#do you reckon Billy is following him?

[fizzigigsimmer]

I am in a moody place, and as usual writing soothes me. I have no idea if there will be more of this, but have some broody post apocalyptic King!Steve.

The King Unbroken.

Jonathan was right. They must have crossed the border into what used to be California some time ago. Steve stared down at the old sign, half lodged in the dirt against a pile of twisted tree limbs. An old sign, more rust now than interstate green, nearly unreadable with vine cover. He could still just make out the faded off white letters that read: Little Valley. Five miles.

Sneering, Steve nudged aside the sign with the toe of his boot, revealing the dark opening of a small narrow room hallowed out in the stump of a once great tree - now dead, like so much else. He took one final sniff, spine tensing as he caught that faint whiff of salt that had followed him since they’d veered off route eighty. Maybe it was just sea air, carried in by the rain they had earlier that week. Or maybe it was something worse - like Hargrove.

He saw again, sharp blue eyes peering at him from behind the holes of a wooden mask - no doubt lifted from some museum - white paint highlighting the strange swirls and embellishments carved across the smooth surface of the wood, with brightly colored plumes of feathers jutting out from the top, more frightening than beautiful. It should have been cheesy - a jumped up kid with blood colored handprints staining his skin, trying to invoke fear by wearing the relics of some tribe long gone.

It wasn’t.

Hargrove’s reputation for brutality spoke for itself. And those eyes, that had been so focused in their hunger and unapologetic in Hargrove’s base desire to watch something weaker than himself squirm, had said the rest. Billy Hargrove had scared the piss out of Steve and that was saying something, given that between a choice of being handed over to a savage alpha in exchange for safe trade passages, or facing the flesh eating faceless monsters that roamed freely outside of the compound; Steve had chosen the monsters.

Fuck Billy Hargrove. Fuck his dad too. If the apocalypse had taught Steve anything, it was his value. He wasn’t good for much, but he could be a damn good shield for others. Funny it took the world ending for that to sink in. Because it didn’t matter anymore what his grades were or that he’d never been ‘the best’ at anything besides making others feel small while he stumbled down the path laid for him by his family status and his father’s money. None of it mattered because life was now a brutal game of survival, may the biggest asshole win, and even before the monsters gave him a reason everyone said that Steve Harrington was king asshole.

It wasn’t like Steve had gone through any great big revaluation or soul change. Turning over a new leaf had been literally as simple as turning over in his bunk the first night in the compound and accepting that none of the petty shit he used to care about mattered. Only, in the morning he’d still be alive while better people were dead, so either it was swallow the gun still resting on his nightstand or try and find a little good to do. That’s it. All he was living for. The chance to save a few better people and protect them for as long as he could. Maybe if humanity was lucky, one of those people might be the one to figure out how to deal with the monsters for good.

Everyone in the pack was in awe of the omega who carried a bat full of metal teeth and led raids against grey-dog hives, enemy packs and everything in between, like death couldn’t touch him and his heart was made of stone. There were plenty of people who would swear that Steve was heartless - even some of the ones he’d saved from the outside and brought into the pack himself - but he wasn’t. Not really. He kind of thought that if there ever was a moment that he felt safe enough to really think about everything he had been through since Day One, and everything he had done in between to survive, he’d probably lose it. It might break him, and then he truly would have been just a waste of space.

Which was precisely why he shoved it all down and never thought about it for too long. What was the point? Crying about the dead wasn’t going to bring them back. Neither would feeling guilty over the lives he’d taken. The kind of use the pack had for a soft sentimental omega, one who couldn’t or wouldn’t kill to survive was the stuff of nightmares. He’d seen it happen to most of the other omegas in his life. To his own mother. Only the strong survived here. Nothing was given for free. Anything of value on the other hand could always be taken, or traded.

Steve had proven that he could be more useful than just as a source of amusement and slick. That he could soldier with the best of them. He could get hit, kicked, knocked down, clawed full of holes, and drag himself back up every time. Since their first raid together his team had lost the fewest members and they still had the highest success rate of any party in the pack. Steve had carefully selected each member, because he’d always been good at surrounding himself with people stronger and smarter than himself, and convincing them somehow to care for him.

It was his one skill, besides hitting things. But by god he’d earned the right to say he’d proven he could make good use of what he had. He hadn’t survived watching those beasts tear apart his friends, seeing his mother passed around like a party favor for oil, just to end up sharing her fate. Traded off to a savage alpha to be bred and brutalized in an endless circle of hell until he died.

Fuck that!

Pushing the memory of the alpha aside, Steve knelt down onto his hands and knees and crawled inside, backward, tugging the heavy sign back into place after himself, and plummeting the den into darkness.

Breathing deep, the scent of dirt and rot filled his nose, and Steve Harrington breathed his first sigh of relief in days. It was stupid to think he would - no matter how much his dad complained about having to negotiate with a kid, it wasn’t Hargrove that needed them - but if there were any chance that Billy was following him, he wouldn’t be able to find Steve now.

Dead or not, the walls of the oak were thick. The natural scents of decay overpowered those of an unwashed human body. Even one of an omega flushed with heat and damp from exertion. Feeling around in the dark Steve’s fingers found the strap of the backpack with supplies that Robin had stashed there for him. It wasn’t much: a ratty old blanket (cheap in this warm climate). A water bottle (expensive anywhere). And a little plastic packet of Advil (worth more than gold these days).

But it’s more than most people have. Steve had always had more than what most people have. Even before the monsters came and civilization as he knew it crumbled around him. It wasn’t fair maybe, but life wasn’t fair. If it was, shitheads like him would have been the first to go in the apocalypse; the base of their power destroyed and unable to adapt to whatever new society emerged from the rubble. But that wasn’t what happened when the world as he knew it ended.

What happened was rich guys like his dad who survived long enough after the first appearance of the monsters, bought up resources while they fled to whatever approximation of safety money could buy them. They threw even more money at stocks and whatever else they hoped would make them richer once the danger was passed, and the smart ones stockpiled what they knew would become better than money in the event that the danger never did.

It hadn’t. Steve’s highschool, the stock market, and just about everything else from his old life was gone.

A few pockets of civilization still clung to life in a sea of monsters. Each colony ruled by whatever alphas had proven themselves better survivors than the rest, followed by those who hoped to be protected from a worse fate. Billy Hargrove was said to be one of the strongest alphas in the west.

He’d slaughtered the pack and taken over the territory that once had been their primary source of trade with the east. Steve’s father had offered him a king's ransom in goods for the promise to reopen trade. But Hargrove had only seemed to want one thing. The heartless omega he’d apparently heard so much about.

Curling up tighter in the small space, Steve brought the blanket over himself and shivered, despite the temperature he could feel climbing with each passing minute. His heat could not have come at a worse time but mercifully he’d made it to the den. With Jonathan and the others keeping a watch on the area he could be relatively confident that nothing would disturb him for a few days while he rode it out.

And when his heat was over, Steve had a new mission. Another chance to prove to his father that he had made a mistake, trading him to Hargrove.

Steve closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to drift off to sleep to conserve his energy before the worst of the heat arrived. The faintest whisper of the sea tickled in the back of his nose, more memory than real. Haunting him. Steve gritted his teeth and silently renewed his vow.

He was going to bring his father back Billy’s head, along with the territory that came with it. And when he did no one would ever question again why he’d survived this long, unchained and unbroken.

[warpdrive-witch]

hey, how are you and I was wondering if you could write me a story about Agatha and the reader being in a relationship and the reader is an angel and Agatha and reader and the rest of the coven is on the witches road and it is the readers trial. The rest like details are up to you and any other thing you want to and is up to you. Also you are one of my top 3 favorite writers

Hey Anon! You have no idea how much I loved writing this. When you wrote angel, I used it as being kind, but it also went into the plot. I hope you love it. Enjoy 💜

16.3k Words. Smut. Magic D. Mommi Kink. Religious Trauma. Edging. Praise Kink. Breeding Kink. The Witches Road.

Minors Do Not Interact.

Red Clay and Ruined Altars

The Witches’ Road was never supposed to be merciful.

It didn’t shimmer. It didn’t whisper. It watched.

A strip of ancient black stone coiled through a world that bent sideways the moment you stepped onto it, like reality exhaled and didn’t bother inhaling again. It wound through nothingness—no sky above, no horizon to anchor you—just a vast, velvet dark pierced by stray stars and a sickle moon that hung low, too close, too interested.

Each of your bare steps was silent, but the Road echoed anyway—mimicking not sound, but sensation. Memory. Every footfall called up things long buried beneath ribs and bone.

The magic of it made your skin buzz. Not warm. Not cold. Aware.

You weren’t alone. Jen moved at your left flank, her long coat whispering around her ankles, lips moving in rhythm with a language older than scripture—older than her own tongue had any right to know. She didn’t look at you. She didn’t need to. Her prayer was a shield, and she cast it like a net around the five of you with every breath.

Alice, beside her, was sharp in the silence. She scanned the dark edges of the Road like a blade looking for something to cut. Her hands never stopped moving—counting runes with her fingers, tapping patterns into her palms. If fear touched her, it hadn’t found a way to settle. Billy kept just ahead of you. Not leading. Not following. He walked like he knew the terrain, like the stones themselves whispered to him. His fingers brushed the air occasionally as if trying to remember something. Or maybe warning something not to come closer. Lilia’s hand found yours only once—fleeting, grounding. A soft press of knuckles. Her magic crackled faintly where your skin touched, familiar and warm, like a hearth fire trying to reach you in the cold.

But it was Agatha who stayed behind you. Not distant. Not silent. Watching. Every step you took, she matched with one of her own. You could feel her presence like gravity—like the hush before thunder. She hadn’t spoken since the threshold, but you could sense her magic stretching forward toward you, threads of violet and smoke weaving through the dark. Not pulling. Not guiding.

Catching. She’d catch you if you fell.

You paused when the Road bent—a turn sharp and sudden as a snapped neck—and for the first time, she broke the silence.

“This is your trial,” Agatha murmured, low and steady, the syllables curling with something sacred. “Not a punishment. Not a curse. A reckoning.” You turned slightly, just enough to glance at her over your shoulder.

Her expression was unreadable. But her eyes—those eyes—held centuries. They held you. And then the Road shifted beneath your feet. No warning. No whisper. One moment you stood on the Witches’ Road.

The next, you stood at the bottom of a hill that should not have existed. The air changed. Heavy. Wet. Oppressive with the stink of memory. The dirt here was red clay, soft and sucking at your feet. The trees that lined the path were dying, if not already dead—branches brittle as bone, bark sloughing off in long curls like burnt parchment. Spanish moss drooped in limp sheets, draping everything like funeral shrouds.

No wind. No birds. Just silence, thick and sharp. And then—smell. It hit first like a slap: old tobacco, clinging and acrid. The smoke had long gone out, but it still clung to the world like a rebuke. Beneath that—mold. Wet wood. Damp stone. The stench of abandonment. But deeper still came something harder to name. Blood and rot and the kind of hate that got baked into floorboards. The copper sting of something old and holy and ruined. You swallowed, but the air tasted like ash. Then your eyes followed the curve of the hill—and there it was.

The church.

It didn’t rise. It lurched.

Warped wooden beams jutted at uneasy angles, like bones broken and never reset. The white paint peeled in great curls, revealing the raw gray beneath. Vines coiled up the sides but refused to bloom. Every window had been smashed. The bell tower leaned slightly east, as if exhausted. And the sign out front—barely standing—still bore the word carved by your father’s own hand: REPENT. The letters were deep. Splintered. Unforgiving.

Billy let out a low whistle behind you. “Well,” he muttered, “shit.”

No one laughed. You hadn’t seen this place in years. But it hadn’t left you. Not really. It had lived inside you. Festering. Haunting.

Waiting for this moment. The others hesitated, hanging back. But Agatha stepped up beside you now, her hand brushing your back once—no pressure, no command. Just touch. She didn’t ask if you were ready.

She didn’t need to. The church door creaked open without touch. Just the nearness of your body was enough. Like it remembered you. Like it had been waiting. The hinges groaned, long and wet, and the air that hit your face was thick and rancid. A mix of old heat, mildew, and something sour that clung to your throat like regret. The inside smelled like rot and ritual. Like someone had buried something holy and let it spoil. Your bare feet crossed the threshold.

The memories didn’t wait to be invited. They surged. Off-key hymns swelled against your skull, sharp and jagged, never in harmony. You could still hear the way the congregation would scream hallelujah like it would scrub them clean, like it was violence disguised as praise.

The pews were collapsed now, but you saw them as they once were—neat rows of splinters, every one a trap for your back, your breath, your spine. You remembered where the cracks were, which nails stuck out, which planks creaked loud enough to draw your father’s glare from the pulpit. No one else noticed that sound. But you did.

And you remembered the kneeling. Not prayer. Submission. Your knees always found the knots in the floor—swollen, warped places in the wood that bit into your skin, leaving you with bruises that lasted longer than the sermons. You knew every dent by touch. Could still feel how your Sunday dress stuck to your thighs in the summer heat while the preacher screamed about hellfire and obedience. You moved slowly down the aisle, every footstep stirring the dust. Light slanted in through the broken windows, revealing motes thick as gnats—spinning and twitching like dying stars.

Behind you, the coven followed. But just before the altar, you stopped. Turned. Your voice came out quiet. Flat.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Alice opened her mouth, probably to joke, but stopped when she saw your face. Jen gave a single nod, solemn and understanding. Lilia took a sharp breath. Billy just looked around and said nothing at all. The floor groaned as you turned forward again. The altar still stood. Barely.

Its once-polished wood was now a mess of gouges and stains, the velvet cloth across it eaten through in patches like moths had feasted on the faith. Two of the candlesticks had fallen and stayed fallen. One remained upright—wax spilled in dried, ugly rivers down its base.

And then—you saw him. Behind the pulpit. Exactly where you knew he’d be. Your father. Or… something wearing his shape.

He was still. Too still. The light didn’t touch him. He looked like he’d been carved from the rot itself—skin pale and waxy, clothes dark with phantom sweat, hair clinging to his forehead like he’d never left the last revival tent he screamed in.

But it was his eyes that stopped you. They were familiar. Sick. Hungry. And they saw you. A grin spread slow across his face. Not welcoming. Not warm. It was the kind of smile a wolf shows a rabbit that stopped running.

“You came back,” he said, voice rough as gravel and soaked in venom. “Knew you would. Knew you couldn’t stay gone forever.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. You felt the Road thrumming through your bones.

He tilted his head, just slightly, like a crow watching something squirm. “Did you think you were free?”

Agatha’s magic stirred behind you, slow and silent. You didn’t need to turn to know her hand was half-raised, her eyes narrowed like a blade’s edge. But she didn’t move yet. She was waiting for you. This was your trial. And your father—whatever this shadowed thing was—looked ready to preach. Or to kill.

You didn’t answer him.

Not yet. Because the moment your eyes locked with his, the past surged up through the cracked floorboards like heat through a stove, filling your lungs, your eyes, your throat. And suddenly, you weren’t on the Witches’ Road anymore.

You were eight, barefoot on red clay, your best dress dust-stained and two sizes too small. The sanctuary was full—shoulder to shoulder, sweat-slick arms, voices raised in a chorus that never quite matched the key. It was a revival. They always were. Too loud. Too long. Too full of fear dressed as salvation.

And you—you glowed. You hadn’t meant to. You’d only been humming. Singing beneath your breath, voice soft and tremulous like the creek just outside the building. But the moment your hands clutched the edge of the pew and your eyes closed, the world had answered you. A shimmer had rippled out from your skin—soft, golden, trembling. Dust caught the light and danced. A sprig of green had pushed through the floorboards beneath your feet, stretching for the hem of your dress like it knew you. Like it loved you.

The preacher’s voice had cracked. Your father’s hands had clenched. And all around you, the flock had gone still. That was the first time you realized the magic inside you wasn’t just real. It was visible. The next Sunday, they made you kneel longer. Sharper. The floor bit into your skin like teeth. You were ten the first time someone struck you for it. Not in anger. Not in haste. No, your mother had pulled you gently by the hand into the back room and said, “Close your eyes. Pray real hard. I’ll know when it’s working.” And then—crack. Once. Twice. A third time. Not enough to kill. Just enough to teach. Just enough to make you doubt what bloomed inside you. But still, the earth beneath you softened when you cried.

You were thirteen when you first saw her. The deacon’s daughter. She was sweet-voiced and starched to perfection. Braided hair, white ribbons, always looking straight ahead. Except once. Once, she looked back. And you smiled.

It was small. Barely there. Just a flicker of light behind your teeth. But it lit something inside you. And they saw. Your father saw. Your mother did. The boy who used to pass you notes in Sunday school. You don’t remember what the sermon was that day. Just the look your father gave you when the choir sang about purity and fire. The way he gripped the pulpit like he was trying not to break it. The way the light through the stained glass hit your face and didn’t burn you.

They decided that day. They’d either kill you—or make you repent until the parts they didn’t like were burned out of you. They tried it all. Cold water dunked three times. “To flush the sin.” A week in silence. “To listen for God instead of yourself.”

Stripped food. Stripped sleep. One night locked in the church itself—doors barred, lights out, Psalms on a loop. They left you there like a lamb in a cage. But the thing they never understood-You were never the lamb.

That night, when the hunger clawed your stomach and fear tried to slither into your chest, you put your palm to the floor and whispered no. And the church shuddered. The pews groaned. The air thickened. The doors didn’t open. They burst. Your chains didn’t slip. They shattered.

You ran. No shoes. No coat. Just your name and a soul stitched with roots and stars. The trees reached down to guide you. The wind lifted your hair. And behind you, the church roared with something between fury and disbelief. You left your blood in that place. But not your power. You never gave that to them. You don’t remember how long you ran. Only that your legs didn’t stop until the road vanished and the woods swallowed you whole.

The night was thick—southern and heavy, the kind of dark that wraps around your lungs and makes every breath taste like earth. Branches clawed your arms. Briars bit your ankles. But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. If you did, you knew the world would close back around you like a fist. You bled. You wept. You burned. And the world—noticed.

Roots shifted to let you pass. Owls watched without blinking. The wind moved ahead of you, parting the undergrowth in quiet reverence, like even the forest recognized what had just been born.

You were eighteen. Unkept. Unwashed. Unnamed by anything except your own magic. And still, you held yourself like something sacred.

You found the clearing by accident. Or maybe it found you. The trees opened like arms, moonlight crashing down in silver waves, and there—finally—your body gave out. You collapsed onto the grass, every breath a sob of defiance, face pressed to soil that didn’t judge, didn’t ask, didn’t punish.

The moss curled beneath your cheek like a cradle. And for the first time, you were free. You didn’t notice the woman until she spoke. Not loud. Not sudden. Just a voice—low, honey-dark, laced with caution and wonder.

“You did that, didn’t you?”

Your eyes snapped open. You rolled onto your back, chest rising and falling in frantic waves. And there—half-shadowed by trees, hair a mess of curls and wind, hands loose at her sides—stood her.

Agatha. You didn’t know her name then. Not yet. But you felt her power immediately. It pressed around you like velvet and smoke—not suffocating, just… surrounding. Matching you. Like two flames flickering toward each other across a distance that no longer mattered.

You bared your teeth. Growled, almost. Animal reflex. But she didn’t flinch. She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until she could see you fully—your torn dress, the blood on your legs, the wild tangle of your hair. You expected disgust. Pity. Even fear. Instead, she looked at you like you were a meteor.

A miracle. A warning. A spark of something ancient and holy.

“You broke it open,” she said, almost to herself. “The whole church. The lock. The chains.”

You stared at her, throat raw, unable to lie.

“They were going to kill me.”

Agatha nodded, once. Solemn. Knowing.

“They would’ve tried.”

She didn’t offer you a hand. Not yet. She offered you her presence. She knelt in the dirt beside you, not minding the blood or the mud, and murmured, “You didn’t just survive. You made the world shift for you. That’s not an accident.”

You blinked hard. Your jaw trembled.

“I don’t know where to go.”

Her eyes met yours.

“You already left the only place you were never meant to stay.”

Then, softer, steadier: “Come with me.”

She reached out—not to drag. Not to tame.

To witness.

To honor.

And you took her hand.

That was the night she brought you to her home. The night you stopped being a fugitive, and started being yourself. The day the world called you sinner— —and magic answered back.

The memory cracked. The past peeled away.

And you were back. In the ruined church. But not small. Not kneeling. Not afraid. The scent of rot still clung to the rafters, thick as ever—mildewed velvet, stale tobacco, sunbaked blood—but it no longer coated your lungs. You inhaled it now, unflinching, your breath deep and even. The dust in the air didn't choke you. It swirled around your skin like mist curling off a cauldron, rising to meet you.

Your father’s shadow���sick and sinewed and stitched together by hate and old scripture—still leered behind the pulpit. But you didn’t flinch. Because you weren’t a girl now, soft-voiced and scared. You were a witch. You were Agatha’s. And you were not alone.

Behind you, the coven stood silent but solid—watchful, waiting, believing. Jen’s hands hummed at her sides with quiet protective spells, Alice’s stare bored into every corner like she dared something to move, Lilia’s breath came slow and even, and Billy…

Billy was grinning like he’d been waiting his whole life to see what would happen next. But it was Agatha who held the moment still.

Agatha, standing just behind your shoulder, her presence wrapped around you like dusk and embers. Her arms didn’t reach for you—she didn’t need to. Her magic threaded through the space between you, a living tether, invisible to the eye but felt in every part of your being.

She was your center of gravity. And you were the storm she had chosen. He spoke again—it did, this twisted version of your father, voice thick and boiling like oil on fire.

“You think you can stand against the Lord?”

You didn’t hesitate. Your voice, when it came, rang clean and sharp through the bones of the church:

“No.” You took one step forward. The floorboards groaned beneath your weight, not in protest—in recognition. Dust lifted. The light shifted. And then— life.

Tiny green vines—barely more than threads—spiraled up from the cracks in the floor beneath your feet. They reached like they had all those years ago, curling toward your ankles, remembering your skin. Remembering your truth. The magic that once made them bloom had only deepened, darkened, rooted. And they thrived on your return. Your next step was slower. Deliberate.

“I stand,” you said, “against you.” The pulpit cracked. Not from your voice, but from the weight of it. He snarled. The walls quivered. Shadows lengthened in the corners of the room like they wanted to devour the vines, the dust, the light. But none of them touched you.

Because Agatha raised her hand—just slightly—and her magic surged outward like a violet wave of smoke and fire, meeting the darkness before it reached your skin. A wordless defense. A promise. She didn’t speak. But the message was clear:

You don’t touch what’s hers. The thing in your father’s skin laughed—a low, broken, rattling thing. “You think love will save you?” And then, softly, from behind you, Agatha’s voice:

“No.” You felt her move forward—close, but never in front of you. Her fingers brushed your shoulder, a point of warmth that lit up the entire length of your spine.

“She doesn’t need saving.” Your eyes burned—not with tears, but with fire. With memory. With magic. Your fingers flexed, and the vines at your feet pulsed—thicker now. Blooming with tiny buds. The scent of fresh earth rose in the air, sweet and sharp.

You raised your hand. “I was the miracle,” you said, and your voice cracked the silence wide open. “You just couldn’t stand that it didn’t look like what you wanted.”

The altar split down the middle with a sound like thunder. The ghost of your father roared. Not words. Just rage. The windows shattered outward—every last one. Light poured in. But not sunlight.

Moonlight.

The Road’s light. It shone down through the open rafters and found only you. Your body soaked it in like soil drinks rain.

Magic rippled through you—not borrowed, not stolen, not taught. Yours. And the church—this tomb of hate and punishment—felt it. The floor cracked. The pews groaned again, and this time, it wasn’t memory. It was shift. It was change.

The vines at your feet bloomed into roses—thorns first. They grew fast. Fierce. Alive. And still, Agatha stood beside you, unblinking. Her magic wove with yours now, not as protection, but as harmony. Violet and green, shadow and flame. Her palm found your back, flat and strong. “Show him,” she whispered, her voice full of love and vengeance. “Show him what they couldn’t burn out of you. The vines at your feet curled tighter. The buds bloomed. And then—music.

It started low. Barely there. A whisper of a hymn, warped and crackling like it played from some distant, broken radio.

Then louder.

“Just as I am, without one plea…”

Your breath caught. The church hadn’t forgotten your blood. It hadn’t forgotten the shape of your knees in its floors, or the way you used to tremble during altar call, praying they wouldn’t see what you were.

But now it sang. The old choir. The harmonies that never matched. The thud of feet stomping in time with judgment. The echo of clapping hands that had once held you down. The hymn wrapped around your throat like smoke, trying to choke the power from your lungs. And behind the pulpit, your father’s ghost reeled with rage.

“This is what you’ve become?” he shouted, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “A weed in God’s garden. A whore of witchcraft, consorting with devils and laying down with darkness.” You said nothing. “You are evil,” he spat. “A mistake. An embarrassment. You were never worth saving.”

The walls groaned again—this time not with growth, but with rage. Splinters fell from the ceiling. The shadows trembled. And all around you, the hymn grew louder.

“O Lamb of God, I come, I come…”

But before you could fall into that old fear, Agatha was there. Her magic didn’t rise like yours. It unfurled—thick and warm and steady. She pressed her body against your back, lips near your ear, her breath firm and grounding.

“He couldn’t burn it out of you,” she whispered. “Not the wonder. Not the light. Not the girl who kissed the deacon’s daughter and made the church afraid of spring.”

Your eyes fluttered closed—but only for a moment. The hymn tried to bury you again. You opened your eyes, and the roses around your feet snapped their buds wide open. Agatha’s hand slid into yours.

“He tried to strip you down to bone,” she said, louder now. “But you still sang. You still bloomed.” Your father’s shade shrieked, half-human, half-shadow. The pulpit burst into splinters behind him. Flames licked up the walls—but not from you. From him. From his fear. He screamed again, voice raw. “You think that woman can save you? You think your filth is love? It’s corruption. It’s blasphemy!”

And then— “It’s mine,” Agatha said, stepping to your side, hand still clasped in yours. Her voice didn’t shout. It rang. “She’s mine. And she’s holy in ways you’ll never understand.”

The hymn stopped. Silence cracked through the church like lightning. You stepped forward. One more breath. And then— everything broke.

The ghost of your father lunged. The shadows rushed in, hands clawing from the walls, from the pews, from the pulpit itself. The stained glass exploded inward. The altar erupted into splinters.

But your magic met them midair.

Your hand burst into bloom—green and gold and deep russet red. Vines unfurled like whips, roses snapping wide with teeth of thorns. Your other hand raised, palm glowing. Symbols written in the dirt by your own blood lit up like stars. Agatha spun beside you, one hand raised in defense, the other still touching you. Her magic flared violet—sharp-edged, ancient, furious.

The coven moved as one behind you. Jen whispered a binding. Alice twisted the hymn’s melody into something chaotic and shattered its hold. Lilia extended her palm, a wall of wind crashing through the shadows. Billy, grinning, moving the air around him through the cracked rafters like a dragon in human skin.

And in the center of it all— you. You threw your arm outward and spoke—a wordless command that pulsed like thunder through your chest. Your father’s shade staggered back.

“I am not yours,” you said, every word a blade. “You never got to name me. You never got to decide what was holy.” Agatha’s hand found your shoulder again. Steady. Devoted.

“End it, love.”

And you did. The storm of shadow rushed you. You stood in its center. And you did not move. The church howled—its bones moaning, its stained glass shrieking like the ghosts of every sermon ever weaponized against you. The floor cracked. The altar shattered. The rafters trembled, but you stood rooted, barefoot and burning, hand clasped in Agatha’s as your other reached toward the pulpit. Toward him. Your father’s shade surged forward, mouth unhinged, fire in his eyes that had once promised salvation and delivered only scars. But now—he hit the edge of something invisible. Your magic rose like a barrier—woven through with the color of moss, blood, and memory. It shimmered gold at the edges, pulsing with every heartbeat you gave it.

He struck it. And stumbled. Snarled. Spat. “You think that’s power? You think that’s righteous? This is nothing but vanity—witchcraft—lies.” The shadows lashed. Agatha threw up her hand, a spiral of violet light colliding with the dark. Her power arced outward, splitting the air like thunder, and met yours in the space between your hearts.

It lit the church like sunrise. “You call it evil,” you said, stepping forward, “because it didn’t come from you.”

The vines beneath your feet thickened. Wrapped around your ankles, not to restrain—but to lift. You rose from the floor like a judgment in bloom, eyes glowing, breath steady. And the church—felt it.

The air bent. The hymn began again, desperately now, as if the building itself wanted to drown you in ritual. But Alice shattered the melody with a flick of her hand—strings of the song warping, collapsing into silence. Your father lunged again. But your magic met him midair—and didn’t yield. You threw both arms wide. And the world listened.

Symbols unfurled around you—sigils scrawled in air, in ash, in blood. They glowed in three colors: your gold, Agatha’s violet, and the raw, aching green of something ancient and unkillable. Your voice deepened. Not louder—truer. “This is my trial. Not yours. And I choose to rise.” The entire church shuddered.

Floorboards cracked. Vines burst from every crevice, spiraling up columns, crawling over windows, cracking stained glass into kaleidoscopic showers of color. Roots split the aisle down its center. Roses bloomed from the pulpit itself, curling around your father’s legs, binding him—not with hate, but truth.

“I am not your mistake.”

“I am not your shame.”

“I am not the burden you left in the back pew to rot.”

You stepped forward one final time. Your voice dropped.

“I am the daughter you couldn’t kill. The witch you couldn’t burn. The love you could never take from me.”

Your father screamed. But it wasn’t words. It was emptiness. And as he lunged, vines surged up and consumed him—not in violence, but in return. To the earth. To the past. To nothing.

Light erupted from the pulpit as his shadow cracked into a thousand cinders and was gone. Silence fell. Real silence. And then— The church exhaled.

The vines didn’t wither. They settled.

The air stilled.

And the building… changed.

The pews stood straighter. The altar rebuilt itself from fallen pieces, now coiled in ivy and moss. Sunlight poured through shattered windows, soft and unfiltered. Dust hung gentle, not heavy. It wasn’t a place of worship anymore.It was a place of witness.

And you—barefoot, sweat-soaked, blood-streaked—were still standing in the center.Agatha approached slowly, magic fading to a low hum beneath her skin. She stopped in front of you. Lifted one hand. And with infinite gentleness, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Her other hand found your heart, resting above it, steady as breath.

“He’s gone,” she said. “And you’re still here.”

You collapsed into her arms—not in weakness, but in release. The coven came closer, quiet in their reverence, not for what they’d done, but for what you had. You didn’t need saving. You needed to be seen. The church doors didn’t open.

They unlatched. Soft. Gentle. Like the building itself had finally released its hold on you. The back gate was overgrown, half-hidden behind thick ivy, a path long forgotten by worshippers but known by the Road. You could feel it in your chest—a pull. Not demanding. Just present. An invitation to leave this place behind.

The coven didn’t speak. Not yet. You led them through the threshold, your bare feet brushing moss and stone, the vines parting for your passage like they’d waited years to do so. Agatha’s hand lingered at your back, not pushing, just… there. Reminding you that your trial was done. That the world had changed.

The moment you crossed into the Witches’ Road again, the air shifted.

Cool. Open. Breathing. The silence after a storm. You kept walking. You didn’t look back.

Not until the church was swallowed in mist and memory, its twisted beams and stained glass softened by distance, reclaimed by root and shadow. The Road curled ahead, pale as ash and slick with soft moonlight. You said nothing to the others.

You just whispered, “I need a minute,” and kept walking.

No one followed. Not at first. Not even Agatha. The Road veered slightly to the left and you followed it until the sounds behind you—shuffling footsteps, murmured voices, the quiet crackle of settling magic—faded away. That’s when you saw it.

A stream ran just off the path, thin and clear, threading like silver through a break in the woods. A flat rock sat at its edge, smoothed by time. You moved toward it without thinking, lowering yourself slowly, breath still uneven in your chest. You slid your feet into the water.

Cool. Shockingly so. The stream curled around your ankles like silk, carrying away sweat, blood, ash—everything the trial had demanded. You didn’t cry. You just breathed. Until you felt her. She didn’t call your name. Didn’t announce herself. Just the soft crunch of footsteps behind you. Then silence.

Then weight, gentle and familiar, settling beside you. She didn’t speak at first. She simply sat on the rock’s edge, knees drawn up, her legs brushing yours. Her magic stayed close—not touching, not anchoring. Just present. The stream moved between you, soft and rhythmic. And then, after what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, she turned her head.

“I love you.” Your throat caught. Not because you didn’t know it. But because she said it like a truth older than trials. A vow that had survived fire.

