me first. Let’s see if that ever happens.”

“You’re more stubborn than Cara was last week when trying to fit into that dress she bought a size too small.”

“Don’t let her hear you,” Lawrence snickers, and Tayce can’t help but join in, despite the way the clouds of uncertainty hang above not only her head, but above Lawrence’s, too.

Maybe she can plot with Bimini and Cara and figure out how to get Ellie and Lawrence in the same place. Maybe lock them in a cupboard until they work it out.

But first, Tayce needs to work her own shit out. As much as her heart drops at the prospect, as much as she’d rather stay far, far away and avoid her problems and pretend nothing is wrong…she can’t. Not when every fibre in her body feels like it’s being pulled towards Aurora’s flat, as if she doesn’t want to, but needs to see her again, talk to her, spend time with her, figure everything out with her.

It’s dangerous, very dangerous, how much it bothers Tayce to stay away from Aurora. How much her body almost rejects the concept. She’s in too deep for a human she met only a few months ago, enough that past Tayce would laugh at exactly how pathetic she has become.

Not that the opinions of past Tayce even matter at this point, when she’s in so deep. And somehow, Tayce can’t bring herself to care about them.

The passage of time means nothing when you’re immortal, though the minutes that pass between Tayce’s knock and the door finally opening feel indefinite.

“Started to think you’d let me turn to dust out there,” Tayce starts, though the attempt at a lighthearted comment falls flat when she sees the mascara smudges under Aurora’s eyes.

Fuck.

Aurora’s attempt at disinterest is easy to see through, the speed of her pulse and the tap of her fingers on the doorframe betraying how affected she is. “What d’you want?”

“I - can I come in?” Tayce asks, because really, she’s not about to have a conversation on the doorstep, and although Aurora narrows her eyes, she opens the door enough for her to pass nonetheless.

Aurora shuts the door behind them, wrapping her fluffy robe around herself a little tighter with a slight protrusion of her bottom lip. “Are you here to break up with me? ‘Cause if you are, don’t say anything, I’m breaking up with you first. I don’t get broken up with.”

The words are accompanied by a sniffle that slightly dampens the effect, and despite the way her chest is tight Tayce has to hold a smile back at the way Aurora is so quintessentially herself.

“Now who said anything about breaking up?”

Not that they’re together. On paper, at least.

“You ran out of here like you’d seen your nan in her knickers!” Aurora exclaims, crossing her arms with a huff. “That’s practically screaming that you want to break up.”

“Now that’s a sight to consider.”

“Stop it,” Aurora grumbles, letting out a breath, and Tayce has to resist the urge to reach out a hand, wipe the mascara track on her cheek. “You need to start talking.”

Part of Tayce wants to stall more, ask Aurora about what, but…there’s no avoiding this anymore. Tayce can’t, despite the blissful months of pretending that future consequences won’t exist. Better to face it. Do something about it.

Even though she feels like she wants to be sick.

“Aurora, I don’t…do this. All of this. This casual thing, this dating…deluding myself into thinking I’m in my twenties and not frozen in time for centuries. This isn’t normal, what we’re doing. Not normal in the least.”

It’s not, and it never works out, if her friends’ past experiences are anything to go by. Humans are risky, their fragile forms enveloped in concerns around their weaknesses and mortality and penchant for ending up as prey.

“So what? Why’s it matter what’s normal and what isn’t?” Aurora says it like it’s a challenge, a slight narrow of her eyes. “When have you ever been normal?”

“ I don’t want to be normal, no thank you. God forbid. But you deserve normal,” Tayce counters, and the words sink heavy in her stomach like stones. “And to live life the way you’re supposed to.”

Aurora huffs, so quintessentially her. “Who’re you to tell me what I’m supposed to do?”

Part of Tayce just wants to let it go, give in to the fact that maybe an imperfect existence is acceptable. But she can’t, not when Aurora isn’t fully aware of the consequences.

“I’m stuck,” Tayce starts, “and you’re not. You’re going to get to live your life and you’re going to learn and grow and change the way any human should, and I’m not going to do that. I’m frozen in time, I don’t get to go forward with you.”

Tayce remembers her first century as a vampire. When those around her had started to age, clinging onto the passage of time like vines and watching them grow as the new generations took their places. The countless funerals, the new humans replacing their existence on Earth. The realization that human Tayce would have been six feet under by that time, too.

It’s sobering.

“Are you saying you don’t want me ‘cause I’ll get all old?” Aurora splutters, her eyes widening. “With all the white hair and wrinkles and nursing home stays to come? That’s what this is about? You don’t want to wipe my arse one day?”

“What I’m saying is that you deserve someone to grow old with. You deserve someone who can share all the human experiences that are yet to come for you.”

Experiences that Tayce won’t ever have, no matter how long she’s on the planet for. The reminder is a twinge in her back, a dull pain in her abdomen, a reminder of the shit tradeoffs one gets with immortality.

“And what if I don’t want them?” Aurora’s voice carries a challenge as she takes a step closer to Tayce. “What if I just want you?”

“You sound like you’re straight out of a Nicholas Sparks book with that line,” Tayce quips, but Aurora pokes her shoulder.

“Tell me you don’t feel it, too. That this is worth it. You could have killed me that first time we ran into each other, or the second time, and you didn’t. Why is that?”

Tayce shrugs, trying to ignore the part of her brain that already knows the answer with implications that she doesn’t want to think about. “I wasn’t hungry.”

The words are a lie and Aurora knows it, from the way she rolls her eyes.

