#his eyes look brown from a distance but in some close-up photos with the light at the right angle they have some green in them

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Realizing I've never seen a close-up photo of Alan's eyes until this morning... should've said Sinclair had hazel eyes, oh well

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults. 

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard. 

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like. 

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow. 

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you. 

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady." 

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes. 

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance. 

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times. 

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock. 

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?" 

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in." 

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them. 

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?" 

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury. 

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all. 

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him. 

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout. 

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips. 

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing. 

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes. 

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep. 

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job. 

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then. 

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?" 

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up. 

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two. 

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

[dejwrld]

⤷‧₊˚ ʚ₊˚‧ ✿ ꒱ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 / the story of how the ushijima's rekindled an old flame that kick-started their love story.

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female reader, her/she pronouns, black reader (with descriptors), influencer!reader, profanity, alcohol usage, intoxication (both reader and ushijima), flashback in italics, mentions of making out, mentions of fingering, tendou makes an appearance, i just around using ushijima & wakatoshi a lot, it's late but we here, mdni

╰┈➤ song for this part: we might even be falling in love (interlude) by victoria monet

masterlist

Wakatoshi’s fingers lingered on your lower back as the crowd cheered for the excitement of the wedding that was just a couple of days away. His lips grazed upon the shell of your ear at the flash of the photographer’s camera. This felt so unreal, you were about to get married in a couple of days to the love of your life. You felt this feeling of warmth rush over your body with each second of Wakatoshi’s fingertips tracing alongside the lining of your dress. 

“Who would have thought?” His words whisper in your ears with a grin. “Wouldn’t think I would be about to marry the cute girl who I help carry coffee to her internship building.” 

You bite back a smile before you turn to wrap your arms around his neck. Your high heels give you enough height so you won’t have to stand on your tippy toes. The diamond ring on your finger twinkles under the restaurant light before you place a quick peck on his lip.

“Yeah, just some years ago we rekindled in Paris,” You said.

His lips were against your ear once more, “Ah, I remember Paris like it was yesterday. But I could have sworn you told me, what happened in Paris stays-“

His words and your pending embarrassment of remembering the events in Paris made your cheeks heat up. Your eyes trail to your fiancé while he’s getting dragged by his teammates away from you. His chestnut-colored eyes never leave you while a foolish grin spreads on his face before he disappears into the celebratory dinner crowd. Even if he was swallowed up by a sea of people, you still could see him in the crowd with a huge grin as he gloated about being a married man in a couple of days.

Paris. 

What a memory that was.

Your first fashion week as an influencer and blogger had just wrapped up leaving you to explore Paris. You wanted to celebrate the huge opportunities that were graced upon you. Landing a brand deal with a well-known and successful black luxury brand was something huge for you. It felt like a dream if you were going to be honest with yourself. So, you had to celebrate until your last day in Paris. You shopped a lot. Went out clubbing with some other influencers that were here also. Now you stand outside this chocolate shop gazing at the huge chocolate fountain that was in front of the display window that looks like it’s been cleaned countless times during the day.

You went to snap a picture of it for your social media accounts, but a figure inside the store caught your attention. His large frame was hunched over the counter as he was talking to another man with a red buzz-cut hairstyle. Even though the sign on the door was turned to closed, he was inside as if he had special privileges. He wore some light khaki-colored slacks, a black polo that was tucked in and secured with a belt, a beige wool overcoat, and a pair of white Alexander McQueen shoes. His dark olive-brown hair wasn’t messy in the sense that it looked like he just rolled out of bed, but more of him constantly running his fingers through it. He looked familiar. 

When the red-haired guy noticed you staring, you immediately fled. Although, the aesthetically pleasing chocolate fountain would be wonderful for your Paris photo dump for your socials—nothing is more embarrassing than being caught staring at a possible stranger through a window like a creep. You thought you were walking fast enough to put distance between yourself and the shop, but when you felt someone grab a hold of your elbow—the feeling of despair engulfed you so quickly. Until you saw who grabbed you. 

The man who you were staring at. That sense of familiarity wasn’t nothing because you knew him. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

“I knew you looked familiar.” Your voice came out like a whisper as if you didn’t believe he was standing in front of you.

It’s been years since the last time you saw him. You remembered how kind he was when you two first met. Helping you carry baked goods and coffee orders in your internship building. Then two weeks later from that interaction, you saw him again at a farmer’s market in California. Then after that, the next time you saw him was when he was a part of Japan’s volleyball Olympics team. You didn’t want to admit that you thought about him a lot. Who wouldn’t? He was an attractive and genuine guy. The volleyball part was just an extra point. 

“Last time we saw each other, I remember specifically you talked my father’s head off over-”

“Marketing.” You finished his sentence, the distant memory of you practically forcing him to be the third wheel with his day with his father made you cringe. “I’m sorry about that by the way. Thinking back on it, it was extremely intrusive.” 