Her hand found yours—cool, calloused, trembling slightly with everything she hadn’t said. “I love you,” she repeated, voice quieter now. “And I’m proud of the woman you are now…” Her fingers curled between yours, squeezing just once. “…and the girl I found beneath a bleeding moon a century ago. Wild. Unkept. Brilliant. You looked at me like I was either going to save you or ruin you.”

You turned toward her. Your voice, when it came, cracked: “And which one did you do?” She smiled. Not smug. Not sad. Soft. “I don’t think I ever had the power to do either. You saved yourself. You always did.”

She leaned in. Just a brush—her lips catching yours like a breath she’d been holding since the trial began. Like she needed to taste you, even if just for a second, to remind herself that you were real and whole and hers. You leaned into her harder. Not just meeting her kiss, but deepening it—your hand sliding to her waist, fingers curling tight in the fabric like you couldn’t stand the idea of her slipping away. Her other hand slid up your neck, cupping your jaw with reverence, her thumb brushing beneath your ear like a question.

And you answered. Not with words. But with motion.

You shifted, just enough to press your body more fully into hers, guiding her back as you took control of the kiss—slow at first, then hungrily, like you were trying to breathe her in. She gasped softly into your mouth as you kissed her like a promise. Like a prayer. Like you could imprint this moment between her ribs. Your magic hummed. Met hers. Tangled like vines in floodlight. The silence around you stretched—heavy and golden. Full of everything that didn’t need to be said. Agatha’s head rested soft against your shoulder, her hand still laced with yours, curls damp from sweat and mist. The stream gurgled nearby. The forest held its breath. You turned toward her hair. Inhaled. Ash. River water. Magic.

Her. And the ache inside you twisted, low and deep and impossible to ignore. You needed more. Not comfort. Not quiet. Her. Your fingers squeezed hers in warning. And when she looked up—eyes wide, open, waiting—you didn’t hesitate. You shifted, slow and sure, guiding her body into your lap. She didn’t resist. She let you take her. Let you move her exactly where you needed her—knees straddling your thighs, her weight settling into yours like she belonged there.

Because she did. Gods, she did.

Your hands gripped her hips, grounding yourself in the shape of her, the heat of her core so close it made your stomach clench. You could feel her breath catch. Her fingers dug lightly into your shoulders, steadying herself as you held her, eyes locked, lips parted—

And then you rocked up. Just once. But it lit everything. The friction—clothed, but electric—ripped a gasp from her throat, her hips instinctively responding, grinding back down against the seam of your jeans. You pressed your forehead to her chest. “I need—” You didn’t finish. You didn’t have to. You moved again. This time, intentional. A full, slow roll of your hips that pressed your core into hers with unmistakable rhythm. Her breath stuttered. Her hands flexed on your shoulders. And then she moaned.

Soft. Shaky. Your name whispered like a secret as her body melted into yours. You kept moving—rocking her against you, coaxing moans from her lips, your hands guiding her with quiet strength, pulling her down just a little harder, a little deeper. She gasped. Bit her lip.

“You’re not playing fair,” she whispered, breathless. You smiled against her skin.

“I’m not playing at all.”

You rutted up again, harder this time, and she whined—her thighs shaking, her body beginning to tremble against yours. One of her hands slid into your hair. The other clutched your jaw. But you were in control.

You set the pace. And she followed.

Riding you. Rocking down onto your thigh as you pressed up to meet her, your rhythm building until you were both panting, lost in heat, friction, want. The moans she let out were for you—and every one of them pulled you deeper into her orbit, her weight, her magic.

Until—

“Fuck—” she gasped, her forehead dropping to yours. “I can’t—baby, I—” You moved again. Rougher. And she shuddered. You thought she might break. But instead— She flipped you.

It was fast. Fluid. You gasped, your back hitting the soft, mossy ground, the stream still murmuring beside you like it had always known this moment was coming. The stars spun above you, fragments of silver caught in velvet. And then Agatha was over you.

Not looming—blanketing.

Her body curved above yours like a spell cast for shelter, for protection, for claiming. Her curls fell loose around your face, her hands braced to either side of your head, her eyes locked on yours with something ancient and unspeakably tender burning behind them. Her thigh slipped between your legs. Pressed firm to your still-sensitive center. You jerked beneath her, a soft, strangled cry escaping your lips before you could catch it. Her eyes never left yours.

“There she is,” she murmured, voice thick and molten, as if speaking through the heat in her throat. Her hands came to frame your face, thumbs brushing reverently over your cheeks—grounding you. “I need you to feel yourself again. You hear me?”

You nodded. Barely. But it was enough. And she moved. Her thigh rolled up against you—just once. Purposeful. Slow. The drag of fabric against the soaked seam of your jeans was maddening—too much and not enough, the pressure direct and devastating. You whimpered. She swallowed it with a kiss.

Deep. Slow. Possessive. A kiss that said mine. Then she pulled back, lips brushing your jaw as she whispered, “I want you to know exactly what you’ve done tonight.” Another slow grind of her thigh. You arched with a gasp, but she caught your hips, held them down, her hands strong and sure. “You didn’t survive him.” Another roll. Another helpless noise caught in your throat. “You ended him.”

Her mouth trailed lower—your jaw, your neck, the hollow where your pulse fluttered fast and raw. “You didn’t just make it out of that church…” Her voice, low and steady, rumbled through your chest. “…You remade it. You turned it into a place that answers to you now.” She moved again—slower, deeper pressure this time, and her thigh was slick with your heat. You whimpered, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. “And every time you breathe,” she whispered, “every time your body responds like this—” Another slow, grinding press of her thigh. “—you’re proving them all wrong.”

You let out a cry. Trying to hold on, even as you were unraveling under the gentle, relentless pressure of her body and her words. And Agatha kissed you again. First the corner of your mouth. Then your throat. Then the center of your chest—right over the place where your magic pulsed warm and alive beneath your skin. She didn’t move for a moment. Just held you.

Her thigh pressed snug between yours, her body flush to yours, her breath ghosting over your lips like a vow. You could feel her heartbeat through the layers between you—steady, strong, yours. Around you, the moss curled tighter—thick, lush, living. It cradled your back like a cradle, a nest, rising just high enough to shelter the two of you in green shadow.

Tiny flowers bloomed at the edges of your vision. Deep violet. Sun-bleached gold. Soft white. The stream slowed beside you, its voice growing smooth and steady as a lullaby. Overhead, the trees leaned in—guarding. Bearing witness.

The Witches’ Road watched. And then—for the first time since your trial began— It turned away. You felt the shift in your chest. A breath. A stillness. Sanctuary. Agatha lifted her head like she’d heard the spell woven in that silence.

She pressed her lips to your cheek, your temple, her breath warm as it passed across your skin. Her fingers traced your jaw, slow and sure, anchoring you in the here, the now, the you who had remade herself. Then she pulled back—just far enough to see all of you. Her eyes roamed your face like they’d never get another chance. Reverent. Wrecked. In love.

“Can I…?” she asked softly, her voice rougher now. Like it had traveled a long road to reach you. Like she’d waited too long to ask.

You nodded. No hesitation. Just trust. And her hands moved. Not with hunger. But with ritual. Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your pants again, thumbs grazing your skin, and then—slowly—she unfastened the button. She dragged the fabric down, over your hips, past your thighs, and the night air kissed your skin with cool reverence. You didn’t look away. You watched her. Every motion deliberate. Every touch a devotion.

When she reached for your shirt, she paused again—her palms resting against your ribs, feeling the shape of your breath, the place where your heartbeat thundered. Then she lifted the fabric away, baring inch after inch of you until nothing was left between your body and the world but the soft gold shimmer of your magic and the green cradle of the moss beneath you.

You lay back. Soft. Open. Trembling. And Agatha knelt beside you. Shedding her own clothes with no flourish, no seduction. Only need. Her blouse slipped from her shoulders. Her bra was unclasped and dropped away. Then came the soft tug of her skirt, the slide of leggings. Her fingers moved quickly, almost impatiently—but never careless. And when she was bare, she came to you. Not with urgency. But with gravity. She pressed her body over yours like a second skin—warm, real, and here. Agatha didn’t move for a moment. Didn’t need to.

Your skin sang where hers touched it. Her thigh bracketed yours. Her fingers glistened—slick with the heat she’d coaxed from you before.

But then she moved again, slow and grounding. Her hand slid down your thigh, over the curve of your hip, anchoring you to the earth, to this, to her. Her gaze never left yours. Even as her body shifted above you—hovering, barely touching. Her curls fell forward, brushing your bare shoulder. Her breath caught at the edges.

“I want to feel you,” she whispered, voice thick, trembling. “Not just around me. Against me.” Your breath stuttered. That ache in your chest cracked wide open again. You nodded—barely more than a breath.

“Please,” you said. “I need you there.” She kissed you again. Once on your cheek. Then your jaw. Then your mouth—slow and deep and tender enough to hurt. And then she shifted her hips—just enough to reach between her legs.

You watched her—dazed, already shaking—as she aligned herself with you, guiding her slick core forward until your centers met. Heat to heat. Bare to bare. It stole your breath. Your thighs jerked with the contact. Twin gasps broke into the air—hers and yours—twining together like smoke.

She was soaked. And you were already throbbing. When she finally pressed down—slow, steady, searing—her slick folds dragged over yours, clit catching against clit, the friction sending a shockwave through both your bodies. You nearly came again on the spot.

Agatha groaned, hips stuttering, her hand flattening beside your head for balance as she dropped her forehead to yours.

“Fuck—” You whimpered, mouth open, voice cracked. Your legs parted wider, hips lifting instinctively to meet her. To keep her. And then she moved. The grind was slow. Wet. Torturous.

Her slick folds slipped over yours, the contact so intimate, so bare, you felt like you’d been peeled open to the stars. Each pass dragged her clit against yours in a way that was almost too much—almost—just on the edge of pain, on the edge of breaking. There was nothing between you now. No fabric. No lies. Just heat. Wetness. Need. Her. You.

Together.

Agatha’s hips rolled into yours—slow, unhurried, as though she wanted to make sure you felt every single inch of her center sliding against yours. Every sticky, perfect drag. Every twitch of muscle. Every shiver when your clits caught. And gods, it was good. So good it hurt.

Your thighs trembled beneath her. Your stomach coiled tight. Your breath came shallow, your hands gripping her back—shoulder blades, then waist, then lower—just trying to anchor yourself to the reality of her. She picked up the pace. Not fast. But intentional. Every grind drove your hips deeper into the moss, your body lifting to meet hers like it was instinct. Like you’d always known how to move with her like this.

Each drag of her clit against yours sent another spike of heat zipping up your spine. The slick sounds between your bodies were filthy, echoing into the dark. And you didn’t care. You needed it. You whimpered. Moaned. Your head fell back into the moss with a soft cry—and Agatha caught it, her mouth slanting over yours, kissing you through it. “That’s it, baby,” she whispered against your lips, her voice so low, so reverent you could feel it between your legs. “Grind on me. Just like that.” You did. You gave in.

Your hips met hers with every roll. Your clit swelled beneath hers, heat spreading fast, dizzying, unbearable. You moved together in a rhythm older than magic. In a song only your bodies remembered. The moss beneath you thickened, plush and damp and alive. The heat between you burned hotter. Your breath caught with each movement. Her skin burned against yours.

“So wet,” she panted, curls stuck to her forehead, “fuck, you’re so wet—I can feel it every time you move—your clit’s fucking pulsing—gods, I feel everything—”

You arched. Cried out. Your hips moved faster now—less rhythm, more desperation. Your thighs were trembling, your stomach tensing with every thrust. You were so close, and every drag of her body over yours pushed you closer.

“I want you to cum like this,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I want you to fall apart on me. With me.” Your lips were parted. Your breath, wrecked. Your legs began to shake.

You gasped: “I want you in me.” Eyes dark, pupils blown, her slick body hovering just above yours.

“Say that again.”

“I want you in me,” you gasped. “I need—Gods, I need you inside me, Agatha—”

Agatha froze. Just for a moment. Her breath caught like a vow between her lips. Then her eyes met yours—wide, stunned, searching—and in that heartbeat of stillness, something ancient shivered through the air around you.

The Road shimmered. A pulse beneath the moss. A soft cracking in the air—not violent. Not thunderous. Just a shift. Like the universe giving way. Not power. Permission. You both felt it. The earth stilled. The stream quieted. The moss beneath you hummed and hushed, its flowers blooming wider, lifting their petals toward the dark sky. And between your bodies— Something changed. Agatha inhaled sharply, the sound soft and sharp like the first gasp of spring. Her hips stuttered where they hovered, slick and trembling against you.

“Wait—” she whispered, as if afraid to name it. “Did you feel—” You did. The heat between your legs hadn’t shifted—but it gathered. Pulled tight like a spell on the verge of form. Something thickened in the air, pressing low and dense and alive where her folds had been grinding against yours. Not flesh. Not spell. Possibility. A weight that wasn’t there moments ago now nudged at your slick center. Not just pressure. Presence. The ghost of a shape—real, but not bound by flesh. Agatha looked down. Her breath caught. You felt her hips roll once—slow, experimental—and something slid forward. Pressed. Not fully formed. Not fully solid. But perfect. A soft moan broke from your lips—high, sharp, almost frightened by the rightness of it.

“Is that—?”

Agatha’s voice was wrecked. “The Road,” she breathed. “It’s listening. It’s letting me—”

Another roll of her hips. And you felt it. A hot, impossible drag of something shaped by her, for you, gliding over your soaked folds—wet, aching, divine. Not a part of her body. Not separate either. A conjuring of everything she wanted to give. A manifestation of need, devotion, claiming. Your back arched. Your hands flew to her arms—fingers curling in tight. Your whole body trembled.

Agatha looked wrecked above you. Her eyes glassy. Her lips parted in disbelief. Her magic shimmered faintly across her skin, glowing low where your chests pressed together. “You wanted me inside.” Her hand came to your jaw, thumb stroking once beneath your cheekbone.

“Let me in.” And then— She thrust—but not fully. Just enough to part you. Just enough to begin. The pressure was unbearable in its gentleness. The way her magic—now flesh, now offering—pressed against your slick folds was slow, careful, aching. Your body responded instantly—thighs trembling, breath punched out of your lungs, hips tipping up to meet her with the desperation of someone who’s waited for this their entire life. “Easy,” Agatha whispered, her voice low and wrecked as she leaned down, pressing her mouth to your cheek. “I’ve got you.” She rolled her hips again—barely a shift—but the head of that not-quite-flesh, not-quite-spell form slid deeper. You gasped—eyes wide, heart hammering, legs tightening around her waist.

It was hot. Thick. A perfect stretch that made your breath catch and your muscles clamp down like your body knew her.

“You’re so tight,” she breathed, trembling above you, her palm braced beside your ribs. “You're holding me like you don't want to let go—”

“I don’t,” you whispered. “I want to feel every inch. I want you slow. I want to know it’s you.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned—a sound low in her throat, nearly broken by how much she felt that. Her hips rocked forward again—just another inch. And gods. It burned. Not from pain. But from everything you had ever held back—every wall, every fear, every time you’d been told your body didn’t belong to you. It all cracked open in that stretch.

You arched beneath her, tears welling in your eyes. Your fingers found her shoulders—digging in—not to stop her, but to anchor her. To beg her not to leave your body, not for a single second. “That’s it, baby,” she whispered, kissing your cheek. “Let me in. All the way.”

And she pushed deeper. Slow. Steady. Every pulse of her magic made you wetter. Softer. Wider. More. You felt her slide deeper, inch by inch, until your whole body was trembling with it.

“You’re taking me so well,” she said softly, her voice cracking as her hips finally came flush to yours. Her body pressed down fully. Her thighs bracketed your own. “Fuck—you’re perfect. You were made to hold me like this.”

You sobbed—a sound of relief, of wonder, of reverence. Your walls fluttered around her. And still—she didn’t move. She stayed. Inside you. Letting you feel it. The fullness. The stretch. The heat. Her.

“Agatha—” you breathed, your voice wrecked, your hands sliding to cup her face. And she kissed you—slow and deep and ruined.

“I’m right here,” she whispered into your mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She stayed there. Fully sheathed. Pressed deep—so deep—her body flush against yours, her hips trembling with the effort it took not to move. You were so full, your walls stretched wide, throbbing around her with every heartbeat. The weight of her inside you—real, shaped of magic and need—made your breath stutter. Your thighs quivered where they clung to her sides. Your fingers dug into the backs of her arms, desperate to keep her there. Your body was adjusting. Softening. Welcoming.

And Agatha— Agatha was barely breathing. You could feel the tension in her frame, every muscle locked, every shallow exhale brushing your lips. “Holy fuck,” she whispered, voice frayed and reverent. “Fuck, baby” You moaned—soft and broken, head tipped back as your hips shifted, just a little, testing. Her eyes rolled. She gasped. “Don’t—” Her hips twitched. “I can’t—I’m trying to let you adjust, but gods, you feel like you’re sucking me in—”

You whimpered, clenching around her again.

“You are,” she moaned, forehead dropping to yours. “You’re not letting me go. You want me to stay buried inside you like this—don’t you?” You nodded—barely able to speak. Your voice came out as a whisper: “I want you to move.” Her lips parted like a prayer.

“Yeah?” You wrapped your legs around her waist, locking her in place. “Fuck me, Agatha-slow.”

She growled—low, wrecked, trembling with restraint. “You’re gonna get all of me,” she whispered, her voice rough with worship. “I’m gonna move so slow you feel every fucking inch—you want that, baby? You want to feel how deep I can go? How long I can stay inside you?”

You moaned—needy, desperate—your hips arching as you felt her finally shift.

And then she pulled back— Just an inch. The drag of her cock—thick, real, perfect—made your walls clench and flutter and ache for more.Then she thrust forward.

Slow. Heavy. Deep.You cried out, hands clawing at her back, breath caught between a sob and a scream. “Yes,” she groaned. “Just like that—let me in, baby. Let me fuck you slow. Let me show you what it means to be mine.” And she moved again.

Deliberate. Dragging her cock out until you could feel the stretch, the emptiness— Then pushing back in until your whole body arched, your mouth dropped open, and you were gasping her name like it was the only thing that kept you tethered. “Fuck—you feel so good—” she rasped. “So warm—so tight—so fucking perfect—”

You sobbed. Your body melted beneath her—legs wide, hips tilted, cunt aching and soaked, stretched to hold the full, slow roll of her pelvis. The shape of her—thick, pulsing, impossibly right—dragged over your walls with a friction so exact it felt forged for you.

Because it was. You cried out when she thrust again. No urgency. Just a deep, slow claim—like she was planting herself in you, pressing magic into your bones with every pass. “Tell me what it feels like,” she panted against your throat, her breath sticky and hot. “Tell me what I feel like inside you.” You whimpered—speechless. Body clenching, pulsing, breath catching with each movement of her hips. She didn’t thrust so much as sink, as if every inch of her cock was a message she needed you to remember.

“Like I was made for you,” you finally whispered, the words catching in your chest like a sob. “Like you belong there—fuck, Agatha, I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

She kissed your jaw. Your lips. Your cheek.

“Yes you can,” she moaned, voice trembling with the weight of your need. “You’re taking me so fucking well, baby—look at you—”

Another thrust. Deeper. And you swore the magic sparked behind your ribs—pushing up through your diaphragm, stealing your air, blurring the edges of your vision. But she didn’t speed up. She just kept going. Steady. Controlled. Her hips rolled into you with an aching rhythm. The kind that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch, made you feel every nerve down to the soles of your feet. Over. And over. And over. Each stroke was a wave crashing through you—soft, wrecked, sacred. You were already gasping, already shaking, your hands scrabbling at her back, her waist, her ass, desperate to keep her in you.

“I love you,” she gasped into your skin, voice ragged. “I love being inside you. I love the way you sound when I stretch you open. You’re mine.”

Agatha’s hips kept moving. Not hard. Not fast. Just perfect. Each thrust filled you completely, her cock dragging along your walls with just enough pressure to leave you breathless—then pulling out slowly, like she needed you to ache for it again. The tip of her magic bumped just beneath your cervix with every pass, and your whole body shuddered.

Your cunt fluttered—wet, tight, hot. Your thighs clung around her waist, twitching. Your mouth hung open on every exhale, your head tipping back as the tension coiled harder inside you.

And Agatha—gods, Agatha—was watching you fall apart.

“Look at you,” she whispered, voice like fire wrapped in velvet. “So open. So wrecked already. And I’ve barely even—”

She thrust deeper. You cried out, hips jerking up to meet her, your cunt clamping down around her so hard you both gasped. Agatha dropped her forehead to yours. Her breath came out in a shattered moan.

“You’re milking me, baby,” she groaned. “Gods—look at how hungry your body is for me.”

“Please,” you gasped, voice trembling. “Please, Agatha, let me—”

She cut you off with a kiss. Not soft. Not slow. Possessive. Then her hand slid between your bodies, her thumb pressing lightly—so lightly—to your clit. Just enough to tease. Just enough to ruin. You choked on a sob. Her lips brushing your cheek, her hips still grinding slow and deep. “You want to fall apart on my cock like a good little witch? Hm? Want me to watch you shake while I fuck you full of magic?”

You nodded. Frantic. Desperate. But she just moaned against your jaw—and slowed down even more. Each stroke was fire now. Dragging against every raw inch of you. Your cunt clenched around her. Your thighs were soaked. Your magic pulsed in bursts under your skin.

Another slow thrust. You keened. “That’s it,” she hissed, her teeth grazing your throat. “That’s my girl. All fucked open on my spell, twitching like you’ll die if I don’t let you cum.”

Her thumb circled your clit— Once. And stopped. “Please—Agatha—” you sobbed, your hips chasing hers, trying to get friction, trying to get anything. Your mouth found her shoulder. Her collarbone. Her lips. You kissed every inch you could reach, trembling beneath her. She pressed her body fully to yours—chest to chest, heat to heat—and rocked deeper.

“You’re close,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking close, and you’re going to stay there. Right here—” her thumb circled again, slow, maddening— “until I say.” You screamed.

And Agatha laughed—wrecked, wild, worshipful. Her hips picked up pace.

Not fast. Not brutal. Just enough to drive you insane. Every thrust now pressed deep and slow, her cock slick with you, your wetness leaking down your thighs, the moss below soaked and singing. Your cunt fluttered with every motion, clamping down like it didn’t know how to let her go.

“Fuck,” Agatha gasped, panting. “You’re squeezing me—how are you still this tight?”

You moaned. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Her thumb brushed your clit again—barely there—and your whole body bucked beneath her. She didn’t stop. She spurred you on. Her thrusts sharper now, more urgent. Still slow—but deliberate. Intense. Designed to keep you teetering on the edge until you couldn’t hold on.

“You’re wrecked already,” she panted. “Soaked. Fucking dripping. I haven’t even let you cum.”

She drove into you again—deeper. You sobbed. Your hands slid between your bodies—desperate to feel where you were joined, slick and full and pulsing. You looked up at her. Ruined. Open. Shaking.

“I want you to wreck me,” you sobbed.

Her rhythm faltered—just a beat.

Your hands grabbed her shoulders. “I want you to ruin me, Agatha. Please. I want to feel it for days—”

She growled. Her mouth crashed into yours. Her body slammed forward.

“I want you to finish in me,” you whispered against her lips.

Her entire body shuddered. The magic inside her surged—her cock pulsing deep in your core, like it had heard you like it had been made to live there. Her hips snapped once. Then again. Not fast. Not wild. Just precise—sharp, measured, filthy. Each thrust drove deeper, the slide of her cock dragging so perfectly along your fluttering walls you thought you might scream from the tension alone.

“Say it again,” she begged, mouth at your ear, voice wrecked and reverent. Her hand gripped your thigh so tight it bordered on pain. “Say it, baby—tell me what you want.”

“I want you to finish inside me,” you cried, voice high, cracked, desperate. “I want to feel you—fill me—don’t stop, Agatha, please—”

She snapped. Her hips started pounding into you—still steady, still controlled, but no longer gentle. Each thrust was deliberate and cruel in its slowness, your cunt taking every inch with no escape. She held you open—one hand gripping your thigh, forcing you wider, the other tangled in your hair, keeping your head tilted, your throat exposed. Her cock—still formed of her magic, of her love, of her goddamn devotion—pressed into every trembling inch of you. Again. And again. And again.

You were soaked. The moss beneath you wept with it. The flowers blooming under your back were bent low, heavy with dew and magic, their petals quivering with every slap of her hips into yours. And you—gods, you were ruined. But Agatha didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She fucked you through the rhythm with a focus that bordered on unholy. Each thrust rolled heat through your belly. Each withdrawal made your body beg for more. She didn’t give you release. She gave you ownership.

“You want me to cum inside you?” she growled into your throat, voice dark and wrecked. “You want me to keep you open, aching for me for days?” You whimpered—barely conscious, half-mad with tension.

“You do,” she hissed. “I can feel it. You’re clenching around me like you’re already coming—but I’m not going to let you. Not yet. Not until I’ve earned it.”

You opened your mouth—but nothing came out. No words. Just gasps. Just magic. Just the searing heat of her cock dragging against every nerve in you. Your magic pulsed now—gold and wild and molten, flowing from your skin like honey. Agatha’s shimmered through it—violet, stormy, burning. The two of you lit the moss like stars. And still she moved. Hard. Deep. Measured. The slap of her hips echoed with wet sound, each thrust pressing impossibly deep. Your cunt spasmed around her—slick, swollen, starving—but she wouldn’t give it to you. Not yet.

“You’re holding it,” she panted, her eyes locked on your face. “You’re trying so hard, my sweet girl. So good for me. So fucking good.”

You sobbed. And she groaned, mouth crashing into yours—sloppy, raw, desperate. When she pulled back, her breath dragged hot over your lips.

“You’re going to remember this,” she whispered. “Every time you sit. Every time you dream. I’m going to haunt you, baby.”

She thrust deep. You screamed. But still—no permission. No release. Just her body, her cock, her magic owning you. She was still in control. Barely. Each thrust kept hitting that perfect place inside you, your cunt squeezing tighter around her, slick gushing with every stroke—but she didn’t let up. You didn’t want release. You wanted her. Ruined. Your fingers tangled in her hair. You dragged her mouth to your ear and moaned—low, deliberate, filthy.

“Agatha.”

Her hips faltered. Just a beat. You smiled. “I want to feel you dripping out of me for days. I want your cock inside me in my dreams. I want to smell like you. Taste like you. Fucking ache for you.”

Agatha let out a shattered breath. Her rhythm broke. You didn’t stop. Your nails slid down her spine, sharp enough to sting. Your legs locked around her hips, holding her in. “I want you to lose control.” Your voice cracked on it. “I want you to fuck me like you mean it. Like you can’t stop.” Her hips snapped. Hard. She bit your throat—just enough to leave a mark.

“I can’t—” she gasped. “Fuck, baby—” And still—you whispered: “Cum inside me. Please, Agatha. Fill me up. I want to feel it—I want you to make a mess of me.”

“You want me like this?” she snarled, voice breaking open around each word—wild, low, possessive. “You want me to fuck you like I’ve lost every ounce of control—like I can’t think, can’t fucking breathe unless I’m buried in you?”

“Yes—” you gasped, your legs locking tighter around her waist, already trembling. “Yes, fuck, yes—Agatha, don’t stop—please—”

She didn’t. She couldn’t. Her thighs slapped against yours, punishing and perfect, her rhythm brutal, steady, unrelenting. Every thrust was a promise she kept and then broke—harder, deeper, again. Her sweat dripped from her chest onto yours, hot and salty where it kissed your skin. Her mouth dragged over your jaw, panting—ravaging. Her teeth grazed your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder like she wanted to mark you, taste you, claim you with every breath.

“You feel so fucking good,” she groaned, thrusting harder. “You’re so fucking tight—gods—gripping me like this pussy was made for my cock—like your body knew mine—”

You cried out, loud, wrecked, nails raking down her back, and she moaned for it—loved it. Her hips slammed forward again, and the sound was obscene—wet, frantic, filthy. Her cock dragged along your soaked walls, slick with your arousal, your magic, your need. You felt every inch—every stretch, every stutter, every aching pulse. The weight of her over you. The heat of her around you. The rhythm of her inside you.

“You’re mine,” she growled.

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, hands locked in her hair, your whole body trembling.

“Fucking say it again—”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, choking on the words as she pounded into you. “Please—please, Agatha—I need it—need you—”

Her voice cracked, feral and commanding. “What do you need, baby?” Her hips snapped, harder. The moss beneath you trembled. “Tell me what this cock’s doing to you.”

“Filling me—fucking me so deep I can’t think—I can’t—” You sobbed. “I want it. I want you to stay inside me—forever—gods—Agatha—please—”

Her next thrust was brutal. Measured. She groaned, a sound like surrender and worship all at once. Her cock twitched inside you—just once—but she caught it. Buried it. Controlled it. You could feel the heat building in her—the way her arms trembled, how her thrusts got even harder, more devastating. And still, she didn’t let go.

“You don’t get it yet,” she snarled, her voice ragged, her mouth grazing your ear. “This isn’t fucking.”

She thrust again. Deep. So deep you saw stars.

“This is a fucking offering.”

You gasped—no, screamed, wrecked and helpless as she slammed into you again, and again, and again. Her magic flared around you—sharp, radiant, uncontrollable. And she laughed. Not cruel. Not amused. Overcome.

“Fuck, baby—I haven’t even started to ruin you yet.” she growled.

And then you said it. Soft. Right into her ear.

“Mommy—” She snapped. Her whole body jerked. Her hips slammed forward like you’d cast a spell through her core. Her breath caught in her throat—a sound between a sob and a snarl—and her thrust stuttered, just for a second, before she slammed in again harder.

“Don’t call me that—” she choked. But you smiled. You knew better. You rolled your hips into hers, tightening your legs around her, and whispered it again:

“Why Mommy? Don’t you want to fuck your girl?”

A gasp burst from her mouth. Her head dropped to your neck, lips open, teeth grazing your skin. Her next thrust was brutal—deep enough you thought you might pass out from how good it felt. “You little fucking brat,” she hissed, but her voice was falling apart, her control shattering. “You want to push me over the edge? You want me to lose it that badly?”

You nodded—voice breaking. “Please. I want you to fuck me like you mean it. I want it all. I want to feel it—Mommy.”

Her hips snapped again, loud, soaked, her cock slamming into you so deep your toes curled. And then— You whispered the words that destroyed her:

“I want you to get me pregnant.”

Agatha froze. Her breath stuttered. Her thighs shook. You felt her cock twitch hard inside you.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “You—baby, you can’t—don’t say that unless you want me to fucking—”

“I do,” you moaned, nails dragging down her back. “I want it. I want you to fill me up, Mommy. I want to carry it. I want to wake up leaking and aching and still fucking wet from how deep you were in me.”

She snarled—the sound ripped from her throat like it hurt—and started fucking you harder, hips pounding, no pretense left, just pure animal rhythm. “You want me to breed you?” she growled, her voice wrecked, hips pounding into yours like her body had stopped listening to her. “You want me to own you like that?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, Mommy—please—put it in me. Fill me up. Fuck it into me until it stays.” She twitched inside you—thick and pulsing, magic flaring.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she rasped, her voice breaking even as her hips kept snapping forward, unrelenting. “You say that again, I will cum inside you. I’ll make a mess so deep you’ll be dripping every time you take a step.” You cried out—high, sharp, wrecked.

“Do it,” you moaned.  Her control shattered in a groan—long, low, feral. Her hand gripped your thigh, held you open, kept you pinned as she fucked into you harder than before, her rhythm relentless, breath crashing against your cheek.

“You’re mine,” she snarled, her voice hoarse, hips slamming forward. “Say it again. Louder.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Mommy. I’m yours.” Her eyes locked on yours—wild, glassy, worshipful.

“I’ll make it stick,” she gasped. “You’re gonna feel me for fucking weeks—I’ll fuck you so full they’ll hear your moans echo through the damn coven—” She thrust hard—once, twice—every slam soaking the moss, your thighs sticky with your own arousal and her magic, your body trembling with how badly it wanted her to lose control.

“You want to be filled with me?” she hissed. “You want to be ruined, wrecked, claimed from the inside out?” You nodded—frantic, eyes wide, mouth open in a moan that wouldn’t stop.

“Then fucking beg,” she growled, her hand slamming beside your head, magic cracking through her fingertips into the moss. “Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You—Mommy—you—”

“Say it.”

“It’s yours. My pussy’s yours. My body’s yours. Fucking fill me—I need it—please—please—”

Her body jerked, her breath shattered, and still—she held it. Held you. Her thrusts were getting messier now—less control, more desperation—her voice collapsing in your ear:

“You’re gonna take it, baby—all of it gonna let me cum inside this perfect pussy until you’re leaking for days—fuck—say you want it—”

“I want it—Mommy, please—I want you to cum so deep in me I can feel it when I sleep—”

Her rhythm snapped again—hard, fast, unforgiving. Her whole body was burning above you, trembling, magic clawing at the moss like even the Road couldn’t hold the two of you anymore. She didn’t slow. Didn’t soften. Her hips kept slamming into yours, wet and punishing, your bodies crashing together like waves and flame and want.