“Bullshit, and you know it. Y’know what I think? I don’t think this is about wanting me to have a normal life. I think this is about you. You’re scared.”

Tayce scoffs, because she doesn’t get scared. Not when she’s stronger than any apex predator on the planet. “You think I’m scared?”

“You’re scared of what’s going to happen in the future. Is that why you’re trying to cut this off now?” The understanding that blooms on Aurora’s face makes Tayce want to hide, turn away.

Aurora can read her like a book too damn well.

“You want to walk away now? You really think that’s going to make a difference?” Aurora runs a hand through her hair and Tayce hates how sharp her senses are sometimes, because she gets a whiff of her shampoo and it makes her heart tug, a reminder of how nice it is to snuggle with Aurora’s head against her shoulder.

Tayce tries to imagine what it would be like to let Aurora go now. Not coming over to her flat, not waking her up with kisses. Not seeing the way Aurora lights up whenever she asks her to drop by campus, not being able to make cheesy jokes that make Aurora’s nose scrunch up.

Fuck.

As much as Tayce prides herself on being headstrong and in control of herself, she’s not sure she’d even be able to go through with leaving.

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Tayce hates how vulnerable she sounds, the cracks in her armour that somehow only Aurora is capable of shining a light through.

Aurora, for her part, doesn’t fault her for it, only stepping forward to lace their fingers together. It’s a lifeline, a rope that keeps Tayce steady despite the way her mind is spinning with what ifs and consequences for what they’ve gotten themselves into.

“We’ll just take it one day at a time, that’s what,” Aurora whispers, pulling Tayce in closer for a kiss, and Tayce can feel the armour that she keeps around herself begin to develop some hairline cracks along the metal.

Maybe it’ll be worth it, if it means she’ll get time with Aurora before inevitably losing her and having to pick up the pieces. Tayce never really has made the best decisions to protect her own heart in the long run.

But at least she’ll make sure that she’s protecting Aurora’s in the process.

The house is quiet when Tayce unlocks the door. It’s only about 6 in the morning, but time doesn’t matter much when sleep is for fun rather than a necessity. Still, the lack of commotion is a bit surprising as Tayce kicks off her boots and walks further inside.

Tayce’s heart feels a little bit lighter as she looks at herself in the bathroom mirror. She’s never going to have lines along her forehead or sprout any grey hairs, but the conversation with Aurora feels like it’s taken years off of her system, resolving the tension that had begun to build along her spine.

Because she’s accepting the fact that she’ll have to lose Aurora eventually. It’s inevitable with the fundamental differences between them, the fact that Aurora has a clock that’s ticking while Tayce doesn’t. And maybe, just maybe, that’s fine, because Tayce doesn’t have to deal with it now.

It’s a problem for future Tayce, who is no doubt going to tell her off for already being so attached to a human once she has to let go of her.

Tayce is going to take it one day at a time, like Aurora said. Relish in the time that they do have, take solace in the fact that Aurora’s still living and breathing with her heart still beating for now. The reminder of Aurora’s mortality doesn’t have to affect her until it becomes something that neither of them can ignore.

But until then? Tayce is going to enjoy time with her girlfriend.

Girlfriend. A word that Aurora had squealed at when Tayce had properly asked her, feeling a bit silly herself because in her hundreds of years, she’s never had to use it before. Tayce had been through courtships and some short lived marriages back in the day, but this is new, uncharted territory, even for her, and she feels like a teenager again with the butterflies that sit in her stomach.

Tayce heads towards the kitchen, her mind on Aurora as she goes to grab a blood bag from the fridge. The straw that she shoves through the plastic before taking a sip reminds her of the Capri Suns that Aurora likes so much.

“ Psst. ”

“Ah!” Tayce jumps at the sound and can feel her cheeks burn at the cackle as she turns around to see Ellie at the kitchen table, looking positively delighted.

“Perception abilities gone to shit, have they?”

“What’re you doing here?” Tayce grins, heading around the side of the counter to hug her friend. “Lawrence finally got up off her arse and called you, then?”

“I can hear your foghorn voices!” Lawrence bellows as she shuffles into the kitchen, a sheepish look on her face as she makes eye contact with Tayce. “You. Don’t you dare gloat.”

“No gloating here,” Tayce holds her hands up, but nonetheless shoots a wink at Lawrence. “Just a light I told you so .”

Lawrence doesn’t seem to mind, though, as she goes to stand beside Ellie, nearly at her height while Ellie’s sitting down. “We may have talked things through. A little bit.”

“About how Lawrence was a bit of a stubborn cow - hey , ouch - okay, about both of us were stubborn cows,” Ellie shrugs, rubbing her side where Lawrence had elbowed her only moments earlier.

“Well, look at that. A nice little fairytale ending for the two of you. I feel a bit like a proud mum, if I’m honest with myself,” Tayce grins, but Lawrence is quick to shoot her a look.

“And you? Have you stopped pouting and sorted things with your woman?”

“For now.” Tayce shrugs, and doesn’t add more, because it’s true.

For now. They’re fine, Aurora’s fine and alive, and the two of them have this for now, even if they may not later. And maybe, that’s what remains the most important thing.

They’re fine and ready to thrive for now.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #a'whora #tayce #taywhora #lesbian au #vampire au #taste your beating heart #holtzmanns

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honeytea8 · 4 years ago

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Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

#JJBA #jojo’s bizarre adventure #Dio Brando #Dio x Reader #Dio Brando x Reader #Masquerade AU #jojo #Dio #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #3D Renders

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