“Eh, it’s fine. My father still talks about you up to this day, you know? Quote on quote said I should date a girl like you. I can see why he would say that.” His eyes scan over your face to your body and now even though you are covered in a sweater dress—you feel bare. 

The heat that spread from your fingertips to your cheeks made you want to fan yourself. “It’s good to see you again, Ushijima.”

“Wakatoshi..” He corrects. 

Your lips curve into a smile of warmth before speaking again, “Wakatoshi.” 

You liked how that felt, and you can tell that he enjoyed you saying it. The tip of his ears was as red as your purse that was hanging on your shoulder. Soon that deep crimson color imparts across his cheeks. He looks down at his shoes in embarrassment before attempting to speak through the fact that he is blushing in front of you.

“Are you free tonight? Meeting my friend and his co-workers at this bar not too far away from here.” Wakatoshi questions. 

“Yes, I’m just enjoying the last couple of days here before I head back.”

“And when is that?”

“Two days.”

“Great.” was the only thing that left his mouth before he grabbed your hand and walked through the crowd of people towards the bar.

Here you two sat in a bar full of people and that feeling of it only being you two returned. Thighs briefly brushed against each other while you were in a booth together, practically ignoring the environment around each other. Even though the two of you could only send wide grins toward each other, you still felt this strange feeling of comfort wiggle up your spine. Even growing comfortable to lean back further in your seat into Ushijima’s arm that was resting on the back of the booth seat.

“Okay, you have half a million followers. How can I build my following?” Tendou slides his phone across the table to show you his Instagram account.

You glance at his phone briefly. He had a pretty decent following for a chocolatier. From your conversations with him, while you were here with him and Ushijima, he had a bright and energetic personality that you were sure would win people over. You scrolled through his photos of different chocolate he’s made and even some fun photo dumps. His likes on his photos were extremely stable considering the platform’s strange algorithm. Quite obvious it was actual people liking his photos and not bots. 

“You have a decent following and interesting stuff on your page. Have you tried recording a day in your life video?” You asked. “I think it would be cool for people to see the life of a chocolatier.” You shrug your shoulders and slide your phone to him.

“I never thought to do that,” Tendou snatches up his phone to glance through his Instagram again. Soon a young woman caught his attention and he abruptly excused himself, uttering how he had to use his French to good use. 

“So, how’s your social media looking?” You questioned before your eyes looked up at Ushijima. “Do you even have any social media pages? You look like a very reserved guy..” Your words trail off realizing that maybe this was a bit intrusive that came off.

“Not a social media person, but my manager insists I make an Instagram account to connect with fans.” He pulls his phone out, unlocking it swiftly to show you his page.

He had more followers than you and verified. But he had only two photos on his page. One was dated back to a year when he first signed to the Schweiden Alders and the other was with his dad, who you assumed was in California. 

“You only have two pictures. Why? If you mind me asking.” 

“I just don’t see the point of having millions of people to be able to see important details of my life every day. That’s how people begin to construct their own opinions about you even though they merely only see what you post on the internet.” He sips from his beer bottle. 

You hummed at his answer, letting it debrief in your head. You never thought about it that way considering your career choice. Granted, you don’t share a lot about your personal life—but you were a very public person. Over a half million people knew you were in Paris at the moment, but for Ushijima, no one knew he was here unless they were Tendou, his close friends, and maybe some volleyball fans. 

“But your job must be quite interesting though. You have half a million people wanting details on your outfits and such.” He tries to lighten the atmosphere because he can tell that his words are causing you to think deeply.

“I’m grateful for that since they do help a girl eat, but I see why you’re so private. You’re like an all-star volleyball player. I’m sure social media could throw your game off.”

“It does, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Sports journalists are much harsher, you know.” His fingers traced alongside the rim of his beer bottle.

“How’s your parents?” You asked. “I’m sure your dad is loving the Cali weather,” You add. 

“They’re good. We can officially be in a room together without any back and forth. Think they do it just for me though,” his shoulders shrug and you manage to take note of how broad his shoulders are. 

Maybe you were gawking at his appearance. The last time you saw him, he had height on him. Maybe he grew a bit taller over the years. You definitely can tell whatever workout plan he had made him gain more muscle too. 

“That’s good to hear. I’m sure they’re super proud to see how far you have come.” You cheesed at him and he finished the last bit of his beer before the two of you were interrupted. 

These two young men stood with a huge smile on their faces. Faces as red as the red Sharpie one of them held in their hand. You knew they weren’t there for you, so you only laughed as Ushijima waited for them to spit out what they wanted. 

“We’re huge fans. Can we get some pictures and an autograph?” One asked. 

Ushijima looked at you with an apologetic look that you simply giggled at before letting him talk to his fans. In the meantime, you watch as he talks to the two guys as if he knew them for years. A huge smile on his face and his eyes twinkling like the night stars, seeing him like this felt nice. It brought comfort to you in a sense. During the time of them talking, a waitress placed shots down on the table that the fans brought. In return, you volunteered to take the picture of the trio and watch as Ushijima scribbled his autograph on a spare napkin on the table you two sat at. 