“Mommy—” you moaned, the name breaking across your tongue like a spell, “please”

She snarled. Then her angle shifted. Deliberate. Predatory. Agatha sat back just enough to shift her weight, her knees bracketing your hips. Her hands grabbed behind your thighs—wrenched them wider—then she drove forward hard enough to make you cry out.

“That what you want, baby?” she hissed, voice splintering as her cock speared deeper, rougher, grinding against the place inside you that made your legs spasm. “Want me to hold you open like this? Want to be fucking pinned while I make this pussy forget anything but me?”

“Yes—yes—Mommy—please don’t stop—”

She didn’t. She let her full body weight fall over yours now—skin to skin, sweat-slick, chest to chest—her forearms sliding under your knees, locking your thighs up and back. The new angle wrecked you—every thrust dragging her cock over that spot again and again until your hips bucked on their own, until your mouth fell open in a silent scream. You were trapped under her. Caged. Pinned and fucked. And gods—there was nothing more perfect.

Her mouth was everywhere—your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—biting, panting, moaning. She snapped her hips forward—brutal—and your whole body jerked beneath her. She was riding the edge, her pace brutal and unwavering, body shaking over yours, teeth gritted like she was holding back an earthquake.

Her body crashed into yours—again, and again, and again—and you screamed for it, your nails clawing down her back, your walls fluttering in helpless, soaked spasms around her magic. She pinned you tighter. Every inch of her weight on top of you now. Her hips grinding deeper, slower for a breath—just enough to press her cock where it made your vision blur—then fucking slamming again like she could brand her shape into your body. You couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. You were held—claimed—and still, she wouldn’t let you cum. Still, she hadn’t let herself fall.

“You want to break me?” she growled, mouth at your ear, cock still pounding into you. “Then say it again. Say my fucking name while I fuck you open.” You tried to say it. You tried. Her body slammed into yours again, cock dragging deep, your thighs trembling from the force of it. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your mouth open against her neck, lips barely able to shape the words through the wreckage of your moans.

“Aga—”

She growled. “No.” Another thrust. Harder. Deeper. “try again.”

You gasped, tears welling in your eyes—too much, too good, not enough. “Aga—please—” Her hand wrapped around your jaw, turning your face to hers. Her eyes burned. Her voice was low and savage: “who.” Her hips snapped forward—once, twice—relentless. Your walls clamped down around her, your body trembling, sweat and slick and magic soaked into the moss beneath you. You whimpered.

“Say it, baby,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to yours, her breath catching. “You know what I want to hear. You know who’s fucking you like this.”

You opened your mouth. Tried again. “Mo”

“Louder.” She slammed into you again, your cunt so wet and full and aching that you almost came just from the sound. You sobbed— And then you gave it to her. “Mommy.”

She snapped. Her whole body shuddered above you—magic flaring like lightning through her limbs—and she moaned so loud it echoed through the trees. “Fuck—yes—there’s my good girl,” she groaned. “That’s it. That’s what I fucking needed. Gods, baby—you don’t even know what that name does to me—” Her rhythm broke open—still in control, but barely—her body moving harder, heavier, her voice rough and wild in your ear:

“You feel what you’re doing to me? Feel how close I am? You’re making me fucking lose it, baby—calling me that, looking at me like that—”

You nodded, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “I want to be yours,” you whispered.

“You are,” she hissed, breath shaking. “You’re mine. My girl. My fucking everything—” You nodded, wrecked beneath her—but it wasn’t enough. Not for her.Because she was still holding it.Still trembling.Still waiting for you to ask for more.Her cock twitched deep inside your cunt, soaked and clenching, and she moaned like it broke something loose in her chest.But she didn’t let go. Not until—

“Please, Mommy.”

Her breath caught. Her grip locked tighter. And then—then—she moaned, low and ruined, the sound full of heat and promise and surrender.

You could feel it in every trembling inch of her—the way her hips began to stutter, her thrusts losing rhythm as her cock twitched deep inside your soaked, aching cunt. Every vein of her magic pulsed along your skin in frantic bursts of violet fire, crackling like the storm she was trying to hold back.

She was shaking. Her thighs trembled around your hips, her grip on your wrists tightening until you could feel your pulse beating against her knuckles. Her forehead pressed to yours, her breath sharp and ragged, as if even speaking might push her over the edge. And still—still—Agatha held on.

You whimpered beneath her, back arching, body begging. She was pulsing inside you—hot, thick, throbbing—and you swore your cunt could feel the shape of her, every ridge, every twitch, so swollen and soaked it was unbearable.

“Mommy—” you sobbed, helpless, your voice cracking under the pressure.

Her breath caught. And then— Her voice dropped, reverent and ragged against your lips.

“Cum for me,” she whispered. “Cum on my cock—you’ve been so good, so fucking perfect, taking all of Mommy like you were made for it. I want to feel you lose it. I want to feel this pussy clench around me so hard I can’t fucking breathe—”

She thrust deep—grinding, her cock pressed so far inside you it felt like your whole body wrapped around it. “Now, baby. I need to feel you fall apart. I want you to cum so hard you scream for it—scream for me.”

And gods, you did. Your orgasm tore through you like a spell unraveling in real time—sacred, electric, your whole body seizing tight around her. Your cunt clenched, fluttering in desperate, pulsing waves, and you felt her cock throb inside you, twitching like she was seconds away from breaking too. She felt it.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” she gasped, the sound crushed and frantic. “You’re—shit, you’re so tight—you’re squeezing me—”

She faltered. Just for a breath. She drew back a fraction of an inch—her hips twitching like she was going to pull out, like some instinctive part of her still tried to protect you from what was coming. If that was even possible. But you didn’t let her. You crossed your ankles behind her back—locked them—and pulled her in deeper.

All the way. She choked on a moan. And then she growled, low and feral, grabbing your thighs and forcing them wide, pressing her hips flush to yours, cock buried to the root as your slick spilled around her and your walls clenched again.

“Don’t you fucking stop,” you gasped. “Don’t pull out—don’t you dare. I want to feel your cock in me. I want to feel you everywhere.” She was shaking now—arms trembling, hips jerking, trying and failing to keep the rhythm steady.

“Fuck—I’m close—don’t say that, don’t—”

But she was already pounding into you harder, sloppier—her control gone, her breath broken against your mouth, her moans raw and wild as your bodies slammed together. The sound of your slick was obscene, the heat of her cock unbearable, every thrust forcing your orgasm deeper into your bones as she chased the edge you’d already fallen over.

“You want it?” she gasped. “You want my cum—want me to fill you until you’re leaking down your thighs?”

“Yes—”

“You want me to breed you, baby? Fuck you so full it sticks?” Her voice cracked, teeth gritting as her hips slammed into you like thunder. “Say it again.” You wrapped your arms around her. Held her to you. Looked her dead in the eyes as your voice broke wide open with need:

“Get me pregnant.” She snapped—and drove into you harder. One crashing, brutal thrust after another—her thighs slapping wetly against yours, her cock so deep your body arched around it, clinging to every inch. You were drenched, the moss beneath you soaked with your slick, your sweat, and the magic now rolling off both of you in wave after breathless wave.

“You want me to put it in you that deep?” she panted, her voice breaking at the edges. “You want to feel it pour out of me, right into you—so much you’ll taste it in your fucking dreams?”

You sobbed—wrecked. “Yes—yes—Mommy, please—” Another thrust. Deeper. Her hands slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open like a sacred vessel as her hips snapped forward again. Your body bowed, and she groaned into your throat.

She growled, reverent, breathless.

“Do it,” you begged. “Give it to me, Mommy—give me everything—I want it—I want you—”

“Fuck—” she groaned, desperate now. “Fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna fill you up, baby—take it—take every fucking drop—”

Her cock twitched—violently. Her body went taut.

And you felt it. Her hips faltered—each thrust breaking rhythm, snapping into you in short, panicked bursts like her body was fighting her mind for release. Her cock throbbed inside your cunt—thick, hot, pulsing with magic that sparked across your skin in frantic bursts of violet fire. You swore you could feel every ridge, every twitch, your body trembling around her in slick, gasping surrender. You screamed her name—loud, open, wrecked—your legs trembling, your vision gone white at the edges.

Her forehead dropped to yours, sweat slipping down her temple, lips brushing your mouth in ragged gasps. Her eyes met yours. Wide. Wild.

Terrified. And completely devoted. “I’m gonna—fuck—Mommy’s gonna cum in your—” Her voice broke. But she didn’t. She held on. Tighter.

Her hips didn’t slow—they slammed forward, again and again, pistoning into you with the force of something ancient, something starved. Her rhythm was feral now, wet and brutal like she needed to fuck her orgasm into you just to survive it. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. But you did. You whispered, wrecked and reverent:

“Are you gonna cum in me, Mommy?”

She moaned—a sound torn from her chest, low and guttural, pressed into your throat like it was the last safe place she had left. She didn’t answer. She just fucked you harder. Her cock slammed into your soaked cunt, every thrust deep, soaked, perfect. Your body arched, walls fluttering, already on the edge again.

“I hear you,” she gasped, voice fractured, “your little moans—fuck—the way you sound when I’m this deep” You sobbed—your thighs trembling, your mouth open, eyes glazed as she chased the fall. And then— She broke.

Her hands locked over yours, fingers clenched as her hips drove forward one last time—hard, deep, final—burying her cock to the root inside you as your body stretched around her, trembling, open, ready.

You felt her everywhere. In your cunt. In your belly. In your heart. And then—

Heat. Blinding. Immediate. Unrelenting. Her hips drove forward—one last brutal thrust—and then she broke. Her entire body arched, back pulled tight, chest crashing into yours. Her mouth fell open in a desperate, choked moan—raw and unfiltered, like the sound had been building inside her for hours and couldn’t be held anymore. Her cock convulsed deep in your cunt, and you felt it—gods, you felt it: Once. Twice. Three times.

Hot, molten spurts of cum slammed into you—thick, fast, and so deep it felt like she was pouring her soul into your body. You gasped, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure surged through your core and up your spine, blooming in your chest like fire.

Her voice cracked. A sharp, guttural “Fuck—” against your neck, followed by a whimper so soft you almost didn’t hear it: “It’s too much—I can’t—I’m still coming—baby, I’m still—fuck—”

And it didn’t stop. Her cock twitched again, harder this time, and you screamed—not from pain, but from the stretch and the heat and the way she moaned with you now, helpless and breathless. Your orgasm slammed through you like a wave crashing open from your chest. Your thighs locked around her hips. Your arms clung tight. Your cunt fluttered like it was trying to hold her there forever.

Agatha whimpered into your skin.

“That’s it—good girl, fuck—Mommy can’t stop—”

Her hips stuttered—still moving, still grinding, sloppy now, soaked with slick and sweat and cum, fucking you through every wave of her release. Her voice fell apart.

You sobbed. “Yes—yes—please—don’t stop—Mommy, I want all of it—I want all of you—” Another pulse of cum spilled into you, and her moan this time was high and cracked, like she couldn’t take it either. Her thighs trembled against yours. Her arms began to shake. Her forehead pressed to yours, lips open, breath shallow, her whole body coming undone above you.

“I’m still—fuck—I’m still coming,” she whimpered. “I don’t know how you’re still taking it—you’re so full—I can feel you holding me, baby, like you want to keep every drop—”

You kissed her. Desperate. Reverent. Crying into her mouth as your cunt clenched again, tighter now, your body wrecked and begging, overstimulated and overflowing.

She slammed into you again—one last time—as her cock pulsed violently and her breath caught mid-cry. And then she moaned—full-bodied, broken, the kind of moan that ripped straight from the center of her chest and out through her throat:

“You’re mine,” she gasped. “You’re everything—everything—fuck, I’m yours too, baby—take me—”

Her cock twitched again. Again. Her cum spilled from your cunt in slow, heavy waves—too much to hold—but she didn’t pull out. She didn’t let go. She just moaned into your shoulder, her hips still grinding, slow now, clumsy and sacred. She was shaking. You were shaking. And still—still—you held on to each other. The world was a blur of heat and heartbeat and sound.

Agatha’s breath broke in your ear—shallow, shattered, caught halfway between a gasp and a sob. Her body was still moving, just barely, little rocking thrusts she couldn’t stop, couldn’t not give you. Her hips trembled with every motion, her legs bracketing you down, her weight full and grounding over your chest. And her voice— Gods, her voice was wrecked.

“Still inside,” she whispered, lips dragging over your cheek, your temple. “I can feel you still pulling—like you don’t want to let me go.” You didn’t. You couldn’t. She let out a high, involuntary whimper—tiny, cracked, like she wasn’t even aware of it. Her forehead dropped to your shoulder, her breath ragged against your skin, and her thighs shook with the effort to stay upright.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “You—baby, you ruined me—”

Her words dissolved into another moan, softer this time, hushed and desperate, as her hips ground forward again. You felt her cock, still thick and pulsing inside you, slide deeper with the motion, and a small gush of warmth spilled from you in response—so much, you gasped.

“I can’t,” she whispered again. “I can’t move. Not yet. I need—need to feel this.”

Your arms came up around her. Not tightly. Just enough to keep her close. Enough to let her break gently against you.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, brushing your lips over her damp forehead. “You gave me everything.”

Her hands found yours—slow, reverent, like they were afraid to let go. She threaded your fingers together, pressing your joined palms against the moss above your head.

And the Road responded.

The moss curled around you both—warm, velvet-soft, thick with golden bloom. The flowers that had erupted beneath your bodies remained open, turned toward you as though worshipping. The trees above were utterly still. The stream had quieted to a hush. You felt the pulse of magic still humming beneath your skin—orange and violet and honey-thick, braided between you like the tether it had always been.

Agatha let out another soft whimper, almost a whine, and you felt her curl into you—like she didn’t know how to exist outside your body now.

“You’re still shaking,” you whispered, kissing her temple.

“I know,” she whispered back. Her voice was barely there. “I—I didn’t know I could feel this much. I didn’t know it would be like this.” You squeezed her hand. “You stayed with me. Even when you broke.” She nodded, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. Then again. Then lower, over your heart.

“I felt you open for me,” she said. “I felt you keep me. I—I heard you say my name and I just—” Her breath caught. “I gave you everything I had.”

You kissed the edge of her jaw. “You still are.” There was a silence then. Not empty. Not hollow. A full, aching kind of silence. The kind that only comes when two bodies are still joined, still shaking, still trying to memorize the exact shape of this kind of closeness.

And then— “Good girl,” she whispered, breath warm against your throat. “You were so fucking perfect for me.”

You shivered. Agatha finally moved—just enough to shift her weight so she could look at you. Her eyes were glossy, still shining with magic, still wet with the tears she hadn’t even noticed she’d cried. She didn’t pull out. She didn’t even think about it. She just kissed your lips, slow and soft and holy.

------

The silence lingered as your bodies slowly remembered themselves.

Agatha was still inside you, her breath soft against your cheek, her hands resting where your hips met. Neither of you moved for a long time. The moss cradled you like a bed made for this moment. Your skin still tingled with the last echoes of magic—hers and yours, braided together like roots through loam.

But eventually, your muscles began to ache. Not painfully. Just in the way that reminded you that time existed, and so did everything outside this pocket of sacred stillness. Agatha shifted first. A soft, careful pull back, her hand on your thigh as she finally, slowly, eased out of you. You gasped—body shuddering with the loss—and she moaned quietly, her forehead pressing to your shoulder as if the separation hurt her, too.

“Still here,” she murmured, her voice scratchy and low. “Still yours.”

You nodded, eyes closed, breath shallow. Warmth leaked from your body—thick, slow, undeniable—and you felt your cheeks flush with something like awe. You were sore. You were soaked. You were loved. Agatha sat back onto her heels and looked at you—truly looked. Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed. She looked wrecked. Gorgeous. Bare in a way that had nothing to do with clothing.

“We should get cleaned up,” she said softly. “Even if I never want to leave this moss again.”

You dressed each other in silence. No rush. No shame. Just warmth—slow and human and holy—as fingers brushed fabric and lips found skin in quiet thanks. The moss beneath you had grown thick and golden-edged. Your scent was everywhere. The Road had given you this moment, and neither of you seemed willing to let it go. When you were fully clothed again, Agatha held your hand in both of hers. Not to lead. Just to feel.

Her thumb traced your knuckles. Her eyes never left your face. “Are you alright?” she asked, voice low. Reverent. You nodded, breath catching.

“I am now.” She smiled—and gods, she looked so wrecked. Not from the trial. Not from the pleasure. From loving you so hard it had hollowed her out and rebuilt her.

“You were brilliant,” she said. “You didn’t just survive. You changed the Road. I felt it.” You leaned into her touch. “Because you stayed. Because you caught me when I fell.” Her lips brushed your forehead. Her voice was a whisper against your hair.

“I always will.” You stood together then, still laced at the fingers, and took one final breath before facing the Road. And just as your foot stepped forward— The air shimmered. Not violently. Gently. Like a veil lifted. And for a single breath, the Road gave you a gift.

—

A clearing. Sunlit. Open. Time had passed—you felt it in the warmth of the grass, in the way the trees stood taller now. In the way joy had taken root.

A child ran barefoot through a bloom-drenched field, laughter echoing like windchimes. Flowers spilled behind every footstep—wild and soft and sacred. Purple and gold and green. And there—kneeling in the grass— Agatha. Smiling. Her sleeves rolled up, hands dirty from the garden, her magic curling lazily around her fingers as she reached to steady the child’s wobbly hand. She was older. Softer in the eyes. Just as powerful. Just as beautiful. She looked up.

And for a heartbeat, she saw you. Her smile widened. That was it. That was the vision. No threat. No shadow. Just a future. Yours. And then it was gone. The Road returned. The stream beside you rushed again. The trees exhaled. You blinked—tears threatening but not falling. Agatha turned to you instantly, her fingers tightening.

“What is it?” she asked, voice full of that quiet fear that only comes from loving someone too deeply. You didn’t speak at first. You just smiled.

“There were wildflowers,” you whispered. “And you were laughing. And there was… someone small. Someone we loved.”

Agatha’s breath hitched. Then she pulled you into her arms and held you there—not tight, not desperate. Just long enough for you to feel how her heartbeat answered yours. She kissed you once—soft and still shaking. And then the Road opened.

—

The coven looked up the moment you stepped through the tree line. Billy was the first to move—his brows lifting with both concern and awe. Jen exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. Alice gave you a look like she already knew. And Lilia—Lilia was watching quietly, hand over her heart. “You’re back,” she whispered.

Agatha blinked, stunned. Her hand tightened in yours. “How long were we gone?”

Jen glanced at the others, then looked back. “Five minutes,” she said softly. “Maybe six.”

You froze. Agatha’s mouth parted. Because to you, it had been hours. A breaking. A rebuilding. A reckoning. And somehow… only minutes had passed. The Road had hidden you. Had made space for you. Time bent not for pain or trial—but for love. You looked at Agatha again.

Her curls were still damp with sweat. Her lips swollen from your kiss. Her hand still trembling faintly in yours. And in her eyes— That same vision. That same future. Already blooming.

Anon: I hope you liked it

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch12

Description: sorry for the long wait guys! Work has been crazyyyy - anyway. Here it is! Lil bit of progress with Simon - I reckon it’ll be 1 step forward, 2 back for a little while. Simon and Laika are both as fucked up as each other!! It’s a long chapter to make up for the wait. Hope you enjoy!!

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

I'd been warned during dinner last night that I was going to be 'put through my paces' today. The Captain told me to get a good nights sleep. Kyle and Johnny dropped me off at my room - Kyle said goodnight with a soft kiss to my cheek, and Johnny told me not to let the bed bugs bite. He also kissed me on the cheek, but it was far too close to the corner of my mouth. He must have missed his target. I spent all night trying to brush it off.

*Johnny's POV*

The pizza had been good, Kyle was bold and kissed our little lass on the cheek. I couldn't stop myself, had to one up him.. Her little blush and awkward reaction made it worth the risk. Gaz and I practically ran back to our shared room - we needed to rest up for training tomorrow. We finally get to see what our little Lass is made of.

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Knock Knock Knock

"Lass? Can we come in..? Y'ready for us?"

I'd just stepped out of the shower. "Uhh - two seconds.. I'm just getting changed" I shout back through the door. I rush to pull on some workout shorts and a black sports bra. I glance at myself in the mirror. I swear that I already look healthier - I'd gone sort of gaunt during my time at the facility. My skin looks brighter, I'm cleaner and relaxed... and happier.

"I'm dressed but still need to braid my hair.." As soon as the words have left my mouth, Johnny barrels into the room, followed closely by Kyle. "Mornin', Lass" - "Hi Johnny" I reply, softly. Kyle puts his arm around my shoulders and smiles brightly at me "ready for today? Cap's in charge of what we're doing.. just need to see where we are at with you.. apparently there's shit going down in Mexico so we might need to step in over there... Just before Christmas too.." he sighs sadly.

I furrow my brows - "Christmas? I thought it was October??" - "Ignore him, Lass, he is one of them crazy people who wants to put the tree up straight after Halloween".

I look at Kyle and giggle. "I thought it was winter when you first found me" - "It's always winter in Russia to be fair" Kyle jokes back. "Yeah but you can't go confusing me like that.. I've not been aware of seasons or dates for years, I was just starting to grasp it again.. so no Christmas stuff until December...?" I explain, feeling more and more relaxed around the two younger Alphas everyday. "You promise to be here for Christmas, then?" Johnny bargains. There's that sad flip in my stomach again. "I - I don't know where I'll be, Johnny.. I don't think I am in control of that decision".

"We'll not let you leave.." Kyle jokes "Aye, hide you away from the others" Johnny continues, nudging Kyle. They both laugh but I just shake my head.

We are interrupted by the Captain who stands in the open door, not stepping inside. "Laika, didn't I tell you that those two shouldn't just let themselves into your room like this...?" - "I - I let them in, Cap- Sorry- John" he huffs a laugh "If you say so. Put your trainers on and let's get to the gym before the basics turn up for the day. Ghost's there already". he grumbles, rolling his eyes at the possibility of basic training turning up mid-session.

"You don't have to worry if the rookies turn up, Lass. They're a bunch of prats, think they're all Billy big baws and like to throw their scents around and show off.. if any of them bother you, we'll sort 'em out" I look at Johnny and nod with furrowed brows. I was nervous.

The Lieutenant is loitering menacingly at the sparring mats when we all arrive at the gym. "Took your fuckin' time" he grunts. I try not to react but I can't help the guilt that washes over me. "Laika, on the mat" he jerks his head toward the mat. I obey and step onto the mat, ringing my hands together nervously, chewing the skin inside of my cheek. "Gaz, I want you to go through basic sparring movements, see what she's made of" the Luitennant orders. Kyle looks between the masked Alpha and myself with unsure eyes. "Are you sure..?" I look up at him nodding "I'll be ok.. orders are orders" I reassure myself, trying to slip back behind my own mask. Trying desperately to become the asset again. Unfeeling, cold and calculated.

My eyes start to take in Kyle's movements, analysing when and how he will move. He is the leanest of the pack of Alpha's, meaning he is probably the fastest. But I'm smaller and, hopefully, smarter. He steps, hesitantly onto the mat and raises his arms into a defensive position. "Gaz, for fuck sake, move!" the Lieutenant barks "She ain't going to throw the first punch!" Something inside of me screams 'NOW'.

I leap forward and slide to the ground taking Kyle's legs out from under him before he has the chance to react. He was too busy concentrating on the upper half of his body.

Kyle falls backwards and lands just beside me, so I scramble to get nearer, using my legs to restrain his arms and placing my forearm over his throat firmly so he couldn't move. I meet his eye, and he looks completely shocked. Then a slow smirk starts to form on his face. He reaches up and taps twice on my back. Impressive, lovie" he chuckles. I release him and clamber away from his body, which is still laying flat on the mat, I start apologising over and over again..

"Soap.. your turn. Try not to get distracted like Garrick did, this is all pointless if you go easy on her.." Ghost barks. I look at Johnny with sad eyes. "C'mon, lass.. you heard the man. Lets have a proper tussle" he wiggles his eyebrows. My body betrays me, as it so often does, falling victim to Johnny's flirtatious comments. I blush and look away. This time Johnny is on me as quickly as I look away. I'm the one caught off guard this time. SHIT.

He gets us both to the ground and I can tell he is attempting to use his weight advantage against me. He just wants to get me pinned which will win him the match. I realise that I need to get back to my feet, and fast. I allow him to roll me far too easily which gives me the momentum to push away from him. I knee toward his crotch while we roll and manage to catch him lightly, just enough for him to curl in on himself slightly, giving me a small enough window to climb back to my feet.

He tries to get up quickly but he is on his knees. I grab his neck and use all of my body weight to pull him to the floor, practically wrapped around his torso like some sort of demented koala bear. He chokes slightly and taps twice on my upper arm, which is currently holding his neck in a headlock. I immediately let go, "Sorry.. I'm sorry. I hate this..." I panic, thinking that I'd pissed him off. "Lass, nothin' to be sorry for. You're a feral little madam on the mats.." He brushes his legs off and grabs me around the shoulders, pulling me towards his chest. He presses a quick kiss to my hair and pushes me gently back towards the mat, not before whispering in my ear "Clever little Lass".

"Not bad" Ghost says. "Tell me what you think of knives.." - "the winner of a knife fight is whoever dies second, or finds help quickly enough to survive. No one stays clean in a knife fight.." I murmur. The luitennant tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me. It's difficult to read his thoughts when he has the mask on, but what I'd said obviously struck a nerve with him. "Show me what you mean by that - here.." he hands me a dummy knife and steps toward the mat behind me..

"Wi-with you..?" I ask nervously. "Problem?" he grunts back at me. I shake my head.

He stands there with confidence. I must look ridiculous. I don't know what to do. The lieutenant suddenly takes a wide swipe with the knife, it narrowly misses my stomach thanks to my quick survival instincts telling my body to jump backwards. I suddenly snap back into the 'asset' mindset. I leap forward and aim for his head. His eyes, to be specific. I see a flash of surprise cross his eyes before he slams the knife from my hand, pain shoots up my entire arm but I ignore it. I react by kicking his outstretched arm so that he is also knife-less. I then leap at him and try to clamber up his back. He grabs me by the shoulder and slams me hard on the ground winding me. I slide backwards, terrified at the behemoth of an Alpha towering over me. I whimper, scared trying to get away, still winded and pain still shooting up my arm.

"Stop. STOP" he bellows. I whimper again, confused and terrified. I can see a storm brewing behind the masked Alpha's eyes. "GAZ - get her up, for fuck sake.." the Lieutenant storms away from the gym, the Captain following closely behind him. My eyes don't leave his form until the gym doors swing shut and Kyle and Johnny are cooing at me, trying to calm me down.

*GHOSTS POV*

FUCK, she's not a trained soldier by any stretch. But Christ, she goes into a desperate survival mode. Kill or be killed is the only description I can think of. Watching how she sparred with Kyle and Johnny, she was scared. Acting out of fear, and fear alone.

I wanted to see her knife skills - I don't know why I decided I should spar with her. She suddenly switched. That look in her eyes. She was feral. She was genuinely trying to hurt me. She had no differentiation between training and real fighting. It was all real to her. Kill or be killed - and she thought I was trying to kill her... She thinks I'm a monster.

I try to stop her by disarming her, I know my thumping blow to her arm must have hurt. It had to, but she barely even flinched. She was in survival mode. She caught me off guard and disarmed me. Clever girl, leveling the playing field - if this was a real fight that is - but I was trying to halt the fight. She needed to cool off before she went even more feral.

I was NOT expecting her to leap at my back and try to choke me. It left me with only one option - to flip her and get her flat on the ground. It worked for a couple of seconds. She paused, the look in her eye no longer murderous. But within a split second, she stunk of pure fear. Like she was staring at death himself. Me. I try to step forward with a hand out to show that I was no longer armed but she backed away, eyes flashing like a cornered dog.

SHIT. Why'd my stomach do that. I'm trying to help her and she's fuckin' terrified of me. Fuckin' hurt her too.

"Stop" I try. It doesn't work. "STOP" fuck Simon, why can't you be fuckin' gentle for once?! Brute - my brain shouts at me.

"Gaz - get her up, for fuck sake.." I shout. She looks helpless but, fuck, I feel helpless as well. I've never felt like this.

The sharp, sour smell of her fear. It makes my eyes water. Makes me want to fuckin' hurl. I turn and leave, not feeling well all of a sudden.

She has two Alpha's she actually likes to help her. Fuck, I hope she isn't hurt.. I don't deserve nice things. My Pack are probably going to drop me now. The fucking brute that you are Simon Riley.

The anger at my own stupidity boils over. I'd almost made it back to the Pack room but my fist meets the wall before I get there. I roar, angrily - or did it sound more broken than that? FUCK. Then I smell Price. He is fuckin' seething. I can already smell him.

I slam the door to the shared room and slide down the wall, grabbing angrily at my mask. I rip it from my face. "ARGRGHHHHHH" I roar again. I grab fistfuls of my hair. Fuckin' prick.

I hear the door close and then a presence sit beside me. It's Price.

"What the bloody hell happened back there Simon?" he growls. I can tell he is holding back his rage.

"She was feral" I grunt. I didn't know what else to say..

"And why was that..? Why did you let it get to that stage..?" he asks. Fuck sake, he is treating me like a fuckin' child.

"Wasn't just me. The girl doesn't know the difference between practice and survival.. She was fighting for her fuckin' life" I growl, pulling at my hair.

I feel his hands pry mine away from my head. "Simon. C'mon. Look at me.." - "Alpha - I need some time..." I break slightly.

"Time for what, Simon?" - "Time to think. I don't understand what is happening.. I can't stand the girl. I can't be near her"

John stays silent beside me, knowing that I needed to find my own way out from this maze.

"But.. but when she had that look in her eye, I needed to protect her. Protect her from me.. It's either me or her, Cap. I can't be near her. I'll kill her".

A warm hand grips my shoulder and squeezes. "Simon. You are too hard on yourself. You are the glue that often holds this pack together. Laika is finding her place in a new world. You've been in a similar position. I have a feeling you two are more alike than you think. Please, give it time. I'm not throwing you out of the pack, Simon. I'm not even angry at you. Never doubt your place or importance here, Simon - Never. Is that understood?"

My eyes furrow. I grab my mask and pull it back over my face. "Yes, sir. Understood" - "good, now come. The boys will have calmed Laika down by now" - "I hurt her" I interrupt. "You didn't mean to. I know you were trying to stop the fight. I saw it" - "she will need the medic.. I hit her hard. Can't do anything gentle. Fuckin' brute" - "Simon.. you did what you had to... she was going feral. C'mon, no more sparring. We will move onto target practice and finish with a five kilometer run - together. That'll be enough to fill in her file. We can make up the rest. She is on the team, I don't care about all of the tests".

I can feel my head clearing, the pack Alpha had successfully dragged me from a dark spiral. My panic attacks were not pretty. I get back to my feet when he offers me a hand to help hoist me up. "Sorry.." - "No Simon, save your apologies. Small steps, yeah? Let's work on chipping away at that wall you put up around Laika first. The boys adore her already.." - "I know. Johnny reeks of her at night time. Felt like I was wakin' up next to a fuckin' Omega this morning" - "Simon, she hasn't presented. I had her tested - results aren't back till next.." - "John - she is a fuckin' Omega. Stunk of honey and oranges since the first time I saw her tied up against the wall when Johnny found her. Can't you smell her..?"

"Faintly. The doctors said her scent will settle once the drugs leave her system. But her scent - it's barely there, Simon. She smells more like Johnny and Kyle right now" he shakes his head at me as if he doesn't believe me. "That's impossible.." - "I'll talk to the doctors tomorrow, Simon. We've got to get through today. I've got Kate on at me about Mexico - we will need to decide what to do about that - so the sooner she is cleared to work with us, the better, understood?" - "Yes, sir" - "Right, screw your head back on and come with me. I'll take the lead for the rest of the day. You sit back with Johnny and cool yourself off, ok?" -

“Affirmative”

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Kyle and Johnny saw what happened. They saw me trying to kill their pack mate. "I'm sorry - I don't - I don't know what happened.. I'm.." - "Shhh Love, hey, look at us - you need to look at us. We aren't angry at you. The Captain is with Simon, he will be ok. We need to check your back and your arm. You got hit pretty hard.." Kyle explains, stroking my cheek.

"Aye, Lass, c'mon, let us have a wee look, just want to make sure you're ok.." - "I'm fine.. I'm ok.." - "You sure..?" - "Yeah, promise" I assure them, even though I am feeling the aches from Ghost's hits. I jump slightly when the gym doors crash open. It's them. The Captain and Lieutenant. Ghost stops about 10 yards from the rest of us. I try not to look toward him, still feeling nervous. I see the Captain nod Johnny in Ghost's direction and Johnny immediately walks toward the massive Alpha and comforts him.

The Captain steps closer to me. "You're ok to continue? Not hurt?" - "No, Captain" I pretend. "Ok, we are going to the shooting range.. boys, lead the way" He directs toward Johnny and Ghost. They both turn and lead us to the shooting range. It's a huge open field. Targets and metal human-shaped silhouettes peaking out from behind pretend trenches and sand bag walls.

There are a couple of sergeants already shooting when we arrive. I get handed a set of ear protectors from John. He then walks me to a locked metal shed and explains that this is one of the gun-stores on the base.

"You said you were a sniper?" _ "Yes" - "What'd you use..?" - "Uhm.. A gun..?" - "You don't know what model of rifle?" - "Oh.. sorry.. no - I just used what they gave me, just happened to be quite good" I admit shyly. He huffs a small laugh and then grabs a large case and lays it gently on the ground, opening the top to reveal a huge, dark green rifle.

"This is an Accuracy International rifle.. we've used them for a long while now, best you'll get. We can alter sights and scopes to suit you. They're quite lightweight compared to other manufacturers. In all, it's probably seven kilos - give it a try and see what you think, Love". I stare at the piece of metal as if it would jump out and attack me. "This is the L96 model.. I assume that you used a Russian SV-98 type? They're popular over there. Poor mans sniper they are, if you were good with one of them, you'll be impressive with one of these" the Captain rambles. It's all pretty pointless to be honest because I know nothing about guns. I was just thrown one by a guard and told to shoot it, and punished if I missed. You learn fast that way.

I listen to him talk anyway, enjoying the gruffness of his voice and the fact that he seemed quite interested and excited to talk about guns. I nod along as if I understand what he is saying. "Ok, Let's give it a try then, love" -he hands me the gun and stands closely behind me. "See that target over there" he points "I want you to hit that - take your time". I nod and get comfortable holding the rifle. It feels different. Foreign. I lower myself to the ground and eye up the target in the scope. I breathe in and hold my breath. One, two, click.

"Well done - slightly left but hit the target" the Captain says. I furrow my brows, confused. "Can I try again?" I ask, disappointed. He shrugs and nods. I aim again and concentrate more this time. Breathe in. Hold it. One, Two, Shoot... Fuckin' left again.. what the fuck?

"You're doin' well, Lass. Why are you pissed off. It's not like you're missing.." Johnny pipes up. I scoff at him. "It should be hitting dead center.. I don't miss, Johnny.. I can't miss like this.." I rant. "I'm trying again, I think the guns sight is off.." I get into position the same as the last two tries but this time I aim half a line further to the right of the cross hair. One, two, Click. I huff a laugh. "Got it.. I need to aim off to the right to make a clean hit. I'll get used to it.." I mumble, continuing to eye the scope and point the rifle in different directions, pretending to aim at things. "Whoa, lass. Dinnae point it at us, fuck sake" Johnny jokes as I start turning slowly towards the pack. I was totally in my own little world there.

"We can have the sight adjusted if you like?" John offers "although I doubt it's this one that's been off. I reckon the one you've learnt to shoot with is off - so you naturally drop your rest arm to allow for the difference. Have you noticed that..?" John questions. "Uhm, no.. I've only ever used that sniper rifle.. I don't really know much about guns - was just given a crash course to be honest.."

He smiles and pats the top of my head "Well you ain't half bad for just having had a crash course, love - those hits would have passed you as a sniper here anyway, yet here you are complaining that you're a couple of millimeters left of where you wanted it.." I laugh nervously and look down at my feet.

Kyle walks up beside me and removes the gun from my arms and places it gently back in its case. "Better shot than most of us, anyway.. I reckon with a bit of familiarization with the new scope, you'll out-perform LT" I immediately glance back to the ground and feel nervous, scared to feel the wrath of the Lieutenant again. I subconsciously rub my sore arm before the Captain speaks up. "I wanted to end the day with a quick five kilometer run. It'll give Laika chance to see the perimeter of the base and also good exercise for you three lazy buggers!" he jokes. Johnny clutches his chest in false offence, Kyle just laughs and walks himself over to the Captain, giving him a gentle shove. "Lazy, sir? I'm not sure about that.." I blush - was he flirting with his Alpha? I shouldn't be witnessing this. I'm not one of them.. The Captain chuckles darkly and jokingly grabs Kyle by the scruff of his neck and growls softly at him, causing the younger Alpha to groan and blush. I turn away.

Johnny just laughs along, elbowing Simon who still looks pissed off from this mornings encounter.

The gun case gets placed on the floor of the large cabinet, stood upright. The Captain goes and chats to the supervisor and takes a small paper ticket and signs something. I watch from a distance, assuming he was just signing the gun back into storage. He returns to the group and smiles "Right, get your arses in gear. Take the first km steady as the warm up, then we will see who's the fastest. Finish is back here. Full lap of the base.. no cheating, Simon". I furrow my brows again, god I do that a lot, I'm going to get a frown line if I'm not careful. The Lieutenant didn't strike me as the type to cheat on a simple jog. I shake my head and watch the others limber up and stretch. I don't join them. Just watch, confused. I only ever ran when I was forced or chased. Never for.. leisure?

"Right, Kyle - lead us off for the first few hundred meters, just to get us onto the outside loop" - "Yessir'" Kyle chirps back. He strides off quickly. I try to stay with Johnny. Simon and John jogging gently behind. I stay on Johnny's heels for a few minutes but can feel myself getting tired. He keeps looking round at me as if he is surprised I'm still that close to him. Kyle is away out in front. How does he make it look so easy?! He is barely breaking a sweat, looks like he is just floating. I guess he was the best runner of the team. Johnny runs like a man possessed. I huff a laugh, his run matches his personality. All elbows and fast movements. He looked busy but he was still fast. I glance behind to try and spot the other two Alphas.

"Dinnae' look back when you're running Lassie, you'll trip!" Johnny shouts, while running backwards. What a showoff! I scoff and roll my eyes at him before wiping the sweat from my brow. "The two big'uns are slow, lass! Too heavy to be speedy like me and Kyle.." He jokes, speeding up and slowing down. "Johnny!" I pant, struggling to talk while gasping for air "Stop showing off!" - "No, Lass - I'm impressed, you're doing well! Didn't think you'd keep up with me to be honest - Gaz ran track when he was at school, he coulda been a pro runner, fucken bullshit. He has the record on base - as if I didn't almost bust a fuckin' gut to beat him to still lose" he laughs. I glance up ahead and Kyle is barely even trying. In fact, it looks like he is on his phone.. he has slowed right down as if he is waiting for us.

I just concentrate on forcing my feet to keep hitting the ground one in front of the other. I couldn't say that I was enjoying this, but it was better than being forced or chased.. It was weirdly satisfying. My lungs were on fire but I wasn't in danger.. I was just running for the sake of it - something I never thought I'd ever manage to do again. I felt like a child in a playground. The strange nostalgic feeling helps to push the pain and fatigue away. I actually somehow manage to pick up the pace. I glance back behind me and can no longer see the two larger Alphas. Just Kyle a couple of hundred meters ahead, and Johnny about ten meters in front of me.

I fall into a relaxed state, all I could hear was my own breaths and all I concentrated on was keeping them even. In Out In Out In Out. A few meters we turn a corner and I spot the Captain and Lieutenant ahead of us all. HANG ON A FUCKIN' MINUTE - CHEATS. I speed up, as does Johnny. "Ya see that, Lass, fuckin' Cap dinnae even take his own advice. Let's get them!" He shouts back to me mischievously. I giggle and shake my head fondly, but push myself faster.

Kyle goes past them first and obviously makes a comment because Ghost gestures with his hands and John throws his head back and laughs while still jogging slowly. I don't quite hear as Johnny and I are still about fifty meters behind them. C'mon, lass - you jump Cap, I'll get Ghost.."

"Jump... wait Johnny - what do you mean...?" Johnny had already shot off and almost caught up to them. I push myself into a sprint and my face splits into a huge smile. Johnny had leapt onto Simon's Ghost's back and bundled them both to the ground. I don't quite know what came over me in the moment. I laugh and leap at John in the same style that Johnny had with Ghost. John huffs as I hit into his back and stays running for a few strides before eventually loosing his balance and falling to the ground. He rolls so that he is underneath me and takes the brunt of the fall. He grunts as his back hits the grass. I can hear Johnny cackling like a madman and then the Captain speaks from underneath me.

"Johnny's bad behavior is rubbing off on you, love.." I blush and look away, only to meet eyes with Kyle, who is smiling brightly at the scene in front of him. I decide to be very brave. I stop laughing along with Johnny and sit back on his lap and reply back playfully "Bad behavior, Sir? It wasn't us who broke our own rule of not cheating.." I trail off, feeling nervous at how he was going to take my response. He goes silent before growling. I freeze momentarily before I feel his warm arms around me. He stands easily holding my weight and drops me off in Kyle's arms. "Cheeky little thing, you are. I'll need to ask Kyle to teach you some manners, you little minx.." My face heats up and I hide in Kyle's shoulder, giggling. I look over to Johnny who is beaming even though he is pinned by the largest Alpha. Christ, the Lieutenant is massive. Something inside of me makes me whimper, thinking that Johnny is in danger. I wriggle slightly and Kyle turns me away from the scene and whispers into my ear "Simon would never hurt any of us.. trust me on that, yeah?" I whine a reply along the lines of 'mmmhmm'.

*John's POV*

Simon and I decide to treat the final run as a leisurely jog. I already knew that the two young Alphas would shoot off like bloody rockets. They always did the same. What I don't expect is for little Y/N to keep pace with Johnny. Yes, she looks like she is struggling slightly, but the girl has guts. She keeps the pace.

Simon grunts at me around half way through, says that we should meet them at the end so that they 'don't get up to any mischief'. Of course, I agree, and nod in the direction of the best short cut. My knees aren't getting any younger, after all.

Simon and I rejoin the outer perimeter, having cut the top loop out. Kyle jogs by and tells us that our cheating isn't going to go down well with Johnny. Simon tells him to 'do one, Garrick' and something about how we aren't all 'failed athletes' like him which forces a laugh to bellow from my mouth. Such a back handed compliment.

The next thing that I do not predict happening is for Johnny to fell Simon like a fuckin' tree - the boy near on rugby tackles the lad. I watch it all happen from the corner of my eye, laughing as Simon hits the deck and Johnny crawls over him. The boy is like a terrier. Insatiable and endlessly energetic. The next thing I don't reckon on happening is for Y/N to creep around my peripheral vision and leap onto my back.

It's a given, she is much lighter that Johnny, but she also carries herself with much more grace. Her 'rugby tackle' method was rather cat-like. I manage to stay upright for a few strides until her leg taps mine, causing me to trip. It was one of those falls when you know you're going down. It gives me time to spin and take the fall so that I don't land on her, or catapult her, face first, into the grass.

I land on my back and stare back up at her happy face while she is draped across my chest, clung like a Koala. Her walls were down in this moment. She is genuinely happy. I have to move heaven and earth to not grab at her. Her scent is rolling off of her - as strong and sweet as I have smelt it. Control yourself, John!

She blushes like crazy at my comment - about how Johnny is rubbing off on her. She then sasses back at me and Christ, I need to get away from her before I do something that will scare her away. But I'm a greedy man. I stand with her, not quite able to release her yet. I drop her off with sweet Kyle. He wouldn't take advantage of her like I would. I cant help myself. I make an overly sexual remark about Kyle teaching her manners. We all know it wouldn't be Kyle who taught her manners. That job is down to Simon and I. Kyle and Y/N blush, I notice that Kyle nuzzles into her neck when she hides her pretty little blush in his shoulder. Cheeky boy couldn't help himself could he?

Something changes in her expression when she looks up to see Simon pinning Johnny. Then, almost within a split second, her scent changes to a sharper, sour scent. She is scared again. Simon notices the change without even looking. I can tell by his body language. He softens his hold on the younger Alpha and leans down to scent him, Johnny laughs and nuzzles all over Simon's mask. I glance to see how Laika reacts but Kyle had already turned her away. Damn it!

When will she ever see the soft side of Simon Riley?

I take a deep breath, to try and calm myself down from the earlier excitement. As an Alpha, I hadn't had a woman - let alone a possible Omega - sitting on top of me for years now. Of course, my body reacted accordingly. Once I've successfully chilled out, I turn and step back towards a smirking Kyle and a happier Y/N.

I push the loose strands of her hair back behind her ears. "C'mon love".

She giggles and apologises for her earlier behavior. "Don't ever say sorry for having fun, love. I enjoyed seeing you like that. Even Simon chuckled at your little sassy comment.." I wiggle my eyebrows. She blushes again and looks down. She really is unsure of Simon.

I'd - We'd - need to rectify that...

- two days later -

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Darkness, wet, blood, pain, screaming...

Another nightmare. I thought they were getting better. I cannot get myself out of this one, tossing and turning. I can feel the sweat and tears falling from my face. Was that real or just the nightmare?

*Ghost's POV*

A blood curdling scream echoes the hallway at about 1AM. I was sitting in the kitchen with my feet up on the coffee table, reading a book. I stand up immediately and follow my nose to her room. What the fuck am I supposed to do. The others are all asleep, she is fuckin' terrified of me but she is whimpering and crashing about in there. Fuck it. I'm going in. The annoying Alpha voice inside of my brain is screaming to help her. I wish it would shut the fuck up to be honest. It's been louder than ever since the second she turned up.

I bang on the door - no answer. I step into the strange room hesitantly. Stupid girl didn't even lock the door. I know that Alphas shouldn't intrude Omega's nests, but she needed help.

She isn't on the fuckin' bed. She's ran away, heard me fuckin' coming. She is hiding somewhere. Stupid fuckin' bastard - should never have come in here. She probably thinks I'm coming to kill her.

Over the sound of my thoughts, I hear another pained whimper. The cupboard. Don't tell me that she's-

She is in the fuckin' cupboard. In a fuckin' nest. A nest with Johnny and Kyle's clothes and - is that Cap's missing towel? He lost that yesterday..

I find myself staring at the sight inside of the cupboard. Probably for too long, because I'm drawn back to the situation when she starts breathing erratically.

I try to gently tap her arm. She doesn't wake up. I squeeze her arm now, she flinches, but still doesn't wake up.

"Laika.. it's - fuck - it's me.. Ghost... Wake up..." - nothing. Just more thrashing around.

"Fuckin' hell" I grumble. I lower myself so that I am knelt on the floor in the doorway of the open cupboard. I grab her shoulders and shake. It's the only option I have, having tried everything else.

She snaps out of her nightmare with a shriek, slapping and scrabbling at my chest and face. "Fuck girl - it's me.. I'm - I'm tryin to fuckin' help you" - "DON'T TOUCH ME - GET AWAY" she yells at me.

I'd be lying if my heart didn't freeze over when she says that. Such fear in her voice. Fuck it. Only option left. I grab her around the waist and hold her in one arm, flinging her over my shoulder. She is crying and crashing my back with weak, panicked punches. I hardly feel it. Too numb from her words. I march her out of her room and down the hallway. "Pl-please - please don't" she cries. What the fuck did she think I was gonna do to her?!

I reach the door I was looking for and open in, storming in and dumping her on the bed. She clambers quickly away from me, over the limbs of my pack mates. John wakes up abruptly, instantly in defense mode. She flies towards him and clings to his torso as if she fitted there all too perfectly. She is sobbing now. John growls as he blinks away sleep.

"What the fuck, Simon. What've you done..?" He looks between the sobbing mess clung to him, and me. Great, my own fuckin' Alpha thinks I've 'done' something to her.

By now Johnny and Kyle had woken up too. They move to the space between myself and the girl. Were they creating a barrier?! Didn't they trust me..? Of course they don't. You're a monster.

I sigh, feeling broken, and turn to leave the room. Christ knows where to, but I needed to disappear for a while. I'm almost out of the room. I stop when I hear her. "Si-simon..?"

I don't turn. I just face the doorway, still intending to leave.

Then the Captain speaks up "Answer her, Simon.." I sigh again.

"What?" I snap over my shoulder at her. I see her flinch, "I'm - I'm sorry.." she whines "S'fine" I grunt back, still not turning to face her.

"What happened?" Johnny asks. I don't expect to feel his hand in mine, tugging me back toward the bed. "Get off Johnny" I shake his hand away from mine, but ever persistent, he grabs at my hand again. "Si - what happened?" he asks again.

"The girl was havin' a fuckin' nightmare. Heard her screaming from the kitchen. Didn't even wake up when I banged on the door. She was hiding in her fuckin' cupboard. Didn't even lock her door".

"So.. you helped her..?" Kyle asks hesitantly "what else was I 'sposed to do? Fuckin' let her scream the place down all night?" I snap back - ok fair, that was uncalled for. I have my own fair share of nightmares. Those in glass houses 'n all that bullshit....

"S-sorry.. I didn't mean-" - "I said s'fine" I grunt at her. She hides behind John's shoulder now. She's terrified of me.

"Y/N.. what do you want to do..?" Kyle asks her "Don't want to be a-alone again.." she whimpers back at him. He strokes her cheek. Why can't I be gentle like that?

"Alpha.. can - can she stay here for tonight..?" He asks John nervously. I forgot Johnny was still holding my hand, but he squeezes it excitedly when Kyle asks if she can stay.

"Y/N.. would you feel comfortable here..? I give you my word, we will not touch you.. not hurt you..it's your choice.."

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

"Y/N.. would you feel comfortable here..? I give you my word, we will not touch you.. not hurt you..it's your choice.." The captain asks me.. I sniffle into his shoulder. His bare shoulder. "Please.. please, if it's ok - ok with everyone.." I stutter and sniff. "Shhh sweetheart, it's ok.." John reassures me, rubbing my back softly.

He lays me down between him and Kyle. I glance towards Johnny and Ghost. Johnny has finally succeeded in dragging Ghost into the bed. He is as far away from me as he can possibly be on the massive bed. Johnny snuggles up to him and rests his head against Ghost's chest. I can almost see some of the tension leave Ghost's body. I look away and roll to face Kyle. He is already looking at me as I turn around. He smiles softly down at me and whispers "you ok, love?" I nod against the pillow. He motions towards himself and as my eyes meet his motioning hand, I notice that he is also shirtless. Do none of these men wear a shirt to bed?!

I furrow my brows at his gesture "C'mere love, snuggle up to me" he chuckles. "I don't want to be a burden" I sniffle, my face still red and puffy from all of the crying. "Never, now come here" he motions towards himself again. "Gaz.. behave" John warns from his position behind me. "Behaving, sir" - "Better fuckin' be" he grumbles back. His voice was extra gravelly at this time of night. I shuffle towards Kyle and he engulfs me in his arms. He is so warm.. His scent calms me down almost immediately. I push my head so it's resting atop his chest. He slots his chin over the top of my head.

I drift off to sleep, quicker than I had for years. The last thing I feel is a strong, hairy arm wrap around both of us and pull us slightly closer.

[hopefulromances]

Dude first of can I say I bloody love your writing second of all I just read that piece of reader and Jamie watching finding nemo and I had an idea. What if Jamie is watching when Harry met Sally for movie night with the team and it literally gives him the biggest mindblown lightbulb moment that he’s in love with the reader aka his best friend of over 10 years. The ending of it always makes me cry.

This is crazy did you read my other drabble where Jamie and reader watch when Harry Met Sally (I love that movie) But I LOVE THIS idea.

The boys filed into the rec room, the chairs already set up for the boys to be able to watch whatever movie Ted picked out for tonight. You were in there, finishing setting up the projector cause lord knows that if you didn't do it Ted would never be able to figure it out.

"And there!" You finished, throwing your hands up in success. "All you have to do is press play."

"Well, now, thank you (Y/N), you've been a big help," Ted grinned. "Alright now, folks! Let's file in, get your seat we're gonna get started soon!"

"(Y/N)!" Jamie called over to you. You looked over at him and smiled and Jamie's heart about stopped. Sure he was in love with you. You were brilliant. But it wasn't like he would ever say anything and ruin the friendship you had. "Over here."

"Sorry, Jamie, I got work to do, won't be able to stay tonight," you told him walking towards the door. "But I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

You walked out of the door. Some of the team pat him on the shoulder sympathetically as they walked by. Was it really that. obvious? How could you not see it?

Jamie elected to slump down next to Sam and Isaac instead, unable to keep the pout off his face.

"It is alright, Jamie," Sam comforted, nudging him. "She's just busy tonight."

"Yeah! Anyone with eyes can see she's into you," Isaac agreed.

"Thanks, lads, but I think it's hopeless," Jamie grumbled.

"Alright, greyhounds, now!" Ted clapped his hands getting the attention up at the front. "Tonight we're watching a movie about friendship, and love, and how friendship and love walk a very dangerous line. But all you need is that one push to spill your guts."

"Fucks sake," Jamie muttered, adjusting his seat.

"And without further ado, When Harry met Sally!" Ted scurried out from in front of the projector. Jamie rolled his eyes and settled in for another rom com that he didn't enjoy because all he could think about is (Y/N),

But what surprised him was how great the movie was. The writing, the flirting, it was all so comparable to his own life. By the end of it, he was leaning forward in his seat as Billy Crystal rushed down the streets of New York to find Meg Ryan.

"I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Jamie felt him mind racing as he listened to that line. He thought about you and the butterflies that followed him around whenever you were near. The smile that lit up the room. The laugh that could save lives. He wanted to be with you and he wanted to be with you right now.

Just as the lights turned on, Jamie shot up out of his chair and raced out of the room. The rest of the boys cheered as he did.

Ted turned to Beard. "I reckon you owe me 10 pounds."

Meanwhile, Jamie was rushing to your room. When he arrived, he knocked fiercely on the door, not letting up until you opened it.

"Jamie? What on earth-"

"I love you," he blurted out. You eyes widened, trying to take in what he was saying. "I love you. Like I love the way you smile, I love the way you talk, I love the way you always seem to know what I want for lunch even though I don't know what I want for lunch."

"Jamie wha-"

"I love you," He repeated. "You know my hair dye brand, you know that I like the temperature in my house to be 18 degrees. Not 20, not 15, 18 degrees. I love you (Y/N)."

You were speechless. You couldn't form a thought into a word if you wanted to. You just looked back and forth between Jamie's eyes trying to decipher if this was a joke.

"(Y/N), I love you and when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you-"

"Want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible..." You finished the quote, smiling softly.

"I know this is sudden, and whatever, but I just... I need you to know."

"Jamie?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you kiss me now?"

"God, yes."

And he did. He kissed you. He kissed you quite a lot actually.

[mariacallous]

Griffin Dunne has just written a book. He had been meaning to do so for ages. It was one of the items on his bucket list: learn a musical instrument, master Spanish and write his damn memoir. “One down, two to go,” he says, beaming in via video link from his home in upstate New York. The actor and film-maker turns 69 this weekend. He reckons that still leaves him time for the music and Spanish.

Dunne imagined his memoir as a family portrait in the style of David Sedaris’s Me Talk Pretty One Day. He pictured something light on its toes, witty and poignant, a weave of essays and anecdotes. But then the book changed direction, as though it had a will of its own. It went where it wanted and needed to go. He says: “On some level, I knew there was this big subject ahead. And so, as I’m writing the book, I’m thinking: oh, OK, I know where this is going now.” The story leads to the scene of a 40-year-old crime. It revisits the death of Dunne’s younger sister, Dominique, and the grisly murder trial that followed.

I tell Dunne I really like the book, which sounds crass in the circumstances, but is true. While The Friday Afternoon Club is about the death of a loved one, it’s full of light, life and colour. It’s a startling tale of precarious American privilege, spotlighting a family that is blessed and cursed.

Dunne casts himself as the Hollywood prince at its centre, surrounded by famous faces, clamouring to be noticed. He tells how Sean Connery rescued him from the family swimming pool, how Billy Wilder critiqued his childhood pranks and how he roomed with Carrie Fisher before she went off to make Star Wars (“This movie is going to be a fucking disaster,” she said). Dunne was raised among storytellers (his dad and uncle were authors; Joan Didion was his aunt) and he writes with a loose, easy swagger. His memoir is tart, buoyant and playful right up to the moment it’s not.

In the early 1980s, when he was in his 20s, Dunne was hitting his stride as an actor. He had secured his breakout role in 1981’s An American Werewolf in London, playing the undead grad student Jack Goodman, doomed to haunt the adult cinemas of Soho. His 22-year-old sister was also faring well, having co-starred in 1982’s Poltergeist. But, on 30 October 1982, Dominique was strangled by her ex-boyfriend, John Sweeney, and died in hospital five days later. The trial, says Dunne, was outrageous, a farce. Implicitly, it seemed to put the Dunnes in the dock, framing the bereaved family members as frivolous dandies. Sweeney was convicted of manslaughter, but acquitted of murder. He served just three and a half years in prison.

Four decades on, Dunne’s account of events burns with rage. He is furious with the judge who intervened to block crucial evidence. He is furious with the killer’s employers (the Los Angeles restaurant Ma Maison), who stepped in to pay his legal fees. He is furious with Dominique’s then co-star, David Packer, who remained inside the house while Dominique was being attacked outside. “All the old anger got re-stoked,” he says. “I tapped right back into my vengeful side.”

During the trial, Dunne was approached by a mobster who offered to have Sweeney killed. He discussed the idea with his brother, Alex. “At that time, we would have been diagnosed as crazy people,” he says. “I told my brother that we had an opportunity to have the killer dealt with in the county jail. We decided not to kill him, but to mess him up, to have his hands smashed, like we were ordering pizza and choosing different toppings from the menu. And that was just the beginning of our madness; it carried right through. Even writing it down, I thought: I’ve got to let this go, because you can’t live in hate.”

In the end, they did nothing. Dominique’s killer changed his name after being released from prison and is likely still alive today. “I will neither forgive nor forget,” Dunne says. “But I’m not going to let that be the A-story of my sister’s life.”

Dominique was a victim, but that doesn’t make her life tragic. What is clear from the book is that people adored her. She comes across as whip-smart and droll, grounded and private. “She was a serious, substantial person,” he says. “Serious about her acting, her animals, her family. And, actually, rather intimidating, even though she was the youngest of the family.”

Dominique cared for their mother, Ellen, who had multiple sclerosis. She also cared for their father, Dominick, who was bisexual and closeted and yet confided in her. “So she was somebody we were all a bit in awe of. She was always wise beyond her years.”

She sounds like the family’s moral compass. “Yeah,” he says. “But also a bit bossy. She always knew what she wanted. My brother and I were a little fearful of her. It was like she’d been born already built.”

Dunne, by contrast, was a work in progress. In his memoir, he says that his first word was “taxi” and that he was always in a hurry – always running before he could walk. He was expelled from school for smoking pot. He was “coked to the gills” on the night Dominique was attacked. He was bumptious and entitled. His sister’s death changed him, he says, because how on earth could it not?

“For one thing, I never thought about domestic violence, the abuse of women. I grew up in Los Angeles and when I was in high school, pre-Roman Polanski, it was incredibly common for 13- or 14-year-old girls to be dating guys in their 30s. They’d go to these decadent parties in the hills and then come back and tell us all about it. And that was the culture; it felt exciting. I was unaware of what it meant. But then you have my sister, a 22-year-old girl, who finds herself in a domestic violence relationship with someone who’s twice her weight. So everything looked different to me afterwards.”

Perhaps it affected his career as well. In the mid-1980s, Dunne was on the threshold of stardom. He combined the charm and grace of a leading man with the prickly intelligence of a great character actor. The door kept swinging open, but he seemed to keep shutting it. He turned down The Fly and Sex, Lies, and Videotape in favour of making Who’s That Girl, with Madonna, and a reviled comedy, Me and Him, in which he played a yuppie architect who quarrels with his talking penis.

Dunne’s agent accused him of making “self-destructive choices”. He had always craved fame, only to find that it spooked him. “Too much attention at that time was a little fearsome for me,” he says. “I found it very stressful.” He hesitates. “And also my father,” he adds. “That had a lot to do with it, too.”

Dominick is the third main player in The Friday Afternoon Club, a high-flying producer who came to earth with a crash. He would eventually find his voice as a writer. He became Vanity Fair’s star reporter, first covering the Sweeney case, then the OJ Simpson and Claus von Bülow trials. But the in-between years were hard and humiliating. He suffered a reversal of fortune that took the whole family aback.

“I saw my father fail,” Dunne says. “I watched real failure in action in real time. He was a man who had a big house and a beautiful car and a great job and entertained the most famous actors and directors in the world. And everything was taken away from him, partly through his own actions, but nonetheless. People came out of the woodwork, kicked him when he was down.

“They were like: ‘I always hated you, I always knew you were closeted, you’ll never work again, pack your bags.’ And the effect it had on me, just entering the business as he was being destroyed in that business …” He draws a breath. “Well, it had a lot to do with the choices I made.”

In hindsight, the 1985 black comedy After Hours was his fork in the road. It’s also the picture with which he is most identified. Dunne developed the film as a co-producer and convinced Martin Scorsese to direct. He also took the lead role of repressed Paul Hackett, who embarks on a long, dark night of the soul through the streets of Lower Manhattan.

On set, Scorsese made one big stipulation. He ordered Dunne not to have sex for the duration of the shoot. I am gobsmacked by this, but the actor was unfazed. “It made perfect sense to me,” he says. “I knew what he meant. The character had to be boiling over with this unfulfilled anxiety. You had to see …” He pauses. “Not to be crude, but you had to see the semen build up to where it’s practically coming out of his eyes.”

One Saturday night, though, Dunne cracked and broke the rule. The next day of filming, Scorsese spotted the change and went berserk. “You’ve fucked up the whole picture,” he shouted. “I don’t think I can finish it now.”

Dunne says that he was probably being directed here, too. “Because now I’m afraid. I’m terrified. And it turns out that a certain level of fear is the same as not having sex. So [Scorsese’s] second piece of direction is telling me that I’ve ruined his movie. That’s excellent direction. It brought all the old anxiety back.”

It should have been a tough prospect, sitting down to write his book. Emotionally, because it meant revisiting the worst time of his life. Practically, because the Dunne family had already set the bar high. They are all dead now: his dad in 2009; his journalist-screenwriter uncle, John Gregory Dunne, in 2003; Joan Didion in 2021. But their reputations are daunting. It must have felt as though he were writing in the shadow of Mount Rushmore.

Dunne says it wasn’t that way at all. He had always assumed that writing a book would be a lonely endeavour. In fact, it felt warm, intimate and weirdly convivial. “I didn’t feel daunted, trying to write and being related to all these prominent figures. Quite the opposite. I felt their presence. When I described them, it was like I was seeing them again, living with them again. It was like I was back meeting Joan for the first time. It was as though I was spending time with her and John, my father and my sister,” he says. “They were alive to me. When I finished the book, that was the sad part. It felt like I missed them all over again.”

[cowboys-of-tombstone]

Fixing a Broken Fence (Curly Bill x Rancher!Reader) 3/4

°˖✧Ko-Fi 💖 Patreon✧˖° < Previous ☆ Next > ??? (Ch. 4 will be available on Patreon early!)

     All the way back to camp, Curly Bill felt the wind brush against his face. He felt lighter, serene, even. He chuckled at the thought of himself using the kinds of words Johnny would, but he couldn’t help but have a sense of clarity from how he felt. He wasn’t just happy, but he wouldn’t describe himself as overwhelmed with joy, rather, he felt at peace with himself. 

     That peace stayed with him even as he tied his horse up and headed back to his tent for the night. 

     His cot groaned stiffly as Bill laid upon it. His hands cupped the back of his head, gazing up at the tent’s ceiling. All that passed through his ears was the whistling of the trees and the occasional cough from Ike in the distance. Bill laid there for what felt like hours, just reliving the day he had with you. He didn’t even know when he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

     Thunderous galloping ripped Bill from his slumber. It was light out, but the day had not broken the horizon just yet. 

     Bill hopped out of his tent, yanking his legs through his jeans, to see what the commotion was. At the center of camp, a great red cloud billowed in, engulfing the small group of Cowboys that had gathered around it.

     As the dust settled, familiar forms emerged from the haze, dusting themselves off with wide smiles.

     “Billy!” Ike cawed, recognizing his brother’s gait.

     “Johnny?!” Bill perked up, rushing over to meet the rest of the crowd.

     Indeed, Johnny Ringo and his posse marched out of the haze, with his arms spread out, as if to embrace every member of the gang. Through his thick mustache, Johnny’s grin shined like ivory. Curly Bill and the surrounding Cowboys looked on, confused by Johnny’s unusually jovial demeanor. 

     “Gentlemen,” Johnny paused, “we found our way back into Mexico!” 

     The whole camp exploded into cheers and gunshots, Bill galloped to Johnny and embraced him with a tight bear hug. Barnes and Billy lifted Ike upon their shoulders and spun him around; the old Clanton howled, holding his crutches above his head like a king, his staff. 

     “How’d ya do it, Juanito? How did you get back in?” Curly Bill asked, firmly gripping Johnny’s shoulders.

     Johnny chortled with a deep breath, “It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure. Let me get something to drink first.”

     “You heard this man!” Bill roared with laughter, “Crack the kegs, pop the champagne, pull out the good stuff you was savin’! These boys are thirsty!”

     Soon, the whole camp had gathered around to hear Johnny’s tale. The very air began to stink of alcohol, as no bottle was spared from being opened. However, Curly Bill realized, a bit too late, that they should’ve had breakfast first. In hardly any time at all, the dehydrated, starving Johnny Ringo began to slur his words and slosh around his half-full bottle of whiskey.

     “...Next thing we know, a group of twenty, no, fifty Mexican soldiers sprang from the hilltops. I’ve never seen a sight like it, not since Mason County. Anyway, they came running down like a stampede. There’s no way that the half-dozen or so of us would’ve been able to make it past them without bein’ ripped to shreds. Thanks to Sherm, he spotted a bottle-neck with sharp corners that we hid behind. Those soldiers rode passed and never thought twice. From there we followed the trail back and here we are, in one piece!”

     Bill swished some cheap hooch around his tongue to burn off his cottonmouth. He spat it out and clicked his tongue, “And so you reckon that’s how we sneak in and out?”

     “The way they got that border wrapped up, it might be the only way. For now, at least.”   

     “Well, what’re we waiting for? I’ll bet just about every feller in camp is itchin’ for some action!” Bill jumped up from his seat, “How about we head out in a couple hours so that you and your lot get some quick shut eye?” 

     His second in command nodded, “Yeah, we saw a few close ranches. They’re not far from the trail.”

     “It’s settled then!” Bill commanded, shattering his bottle into the smoldering fire pit, “Everybody, get ready to head out by noon. Grab a bite, some shut eye, or hit the can, cause we’re leaving on the dot! Let’s go make some moolah!”

     The camp ignited a roaring fire to heat up a massive cauldron of stew. While Johnny and his scouting party fell into an unwakeable slumber, the remaining Cowboys oiled their weapons, filled their canteens, and fed their horses.

     Soon, their shadows disappeared as high noon approached. Though the heat dug into their shoulders, their eyes were gleaming with a hunger that food wouldn’t suffice. Like wolves, they gathered together again to split their pack into war parties, each one led by one of Johnny’s scouts. Even Bill took a step back so that Ringo himself could take the lead. 

     The red-sashed locusts rode out and followed the trail to the border. They passed the great river, and once they got on the Spanish soil, they went their separate ways, all with the prospect of riches on their mind. 

     They were on Bill’s mind too, of course. However, there was something else on his mind as well. While the other Cowboys dreamed of wasting their nights on gambling, booze, and other unscrupulous activities, Curly Bill had the sudden realization about how little he knew about you. What kind of gifts did you like? Were you the kind of girl who would like flowers? Or were you more into books and the like? What would you think would be a good night out? So many questions that he didn’t even realize he had until now, when you were far away from him.

     Bullets whistled out of their barrels. Skittish cattle bellowed in blind panic, following any horseman to guide them. Fire ascended from the burning pueblo in pillars of thick, woolish ash, and pained Spanish begged for retribution.

     All music to Curly Bill’s ears. And what’s more, was there was no sign of the Mexican military to slow them down. Only a thread of smoke was left in the star studded sky by the time Bill, Johnny, and the rest made it back on the other side of the border. When the other war parties joined back together with them, they all had several dozens of cattle between them all. 

     There were still several miles to go before they could find themselves back within Cochise County. With no sense of danger from their surroundings, just a flat plain with sparse tufts of bush and a shallow creek for the cattle, The Cowboys felt they were in the clear and set up camp for the night. 

     Because of how many men there were, a number of separate campfires were started, each with several Cowboys huddled around them. The smoke trails curiously spiraled into the heavens in a loose, yarn-like thread. Eventually, this twine disappeared amongst the stars who seemed to lightly tug at the smoke like fish nipping at a baited line.

     Curly Bill and his closest comrades exhaustedly chewed salty jerky and sipped pungent, bitter coffee. Though they had won the day, none felt like the victor with mixed nuts and dried fruit. 

     Barnes, who chewed his jerky with the same thoroughness as a cow with its cud, longed for a plate of real food.

     “Say, fellas, whatcha fixin’ to do when you get paid tomorrow? I am hankerin’ for some steak and eggs and a real frothy beer.” Barnes imagined as he tried to get his mind off the bland paste that accumulated in his cheek.

     Stilwell picked his teeth with his hunting knife, “I’ve been savin’ up to get my guns engraved. Maybe I’ll get them polished too, while I’m at it.”

     “Thinkin’ on buying a bath for Ike,” Billy Clanton thought as he spat into the dirt, “I think soaking his foot in the hot water will do him some good.”

     McMasters lightly ruffled his hair, “I think I found the one-”

     The whole campfire groaned. 

     “I’m serious this time! She’s the redhead from the Birdcage Theatre. She told me I was her favorite customer.”

     Indian Charlie perked up, “¡Ándale! She told me the same thing, Sherm!”

     The group’s eyes practically popped from their skulls as a mixture of gasps and howls erupted from them. Poor McMasters wilted like a desert flower.

     “What about you, Bill?” Johnny asked, after a drink of his coffee, “Got any plans yourself?”

     “Well, now that y’all mention it, I got a girl I got my eye on too.” Bill shrugged as he dragged from a smoke.

     “That’s right!” Stilwell snapped his fingers, “Is it true you’ve gone smitten on the girl that turned Ike’s toes to a batch of plums?”

     “Who’s goin’ around spreadin’ rumors like that?” Bill sneered with smoke flowing from his nostrils.

     “Uh, Ike did.”

     “Oh.” Bill clicked his tongue, “Reckon he’s still a little sore about it. But it’s true.”

     Johnny let out a short laugh, having just found out about your supposedly tumultuous affair with Bill.

     Barnes guffawed, “No way! She’s crazy!”

     “No she ain’t!” Curly Bill waved off Barnes. 

     Billy Clanton thought deeply as he rubbed his jaw, “What makes her so special, boss?”

     Curly Bill sighed deeply, “I get it, but the way I see it is that nobody died. And all Ike has to do is nurse off that foot. Hell, I’ll pay for a couple of baths myself too. But, truthfully, I don’t know why that girl is so special. Something about her eyes and the way she looked at me when we first met. I haven’t gotten the chance to get to know her at all, but I’m gonna once I get paid.”

     The group was silent for a moment. Yet, whistles and sounds of swooning swelled from them all into an overwhelming wave of laughter and kissing sounds.

     “Oh, shut the hell up! All of you!”

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

     A little bit more than a week went by since you last saw Curly Bill. The thought occurred to you as you swept your porch, one particular afternoon. You leaned against your broom and wiped away the sweat from your brow. Looking out to the far distance, you hoped, at any moment, you would see that familiar silhouette ride over the hills and down to your side.

     However, a whispering gust of wind brought you back to your senses. Afterall, why should you expect a fella like him to come back and commit to one girl? Not that you were hoping that he came back, but he was great company to have after being by yourself for so long. Bill was a handful, without a doubt, but it sure beat the next few days since he left, you admitted to yourself. 

     Having listened to your own ramblings enough, you finished your sweeping and headed inside. Your chores were finished for the moment, and you weren’t hankering for anything in particular. Really, you were just simply bored. Even your dog found entertainment chasing the calves amongst the herd, while you, on the other hand, plopped onto one of your handmade armchairs in order to ride out the wave of dullery. 

     Just before you planned to doze off, a rushing beat became louder and louder from outside. The noise came to a rasping halt as you scrambled out of your chair. But before you could reach for a window to see what the commotion was, there was a knock at your door. 

     “Who is it?” You asked.

     “It’s the sheriff! You’re under arrest for stealing my heart and resisting my charm!” An all too familiar gruff voice called from the other side.

     A smile was forced upon your lips, much to your chagrin, as you opened the door. 

     Curly Bill flicked his tongue, “Hey! Don’t open the door unless I got a warrant!” 

     “I’ll remember that next time you say some tomfoolery like that.” You tsked with one hand on your hip, “What brings you around, stranger?”

     “Oh, don’t be like that. Fella’s gotta find some way to make ends meet!” Bill reasoned while thumbing his nose.

     “Oh? And how’s that? What does a fine businessman, like yourself, do to earn his way?”

     “Well, just like you said, I’m a businessman. And I help the Clantons sell any cows they get their hands on. And they pay me handsomely so that I can bring a gift like this to you!”

     Out of his pocket, rested a little box that he gently placed in your hand. You opened it and a glint of light shined in your eyes. They were little earrings that could rest just on your earlobes alone. A stone of turquoise sat upon a simple gold base that was polished until reflective.

     “Oh my God, they’re beautiful! Hold on, let me see them in the mirror.” You gasped as you clenched them to your chest. 

     That devil smugly dusted his knuckles and tossed you an equally complacent glance. 

     Your smile puckered into a scowl with rosy cheeks, “Well, what’re you standin’ there with that look on your face for? Get in here!” 

     Curly Bill closed the door behind himself as you hurried to the decorative mirror that hung in your living room. The slight tremors from your excited fingers made it a bit difficult to get them on. However, once you got them into place and stepped back to look at yourself, your hand covered the smile that graced your lips.

     “These had to have cost you a fortune.” You muttered, turning your head from side to side.

     Curly Bill shook his head, “Nah, it was nothing. I originally wanted to get you some thick gold bars to dangle from your ears. But then, I saw those and thought that you could wear them anytime you liked, even when you’re busy working!” 

     You laid your hand on your collarbone, with a tightened throat.

     “That’s mighty kind of you,” You said softly, “for thinking about me in that way.” 

     Curly Bill sauntered slowly over to you and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, “I can’t help it when you’re all I think about.”

     You reached out and felt his abrasive fingertips, your eyes entranced with his, and your words caught in your throat.

     “I…” You managed to say, “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

     “Is that so? Missed me that much, huh?” Bill’s toothy grin returned.

     Glancing to the side, you admitted, “I would’ve appreciated some company, yeah.”

     Bill leaned in, “Well, let me give you all the company you need.”

     The Cowboy drew closer to you, his eyes sparkling with desire. He had wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you gently towards him. You felt his warm breath on your face and his lips hovering over yours. No doubt he wanted to kiss you, and part of you wanted to kiss him back. But you also knew that he was a dangerous man, one who could easily break your heart. Even then, you still hardly knew him, by any metric.

     You swiveled your head to the side and gave him a light peck on the cheek. Smiling sweetly, you looked into his eyes.

     “Easy there, Beau,” you said softly. “We’re not there yet. But, I meant it when I said I missed you.”

     You saw a flash of disappointment in Bill’s eyes, but he quickly masked it with a charming grin. 

     He kissed your cheek in return and whispered in your ear, “Sorry there, Darlin’. Didn’t mean to rush you. You were just so irresistible, I couldn’t help myself.”

     You hugged him tightly, taking in the coarseness of his shirt. When you let him go, you pointed him to a chair, “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, while I get us something to drink. You look famished.”

     Lumbering over to the wooden seat, Bill plopped down with a thud. He leaned back, balancing himself on the chair’s two rear legs.

     “S’pose I am a bit parched. Whatcha got?” He inhaled sharply.

     The cupboards had everything, from jam, to oils, and pickled produce; and all were lightly covered in dust, waiting for a rainy day. There, waiting in the back, was a stoneware bottle. A relief of an apple and two stalks of wheat decorated its surface, and two handles to carry it with.

     “I don’t have anything too harsh, but would you like a drink of apple cider?” You asked, reaching for the heavy jug.

     “Dessert before dinner, huh? Y’know, I haven’t had cider since I was an ankle biter. Yeah, I’ll take a cup.” Bill licked his lips.

     Into two cups you poured the bubbling golden liquid. It had been a while since you had enjoyed cider yourself, and took an early swig. It was tart and the bitterness of the drink burned your tongue with a sanitizing hiss.

     A wheezing cough escaped your lungs, “Ahem! It’s a bit strong for my tastes. I think a scoop of sugar and cinnamon will do it some good, would you like some for yours?” 

     Bill shook his head, “I don’t know, I think I might want to try it as it is!”

     Your lips tighten and you squinted with repulsion, “Ugh, are you sure? It’s pretty bitter.”

     “Yeah! I like when my drinks put hair on my chest.” Bill said proudly. 

     With a defeated shrug, you quickly mixed your drinks and brought them over to your living room. Bill raised his cup to you with a nod and took a foamy sip. He smacked his lips, took another sip, peered one eye into his cup and muttered, “Did you give me your drink by accident?”

     “Of course not!” You answered boisterously, and then you paused. You were sure you passed him the right cup, and yet now you had to double check. So you pressed your lips to the mouth of the cup and drank.

     It was a warm, sweet experience, reminiscent of a bowl of fresh apple pie. The heat ran down your throat, soothing it all the way down. 

     “Wait a minute, what’re you talking about? Are you telling me that’s too sweet for you?” You asked with disbelief, pointing to his cup.

     Bill shrugged, “I was talking about how tame it was. Hopin’ it would burn on the way down, with the way you reacted. But…”

     “You’re crazy! You could wash rust off with that!”

     Bill laughed, reveling in your amazement. It was charming, seeing someone who didn’t live the kind of life where feats of bravado were tested regularly, and to see the astoundment of something trivial to him, not be so with you.

     “Thanks for the drink, though.” Bill continued. “It’s, uh, a breath of fresh air!”

     You giggled, “You’re too kind. Maybe I’ll save up for some good whiskey next time I’m in town.”

     “No worries, you don’t have to, on my account. I’m already getting used to this.” Bill insisted, quickly swallowing another watery drink.

     You shook your head while you too indulged in your sugary beverage. Though, as you settled into your thoughts, one emerged from the back of your mind.

     “So,” You asked, rubbing a circle into the coarse hair of your armchair, “how did your job go?”

     The sun-tanned Cowboy rubbed his chin with caution, “It went… about as well as it could have. Why do ya ask?”

     Your finger tapped your lip, “Well, I guess I ask, because I was wondering what would bring you to keep coming back to that kind of work?”

     Bill sighed, “Don’t judge me too harshly, Miss. It’s just what I do. A fella like me ought to use what he’s good at and get paid well for it. Don’t ya think?”

     “But don’t you ever get scared? Like you might not make it out in one piece?”

     “Once in a while, sure.” He nodded, “But it’s what I’m made for and I have some fun while at it too!”

     Distant barking gave you pause. However, it quickly turned back to playful growling and mooing, allowing for your attention to turn back to Bill.

     You tilted your head to the side, “How can you have fun doing something like that?”

     Bill shifted his eyes to the side under a heavy squint. His teeth lightly bit his bottom lip, “Huh, I don’t think I ever really thought about it. But since you asked, I reckon it’s because fellas like me are used to it.”

     “But, how? How could anybody get used to it?”

     Bill began to stare off, remembering a time before The Cowboys. He smirked kindly, “I guess your folks did you well, then.”

     You furrowed your brow with deep contemplation. Just what was going on in his mind?

     Suddenly, he shook his head, releasing himself from his thoughts, “I gotta ask, did your old man tell you about the Civil War?”

     “Huh,” You thought, “I don’t think he ever did, now that you mention it. How’d you know he served?”

     “Just a lucky guess, I suppose.” He shrugged jovially. “You’re a fine lady with a good head on your shoulders, old enough to run this farm on your own. I reckoned then, that your old man would’ve seen it. Anyway, I can see he’s a good man for not telling you.”

     “Why’s that?” You asked, garnering more questions than answers.

     “The things we saw in those fields, in those hills, what happened to the good men that were lost in the mud, all fighting for something they believed in, will change a man in a way you mix two colors of paint. Once they’re mixed, they can never be unmixed. Some men can be the color your old man was, tainted, but otherwise able to return to their old lives. Some of us turn out a bit too different from where we began, and so we accept our lot and keep doing what we’re good at.”

     “Is that why you took the night we met so lightly?” You asked with more concern than you wished to let on.

     Bill rolled his eyes, half expecting the conversation to lead to that. “The way I see it is this: No one died, and the worse thing to happen to anybody, is my friend havin’ to be drunk for a couple of weeks cause his foot hurts. But I’m paying for his doctor bill and his brother’s paying for his ‘medication,’ so there ain’t no harm done.”

     Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. Sure, it made sense why Bill and his like are the way they are, but how could he not see how he affected others? How he affected you?

     “Sure,” you coughed hoarsely, “I get it.” You struggled to swallow your apprehension along with your cider. Although it felt like a stone was forced down your throat, you were able to get it down. With your painted on smile, it seemed Bill was also put at ease.

     The Cowboy spun his cider within his cup, letting out a short chuckle, “Hey, uh thanks for not judging too harshly. I know that ain’t easy.”

     A hesitant nod rattled from your head. The carefree attitude he held with himself was both admirable and daunting. As much as you attempted to accept his explanation, there remained a prodding in the back of your mind. Hopefully, you thought, it would subside in due time.

     The many adornments of your home were a constant catch to the Cowboy’s eye, more so that day, than his previous visits. The walls were adorned with taxidermy and various framed watercolor paintings.

     The heads of deer and pronghorn did not sit as trophies, a few were hardly impressive in that way. Yet, their necks curved in ways as if they were frozen in time, in a single moment, rather than stuffed.

     Nothing helped bring about that moment more than the watercolor paintings. Each one laced with black ink and vivid colors revealing landscapes that Bill could recall seeing himself, but never with quite the same beauty.

     “Nice decorations.” Bill managed to utter, “I can almost tell which of your folks chose what around here.”

     “Actually,” You laughed shortly, “they made ‘em! But you are right about one thing, they definitely had their own tastes.”

     Bill’s eyes widened, “Oh, they made these?”

     You leaned back and crossed your arms pridefully, “Yep! Just about did everything with their own two hands.”

     “So I’m guessing these are all of your old man’s trophies?” 

     “I guess in a way they are.” You thought aloud, “He once told me, during the war, he saw this beautiful horse riding into battle. It was a life changing moment, but later he found it killed. It broke his heart seeing that creature like that, and would’ve rather have had it live on in some sort of way. So he took up taxidermy as a hobby just in case he wanted to preserve such a moment again.”

     “After shootin’ the deer himself?” Curly Bill asked with a brow raised.

     You shrugged playfully, “It’s free meat and leather. All it takes is one good bullet and some free time.”

     “I guess a fella’s gotta feed his family somehow. What about your mom? What kind of scars was she carrying?”

     You waved away the thought, “No, no, no. Nothing like that at all. She just loved to paint, always had since she was knee high. These were some of the last ones she painted before she got sick. Her best ones, in my opinion.” 

     Bill carefully stared into the paintings. The pen strokes implied a shaky hand, carefully attempting to outline vegetation and mountain faces with strict intent. However the wobbling lines allowed for nature to be implied, such as the gnarled surface of tree bark or broken stone. This was juxtaposed by the soft watercolor that messily flowed in and out of the outlines. Many times, the colors were blended together and yet, never felt muddied or accidental. Truly, they were one of a kind, and not meant to be replicated like printing pressed pictures.

     Bill hummed, “Ever thought about paintin’ like your Ma?”

     “Sure did!” You chirped, “Got real into it a few years back, I thought I got pretty good at it too.”

     Coyote’s playfully yowled in the distance with a pair of rock doves seemingly joining in with soft cooing.

     Your smile shrank to one side, “But, uh… that’s when my Pa started needing more help around the farm. I thought I could get back to it eventually, but I suppose I never did. It doesn’t feel like I got any time, I guess.”

     Curly Bill scratched his scalp, “Well, why don’t you make time? That’s what I always do when I wanna do something.”

     “That sounds mighty nice,” You noted sarcastically, “but in case you’ve forgotten, I got a whole farm I need to run! I can’t just leave and go do whatever I want, there’s always something to be done around here. If it ain’t broken, I gotta feed it, or clean up after it. And by the end of the day, I’m exhausted and want to relax. Not to mention, I got handsome thieves comin’ around trying to steal what’s mine!”

     Your compliment burned him like chewing on cinnamon, endearingly warm to the palette, but searing to the tongue. However, it got him thinking.

     “Hmm, well, what if this handsome thief, you speak of, had brought some help so that you could take a day off?” Curly Bill asked smugly while rubbing his chin. 

     “We’ll see about that.” You shrugged with a coy grin. But as you looked over at the Cowboy, you too began to ponder him and his story. “What about you, Bill? What were your folks like?” You asked as you leaned your head onto your palm.

     Bill quickly chugged the last of his cider, and with a sharp sigh, he muttered, “You don’t wanna know.”

     The stilted response had almost knocked over you and your chair. No witty response, no quip, it was very unlike what you’ve come to know of him. Of course, it was his own way of politely asking for privacy. However, for such an open book as Bill, to suddenly close himself off as quickly as he did, it caused your curiosity to ring like a church bell.

     “Well that hardly seems fair,” You commented softly, sliding the pitcher of cider closer to him, “you know pretty much everything about me and my folks now, and I’d like to know more about you.”

     Crickets cautiously tuned their instruments with the sun’s steady departure. Bill stared at the pitcher with contempt. It was rare for the Cowboy to find himself left open to vulnerability, what was worse was that it was on a subject he held closer to him than any other secret. 

     He sucked air between his teeth and snatched the pitcher off the table. In one last moment of regret, you quickly raised your hand, “I-I’m sorry, Bill. I was just teasing, you don’t have to tell me anything too personal, until you’re-”

     “No, it’s alright.” Bill began while pouring more cider, “It’s just that, I don’t think I ever talked to anybody about this.” He stared into his bubbling drink, almost transfixed by the disappearing froth. “I reckon it’s ‘cause I never wanted to think about it.”

     “What do you mean?” You leaned in closer.

     Curly Bill wiped his nose with contemplation, “Well, uh, where do I even start? I mean, I don’t recall ever having a mother; and my Pa, well, he liked me ‘bout as much as I liked him. And I didn’t.”

     The Cowboy gulped down the cider like a fish did water and poured himself another glass full.

     He continued, “Ol’ Man Clanton was always tough on his boys, but I think it’s ‘cause the geezer didn’t know better. Kind of making due with what he had, you know? 

     “But my Pa? He was sharper than an arrowhead, and could shoot through you twice as fast. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he took every chance he could to make me feel like I couldn’t measure up to be his son.”

     You shook your head, “Ugh, how terrible! What did he do? Did he hit you?”

     Bill shot you a crooked glance, then chuckled, “Well, yeah he did. But I usually deserved it. No, what he did felt worse than a sore keister.” 

     Before the Cowboy could explain himself, you quickly reached for the pitcher of cider. The warm, sugary drink felt like a protective campfire from the sudden chill of Bill’s tale.

     When you lifted the pitcher, however, there was hardly enough to fill your cup halfway. Maybe the cider was weak for his palette after all?

     “You know what?” Bill noted as he smacked his tongue, “I’m so used to all that coffin varnish they call whiskey back in town. But I reckon this grew on me. Maybe I’ll get a cask for myself.”

     A small smile perked the corners of your lips. You had almost forgotten what he was trying to distract himself from. 

     “But back to what I was sayin’,” The red devil sighed, “yeah, my ol’ man beat me. But it was for the usual things, breaking something or stealin’ one of his smokes. That’s fine, but there was never a ‘job well done,’ or a ‘I’m proud of you.’

     “There was this one time, where I stayed up all night takin’ care of his prized heifer for the county fair. I groomed it, I brushed it, I went and shaved down her hooves, I damned near got in there and brushed her teeth for her! All because I wanted our cow to get the blue ribbon. And we did. Now granted, that heifer was from award winning stock, already, but I knew I played my part. 

     “But when it was all over, and I told him what I had done, not a single pat on the back, a handshake, not even a nod. All he said to me was, ‘Well son, that’s what you’re supposed to do.’ And that was my entire life with that man. Never a moment of pride nor gratitude for me. He was always above all of it.”

     The wind whistled from underneath your door as the room fell into silence. Rasping from Bill’s thick calluses against your mug hissed like a feather in your ear. He looked down, but it was as if he was looking at his reflection in an imaginary pond. He exhaled lightly and his contemplative expression seemed somber, gloomy even.

     Then his brow furrowed, and his mouth contorted and twisted into a snarled smile. Guffaws erupted from his belly. He threw back his head and placed his palm over his eyes.

     “After I came back from serving in the war, that gray jackass stayed exactly the same. So, I left!” The Cowboy flicked his tongue with the grin of a diamondback. “And I took what I deserved. Done rustled about a third of that bastard’s five thousand cows with me!”

     Your jaw fell to the floor, “You didn’t!”

     “Single handedly.”

     “But weren’t you worried they were gonna catch you? I mean, you’re just one man with this huge herd of cattle. How did you even get away with it?”

     “Believe me, after riding with that lot for a full day, I started to wonder the same thing. But somehow I did, and I made it to some reservation. San Carlos, I think it was. But the best part was selling the whole herd to them Indians there for a new horse and a couple of dollars. Never knew what happened to ‘em all, guess I never really cared enough to find out.”

     By that point, the coyote garbed in red had released himself from his mental chains, and sat back in his chair with a pompous grin. And all you could think, by that point, was how much of a… free-spirit he was! However, you thought to yourself, perhaps if you had an upbringing like Bill, you’d eat the devil with the horns on, too. 

     Pouring the remains of the pitcher into your cup, you raised your drink to him with a chuckle, “I suppose that’s a toast to a fresh start, huh?”

     Bill leaned over and gently clinked his mug with yours, “Amen to that! And cheers for hearing me out. I’m starting to feel like I can tell you anything!”

     “Oh,” You softly remarked with your hand on your chest, “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you.”

     Bill nodded contently, but the conversation began to lull. He appeared to enjoy the quiet. You, on the other hand, reached over to the pitcher again. The toast had gone down softly and emptied your cup, leaving it thirsty for more. However, the pitcher was hollow and left you feeling peckish for another drink.

     “Hm,” You hummed, while rhythmically tapping your fingers together. 

     “What is it?” Bill sniffed loudly.

     You inhaled sharply, “I’m feeling pretty good right now. But, I’m thinkin’ maybe I could go for a couple more drinks.”

     Bill clapped his hands thunderously, then rubbed them together with a little too much enthusiasm, “Now we’re talkin’! Where do ya keep the good stuff?”

     Your eyes floated to the loft upstairs that had now been blanketed in a gentle darkness.

     “Give me one second, I’ll be right back.” You noted out the side of your mouth. 

     With a lit candle, you made your way up the rickety, groaning stairs. Animals frozen in time watched you unjudgingly as you carefully tiptoed to the loft’s entrance. 

     Long roughly cut rafts ran across the ceiling at angles that made the room seem almost triangular in shape. Hanging from the ceiling-walls were a Great Blue Heron and a green headed Mallard. Their wings were spread in orbit around a saber and a wide brimmed calvary hat. The gold of both relics of the past faintly glowed from your candle’s reflection.  

     The far end of the loft was hardly visible, but was home to a sturdy dresser and a stuffed beaver that sat upon it. But midway through, sat two beds. Each was composed of a heavy wooden frame and adorned with thick quilts of flowery design. Both had their own chests that sat at the feet of the beds, but you were interested in the one further from the entrance. 

     You kneeled down to the chest and set the candle to the side. Upon opening the heavy lid, it released its breath into your face with the stinking fumes of old varnish. But inside was a messy pile of treasure and old letters to friends and family long forgotten. 

     As you rummaged through the bottom of the old, sour-smelling chest, you found what you were looking for. Two casks of whiskey were laying side-by-side, with one already opened and half drank.

     You sighed with a gentle smile, “Still workin’ on that one, Pa? How about I take that old bottle and you can keep the fresh one to yourself.”

     Softly and gingerly you raised the whiskey from the chest and closed the lid. A sigh of relief rushed out of your lips and blood flushed through your ears. Quickly, you picked up the candle, and hurried downstairs. 

     “Did ya say something to me up there?” Bill called as you trotted down the steps.

     “Sorry, I was talking to myself while looking for this!” You chirped, eagerly presenting the bottle with a playful jingle. 

     The Cowboy slapped his knee and snarled, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about! I need a sip of that!”

     “Hold your horses, I’m getting there!” You bit your lip, ripping the cork off the top with a satisfying, bloomp! 

     The fumes from the noxious liquid burned the insides of your nose. Your eyes also felt the sting of sterilization, even as you kept yourself away from it. Bill, on the other hand, breathed so deeply it was as if he were smelling a patch of roses.

     His fingers crawled towards his cup, and with a strangulating grip, he seized it and began to drink. Air was sucked in between his teeth and was released with a satisfied ‘ahh!’ 

     “You know,” Bill licked his lips, already pouring another cup, “That cider wasn’t too bad. But boy howdy! This is perfect, it’s like I’m drinking a cup of melted scrap iron!”

     Your nose scrunched, not with disgust, but with morbid curiosity. The bronze colored drink vaguely reflected your appalled expression as you peered into it. 

     And so you took a sip.

     Much to Bill’s description, the alcohol ripped into your tongue like a vengeful jalapeño, searing every surface of your mouth on the way down. You gulped much to your body’s dismay. Your ears began to ring and your face became flushed, as if you were holding your breath the entire time.

     “Thatta girl!” Curly Bill pounded the table. 

     You wheezed, while clearing your throat, “Thanks, for what that’s worth.”

     “Whatcha think, do ya like it?”

     The edges of your lips tightened, “Hmm, liked it, huh? I reckon I didn’t.” You grimaced, much to Bill’s delight as he let out a hoarse guffaw. 

     Your lip smacked with embarrassment, “I’m not trying to be a party pooper, dammit!”

     “Party pooper? Who said anything about that?” Bill tilted his head curiously. 

     “You know, ‘cause I can’t drink like you?...” You muttered realizing the extent of your panic. Bill simply smiled as he leaned his head upon his hand. His cheeks were softened and his gaze was not piercing.

     “You’re real cute, you know that?” He chuckled softly.

     A soft red glow emanated from your face and neck. Incoherent stammering sprang from your mouth with intent on saying something, but after a short ramble, you simply stopped and continued to collect red in your cheeks. The more you tried to hide your embarrassment, the more it showed. And the more it showed, the more Bill seemed to smile.

     “W-well, anyway; I can’t drink this as it is. I gotta go fix it up, I’ll be right back.” You uttered, spinning around and heading for the kitchen. You could’ve sworn you heard Bill chuckle under his breath.

     Back in the kitchen you began kicking yourself internally. You loathed how childish you felt in the moment. You were never one to feel shy around potential suitors, even the ones who were obnoxiously bold. So why was he, of all people, able to reduce you to a babbling mess? You felt like a mouse being played by a cat.

     Patting your cheeks, you blew out a puff of air, then continued on with what you were looking for.

     ‘Maybe,’ You thought to yourself, ‘my nerves won’t be so shot once I get a little juiced.’ 

     With such a bitter drink, however, you knew that sugar wasn’t gonna cut it alone. Quickly glancing around, you wondered how you were going to keep yourself from getting heartburn from the noxious drink. Thankfully, a jar of peach jam caught your attention. 

     ‘Oh, thank the Lord.’ you sighed with relief.

     With a pop of the lid, you began shoveling the syrup covered peaches into your whiskey. After a quick spin of your spoon, you gave your concoction a taste test. Still bitter, but much better than before. You took your cup and the jar, knowing you’ll be needing more of it.

     “Well, Hell’s bells! Had to go sweeten up your drink, again, huh? What happened, was the sugar not enough for ya?” Curly Bill snickered as he shamelessly poured another cup.

     “Well not all of us can guzzle watered-down shoe polish! Some of us like to actually enjoy the things we put in ourselves.” You puffed, throwing yourself back into your armchair. 

     Bill nodded while still glancing around at the peculiar ornamentation of stuffed animals, “I’m glad we can drink this together then.”

     There he went again, you thought as you smirked with a hand covering your mouth. Curly Bill was like biting into a freshly made pie, scalding with his banterous words, and yet, almost on the turn of a dime, saying something so sweet. You waved him away, even though it seemed like he saw through you.

     The Cowboy reached around to scratch his own back while pondering aloud, “So, what do you do for fun around here, anyway? You’re still quite a ways away from anywhere reasonably enternainin’, right? I know my boy, Johnny’s getting cute with this one girl from town. She’s a bookworm and a half like him though. Is that what you do?”  

     “Yeah, I read on occasion. Wouldn’t call myself a bookworm though.” You shrugged, “Really, if I’m not reading, I either take a walk around my property, or I play fetch with my dog, Rocky, out there.” 

     The silence of the sudden end to your list surprised you. Curly Bill glancing at you from the edge of his eyes only served to woefully confirm what you were already thinking. 

     “I, uh… Huh.” You mumbled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so boring, heh.”

     “No! No, that sounds like a, er-” Bill squinted one eye in thought, “Like a time and a half right there!”

     “Oh, shut up.” You laughed out loud. However, when you finally started quieting down, you began to really think about it. 

     “It wasn’t always this way, you know.” You bit your lip. “When he, my father, was still around, I didn’t have to worry about everything so much. I could actually go into town and window shop without thinking of the time. We’d go camping every so often, or even go horseback riding when he wanted to have venison. All the way until he just couldn’t anymore. Then I couldn’t either.” 

     You realized how much you were missing out by keeping your parent’s legacy alive. It seemed you yearned for just a bit of adventure, but weren’t willing to pay the price for it.

     You poured the biting peach concoction passed your lips, perhaps more than you wanted, but gulped it all down nonetheless. What felt like steam escaped from your chest as a feeling of calm washed over you. Leaning one arm against the rest of your armchair, you admit to Bill, “I guess if you want to know what I reallywant to do, I just wanna let loose for once. Have a hot meal I didn’t need to make myself, or get me one of those fancier drinks. But, I’d really like to go see one of those theatrical shows at The Birdcage, at least once, just to see what it’s like!”

     Perhaps your own enthusiasm caught you off guard. You shrunk back in your chair, unsure what Bill would think of your idyllic adventure. Surely a cowboy, who has lived enough for several lifetimes for you, would find such a night to be trivial in what could only be considered ‘just another night’ for him.

     He rose from his seat and sauntered towards you with his hands in his pockets. When he reached your side of the room, he took your hand in his and pulled you from your chair. The sudden force of his strength was like that of a horse suddenly pulling you along at full gallop. You blinked, and when you opened your eyes, you were in his arms. The rough cotton of his shirt rubbed against your face abrasively, and yet it felt warm and comforting. He led you in a slow two step dance with gentle sways and spins. All the while saying softly in your ear, “What if we went together, just you and me? We can dance the night away, drink and eat ‘til your heart’s content.” 

     His muscular hands bent you backwards as if in the climax of an exotic dance. Using his thumb, he gently brushed away the few strands of hair that fell upon your face before caressing your cheek softly. 

     “And then, we could head somewhere nice and quiet, and…” Bill trailed off as he drew you closer, never breaking eye contact. He could smell the sweet marmalade in your breath as you two almost brought your lips together. 

     A building pressure expanded in your chest. Heat had gotten stuck behind your heart in your throat and was on the verge of setting you ablaze. You wanted to kiss him back, but flashes of the past, what he had almost done, still kept you from fulfilling your desire.

     You put a pair of fingers between the two of your lips keeping them from making contact. Bill pulled back with a furrowed brow, not entirely sure if he had taken your first kiss or not.

     “I’m sorry,” You sighed softly, “I’m just…”

     “Just not ready, huh?” Bill muttered with a half smile.

     A slight chuckle escaped your lips, “Would you be, if you were me?”

     “Well…” Bill trailed off again as he straightened the two of you back to your feet. Whether he was unwilling or unable to answer, you weren’t sure.

     The both of you took a moment to adjust yourselves to an awkward silence. Unwilling to live a moment further in the embarrassing miasma, Curly Bill approached you with his thumbs through his belt, sheepishly saying, “Sorry about the… uh, well you know.” 

     You smiled warmly, “Thanks for dropping by, it means more than you know.”

     The Cowboy nodded unsatisfactorily, but he held his head proudly as he made his way towards the door. 

     He jiggled the door handle and strolled out onto the dry dirt. The crumbling soil crunched underneath his heel as he dug into it. You, on the other hand, stayed just behind the door frame, watching him gather his thoughts.

     “So, can I,” Bill inhaled sharply, facing away from you, “Can I come see you again?”

     You rested your hand against the frame and chuckled, “Of course you can.”

     The charming thief’s shoulders straightened and suddenly, he spun around with a wide grin that was barely held together within his mustache. He took off his hat and held it to his chest, “Then, until next time, Miss.”

     Bill lowered himself into an exaggerated bow before making his leave. As that red devil became enshrouded by the night you gave him a quiet, gentle wave and closed the door. 

     You bit your lips together as you cleaned the cups and put away the alcohol. A smirk kept swelling up from within you as you thought back to the various moments of enjoyment throughout the night. Even as you looked at the quarter-full bottle of whiskey one more time before returning it to its chest, you thought about how close you two were in that moment. How much you wanted to kiss him back, and shuddered when you pushed him away. 

     “Ugh, real smooth, girl.” You tsked.

     Meanwhile, Bill had made his way up the lonely hill. He looked back and saw the last candlelight in your home disappear, so too did his smile. Rubbing the back of his neck, he untied his horse from the tree, taking one last longing glance at your cottage. 

     “Damn.” He hissed, “Did I mess up?”

[icedjuiceboxes]

New dishonored au bc I'm insane okay:

Billie being DH1!Emily royal protector

So.

While heirs to the throne get to choose their royal protector at the age 11, Jessamine and Corvo decides to let Emily choose her a year early. Especially with Corvo about to take his trip across with the Isles to find aid for the plague.

Hiram Burrows overhears this. He drags Billie lurk into the Tower and fabricates all the documents that says shes been with the watch for some time. Well accomplished- even saved the high overseer Campbell's life at some point. It's perfect- bring in Daud's right hand man to do recon right at the source in plain sight.

Corvo and Jess are none the wiser- Corvo double checks Billie's background, but finds little to argue with when he has testimonials from Burrows and Campbell. She's not a bad match, young, full of energy. can keep up with Emily.

Emily was tempted to argue with the choice, especially since she didn't get to choose, and worse of all Burrows picked Billie- a man Emily hates with all the fury a ten y/o could muster. She was tempted- but excitement won over being petty. And it did helped Billie mindlessly made a comment about Burrows, throwing him under the bus in favor to win Emily over.

So that was it. Billie joined Emily's side, and by extension, the empress' side as well while Corvo traveled the isles.

Emily showed Billie all the best hiding spots in the Tower, and all the ways she sneaks away to get away from lessons. When Billie wasn't needed, she reported back to Daud, every little detail the young empress was so kind to share.

At some point Delilah meets with Billie, knowing what she plans to do. They can all get what they want. Billie just needs to bring Emily to her after the assassination.

Despite learning to enjoy Emily's company and the life the Tower brought, Billie went through with it.

That day. Corvo came back early. It didn't stop them though. It was going to happened. Billie stood with the three in the gazebo, watching the waterlock. Emily was the first to point out the approaching whalers.

When they appeared, Corvo was quick to draw his sword. Billie simply stood in front of Jess and Emily, it wasn't time to drop the facade. Corvo was a force to be reckoned with, he didn't need Billie's help regardless.

When Daud showed up though. It was over. Time to drop the act. Thomas held Corvo in the air. Daud came face to face with her, the Empress behind her and Emily hugging her legs.

She stepped aside, taking Emily with her. As Daud took Jess by her neck, Billie was just barely quick enough to cover Emily's eyes, she being frozen in a state of fear and shock. As Jessamine's body fell to the floor, Billie's hand slipped off Emily's face. Emily stared up at her, emotionless and barely just choked out "You lied." Emily was spared the sight, but she wasn't oblivious to the sounds to put together what conspired.

Billie barely just managed to transverse in time with Thomas and Daud as Emily said those words.

Billie was still in charge of Emily after she and the whalers returned to HQ. Emily fought Billie, and had punch hard enough to leave bruises, before breaking down and screaming and crying and pleading for answers on Billie's betrayal. And then she fell asleep, exhausted. Billie had a choice. She could hand over Emily to the Pendletons, and follow Burrows plan. Or hand her over to Delilah, who powers Billie been borrowing over the last few months.

In the dead of the night. Billie left with Emily for the Brigmore Manor.

Long story short Delilah was insane, and Billie had to get Emily out. She regretted choosing Delilah, not that the Pendletons was a much better choice. She was stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

So there was Billie Lurk alone with Emily. Ally to no one. Burned every bridge she had. The whalers. The coven. The royal family.

Emily had no choice but to go wherever Billie took her, up against the whole entire city of dunwal.

[tomhiddleston]

One More Tomorrow (Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader) - Chapter I.

Summary: When a new guest checks in to The Halcyon, Billy looks for any excuse he can to get close to her.

Pairing: Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader (third person)

TW: pure unadulterated fluff, Billy being an idiot with a crush, some light swearing, this fic is basically a romantic comedy

Word Count: 5k+

A/N: I haven't written fic in ages so I hope you all enjoy my Billy Taylor brainrot!!! This is part one of a three-part miniseries I have planned... with potentially more to come if people want more? !!! Also, we're all gonna have to make peace with the fact that our nameless young lady has a surname, lol

Also, thanks to @valeskafics and @aegonx for reading this through for me!!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any The Halcyon characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are always appreciated!

Art deco dividers by @saradika

Billy will always remember the first time he set foot in the lobby of The Halcyon. He’d come to work with his mum more than a handful of times over the years, especially when he was little. But, in those days, the only glimpse he got of what went on upstairs at the hotel was the silver serving trays that the waiters carried as they walked past his mum’s office. Seeing the lobby - the heart of the hotel - for the first time was like stepping into a different world. 

That was almost a year ago, now. Barely sixteen, with trembling fingers tugging at the high collar of his bellboy’s jacket. It was brand new and freshly pressed, so it had a stiffness to it that he wasn’t used to from the hand-me-downs that he usually got from his father. 

He followed Feldman up from the bowels of the hotel and through the door that had always been forbidden to him. What lay on the other side was something he could have only dreamt of. Towering columns carved from emerald green marble, glittering chandeliers, doorways trimmed with a rich, dark wood. The sweet smell of fresh flowers permeated the air. He wondered how it was possible for it to smell so strongly of flowers in a room so large. He reckoned his family’s entire house could fit inside the lobby four times over. 

The Halcyon was the most beautiful thing Billy had ever seen.

Until the day he sees her.

May 1939.

His morning starts as it usually does. Quick cup of tea in the hotel kitchen. Dodge a kiss on the cheek from mum. Check on the hotel generator. Head upstairs to begin bringing down the luggage of the guests who are checking out. 

The dreary, painfully normal morning eventually turns into a rainy May afternoon. Billy’s shoes eventually become so waterlogged from escorting guests inside with an umbrella that he can feel his socks squeak against the leather with every step. He’s whinging about it to one of the doormen when Mr. Garland comes parading through the lobby towards the front doors with Mr. Feldman in toe. And if The Halcyon’s general manager and head concierge are preparing to greet a guest, then they must be someone important.

“Come on, then, Billy!” Feldman calls to him. “Fetch the umbrellas.”

Billy deflates a little, knowing that there’s little hope of his shoes drying any time soon. Still, he’s dutiful as ever and meets the other men at the front door with the still-damp umbrellas tucked under his arm. 

“Is his Lordship back in town?” Billy asks Feldman curiously. 

“No, Billy,” Mr. Garland answers instead. “It’s a new guest and one that we’re eager to impress. Mr. Tobias Greene, of Greene Automotive.”

Billy’s face lights up. “Greene Automotive? Oh, they’ve got the fastest cars on the market. Their new Model F’s got an eight-cylinder engine. Three hundred twenty horse power! It’s got a top speed of two hundred kilometers… an hour…” His voice trails off as he sees the look on Mr. Garland’s face. “What’s he coming here for? Their factory’s all the way in Birmingham.” 

Mr. Garland peers outside, looking for the arrival of their new guest’s car. “Something about setting up a corporate office here in London, I think. But it’s best not to pry, Billy. You know that. And please, no gushing to Mr. Greene about his cars.”

Billy nods and Feldman laughs at the disappointed look on the boy’s face. 

Mr. Greene’s car arrives at a very punctual three o’clock on the dot and the men step outside into the pouring rain to greet their new guest. Feldman is the one to open Mr. Greene’s door. Out steps a tall, dark-haired man with a thick mustache and shrewd brown eyes. The handshake he offers to Mr. Garland is firm but friendly. Billy can’t help but be a bit starstruck. 

“Come along, my dear,” Mr. Greene calls into the open car door. “Don’t make your father wait in the rain.”

A corgi jumps out of the car and into a puddle on the sidewalk, splashing water up the front of Billy’s grey trousers. Great. He barely has time to groan about it before he looks up and sees her. Mr. Greene’s daughter steps out of the car with the dog’s leash in her hand. It’s lucky that Billy is standing close enough that she is covered by the umbrella he’s holding because he’s frozen solid at the sight of her.  

If he was starstruck seeing her father, then he’s completely bowled over by her. She’s dressed in a beautiful fur-lined coat and has her hair done up in those curls that all the ladies are doing these days. Not a single strand is out of place. She looks like she’s just stepped off the set of a new picture or out of the pages of one of those magazines his mum reads. 

Her eyes meet his and it’s like he’s been struck by lightning. He wonders for a moment if his heart’s stopped beating. He sees her lips move but doesn’t hear what she says. How could he, when he’s so transfixed on her beauty? Plenty of good-looking women have walked through the lobby of The Halcyon, but not a single one of them could ever compare to her. 

Billy comes crashing down to earth again as the sound of the car door closing breaks him out of his trance. He’s not supposed to talk to the guests. Greeting them is Mr. Garland’s job. But he can’t help but squeak out a nervous “Welcome, my lady.”

She smiles in response and he melts. 

“Thank you.” Her voice is warm and sweet. Prettier than any melody. The little chuckle that leaves her is even lovelier. “But I’m no lady.”

Billy stumbles over his words, knowing that he’s mucked it up. His eyes widen and both hands move to grip onto the handle of the umbrella. “Y-yes, miss.” 

They all make it barely halfway to the front doors of the Halcyon when she turns to the car with a gasp. “Oh… my gloves. I left them in the car…” Her tone is pensive, more like she’s making a mental note not to forget them later than anything. 

But Billy, desperate to please her, springs into action without so much as a word. He’s at the car door in three long strides, only realizing that he’s left her standing in the torrential rain, umbrella-less, when Feldman snaps his name from atop the hotel steps. When he turns back, her suede gloves in hand, he sees her huddling for cover beneath the umbrella that Feldman is holding for her father.

He can almost feel the daggers in both Feldman and Mr. Garland’s eyes pierce through him, but then he sees the smile that creeps onto her lips. She’s drenched, the fur on her coat matted against her shoulders and her perfect hairdo ruined. But she’s smiling. 

When her lips part in a laugh, Billy knows he’s done for. Even if it’s him she’s laughing at, for being such a bloody twit, she’s laughing and he gets to hear it. If it was the only sound he ever heard for the rest of his life, then he would die a happy man.

Mr. Greene is not as charmed by Billy’s foolishness as his daughter, raising an outstretched hand for him to hand over the gloves and let them get inside. Billy can’t look the man in the eye as he places her gloves in his hand, but he does manage a small, sideways glance at her and sees that she’s gone all pink in the face. Just like him, he reckons. 

The Greenes are put up in separate but adjoining rooms on the second floor. Billy watches as Mr. Garland ushers them up the marble staircase. Feldman gives him an earful for what happened outside, but all he can think about is being the one to bring her luggage to her room. To see her again, maybe even talk to her.

He very nearly pushes the other bellboys over as they begin to bring the Greenes’ luggage inside. Despite their obvious wealth, they’ve traveled lightly in comparison to many of the other guests the Halcyon receives. Billy counts her suitcases. Only four. He can manage four on his own, can’t he? 

Feldman pinches the bridge of his nose at the sight of Billy, two large suitcases tucked awkwardly under each arm, lumbering up the stairs and nearly taking out one of the guests along the way. 

When he makes it to the room that she’ll be staying in, he has to scoot sideways through the open door to even make it inside. He’s huffing and puffing from the exertion but manages not to drop the luggage. As he sets them down gently, he looks up and sees her. She’s removed her drenched coat and is standing in the doorway to the bathroom, toweling off strands of her wet hair. There’s a warm glow around her from the sconce on the wall that makes her seem almost luminescent. 

He should say something… or leave now that he’s brought her suitcases. But he just stands to his full height and tugs at the bottom of his bellboy’s jacket to straighten it out again. They are both staring at each other all the while, her with that same, pretty smile as before. 

But to her, the wide-eyed look on his face must make him seem like a startled owl. 

“Thank you,” she finally says, breaking the silence. “Billy… wasn’t it?” 

His name. She said his name. It’s the best his name’s ever sounded. 

Billy swallows hard, his throat painfully dry, and nods. 

“Thank you, Billy.”

He can’t leave yet. Not until he’s managed to say something to her. Not until he’s apologized for having left her to get rained on, at least. A million things he could say seem to run through his brain all at once. Everything he wants to say becomes jumbled in the chaos. The words seem to bloom and die on his tongue in an instant. 

What he eventually decides on is something to the effect of, “I’m sorry I left you in the rain, miss.”

But what actually comes out of his mouth?

“I’m sorry–”

He turns on his heel to run out of the room before she can formulate a reply of her own.

Billy remains on edge every second of every shift after their first interaction. He’s restless at his post by the front doors of the hotel, fingers tapping on the back of his hand so incessantly that Feldman eventually asks him if he’s unwell. He cobbles together an excuse, saying that he’s just eager for a smoke break. But Feldman can see the way he longingly watches the staircase, hoping and praying to see her again. 

He’s so intent at his post that he forgets more than once to take a guest’s hat or coat when they enter, leaving the doorman, Skinner, to awkwardly step in for him. He gets a proper slagging off from Feldman after he leaves one of the hotel’s most valued guests standing at the door waiting for their coat. 

But none of that matters whenever he sees her. She seems to glide down the staircase whenever she emerges from her room, never a hair or a thread out of place. The beauty of The Halcyon’s lobby pales in comparison to her. No, she somehow makes the room look even lovelier, like there is a light radiating off of her that makes everything in her vicinity more exquisite. 

If she’s walking to the hotel’s restaurant, he’s there to open the door for her. If she’s heading out of the front doors, he’s there with her coat and hat. Each time, he relishes in the sight of her cheeks flushing pink and her eyes getting that little twinkle in them that makes his heart flutter. Hearing the little “thank you” that she mutters each time only makes him fall harder.

“One look from a pretty bird and he’s become a total melt,” Tom, one of the hotel waiters and Billy’s closest work mate, teases him during the staff’s weekly game of poker. 

Feldman spurts out a scoff. “A melt? Boy’s lost his bloody mind, he has. Couldn’t even tell you which way’s up and which way’s down when he’s thinking about… her.” He leans in close to Billy, saying the last word in a sing-songy kind of tone.

Billy attempts to hide the redness in his face behind his cards.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, mate,” says Tom. “She’s an heiress and a guest. Best forget about her. Find a girl you might actually be worthy of.” He laughs it off as a joke, but Billy isn’t smiling. 

It hits a nerve, that remark. Billy knows he’s not the brightest. Never excelled in school. He only got his job here at The Halcyon because of his mum. He may only be sixteen, but he’s peered into his future once or twice and lamented about the fact that he might always be stuck working here until he’s old and gray like Skinner, still taking coats and hauling luggage up and down the stairs. There are few prospects for men like him beyond jobs like these. How could he ever be a suitable match for a girl like her?

Dejected, Billy folds his hand and rises from the apple crate he’s sitting on, not even bothering to collect the cigarettes he’s planned on using as his stake before he starts walking away with his head hung low.

“Oi, Billy!” Tom calls after him, abandoning his own hand to follow him. “Mate, I didn’t mean it. I was only teasing.”

“Doesn’t mean you ain’t right, Tom.”

Tom walks a little quicker to get in front of Billy and stop him in the long hallway between the stairs and the kitchen. “Okay, look.” He lowers his voice. “You wanna see her again? She takes her tea in her room at two o’clock every afternoon. Yeah?”

“Yeah?” Billy echoes, shrugging. “What, and ask Feldman if I can take a late lunch to have tea with her?”

“No, you dolt.” Tom sighs. “You could be the one to bring her her tea every day. You know, get in the door. Strike up a little conversation.” He nudges Billy’s arm. “Get in a cheeky kiss.”

Billy’s eyes widen. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it… what it’d be like to kiss her. He’s never kissed a girl before. If she could be his first… oh, the idea alone is enough to make him weak in the knees. 

“But it’s… not my job, Tom. Feldman–”

“Leave Feldman to me. I’ll sneak him one of those custard tarts he likes from the kitchens. He won’t be able to say no.”

Finally, a smile tugs at Billy’s lips.

“Look,” Tom continues. “I’m sorry about what I said. She’d be lucky to have you, Billy.” He begins to walk down the hall to rejoin the poker game, but has to tease Billy a little more. “Just promise to make me best man at your wedding, mate!”

The rattle of porcelain fills the hallway leading to room two-hundred four. Why Mr. Garland had to put Mr. Greene and his daughter in rooms at the end of the hall, Billy will never know. The usually short walk now seems like a marathon’s length as he fights to balance the delicate tray of fine china. He dropped a teacup not long after he started working at The Halcyon and still hears about it from the kitchen staff. If he dropped this tray, he would never survive it.

Billy has bitten down on his bottom lip in concentration, his usually long strides short and uneven. The clattering of the fine china only grows louder the closer he gets to her door, his hands trembling an unacceptable amount. He can carry the heaviest, most cumbersome luggage and now he can’t handle a simple tray of tea? He thanks God that no one else is in the hallway at the moment to see him struggling.

He comes face to face with her door and stares at it for a moment. He’s certain that she will be able to see his heart pounding against his chest from underneath his bellboy’s jacket. Standing there, he begins to work himself up into a frenzy. He doesn’t know if he can do it. Better to turn back now and let Tom deliver her tea as always.

It’s as though he hears Tom’s voice in his head.

Billy, you idiot. It’s just a door.

Yeah, a door with the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen on the other side. He wonders how she’s spent her day so far. Brushing and styling that long, silky hair that he wishes he could run his fingers through. Reading books. Maybe Jane Austen or one of those other books that girls like. Curled up on the chaise with her little dog by her feet. It’s not the type of day that sounds appealing to him, but he’d sit by her side all the while if she wanted him to.

Billy snaps out of his daydream, realizing that he is still staring at the dark mahogany door with the gold two zero four on it. He swallows hard and decides to go for it. It’s quite the balancing act, getting one hand free to rap on the door without dropping the silver tray. He stands on one leg and lifts the other to prop it up on his thigh, quickly knocking twice on the door - but not before he sees a trickle of tea spill from underneath the teapot lid and onto the pristine tray. 

“Oh, bugger.” 

He only just manages to regain control over the tea tray when the lock clicks and the door swings open. It’s clear that she was expecting to see Tom by the look on her face - first, a flash of confusion, and then, a little smile and a blush. She’s rouged her lips today, making them look even fuller than usual. It complements the navy blue silk blouse she’s wearing and somehow makes her face seem even more aglow. Then he’s hit with the warm, flowery smell of her perfume and he lets it fill his lungs. Whatever it is, it suits her. 

Say something, Billy. Bloody hell.

He glances down at the tray and back up at her, seeing that she hasn’t taken her eyes off of him. He swallows again, trying to regain even a semblance of composure. He’s trying to come up with a reason as to why he, a bellboy, is there delivering her tea and not Tom or one of the other waiters, but she speaks first.

“Tom’s busy today?” 

Oh, that voice of hers. He could melt. 

But instead, he offers a little “Mmhmm.”

That’s a better explanation than he would have probably come up with, anyway. 

“Come in. Please.”

She turns to walk with him to the sitting room where she takes her tea by the window and he follows her like a lost puppy, tea tray rattling all the way there. He manages to spill more of the liquid onto the tray on the way there and curses internally. He sucks in his lips in concentration, but the tray still comes clattering to the table. One of the cucumber finger sandwiches tumbles into the puddle of tea below and the clotted cream slides out of its bowl.

“Oh… sorry, miss,” Billy mutters, knowing he’s ruined the presentation of the tray and, likely, spilled half of the tea that she was meant to drink. That’s the second time he’s apologized to her in the span of a few days for doing something stupid. Feldman would wring his neck.

Any other wealthy, well-to-do guest would have snapped at him, cursed at him, called him clumsy and stupid. But she smiles up at him, her eyes glittering more than all The Halcyon’s chandeliers combined. It’s only now that Billy notices just how close they are. Almost as close as couples get when they dance. His mind wanders again, wondering if she enjoys dancing. 

“It’s alright, Billy.” Her voice brings her back into the moment. Heaven above… she remembers his name. She plucks the finger sandwich out of the spilled tea it’s sitting in and tries a small bite, offering him a little smile. “I think it tastes better this way.”

He’s staring at her like a deer in the headlights again, but he somehow manages to nod and smile. “Oh. G… good.” 

Her own grin widens and she leans down to pour herself a cuppa. He knows he should go, but he’s somehow glued to the spot. He watches her every movement, from the way her hand delicately grasps the teapot handle to the way her brow furrows in concentration as she adds milk to her cup.

“You don’t talk much, do you, Billy?” 

“Erm…” He straightens the front of his jacket nervously, feeling the heat in his cheeks. A breathy laugh leaves him. “I dunno.”

His mum would be in stitches if she were here right now. He’s been chewed out more than a few times for talking her ear off when she’s busy cooking or cleaning. You’re going to drive me mad one of these days, Billy, she’d say. To see him completely clammed up around this girl would throw her for a loop.

“I understand. My dad’s not a big talker, either. So I talk to Clara.” She turns to where her corgi is asleep in her plush bed by the fire and smiles. “She’s a good listener.” 

“Yeah…” He follows her gaze, grateful that the little dog isn’t awake to bark at him. “Bet she is.”

“Do you have any pets, Billy?”

He blinks a few times. She wants to know something about him? The blush in his cheeks only deepens.

“Uhm, no… mum’s allergic.”

A look of sympathy flashes across her face. “Oh. That’s bad luck. Well, you’re welcome to say hello to Clara and pet her if you want. She’s such a sweet girl. She loves people.”

Billy glances at the dog again. She isn’t the one he’d like to spend time with. “Yeah. Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” she asks hopefully. His heart jumps.

“Oh, I just– you know. If… Tom’s busy again.” 

Her smile warms him. “I’m sure he’s always busy. Not that you aren’t, too,” she laughs. “I just mean that… you’re welcome to bring my tea again… if you want.”

Billy is stunned into silence again, and right after he’s finally managed to string together more than two words at once. They mirror one another, both wringing their hands together nervously. The air between them feels heavy with unspoken words, but theirs isn’t an uncomfortable silence.  

“Of course, miss,” Billy finally manages. He watches her take a sip from the glistening white teacup and delights in the little hum of pleasure that leaves her.

“If you have work to do, then… I won’t keep you, Billy.” She speaks almost hesitantly, like she’d rather be asking him to stay. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble because of me…”  

She’s right. He has a lot to do before his work day ends and Feldman wouldn’t take too kindly to him neglecting his duties. But he’d give anything to stay here with her.  

“Yeah, I’d better… go.” He sounds unsure, something she clearly notices judging by the way she smiles. 

“Thank you for bringing me my tea, Billy. See you later?” The enthusiastic way in which she asks her question makes it sound like they’re friends who are set to meet up again tomorrow… or maybe that she sees him as, potentially, something more. 

No, he has to tell himself. She doesn’t mean it like that. Not at all. She can’t. Not him, the bellboy. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get his hopes up.

“See you later, miss.”

His eyes flit to her lips briefly, hoping she hasn’t noticed before he hurries out of the room and nearly slams the door behind him. He all but floats down the hotel staircase, wearing a stupidly wide grin on his face. 

At the end of his shift, he’s downstairs by the staff lockers being grilled by Tom about everything that happened that afternoon. Billy can barely give any specifics about the interaction itself because he keeps devolving into thoughts of the way her hair curled at the base of her neck and how delicate her fingers looked as she poured herself tea. At some point, Tom decides he’s a lost cause and leaves him to his daydreaming.

Feldman wanders in to collect his things and sees Billy leaning against the lockers there, clutching his bellboy’s hat to his chest. As far as he’s concerned, the sooner this girl checks out of the hotel, the better. It’ll sort him out and get him back to functioning properly.

“I think I’m in love with her,” Billy says over his shoulder with a dreamy sort of look in his eyes.

“You haven’t said ten words to her, Billy.” 

“I have too!” But he starts hurriedly counting on his fingers… just to be sure. 

“Saying ‘yes, miss’ and ‘no, miss’ a handful of times each doesn’t count, lad.”

Billy blushes. “Well, I—” 

Feldman’s laugh only makes his face redder. “I reckon you’ll want to keep bringing her tea so you can stare at her some more, eh?”

“W-well, Tom said he’ll be too busy again and—”

“Yeah, busy having a smoke break.”

Billy can find no clever reply or excuse, so he just looks down at the bellboy’s cap that he has been idly turning over and over again in his hands.

“Look, Billy. If I’m gonna keep allowing you to slip away for tea time with this girl when you should be helping me check in guests, then you have to swear to me that you’ll man up–” Feldman hits him square in the middle of the chest with the back of his hand. “–and hold at least one bloody conversation with her before she and her father leave on Sunday. Yes?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Feldman takes him by the shoulders and gives him a little jostle. Someone’s got to shake some sense into this boy. “Yes?”

“Oi…” Billy furrows his brow and recoils. “Yes. Feldman, I will. Promise.” 

The rest of the Greenes’ stay at The Halcyon passes far too quickly for Billy’s liking. He does manage to hold true to his promise to Feldman and strikes up a conversation with her about her dog on the final day he brings her tea. Of course, Feldman never said that it had to be a long conversation. Billy found himself clamming up again in the end, but he still left her room feeling like he’d accomplished an insurmountable feat. 

He’s back to his uncharacteristically quiet demeanor today, though. Part of it is his own sadness that she will be leaving the hotel today and part of it is that her father has been flitting between their two rooms all morning. Something tells him that Mr. Greene wouldn’t be too pleased about a bellboy staring a little too long at his daughter. 

As the last trolley of luggage is wheeled out by another one of the bellboys, Billy waits for her to finish putting a leash on her dog. He glances around the room, now empty of her personal effects, and feels his heart sink. The room already seems less lovely in the absence of her. 

“That’s the last of your luggage… miss.” He knows he sounds too dejected when she looks at him with a little crease between her eyebrows.

“Thank you, Billy.” Her voice is as soft and as sweet as ever, but he’s far too heartbroken at the thought of her checking out of the hotel and probably never returning to enjoy it. She’ll forget all about him when she returns to her father’s estate and her fancy parties and her rich, handsome suitors. He’s feeling so sorry for himself that the purpose of her next request is lost on him.

“Billy, would you… help me with Clara? These shoes are brand new, and… I would hate to slip on the stairs if she decides to pull on the lead…” 

He’s seen her go up and down the stairs with the little dog plenty of times. Why should she need his help now? But he acquiesces and holds a hand out to take the lead from her.

“Course, miss.”

They leave her room together in silence. He notices that she keeps attempting to catch his gaze, even offering a couple of crooked smiles, but he’s walking under a raincloud the entire way through the lobby. 

“You know, Billy,” she finally says in her usual chipper tone. “I was thinking… my seventeenth birthday’s this fall. Maybe I can see if my father will let me have my party here. Do many people celebrate birthdays at The Halcyon?”

Billy completely misses her question after he hears the words “this fall” and “have my party here.” Fall isn’t that far away if he really thinks about it. He doesn’t care when or how, only that she’s already thought about returning to the hotel. She wants to come back.  

“Wh– you mean it?” 

He catches her beautiful, red-lipped smile and feels his heart flutter again. 

“Of course I do. I’ve enjoyed staying here and–” She blushes. “–getting to meet you.” When he stares at her, too taken aback to reply, she chuckles and continues. “You’ll still be here in November… won’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” Billy breathes. “Long as Feldman doesn’t sack me or nothing.”

She laughs again and takes Clara’s lead from him. “Then… I’ll see you again soon.”

“See you…”

Billy’s voice trails off and he takes a step back from her as her father approaches with Mr. Garland in toe. Mr. Greene places a short kiss on the top of his daughter’s head before the two of them step out into the gray Sunday morning. Billy cranes his neck to catch one last glimpse of her as she climbs into the car after her dog, catching a smile from her before the door closes. 

November can’t come soon enough.

[27dragons]

New Year Countdown: Dec 6

CRAP, I forgot to post this yesterday!!! And I was particularly excited about this one because it's a Sandbridge callback! (I randomly rolled "Restaurant AU" and couldn't not do it!)

If you haven't read the Sandbridge AU before, first of all, I'm not sure why you even follow me. And second of all, you probably do need to know before clicking through that Tony and Bucky have 2 daughters in that series, Billie and Livvy.

Dec 6 - Winteriron - Restaurant AU - Sleigh

Bucky was whistling “Jingle Bells” under his breath as he turned his truck into Dockside’s parking lot. Christmas was just around the corner, Billie was home from school on holiday break, Dockside was enjoying a brief surge of business as local families decided it was easier to eat out than cook for their holiday visitors, and he’d actually managed to finish all his holiday shopping before the mad rush of Christmas Eve, for a change.

He looked around to make sure neither his husband nor his daughters were immediately present, then unlocked the toolbox on the side of his truck and pulled out his last few packages, bustling them into the garage before anyone could appear. Even Livvy knew that he hid everything in there, under the old stack of inflatable pools that probably didn’t fully inflate anymore, but none of them would peek.

“Papa!” Speaking of the devil... Bucky ducked out of the garage before Livvy made her way around the corner of the building.

“Hi there, Briar Rose,” he said, reaching out to ruffle the preteen’s hair. “What’s cookin’?”

“Uncle Steve is,” she said, grinning, but grabbed his arm and pulled. “Come on, down to the beach!”

Bucky followed along gamely, though he’d need to get into the kitchen to help with prep soon. “Why? What’s going on?”

Livvy giggled and let go, running ahead of him.

As soon as Bucky cleared the corner, he saw what Livvy was so wound up about. Tied up at the dock that gave the restaurant its name was a smallish motorboat. That by itself was not too unusual, though this particular dock wasn’t really the ideal location for it, being more of a pier for fishing than a true dock.

But someone -- and Bucky was laying money on his husband -- had somehow decked the boat out to look like Santa’s sleigh, the side panels situated so the “runners” of the sleigh skimmed just about at water level. It was an elaborate illusion, including dozens if not hundreds of lights and a platform above the motor that was piled high with what Bucky fervently hoped were fake presents, lest any of them topple overboard. A couple of the presents featured Dockside’s logo prominently; Bucky suspected that Steve had helped with that paint job. Billie and Nat were in the boat with Tony, helping with something, while Livvy danced excitedly at the end of the dock.

Laughing, Bucky ambled down the beach and out onto the dock, arriving at the end just as Tony clambered up the rope ladder that was hung there. Bucky reached down to help Tony up and pulled him into a kiss that they might have prolonged somewhat just because Livvy was clearly so impatient for them to stop.

“So this is your top-secret project,” Bucky said when he finally had to take a breath. “Santa’s going by water this year?”

“Not a lot of chimneys in Sandbridge,” Tony pointed out, his eyes sparkling. “But lots of boat slips.”

“There’s a parade!” Livvy announced. “On the 23rd! We’re definitely going to win!”

Bucky raised his eyebrows as he helped Nat and then Billie up onto the dock. “A parade?”

“Yes,” Nat said firmly. “We may not win, but I think we will make a good showing.”

“It’s a nice sleigh,” Bucky agreed, eyeing the boat. “But I reckon I might miss the reindeer.”

Nat traded grins with Billie.

“A water sleigh doesn’t need flying reindeer, Uncle Bucky,” Billie said. “It needs flying fish.”

“That’s what all the presents on the back are for,” Tony put in. “After we get our fish attached to the front, we’ll add ballast to the presents to counterbalance them. Thank god the parade won’t go at more than five knots the whole way, or our whole boat would probably sink.”

“Send me the details on this parade,” Bucky told them as they headed back up the dock toward the beach. “I’ll get Victoria to sub for me so I can come watch and cheer you on.”

“Great!” Billie enthused. “That means I can ride with the boat instead of staying on shore with the bug.”

Livvy pushed her way between Bucky and Tony, “And then we can all go out for ice cream after!”

“This is required,” Nat announced before Bucky could respond. “If we win, we must have ice cream to celebrate. And if we do not win, then ice cream shall console us.”

Bucky laughed and put his arms around Billie and Livvy, tucking one hand into Tony’s back pocket for good measure. “It’s a date.”

[qnewsau]

Tom Daley drops one last Speedo video before Olympics ends

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/tom-daley-drops-one-last-speedo-video-before-olympics-ends/

Tom Daley drops one last Speedo video before Olympics ends

The Paris Olympics Closing Ceremony wrapped this morning but overnight, British diver Tom Daley has squeezed in one last Speedo thirst trap, getting his diving friends in on it too.

The out Olympian put up the video after teaching himself, his diving partner Noah Williams and fellow Brits Jack Laugher, Kyle Kothari, Jordan Houlden, and Anthony Harding the viral dance moves to Charli XCX’s Brat track Apple.

All six of the athletes wore speedos and shoes as they filmed on a rooftop before they went to the closing ceremony in Paris.

“BRAT Summer Olympics ,” Tom wrote.

  View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by Tom Daley (@tomdaley)

“How did you get them to agree to this?” one follower asked Tom.

“I already miss the Olympics,” another person said.

Helpfully, Tom tagged all of the Olympians who joined him in the video. They’re all below:

  View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by Tom Daley (@tomdaley)

  View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by Noah Williams (@noah_w9)

  View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by Jack Laugher MBE (@jacklaugher)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Kyle Kothari (@kylekothari)

  View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by Jordan Houlden (@jordanhoulden)

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  A post shared by Anthony Harding (@antharding00)

Tom Daley won silver in Paris

The Paris Olympics closing ceremony wrapped up early this morning (AEST). Actor Tom Cruise and American musicians including Billie Eilish performed as Paris handed the Olympics over to the next host city, Los Angeles. They’ll host in 2028, before the Olympics comes to Brisbane in 2032.

Earlier, Tom Daley and his diving partner Noah celebrated winning the silver in the men’s synchronized 10-meter diving.

Tom won his first gold medal at the Tokyo Olympics in 2021, and took a long break after his triumph.

The British superstar athlete said he returned to the sport because of his family, specifically his six-year-old son Robbie.

“Robbie was like, ‘Papa, I want to see you dive in the Olympics’. And that was that,” Tom told BBC Sport.

“When your kid asks you to do something, you do it.”

More on the Paris Olympics:

Adele reckons Aussie Raygun was ‘best thing at the Olympics’

Olympic pole vaulter’s bulge costs him a medal in Paris

Tom Daley models jumper he’s been knitting poolside

Tom knitted diving partner Noah Williams a ‘c**k sock’

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[thaleleah]

Part 2 of the Review

He sits while you work, stare on your face as you free his own from the scruff. 

Don't mind me. I'm just picturing him staring at her like this: 😍

This time he talks even though the straight razor is pressed directly under his jaw. “You can take your veil off. I reckon it's just makin’ you hotter,”

He's really testing his luck, isn't he? 😂

When things get hard or tensions get too high at the clinic and things seem like they’re turning for the worst, Sister Maria likes to invoke a practice that she calls ‘ de nuevo ’.

“It means ‘again’,” She had told you. “Restart. Do over. Start new. When life gets too hard and there seems to be no end in sight. Grita ‘de nuevo!’ and start again with fresh eyes and an open heart,”

“De nuevo,” You whisper, and then you start again.

I love how she still seeks comfort in her Sisters who she's clearly very close with. Despite the fact that there's a fair distance between them she doesn't forget what they taught her and seeks out their guidance. 🥲

But that line of thinking doesn’t matter right now because it's not just that he said your name - it’s how he said it.

Your name, called in what you can only assume is a moan of pain.

Readers: *giggle nervously* We're in danger. 😁

Billy’s not in pain as you had thought. 

He’s… touching himself. Naked body, fully naked this time, stretched out on bed with his hand between his legs. His thighs look like they’re trembling, toned tummy tensing and sucking in slightly as his face twists in response to what he’s doing to himself.

I swear, the more I'm reading it the more convinced I am that he did this to her on purpose. He wanted her to walk in on him. Maybe he thought that this kind of shock therapy would work on her. 😂

“And what about you?” He asks, buttoning his newly fresh pants at his waist.

“What about me?”

“Women have needs too. Do your needs ever get met?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs on his shirt, completely unfazed. “Your needs. When you feel it. Do they ever get met?”

Me throughout this entire exchange:

👁️👄👁️

He’s alive - Jesus is alive in the picture, head moving around and eyes looking and seeing everything.

Seeing you.

And he’s angry.

The normally relaxed and serene expression on his face has been replaced by one of fury. His brows pull together, eyes narrowing as he watches Billy claim you, lips pulling up in a snarl when your arms wrap tighter around Billy’s neck in fear. Billy takes your grip as passion and thrusts into you harder, moaning into your ear as your body is flooded with wave after wave of pleasure. But you can’t tear your eyes from the picture, can’t help but whimper as you stare wide eyed at the angry, holy being who is cutting you down with the immeasurable weight of his judgment.

When I tell you I screamed when I read this for the first time. 🙈

You're talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before-

"WAKE UP!” Jesus yells, and his voice is booming in your ears, so loud you think your eardrums might burst. “WAKE UP!”

Your body jerks awake in the same way that it jerks after having a dream where you’re falling off a cliff.

And you can only imagine how loud my gasp was when I realised this was a dream sequence.

You can’t sleep with Billy in the same bed anymore. Sam is due to make another trip into the neighboring town today and promised that he would stop by on his way. It would be better if he could see that you are both sleeping in separate spaces like you should be. Sam is a sweetheart - he would never judge you for anything, even less of something that you had to do for your own health and he is the last person that would ever accuse you of doing something inappropriate. But the laws of society and need for modesty should still be followed which means sleeping on the floor again is a must.

Billy doesn’t like the idea.

Of course he doesn't like the idea. He hoped he was making some progress. 💀

The idea of her slipping away from his fingers... he clearly doesn't like it.

Billy sighs, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling in irritation. “I do think it’s necessary for you to sleep in the bed, y/n,”

“Stop,”

The word cuts from your vocal cords like ice. You can’t believe it. Again. He did it again!

“Why did you say my name like that?” You ask. “You’re dropping my earned title. That’s the second time you’ve done it.”

Third, but you don’t want to think about the other time he’s said it. “Why?”

“Just an accident,”

An obvious sign that he's getting too comfortable. 😬

“Sam!” You shout in relief. “Thank the Lord! It’s so good to see you,”

Behind you, Billy relaxes his stance a bit, lowering his gun down but keeping it cocked and you nod your head at it, wordlessly telling him to replace the hammer and put it down, but he won’t acknowledge you.

Not him trying to act like he's the man of the house. Boy, put the gun down. No time for a pissing contest. 😂

“Sister y/n,” He greets, clasping your hands in his and you return the gesture, squeezing his hands between yours in friendly affection. “It’s good to see you too.”

A loud clatter sounds as Billy tosses his gun back onto the floor, the metal striking roughly against the wooden boards. Sam lets go of your hands to turn his attention to Billy, tipping his hat at him respectfully.

Once again, him making a loud noise to make them pull away from each other will never stop being funny to me. 💀

“How are they?” You ask Sam. You don’t need to clarify, he knows who you’re asking about.

“They miss you. Sister Catherine holds everything together like she always does, but she always makes for all of us to pray together for you. And Billy, of course.” He says, nodding to Billy. “Praying for Billy’s quick recovery and for you to return home safe. Sister Ann is biting the sides of her fingers more than ever now. I stop her whenever I see her doing it, but she’s bled quite a few times from it already. Sister Maria was out sick for two days after you left. Sick with worry is what Sister Catherine said, but she is up and well now although she does still worry.”

I love how you're still bringing the Sisters back somehow (even through brief mentions) It's so touching to see how much they care for one another. ♥️

And they are clearly a huge part of our nun's life.

"Billy’s right, I should get moving if I’m gonna make it back to town before dark. Thank you for the offer though, Sister y/n. I know if you cooked it, it must be mighty good.”

Reluctantly, you nod. “I’ll walk you out then,”

Billy makes his way back to the bedroom as you walk Sam out.

This pouty mf won't even say a polite goodbye to him. He's so done. 😂

Your mouth falls open in horror.

Billy’s on his stomach, upper body cradled between your open thighs as his hands curl around each one of them to keep them spread. His mouth is pressed against your core, wetness glistening off his face with each movement as he drags his tongue through your folds.

And you swear when those beautiful blue eyes you’ve come to know these past few weeks flick up to stare at you from beneath his dark lashes, you don’t see that same kind and caring man just in need of guidance and faith that you’ve come to associate them with.

Instead, you think you might be looking at the Devil.

He really said: "I'm tired of playing games. Time to level up in terms of our relationship." 😏

I absolutely cannot wait for Part 4. ♥️😊

Don't mind me. I'm just picturing him staring at her like this: 😍

One million percent! Straight up heart eyes with absolutely zero blinking.

He's really testing his luck, isn't he? 😂

He's getting soooooo comfortable, but he should have known that this would have been a no go lol. Like... how inappropriate, Billy, what were you thinking

I swear, the more I'm reading it the more convinced I am that he did this to her on purpose. He wanted her to walk in on him. Maybe he thought that this kind of shock therapy would work on her. 😂

Shock therapy 😂

It's totally possible he did it on purpose. This man has no shame. He got a little to excited during bath time and said "fuck it, i l LIVE for the danger" lmaooooo

Me throughout this entire exchange: 👁️👄👁️

No cause the fucking audacity he has lollll

When I tell you I screamed when I read this for the first time. 🙈 You're talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before-

IM SO HAPPY YOU COMMENTED ON THIS Omggggg this was the scene I was most excited for people to read. Thank you so much for saying this 🧡

I feel like this would be the ultimate nightmare for her. To be seduced and sinning and caught sinning and verbally yelled at by someone so holy and righteous oh my fucking gosh can you imagine??? Like your own thoughts and knowing of right and wrong and following the Bible and God to the best of your ability and knowing when you fail is one thing, but to visually be judged and disgraced by someone so holy would be so horrifying.

Not him trying to act like he's the man of the house. Boy, put the gun down. No time for a pissing contest. 😂

Bruh 😂

I love how you're still bringing the Sisters back somehow (even through brief mentions) It's so touching to see how much they care for one another. ♥️

Yessss her Sisters are her entire world (besides God of course). The people that bring out the best in her and encourage her to be the best version of herself. I think they're the only people in the world that she's ever felt safe enough around to fully be herself

He really said: "I'm tired of playing games. Time to level up in terms of our relationship." 😏

Again, its just absolutely insane to me cause the AUDACITY, I swear. 😭

Thank you again so much for taking the time to write all this out for me, hun. I really do appreciate it so much and it makes me so happy. I had been in the middle of shopping at Target yesterday when you sent it and I had to pull my cart off to the side to read it cause I was so impatient lol.

[3lectra-he4rt]

since there’s only a few weeks left until the day of reckoning,,

What scenes do you *need* in the ballad movie?

This one’s gonna be a long one, i’m pasting it from my notes app. (Some have emojis cause i was going through the rings of hell while reading) Buckle up. Also, some are just very vague in the sense that i just want *something* like what i’ve described.

- Coriolanus reading the letter from Tigris

- When Lucy was crying in the classroom with Coryo

- When Coriolanus gave Lucy the compact

- When Lucy is running from Reaper

- Arachne’s death

- Sejanus putting the breadcrumbs over Arachne and her tribute after they died, either Coriolanus noticing him doing so or it in the background for us to find

- Reaper making the graveyard

- Reaper cutting the flag

- Sejanus going into the arena and everything that followed (and him putting the breadcrumbs over Marcus!!)

- Sejanus showing up to be a peacekeeper with Coriolanus

- When Coriolanus calls Clemensia “Clemmie” </333

- When Clemensia comes into Coriolanus’ hospital room in the middle of the night

- The pus coming out of Clemensia when she is bitten (it NEEDS to be blue, pink, and yellow)

- Coriolanus and Lysistrata. Them while watching the games and strategizing bc Lysistrata has Jessup, but also just them being silly together ☹️☹️☹️

- Tigris with her fathers coat

- “Lucy Gray, having languished in Dr.Gaul’s lab, would be long dead, and his heart dead with her.” (Coriolanus thinking of his future)

- Sejanus’ house + “Ma’s corner” 😭😭😭

- C: “I don’t know what ever possessed me to ask for twelve.” S: “Completely random, obviously,”

- Lucy saving Coriolanus from the bombing, a shot of when her arm is around his shoulder and he’s clutching the ruffles of her skirt (the clutching is EXTREMELY IMPORTANT.)

- Him parading her around the monkey house when he get stuck in there w her and the other tributes

- The picnic at the zoo </33

- Coriolanus holding Clemensia from behind when the snakes show up in the arena

- When Smiley says there’s going to be someone named “Lucy something” singing at the hob the book says “His girl. His love. His Lucy Gray.”

- Ma’s explanation of the bread crumbs

- “We pour money into our industries, not into the districts themselves,” said Sejanus. “The people are on their own.”

- Literally just the daughter of Mayor Lipp’s name. It’s Mayfair.

- The execution of Arlo Chance + ‘Lil’ coming through the crowd for him

- “What’s bothering you? And don’t say nothing.”

- Everyone slapping each other’s backs after drinking some of the stuff smiley got in the Hob

- “It reminds me of the capitol” “you don’t say home.” “No. For me, that will always be district 2.”

- The hob fight

- “And yes, I’d be happy to go with you.”

- C: “Do I look okay?” S: “Gorgeous. Trust me, that lips working for you, soldier.”

- Lucy and Coriolanus’s argument with Billy Taupe

- C: “I thought you were letting this whole rebel thing go!” S: “I can’t, all right? It’s part of who I am..”

- Sejanus having drugs in his locker box

- ‘High-as-a-Kite-Bottom’

- L: “that’s what my daddy thought, too. And he ended up with more bullet holes than I could count on my fingers,”

- “ "Well, that's it, then. I saved you from the fire, and you saved me from the snakes. We're responsible for each other's lives now." "Are we?" he asked. "Sure," she said. "You're mine and I'm yours. It's written in the stars." "No escaping that." “

- “ "You know, Sejanus, I'm your friend. More than a friend. You're the closest thing I'll ever have to a brother. And there are special rules for family. If you need help . . . I mean, if you get into something you can't handle ... I'm here." Tears welled up in Sejanus's eyes. "Thank you, Coryo. That means a lot. You may be the only person in the world who I actually trust." Ah, trust again. The air was full of it. "Come here." He pulled Sejanus into an embrace.”

- Barb Azure is a LESBIAN?? “She just started seeing a gal down the road,” (Lucy talking abt Barb Azure

- L: “People have been around for a long time without the capitol. I expect they’ll be here a long time after.”

- Cc finding Katniss for Lucy

- The lake being the same lake as THG trilogy, Coriolanus noticing the house that would end up being so important for Katniss in THG

- The explanation of the covey’s names (song + color)

- The “we all have a ballad, and this is Lucy’s!” Scene with the song

- Sejanus looking like an eight year old boy to Coriolanus as he’s being pulled up to be hanged

- Sejanus saying “Coryo” while being pulled up to be executed

- Sejanus’s last word being “Ma!”

- Coriolanus’s absolute breakdown after Sejanus died

- The epilogue.

- "Because we credit them with innocence. And if even the most innocent among us turn to killers in the Hunger Games, what does that say? That our essential nature is violent," Snow explained.

Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[avastrasposts]

The British Connection - ch. 13**

Took me long enough, but this chapter finally has some smut 😄

Cross posting this properly on Tumblr for the first time so it's been scheduled out throughout the day:

The plot follows MI6 agent Eve Edwards as she's assigned to help Billy Butcher and The Boys take down a new type of supe killing politicians on both sides of the pond. Not much fluff in this, plenty of canon typical violence, smut and extreme amounts of Britishness

Read on Ao3

“Fuck,” Eve sighed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “That’s the second time you’ve seen me cry in three days, Billy.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’ve ‘ad a rough time of it.” Butcher gave her shoulder another squeeze and on impulse he bent down and kissed the top of her head resting on his shoulder. “And I like how you’ve started callin’ me ‘Billy’. Am I growin’ on you darlin’? No more ‘Butcher’?”

“I guess we’re on a first name basis now,” Eve said and sat up straight again, lifting her head from his shoulder, Butcher kept his hand on her shoulder so that she still sat close to him. His big hand was comforting as he held her and she could feel the warmth radiating off his body where they touched.

“Ye, I’m not callin’ you “Genevieve”, darlin’, “ he chuckled and Eve smiled.

“Only my grandparents called me ‘Genevieve’, it’s just ‘Eve’.”

“Eve, I can do, nice an’ simple.”

Eve looked up at him and gave him another smile before she put her hand on his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Thanks for being human for a bit, Billy,” she said and stood up as she let go of his hand. Butcher watched her move over to the monitor, adjusting one of the dials before she stretched, arms over her head and yawning big.

Billy scooted his chair back in position and grabbed the thermos on the console.

“Coffee? Might do you some good, luv.”

“Thanks, that would be great.”

Butcher pulled out a couple of paper cups and poured the coffee for them.

“I’ve gotta tell ya, all those names you’ve got, a load of bollocks. Why would anyone ever do that to a wee one?”

“Tradition, I guess,” Eve said as she twisted herself to stretch her back muscles. “Genevieve was my great grandmother, apparently she was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria so I guess they wanted to keep that tradition,” Eve snorted loudly. “Horatia was my other great grandmother, a family name so apparently that one just had to be included. Daphne was my mother’s name so I guess that’s the most normal one.”

She sat down again, propping her feet up on the console. “I’m just grateful Genevieve can be shortened to Eve. Most people only know me as Eve Edwards.”

“Ye, Eve’s not too bad, the rest of them you can get rid of I reckon.” Butcher said, handing her a mug of coffee.

“Thanks Billy,” She accepted it gratefully. “I’m guessing you’re really ‘William’?”

“Ye, but that one doesn’t get used a lot. Generally, only when I’m in real trouble,” he chuckled with a mischievous grin at Eve.

“So all the time then?” Eve smirked, poking his side with her finger and he swatted it away with a smile.

“I stay out of trouble, I only get into trouble when I want to, like with you.” He gave her a look that made her stomach fill with butterflies, his double meaning plainly obvious.

“You’re flirting again, Billy,” she said, feeling herself blush as Billy turned in his chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees so that he was closer to her. “You were going to keep it serious while we’re on business.”

“We’ve got many hours left, gorgeous, let me entertain us a little at least,” he said, his voice lower now, as he reached out and caught her jaw in his big hand the way he’d done at the office. The pad of his thumb grazed across her bottom lip again and it sent sparks down to her core, making her press her thighs together.

Eve swallowed hard and found herself unable to look away from Billy’s dark eyes as he smiled at her. He was moving his chair closer again and she saw his eyes linger on her lips before looking up at her again. His thumb left her lip and he ran it along her jawline, sliding down over her throat as his big hand grabbed the back of her neck. Eve felt as if her heart was about to either stop or break out of her chest.

Only the sudden crackle of one of the monitors broke the tension as they both turned to look at the dark hotel room. Nothing moved in the room but Butcher dropped his hand from Eve’s neck and turned his attention to the dials, adjusting one to brighten the screen.

For a few minutes they intently watched all monitors, scanning them for any sign of McKay, but nothing showed. Eventually Butcher leaned back in his chair again.

“Alright, I’ll keep it serious,” he said, “no more flirting. For now”. The last was said with a grin and Eve felt herself exhale slowly, feeling the tension in the van simmer down. Billy’s attention seemed to have a dangerous effect on her and she felt it cloud her judgement, breaking her will to stay alert.

But now Billy seemed true to his word. As they settled in for the rest of the night he stayed away from any suggestive topics, instead he told stories about the different supes they’d managed to take down, letting her know he really had no love for any of them.

Finally eight am came around and there was a light tap on the door of the van. Eve slid it open and let Frenchie and Kimiko in to take over the shift. As Butcher and Eve got their things together, Frenchie updated them on how he was planning to get hold of the equipment needed to incapacitate McKay.

“Alright,” Butcher said to him, “If you need to leave for the supplies, get MM and Hughie to cover your shift here.”

He slid the door of the van open and let Eve out.

“Get in touch if anythin’ happens, we’ll be back tonight, hopefully we can get that fucker then. He’s got to return some time.”

“Qui, Monsieur Charcuterie,” Frenchie snapped a sloppy salute and closed the door behind them.

Butcher and Eve got into the car on the quiet street and Butcher started it up, pulling away from the curb.

“Now that we’re off the clock, darlin’,” he grinned, glancing over at Eve as he turned the first corner, “how about some more flirting?”

“Jesus, Billy,” Eve laughed, “We’ve just pulled an all-nighter and I’m betting you’re as hungry and tired as I am, and you’re still in the mood for flirting?”

“Like I told you yesterday, you’re gorgeous when you scowl at me so I’m gonna keep teasin’ ya.” Butcher reached over and grabbed her hand and put it on his thigh, where it had been yesterday in the car. “And this time you can go higher, darlin’,” he winked at her.

Eve really did scowl at him this time, as she pulled her hand back from his thigh, but not before making sure she gave his thick muscled leg a good squeeze that made him jump and chuckle.

“Alright, I hear ya, breakfast then. Let me take you out for breakfast at least?” Butcher asked, keeping his eyes on the road as they headed down FDR back towards downtown.

“Breakfast sounds good but I want to change out of my clothes first, I feel all rumpled after all those hours on the chair.”

“The diner I ‘ad in mind is near your flat, we can park in your street, it’s just round the corner.”

…

The morning traffic was heavy but eventually Butcher pulled up in front of Eve’s building. They got out and she led Butcher through the doors and into the lobby. She automatically went for the stairs, as was her habit, but Butcher thumbed at the lift in the lobby.

“Is it broken?” he asked.

“No, I just like taking the stairs, exercise and all that”, she replied.

Butcher just scoffed and walked over to the lift and pressed the call button. Eve started up the stairs, “I’ll see you up there, that thing is going to take forever”.

“Come on, keep me company then, luv. I’ll be lonely in there” he called back at her with a cheeky grin.

“No”, she called back, already halfway up the first floor, but she couldn’t help smiling to herself. The heavy flirting they’d been doing ever since they got back from D.C., and his irreverent charm, was starting to work on her against her better judgement.

When Butcher reached the 6th floor a few minutes later Eve was waiting for him in the hallway with an exaggerated look of someone who’s been waiting aeons.

“Finally!” she mocked as the door slid open and he stepped out.

“Miss me much, darlin’?” he chuckled and swaggered towards her with his arms outstretched.

Eve scoffed at him as she turned and led him to the door of her small flat. Unlocking she let them both in and closed the door. The place seemed even smaller with Butcher present and he sidestepped into the kitchen doorway to make room for her to pass through to the living room. She grabbed a clean t-shirt and jeans from her open suitcase on the floor and headed to the bathroom to change, dumping her old clothes in the hamper.

From the kitchen she heard Butcher give an excited exclamation.

“Oi, luv!” he called and she turned so that she could look out from the bathroom. He’d stuck his arm out from the kitchen and was eagerly shaking her box of Yorkshire Gold.

“Make us a cup, won’t ya? It’s been donkey’s since I had a proper brew.” He actually had a genuine smile on his face, dimples and everything. She laughed at his excitement and went over to the kitchen.

“Let’s have a proper brew” she said, mimicking the ad as she poured water into a saucepan and set it on the small induction stove.

“I ‘aven’t seen Yorkshire Tea anywhere ‘round here, where’d ya find it?” he asked.

“I brought it with me, never leave home without it,” she laughed. “How British eh?”

“Bloody right too”, Butcher scoffed. “The tea here is rubbish. Nothin’ but fruit teas and ‘erbals. ‘S like drinkin’ perfume. I’ve been forced to start drinkin’ coffee just because of it.”

“To be fair,” Eve got a couple of mugs down from the cupboard, “their coffee is a hell of a lot better than back home”. Butcher nodded in agreement and watched her drop tea bags in the mugs and pour on the now boiling water and mash them around for a minute.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Only milk, ta, luv” he replied.

She got the milk from the small fridge and let him help himself before adding some to her own. Butcher leaned back against the counter and cautiously sipped from the mug, letting out a low murmur of content as he swallowed the hot liquid.

“That’s nice, that’s really nice, tastes just right” he mused and took another sip.

Eve leaned back against the counter opposite from him and smiled at the domestic scene. The familiar taste of the tea, the warmth in her stomach and the comfortable silence that usually settled once everyone started sipping their tea. Even with Butcher the drink seemed to work its magic and he visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping, the usually permanent frown on his forehead disappeared.

“Ya know, the only thing missing”, Butcher said and looked up, “is a biscuit or two. One of them lil’ Hobnobs or Ginger Nuts, never seen ‘em over here either”.

Eve smiled, “Did you smell them, Billy?” she asked and pointed at the cupboard behind him. “Top shelf”.

He put down his mug and turned around, opening the cupboard.

“Well, well, will ya look at tha!” he exclaimed and pulled out a box of biscuits. “The ones with chocolate on them and everythin’ “. He pulled open the box and shook out two Hobnobs. “You’re a star,” he said, smiling at Eve, offering her one of the biscuits.

“I was saving them for a special occasion or a particularly bad day of being homesick” she smiled back at him, accepting the biscuit, “But whom am I to deny a countryman in need?” Butcher chuckled again and chased down his biscuit with a swig of tea and reached for a second one.

They shared a few more biscuits in comfortable silence before both their mugs were empty and Eve put them in the sink. Butcher disappeared into the bathroom and Eve went to find a clean jumper.

In the bathroom Butcher did his business and then stood in front of the cabinet, having a quick inner battle with himself before gently opening the door for a peek inside. It was an old and bad habit but people kept all sorts of secrets in their bathroom cabinets and he wanted to know more about Eve.

On the first shelf was her electric toothbrush and toothpaste, along with a small first aid kit, deodorant, hair brush and some elastic bands for her hair. On the second shelf was a number of small glass bottles with chemical sounding names he couldn’t understand. He picked one and looked at the clear liquid inside, none the wiser. Carefully putting it back he looked at the top shelf and spotted a two tone coloured egg shaped object. He picked it up and felt the light weight in his hand, trying to figure out what it was. The egg had a small hole towards its narrower end and the hole had a soft ring around the edge.

Eve was on the sofa in a clean jumper, typing on her laptop, when Butcher walked out of the bathroom.

“Wha’s this?” he asked, holding up the egg in his hand.

Eve looked up and spluttered.

“Butcher! What the fuck?!” She jumped up and reached for the object but he was too quick and with a cheeky grin held it up above his head. He was already much taller than her, with his hand outstretched she stood no chance in reaching up to grab it and he knew it. And she wasn’t fucking jumping for it!

“You’re going through my things now? I give you my tea and my biscuits and this is how you repay me?!” Eve was half way between actually angry with him but also trying to stifle her laughter.

“I’ll give it back if you tell me what it is,” he said looking up at the egg-shaped object, “I’m racking my brain here.”

“You really don’t know what it is?” Eve said with a doubtful look. She couldn’t quite tell if he was being serious or taking the piss, the usual Butcher style.

“A shaver, maybe?” he guessed, weighing it in his hand again.

“Give it to me and I’ll show you” Eve sighed and put out her hand, “If you don’t know you’ll never guess”.

Butcher handed her the object and she took his hand in hers, stretching it out and placing the round hole against the pad of his thumb. Maybe this was a bad idea, pushing the flirting with Butcher a step too far. But she pushed the metal shape on top of the object and Butcher felt light tension against his thumb, his brow furrowed in confusion. She pressed the button a few more times and the tension grew on his thumb, suction was being created, pulling the flesh of his thumb up towards the hole.

“Now do you get it?” she asked, watching his face for a glimmer of comprehension. It took him a few seconds and then he gave her a wicked grin.

“Bet I can do tha’ alot better” he leered, not a trace of embarrassment on his face.

“I bet you think you can.” Eve rolled her eyes and turned off the sex toy, removing it from his hand. She tossed it onto the sofa behind her. Butcher was grinning far too widely and closed the already small gap between them, stepping well inside her personal sphere.

“I really think I can, luv,” he whispered, bending down so that his mouth brushed against her ear and his warm breath tickled her neck. It made her give an involuntary shiver and he noticed. She tried stepping away but somehow her legs were not working right now and he took her immobility as a sign to continue and touched his lips to the soft skin below her ear, lightly kissing her neck and causing goosebumps to break out. A small sigh escaped her and she felt, more than heard, Butcher smile.

His beard gently tickled her skin as he moved his lips up over her jaw and reached her mouth. She fought with the rational side of her mind against the side that just wanted to give in and pull him on to the bed, it was only a few shorts steps away in the small room. His lips were warm and soft on her mouth and his hands were on her waist now, finding the delicate skin between her jeans and her jumper. His kisses got more intense, pushed against her still closed lips. She parted them for him and his tongue slipped in, finding hers and tasting it eagerly.

He felt too good, his warm, firm body pressed up against hers, his calloused hands grabbing at her waist and pulling her closer. Without even really thinking she reached up and put her arms around his neck, pushing her fingers into the thick hair at the back of his head and letting her whole body arch into his. He grumbled low into her mouth and one of his hands slid up her back under her jumper, leaving trails of warmth across her skin as he caressed it. Her kisses were more eager now, her tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting the tea and the chocolate from before.

A moment of clarity hit her and she pulled away from him, putting her hands flat on his chest and pushing him back. He stopped kissing her and looked down with a frown but his hands were still firmly around her waist and she could feel the extra heat radiating off him.

“This really isn’t a good idea” she said, shaking her head to clear the feeling his kisses had built up inside her.

He bent down towards her neck again.

“Why not, gorgeous?” he said in a low voice and kissed her soft skin. He had clearly figured out that this made her feel very good. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin and she had to bite her lips to catch the moan.

”It feels good, for both of us I think”, he continued, between light kisses and nibbles on her neck. To make matters worse he let his hand slide up the side of her body, caressing the skin up towards her bra, letting his fingertips brush across her nipple when he reached it. She felt her throat constrict at the touch.

“We should focus on the job at hand, Butcher. Not get involved with colleagues.” She sighed as his fingers brushed her nipple again with a bit more force as he continued to kiss and tickle her neck with his lips and beard. “But you’re making it very, very hard,” she moaned as he pulled her in close again and let his tongue slip inside her open mouth.

She really had no will to resist him, his lips pressed up against hers in a way that made her insides flutter.

He chuckled against her mouth and pulled away a little, looking into her eyes.

“We know we’re not getting any further on the job today and MM or Frenchie will give us a bell if something goes down.” He let his hands slide down towards her waist and further, down to the back of her thighs. “Until then, we can enjoy the end of this lil’ dance we’ve been ‘aving since you arrived”

He grabbed her legs and easily picked her up, giving her a wide, mischievous grin, as he wrapped her legs around his waist. She knew he could feel how hot she was where her jeans pressed against the top of his crotch. There was no denying that she wanted this as much as he did, she was just a little bit better at analysing long term consequences. Billy Butcher never thought of the long term consequences of anything, he just did what felt right in the moment.

Which is what he did now. He crossed the short distance to the bed and laid her down on it, bracing himself over her with both his arms. He looked down at her with that cheeky grin she’d seen so many times.

“But if you really want me to stop, beautiful, just say the word.”

Her stomach knotted in anticipation of what he wanted to do and how good it would feel. Her brain still tried to find the logical argument to stop this now, but her instinct clearly wanted something else because her hands reached up around his neck and pulled him down without her brain giving any command. He sank down on top of her, holding himself up on one arm so that he didn’t crush her, and found her lips again. This time Eve opened her mouth and kissed him back straight away, her hands slipping into his hair and pulling him closer. His tongue eagerly slipped into her mouth and she felt him slide it over her tongue as she let a moan escape. His kisses were sending jolts of electricity through her and the way the tip of his tongue caressed her own made her ache for more of his touches.

His free hand moved down to her waist and slipped in under her jumper, pushing it up as he found one of her breasts again, cupping it, letting his thumb slide across her firm nipple. The sensation made her inhale sharply and he did it again as she felt his smile against her lips. He circled the hard peak and every pass made her whimper until he grabbed her whole breast with his big hand and kneaded it, relishing the feel of the warm, firm flesh.

The whole length of his body was pressed firmly against her and she could feel the bulge in his jeans straining against her thigh. As she shifted her legs to give him space she felt him push her hips open and his erection pressed against her core. From his mouth came a low rumble as he pushed against her, the fabric of his jeans creating friction between them. His hand left her breast, grabbed her hip and pulled her closer to his cock, bearing down on her pussy through the fabric of their trousers, grinding against her with heavy breaths.

She moved her hands from his hair and down to the neck of his shirt, wanting to feel more of his hot skin and that body that felt so good against hers. The buttons were stubborn and her concentration was faltering as Butcher continued to grind into her pussy and work his lips down along her neck. Every now and then he’d nip at the sensitive skin with his teeth and then kiss the spot with his open mouth, making her shiver every time.

Finally the buttons came undone, Butcher lifting himself up a little to help her reach the last ones before she could push it over his shoulders. He shook it over one arm and then the other before tossing it to the floor and reaching for the hem of her jumper, pushing it up over her head and letting it fly the same way as his shirt. He stopped short at the sight of her black bra, her nipples clearly pushing against the thin fabric, letting his hand slide over both breasts, tweaking her nipples as he went. Her moans made him give her a grin.

“And you though’ this was a bad idea, luv” he said, continuing to caress the silk of her bra, teasing her with his fingers.

“I still think it's a bad idea,” she gasped as he gave her right nipple some extra attention by slipping his fingers inside the cup of the bra and finding her warm skin. “I’m just choosing to ignore long term conseque…” her last word trailed off because Butcher had pushed down the fabric of her bra and enclosed her nippled with his mouth, playing with it and letting his tongue roll around it.

“Oh god, Butcher” she groaned.

“Just Billy will do, darlin’ ”, he smirked as he sat up slightly and slipped the bra straps over her shoulders and unhooked it at the back. It went the same way as the shirts. He propped himself up on one elbow and continued to kiss and nibble at her breasts with his mouth but now his free hand was making little circles on her skin, moving down towards the top of her jeans.

Her skin was smooth and warm under his touch and he enjoyed how every little nip at her sensitive areas made her twitch and moan. She couldn’t hide that what he was doing made her feel good and he wanted to make her moan louder. His jeans were becoming uncomfortably tight across his groin and he wanted to take them off, feel her hands and eyes on him as she stroked it.

His hand reached her jeans and he undid the button and pushed down the zipper before letting his hand trail down under the fabric. He felt a shiver run through her body and she arched her back slightly up towards his hand. His fingers reached the top of her underwear and he toyed with the edge of it, letting his fingers slip under it and then pulling back, teasing her as her breath caught in her throat. He could feel his fingers touch the top of her opening as they slid under the fabric, she was burning hot. She started squirming under his touch.

“Take them off, Billy” she groaned, her hands pulling at his hair.

He looked up at her, leaving her breasts damp from his kisses, and she pulled his face closer to hers, kissing him with her open mouth on his lips. He slipped his tongue inside her and let his fingers slide under the fabric again, and deeper down, into her slit, touching the top of her clit. She moaned, louder this time, against his mouth and pushed herself against his fingers.

“Easy, luv” he mumbled, letting his fingers gently slide across her most sensitive area, gaining more loud moans from her, it was slick with wetness and his cock started aching. He had to get out of these jeans. As he pulled his hand away from her pussy she looked up at him again, her usually green eyes were dark, the pupils nearly fully open.

“I think there was something in the tea” she smiled at him, “this can’t be all you, making me feel like I’m about to melt”.

“S’all me, beautiful”, he said, “but you are meltin’ ”, he held up his two fingers coated in her juice. She stuck out her tongue and gave his fingers a small lick and then took them in her mouth, sucking them clean. It was Billy’s turn to moan now as her tongue slid down and then up his fingers. He could practically feel her tongue on his cock and it strained a bit more painfully against his jeans.

“I need to shed these trousers, luv” he whispered and pushed himself up and off the bed.

She followed him into a sitting position and reached and grabbed his belt buckle, pulling him close as he stood next to the bed. Billy looked down on her, the light from the one lamp in the room was on her red waves, even more unruly than usual after squirming on the bed. He wanted to grab that hair and pull her into position but instead he gently laced his fingers through the waves, caressing her hair and waiting for her to unbuckle his belt.

Her hands let it fall to the side and swiftly undid both the button and the zipper of his black jeans, exposing his boxers underneath. They were straining against his erection but just to have the jeans off made him feel relieved. She pushed the jeans down, leaving his boxers in place and he steadied himself on her as he stepped out of them. Eve’s fingers ran along the edge of the boxers and he watched as she slowly pulled them down, letting the elastic graze over his hard cock, his moan coming from deep inside his chest. She looked up at him at the sound and gave him a grin.

“Nice to hear I’m not the only one moaning here”, she said, starting to caress him and place small kisses along his cock. That drew another moan from him, louder this time. He watched her trail a few fingers along the length of his cock, teasing him and letting his breath hitch as her nails tickled along the length.

“Luv, you’re killing me ‘ere” Billy groaned.

The sight of her mouth so close to the head of his cock was more than he could take. He wanted to grab her head and firmly guide her mouth on to it and watch it slide between her lips. His grip tightened in her hair and she knew what he wanted.

Looking up at him again she let her tongue slowly lick the head, tasting the precum that had formed at the tip. Gently at first, she only licked around the edges, but soon she sucked the head into her mouth and let her tongue roll around it, tasting him thoroughly before taking more in, moaning slightly as her lips stretched around his thick form.

Billy watched her take more of his cock into her mouth and tried to stop himself from thrusting his hips into her. His cock was soon slick with her saliva and her wet lips stretched around it as she let it slip in and out, sucking along the length of it, taking it deep in. Her dark eyes were turned up on him and the sight of his hard cock sliding in and out between her red lips made him clench his jaw as he felt the pressure build in his core. The tip of his cock brushed up against the back of her throat and he bit down hard on his lip, breathing deep. Forcing himself to think of Frenchie’s dirty trainers stinking up the office when he kicked them off he tried to pull back from the edge. He released his grip on Eve’s waves.

“Slow down, beautiful,” he murmured, pulling himself away from her with effort. “I’m not going to last long if you work me like tha’ “.

“I was thinking about your promise to do a better job than my toy”, Eve said, letting go of his cock and giving him a cheeky smile she knew would set him off.

“Oh, I will, luv, don’cha worry”, Billy’s grin was huge. He clasped his own hands, flexing out his fingers, like an athlete getting ready for a match, stretching his neck to one side and then the other before grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. His antiques made her laugh as he pulled her up. Reaching down he slid her already unbuttoned jeans down her legs, along with her underwear, leaving Eve naked in front of him as she kicked them aside. He slowly looked her up and down with a shameless grin before stepping closer to her.

“Eve, darlin, you really are gorgeous,” he murmured and bent his lips to hers, tasting his precum on her, as she opened her mouth to him. She pushed her hands into the hair at the back of his and pulled him closer, sucking in his tongue in a way that made his cock twitch. She moaned as she felt him push it against her stomach, the hard shape slick with precum and saliva.

Butcher pulled away from her mouth and cupped her jaw in his big hand, “Lemme know when it feels as good as tha’ thing and I’ll make sure to bring you higher,” he smirked and let his hand slide down her soft skin.

His hand found the top of her pussy and he watched her shiver and almost buckle as he slid a finger in between her folds. He slid his other arm around her waist and held her close to him, propping her up. Her pussy was just as wet as before and he found no resistance as he caressed deeper down her.

“All this drippin’ wet heat in your cunt just because of me, beautiful,” he chuckled at her. She put her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest, trying to control her breathing. Billy could hear her moans grow more intense as he continued to slide his finger across her clit, he wasn’t even applying that much pressure yet, but her breathing was becoming laboured. When he thought she was too close to the edge he removed his hand, and she let out a small whine.

“I told you to take it easy, darlin’.”

“You’re making that bit very difficult,” she stood on her tiptoes to pull him down for a kiss, her mouth pressing against his hot lips as his tongue found hers. She let her hands slip up over his chest, finally getting a good feel of it. His skin was surprisingly smooth with sparse dark hairs that tickled her palms as she caressed him. She could feel scar tissue in a few places and she let her fingers gently explore them as they continued to kiss, his tongue pushing back into her mouth. His hard cock was pushed up against her stomach, and the heat radiated on her skin, she let her hand slip down and grab it but Billy smiled and pulled her hand away.

“Not yet,” he said, pushing her gently down onto the bed. “Crawl to the top and lay down on your back”, he ordered her and she complied. As she moved up the bed he watched her wet pussy glinting between her legs. It was all he could do to not fall on top of her and fuck her straight away, the sight was beyond tempting and his cock was throbbing.

Billy kneeled down onto the bed so that he was still looking down at her outstretched body in front of him. She was laying back on to the pillow at the top of the bed, head cocked slightly to the side as if she was studying him. As he watched she let her right hand slide down between her legs and push them apart, her fingers finding her clit and circling it. Her head fell back with a moan but she pulled herself back and looked up at him again.

“You’re taking too long, Billy”, she said and put her other hand up towards him, beckoning him down towards her.

“Just enjoyin’ the view, pet” he growled in a low voice, his eyes not leaving her fingers as they continued to circle her clit. “But stop doing tha’, I’m gonna do it better”, he smirked and finally bent down onto the bed, pushing her legs apart and positioning himself between them, his big hands were on her thighs, opening her up to his gaze. Eve groaned as he bent closer and slowly trailed some kisses and nips along the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, moving closer to her dripping centre. She arched her body up, trying to move closer to his mouth, low moans escaping her between her shallow breaths.

“Please, Billy,” she begged. Her hands were in his hair now, trying to pull him closer but he couldn’t be shifted.

“You’re so wet and hot, gorgeous, so sweet tasting,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual as he came closer to her pussy. Grabbing her right leg, he bent it at the knee, pushing it up towards her hip, giving himself better access as he slowly let the tip of his tongue slide up into her fold, finding her swollen clit almost straight away. When he finally touched it Eve shivered violently as if a small orgasm had already rocked her body, her pussy contracted around nothing. Whimpering loudly her fingers were tightening in his hair. He could feel the tension in his scalp and he let himself be pulled closer, his mouth fully in her pussy now.

Eve could feel his tongue work its way down and push inside, exploring how far he could reach, before pulling back and moving back up to her clit. Billy’s movements were unpredictable on her, he licked her with the tip, pushed harder against her clit, making her feel it deep down in her core, used his teeth to pull small sharp groans from her when he nibbled around the edges of her pussy until he pulled her clit into his mouth and started sucking on it, mimicking the motions of her sex toy. But this was better, this was so much better. He sucked gently at first but as her groans grew louder he increased his pressure. Her hips were pushing against him and he could feel the contractions starting to build in her pussy as he pulled her closer to the edge of her climax. Billy glanced up at her and saw her flushed face thrown back, her neck exposed, her breasts rising rapidly as she moaned his name.

“Oh Billy, god, I’m so close, so close!” she mumbled almost incoherently through ragged breaths.

She felt him move his hand up, sliding two fingers into her hot pussy without any resistance, and she was pushed even closer, her pussy contracting around his fingers as she felt him curl them back up, finding that sweet spot just inside her opening. He rubbed against it, adding friction and each movement made her convulse and cry out.

His mouth was on her clit, sucking it in, she could feel his tongue swirling around it and she moved her hips up against him, willing him to give her more. His fingers were sliding in and out of her, finding that spot deep in her cunt every time.

She could hear him mumbling against her clit, his voice vibrating through her and as he pushed in a third finger, stretching her pussy, she cried out his name. Her body tensed up, pushing her pussy against his mouth and he pushed her over the edge, letting his fingers work her through the climax, wave after wave rolled through her. Billy felt her pussy contract around him like a vice, and her juices soaked his beard.

A strangled cry escaped her as she arched her body up against his face and then collapsed on the bed. Her breathing was ragged and her chest rose with her deep breaths. Billy softened his hold on her clit but continued to lick her with smooth strokes until she pulled his head up towards her. Her eyes were dark and soft, strands of her red hair were plastered against her flushed cheeks. Billy moved up over her and kissed her soft, warm lips, he knew she could taste herself on him, his beard was damp from it. His hard cock brushed up against her stomach and Eve shivered, the thought of it inside her made her pussy contract again.

“Come inside me now, Billy” she said and moved her body under him so that his cock was pushed up against her still wet centre. “It feels so good after I come and if you’re good enough you’ll make me come again” she smiled up at him with a challenge.

Billy wasn’t about to turn down a dare like that and he grinned back at her while he took his cock in his hand and found her pussy with its tip.

“I know I made you come harder than that toy, babe, with just my mouth. You think I can’t make you come just as hard with my cock inside you?” His grin promised that he was prepared to back up his words, rubbing his cock up and down her slit, making her jolt every time he let it slip over her still sensitive clit. He saw it and he enjoyed it, making her breath deeper as her eyes dropped closed and she leaned her head back, relishing the feeling his cock gave her.

“Let me feel you inside me, Billy,” she murmured, “please.”

Billy groaned and looked down between them, the swollen head of his cock was pushed up against her wet opening, spread wide for him. He pushed in the head, feeling her cunt contract around it and he lost control. With a deep growl he pushed his whole length inside her. Slliding up and down her pussy, teasing her, had built up the pressure inside him to a breaking point, he needed to fuck her. Hard. Now. As he thrust inside her he felt her snug walls close around him, squeezing him tight.

“Ah, luv, Eve, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moaned, his hands finding her hips and pulling her down on to his shaft. Eve felt him stretch her out and push deep into her, she could only gasp as he bottomed out. He was filling her up, creating friction deep inside her and she felt how his movements stirred something deep inside her, hitting spots that made her cry out as a familiar heat started to build in her core. She grabbed onto his shoulders, digging her nails into his hot skin, needing him to envelop her with his heavy body as he thrust his hard cock into her wet cunt.

Billy pulled almost out, looking down to see his cock covered in her juice and he bit down hard on his lip. “Fuck, fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped and moved down over her, letting her pull him down over her, her pussy contracting around his cock as she wrapped her arms around him and moaned into his ear.

He felt her wrap her legs around his waist, pulling him in again as he pressed his mouth on hers, pulling her tongue into his. He thrust harder again and his groans grew louder, he held a steady pace, trying to not to come too fast, needing to feel her come on his cock first. He pressed his face against her neck, trying to pull her as close as possible, letting his cock slam into her again and she cried out for him.

Her pussy squeezed him every time he pulled out, almost holding on to him and when he thrust back in he could feel how she contracted around him again. She was pressed up against his chest, breathing hard against his neck and ear, moaning his name now, as he slammed his hips into her with increasing pressure. She could feel her orgasm building up inside her again, his cock was adding friction to all the right spots and she groaned, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders.

He lifted himself up and slipped his hand in between their bodies, finding her clit swollen and slick. She gasped as he used his fingers to circle it, making her teether on the edge of a new climax.

“Darlin’,” he panted, staring down at her with heavy eyelids, his eyes almost black, “I need you to come on my cock, I wanna feel it, need to feel you drench me,”

He felt her pussy contract hard around him at his word and she cried out and dug her fingers into his back. Her climax broke over her, her pussy squeezing him tight as her body arched up against his chest, her whimpers filling his ears as she came undone under him. He groaned loudly, feeling his own release begin. Grabbing her shoulder with his free hand he pushed his hard cock deep into her as his cum shot out, needing to feel her tight cunt squeeze him dry. He continued to thrust into her slowly relaxing pussy as she came down from her second climax and he pumped the last of himself into her with slower thrusts, his head heavy against her neck.

For a few minutes all that could be heard in the room was their breathing, laboured and slowly calming down. Billy had collapsed on top of her as his arms gave out, he was vaguely aware of not trying to crush her too hard, but she didn’t seem to mind, her arms still around his neck and shoulders.

Eventually he let himself slip out of her, his cock softening. His cum was trailing out of her, making a mess on the bed. He pushed his arm underneath her and pulled her over himself, and on to the other side, laying her down on his arm so that he could look down on her. She smiled a small smile at him and reached up to touch the scar above his eye.

“Definitely better than the toy, but can I keep you on my bathroom shelf?”

“I doubt it, luv, but I promise to come an’ play with you whenever you need me” he said, his face softer than she’d ever seen it. “I run on tea and biscuits for tha’ particular skill set”. His smile was cheeky again and he bent down to plant a kiss on her lips.

[theeleventhhour]

whatever is happening with Billy and Bob and Bondy I just know Van is fuming

Sorry for replying late

But yeah. I don’t know Van but if I were in his place I’d be completely mad too. I’ve been on situations where I’ve fallen out with people and my friends still being their friends and i couldn’t stand it. It took me a while to gain the maturity of don’t care about it and learn that I can’t force people to like someone or not.

I don’t know what happened between Van and Bob/Bondy/Billy and I’d really want to know all the gossip. Tbf I’d feel hurt seeing people that “left me” (I repeat idk what happened to cause the departures) being successful and remain friends while the anger and envy are consuming me, also the feeling of failure bc the band is the work of his life and he and all put a lot on it.

But it isn’t that recent. I remember seeing like a year ago an ig story of Bob and Billy together, and around that time Vegas posted on Reddit something about going out for a beer with Billy and Benji who was out the equation of the drama. Maybe they remained friends trough the years or maybe with all the stuff that happened they reconnected to talk about life. Remember they all grew up in the same small town and they probably still there or at least they come often.

I do think there isn’t any relation with Billy and Bondy. I’ve heard that Billy said some things of Bondy and the fans so Bibby complimenting him it’s kinda weird. I believe Bondy likes his comments because is very polite but that’s all, as far I know he even doesn’t follows him back.

Despite of all I love that Bob and Bondy are still being friends, it shows they care about each other and they are super talented to be doing nothing. I’m happy to seeing them happy with their own bands. At the end it’s about doing what you live the most and if they were unhappy in catb maybe this was (and seems) to be the best option.

Also Billy did a podcast where he talked about catb, I haven’t heard it but I think one of my mutuales said he talked very good about it like reminiscing the good old days and kinda redeemed(? about that stuff he said.

Honestly I don’t know what to think about him but he have to reckon he had done his part of the effort that involved the first album and was his band too. It must have been hard watch it succeed after he left. After all he and the boys are just people with valid feelings like you and me.

Btw sorry for beating around the bush anon. It’s just I don’t know how to feel about it. We have a lot unsolved questions. What’s up with Benji nowadays? Where is Van? (at least we know he’s alive and wherever he is has internet). Will ever Catb come back? If yes, who are the members? Could reuse some old producers (sardy?) or members?

Idk where it Van but I wish he’s taking care of himself and keep playing music, not for the industrie but because it moved his life. I must admit I’m a little worried about him, how much pressure must feel he now to be noticed to be removing likes from ig posts in order to not be seen online. If is annoyed with so little I can’t picture seeing him dealing with the big press.

At least he’s unpacking a lot of merch to keep us entertained!

Anyways sorry again for the massive texts and thank you for swimming by my asks!

[oxfordthyme]

WIP Billy x Max story: Route 66

A hurt/comfort story in which Billy is the comfort, for once. NSFW

Max and Billy have been at each other’s throats since they arrived in Hawkins last fall. But when Max’s dad invites them to spend the summer in Malibu, they decide to tolerate each other for the few days it’ll take to drive to California. Time on the road together forces them to reckon with their preconceptions about each other as they trade one kind of tension for another.

Max is aged up to 18 & Billy is 19.

CW: Discussion of past rape in chapter 2. It's brief but includes disturbing details of the attack & aftermath.

Billy x Max (aged up to 18+)

Rating: Explicit

Genre/vibes: Romance, romantic comedy, hurt/comfort, angsty but fluffy, eventual smut (plot heavy smut light)

Warnings: Sexually explicit content, mention (no depiction) of non-con

Word count: 23,714

Author's notes: This is a WIP that is much more delightful to write than I thought it would be. Started as an experiment to see what would happen if Billy had to be the comfort in a hurt/comfort situation, and having a blast writing it. Wanted to share for those who like a hurt/comfort and/or enemies to friends to lovers situation x

Chapter 2 Excerpt (Read more on AO3 HERE)

At some point, the Slayer album had ended and Max was able to hear her music well enough to ignore Billy’s presence for a while and do some crossword puzzles. She wasn’t sure how long they had been driving—around 5 hours, maybe.

They were somewhere in the forests of Missouri when she started drifting off to sleep. Not long after that, a loud bang startled her awake. It sounded like a little bomb had exploded under the car.

“What the fuck was that?!” she yelped, looking down and around in panic. But the heavy, repeated flopping sound that immediately followed the bang answered her question. “Is—is it the tire?”

“Son of a bitch!” Billy fumed, decelerating the car, “Fucking tire’s blown out. God damnit.”

“Did you hit something?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see anything in the road.”

As Billy pulled the car over onto the grassy road shoulder, Max’s stomach dropped. The car jack…she’d totally forgotten to grab it from Neil’s car before they left. Billy was going to kill her.

Only a sliver of the sun was still visible where Route 66 met the horizon, and the pinkish blue sky was getting darker. They were in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but trees…there weren’t even any other cars around. Not a soul in sight to witness her be murdered by her stepbrother.

She was frozen in fear, unable to form any words as Billy got out of the car and went to the trunk. She sat still for a moment before she took a deep breath and got out of the car.

“Where’d you put the jack?” he asked.

“Billy—I–I’m really, really sorry, but—“

Billy’s eyes snapped to her, terrifying in their steely blue coldness. “Max do not tell me you fucking forgot to get it. Do not tell me that.”

Max crossed her arms and looked away guiltily. Billy ran his hands through his hair.

“Jesus fucking Christ! I ask you for one thing!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I had my hands full…I was busy packing everything else we needed—the food, the maps—it slipped my mind.”

“Do you have a fetish for fucking things up, Max?! Seriously, do you?”

Max scowled at the pavement and didn’t answer him.

“I asked you to grab one thing, one! You can’t even do that! What the fuck can you do, besides get us all kicked out of our hometown?”

Max looked up at him, surprised and wounded despite herself. She knew he’d scream at her, and say some horrible things, but she didn’t think he’d go there this quickly.

“That wasn’t my fault,” she said softly.

“Don’t give me that shit. You’re the one who couldn’t keep her legs shut.”

The comment hit her like a bucket of ice water. She had always wondered which version of events made it to Billy’s ears. From the way he treated her, she’d been pretty sure, and here was her confirmation. Still, it didn’t make it any less painful to hear it out loud. She gaped at him, at a loss for words. A pit opened up in her stomach. She thought she was done trying to convince people of the truth. Was it even worth it to try? Would he even believe her?

*** Max was staring at Billy with this annoyingly shocked face, like she was surprised that he knew. Did she think he was stupid? Maybe she was just surprised he’d say it out loud. But it was about time someone stopped coddling her.

“Cut the innocent act,” Billy said, “Everyone fucking knows. Some of the guys on the football team were my friends. You think they wouldn’t tell me?”

Max strode toward him and poked him hard in the chest. “Whatever they told you is a fucking lie!”

Billy smacked her hand away. “Sure it is, Max.”

“Fuck you!” Max pushed him hard, but he barely moved. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Pretty sure I do.”

“Oh, good!” she laughed humorlessly with a crazed look in her eye, “You know everything! So maybe you can clear some things up for me: what did they put in my drink? Was it quaaludes? Roofies?”

Billy paused for a moment, surprised, then scoffed, realizing that this must be the excuse she told people to avoid blame for what she did.

“Bullshit. Adam said—”

“Adam,” Max said, her expression darkening quickly, “Adam Karlson?”

Billy hesitated, caught off guard by the faraway look that came over her at the mention of Adam’s name. “Yeah.”

She nodded. “Let me guess: he said I was drunk, but into it. All of it was my idea, right?”

Billy frowned at her. The change in her demeanor was unsettling. She’d gone from furious to subdued at the drop of a hat. Her eyes had been full of rage, but now they were almost sad…sad and tired.

Read more on AO3 HERE

[intimaecys]

maybe  it  was  easier  for  billie  to  prod  her  ,   she  didn't  have  much  of  a  family  to  speak  of.   her  parents  were  both  long  gone  by  the  time  she'd  turned  eighteen  ,   one  to  the  grave  and  the  other  to  the  bottle  because  of  it.   wasn't  that  difficult  to  cut  herself  loose  ,   she'd  been  fending  for  herself  longer  than  she  could  remember  anyway.   her  entire  life  she'd  been  running  on  her  own  ,   from  place  to  place  and  job  to  job  ,   woman  to  woman  ,   using  freedom  as  a  crutch  and  a  way  to  cope.   it  was  the  excuse  she  kept  giving  val  whenever  she  came  by  ,   the  reason  she  could  never  say  what  had  just  slipped  from  her  throat   —   staying  still  is  death  ,   isn't  it  ?   staying  still  means  drowning.   it  means  having  to  reckon  with  all  of  it  ,   the  things  she  kept  on  running  from.   but  in  the  moment  of  it  ,   she  couldn't  find  the  restraint  to  stop  ,   staring  up  at  her  ,   entranced  by  the  light  reflecting  off  every  dip  and  curve.   at  someone  else's  mercy  ,   the  only  person  she'd  ever  allow  to  have  her  like  this.   despite  the  overstimulation  ,   she  waited  and  watched  ,   breath  baited  ,   for  the  decision  to  follow  ,   where  val's  loyalty  truly  lay.   she  could  feel  the  wind  caught  in  her  throat  only  for  a  moment  ,   until  the  crack  against  the  wall  of  her  meager  apartment  signaled  what  really  happened.   both  arms  lept  up  to  meet  her  ,   coiling  tightly  around  her  lover's  body  and  holding  her  there  as  they  rocked  harder  against  one  another  ,   every  second  breath  a  whimper  ,   a  moan  ,   a  gasp  into  the  darkness.   fingertips  curled  into  the  lengths  of  val's  hair  ,   coated  in  their  sweat  and  excess  ,   as  her  vocal  chords  found  themselves  pressed  and  strained.   “   fuck  him  ,   ”   she  bit  back  ,   letting  it  happen  ,   reveling  in  it   —   they'd  both  made  their  choice  ,   and  for  her  ,   it  was  a  line  neither  of  them  could  come  back  from.   “   i   —   ”   didn't  take  very  much  coaxing  for  her  to  spasm  under  the  touch  of  val's  fingers  ,   frantically  reaching  between  her  legs  to  do  the  same  ,   to  wring  what  few  drops  she  could  left  as  she  fell  flat  against  he  mattress  ,   allowing  the  rush  of  her  orgasm  to  consume  her.   eyes  briefly  rolled  back  ,   rasping  voice  a  mess  of  empty  syllables  and  noises  before  she  grasped  it  again.   “   i'm  yours  ,   i'm  yours  ,   i'm  always  —   ”   heavy  breathing  echoed  ,   only  for  billie  to  slowly  lean  herself  forward  again  ,   forehead  pressed  against  her  lover's  like  a  pact.   “   i'm  always  gonna'  be  yours  darlin'.   ”   cutting  herself  off  ,   billie's  lips  opened  to  return  to  that  all  too  familiar  place  of  security  ,   her  lover's  kiss.   grip  softens  for  just  a  moment.   “   might  as  well'a  bought  you  a  ring.   ”

the  ringtone  would’ve  curdled  the  sweat  on  her  skin  if  billie’s  teeth  hadn’t  already  seared  it  to  salt. heavy  breath  hitched , at  the  words  clawing  their  way  out  of  the  woman’s  throat  like  a  vow  etched  in  blood.  yours.  the  syllable  ricocheted  through  her  ribs,  sharp  and  sweet,  a  bullet  she’d  let  bury  itself  years  ago.  her  hips  stuttered,  muscles  trembling, not  from  exhaustion,  but  the  sudden  vertigo  of  being  claimed  by  the  one  thing  she  couldn’t  control.  billie’s  heartbeat  thrashed  against  her  palm,  a  wild  thing  she’d  once  tried  to  cage  and  now  fed  with  her  own  hunger.   the  phone  screamed  again.  her  father’s  ringtone, a  shrill  classical  riff  he’d  programmed  himself,  all  precise  staccato,  no  soul.  valentina’s  gaze  flicked  toward  the  nightstand,  teeth  sinking  into  her  lower  lip  hard  enough  to  bloom  copper.  weakness  is  a  stain.  the  old  mantra  slithered  through  her,  cold  as  a  knife  down  her  spine.  but  billie’s  nails  dug  crescent  moons  into  her  thighs,  anchoring  her  to  the  heat,  the  sweat-slick  reality  of  this, of  them, and  suddenly  the  choice  wasn’t  a  choice  at  all.   she  lunged.   not  toward  the  phone,  but  deeper  into  billie—her  free  hand  snatching  the  device  mid-ring  and  hurling  it  against  the  wall.  the  crack  of  plastic  echoed  like  a  gunshot.  “fuck  him,”  she  snarled,  voice  raw,  the  words  tearing  loose  from  someplace  she’d  bricked  over  years  ago.  her  palm  returned  to  billie’s  clit  with  renewed  fury,  grinding  in  tight,  punishing  circles, as  much  a  rebellion  as  a  caress.  “say  it  again,”  she  demanded,  forehead  pressed  to  billie’s,  their  shared  breath  a  tempest.  “say  it  like  you’ll  carve  it  into  his  fucking  grave.”   but  even  as  she  spoke,  her  mind  raced.  the  shattered  phone  glinted  on  the  floor,  screen  still  glowing — missed  call  (3).  valentina  didn’t  tremble.  she  vibrated.  every  nerve  alight,  every  scar  singing.  she’d  chosen.