“We’re sorry for interrupting your date. Thanks for the picture and autograph.” One of the guys says before leaving—not giving either you or Ushijima time to correct him that this wasn’t a date. 

You went to make a joke about it, but your phone interrupted that. You quickly down the shot in front of you and make your escape out of the booth. 

“I have to take this call.” You seem to yell over the loud music playing in the bar. You went to stand up to take the phone call outside, but you felt Ushijima tug you back.

“Let me go with you,” You felt his hand grab yours instantly as he slid from outside the booth.

“I’m not going to get lost, you know?” You glance back at him briefly before leading him out of the bar. 

The two walked right by Tendou who was talking with a co-worker and as soon as he saw you two walking towards the door, his bright red eyebrows raised in curiosity. Most likely thinking you two were calling it a night after the extensive round of shots Ushijima fan brought him after he autographed a napkin for him. 

You thought it was strange for someone from one of the brands you work for to call you so late at night. Especially when you had spoken to them earlier—correction, you even did your part of the deal and finally posted the product review they were hounding you for. You listened to the agent talk about how they wanted you to post a review on their newest lipstick line that was being released in two weeks. But as they were throwing out their demands through your tipsy hiccups, they weren’t mentioning anything about increasing your pay.

You were a bit intoxicated and on the phone, with someone from a company you were a brand ambassador for. The night Paris wind brushed against your smooth brown legs under your sweater dress and you thought your body was going to shiver, but the closeness of Ushijima was like a personal heater. His eyes stared down at you with lust and charm while you were listening to the person on the other end. 

They do say some wines can be classified as an aphrodisiac. Perhaps it was the alcohol because you wanted him. You yearned for him just as much as you did years ago when you first met him. The heat that pooled in between your thighs crept up on you when you noticed Ushijima’s eyes scan over your lip gloss-covered lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You couldn’t quite remember if you said yes. But you remembered your timid nods as you leaned to meet him halfway to close the gap between you two. You remembered ending the phone call without a care (and was sure you wouldn’t hear the last of it during your next Zoom meeting). And you remembered how Wakatoshi's lips felt. Soft, smooth, and plushable. He was a stern kisser, it went well with his personality. You could feel his fingertips on the back of your neck locking you in place for him to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced alongside your full lips aching to taste all the alcohol that stained your tongue. His knee breaks apart from your thighs as soon as your lips gasp apart to let him in. Your fingers interlock in his brown hair tugging him closer and your left thigh lifts just a bit for his free hand to grab upon.

Was it cliche to say you’ve never been kissed like this before? The way your lips moved with each other, you would have thought that the two of you had done this before. Perhaps in another life, you two were former lovers. That would explain the chemistry you two bounced off each other within the night and right now under the bright moon that gave you little light in the space you were camped out. 

During the heated makeout session, you could feel his fingerings up the dress you wore and your body instantly heated up. It was Wakatoshi doing this to you, of course, your body would feel like it was running a fever. But the idea of doing this here in an alley as drunken strangers walk by turned you on. Yes, it was scandalous if someone snapped a picture. There goes your brand deals and maybe a decrease in followers, but this was Wakatoshi. You would do anything to feel his expensive fingers rub against your clit. 

After the alleyway interaction, he spent the remaining two days with you. Even though he technically was supposed to leave the next morning—he extended your fairytale of making you feel like the most important woman in the world. Embracing those last forty-eight hours with you as if it were his last specks of air escaping his lungs. 

You remembered his last words before you were boarding your plane. A foolish grin on your glowing face and fingers intertwined with his like a love-sick character from a romance novel. 

“Is it odd to say I want us to work?” He admits. “And we only just rekindled two days ago.” 

“Then I’ll see you at your game next week.” 

“Really?”

“Let’s make this work, Wakatoshi.”

⤷‧₊˚ cuties that wanted to be tagged | @salaciousdoll @honeybleed @mitsuyasfavorite @saltypuffin1040 @torusbitch @lotustv @superslutny @kokonoiscoconut @queendijaaaa @jamaicanqueenaa @liyawritesss @tojiscumdumpster @threezzyo @markleedreams @tenshithetinysuccubby @ryukenzz @strawhatsav @shyartnerd564 @renestudio @theebussyqueensblog

[loveandleases]

(I thought it was only fair I start Kinktober off with Cam. Each Ro will be getting kinktober posts so no worries if Cam isn't your pick!)

You barely got the door closed before the bag of groceries slipped from your hand and onto the floor while fumbling for the light switch. The apartment was dark, all the lights off, except for the light glow coming from Cam's doorway. He likely left his computer on again, streaming some old B horror movie no doubt.

After flipping the light on, you bend down picking up the stray groceries that managed to fall out of the brown bag. A pack of Halloween-themed Oreos, something Cam and you had snacked on since you were kids. His, always finding its way into a glass of milk, and yours always ends up licked clean of cream.

If I don't turn his computer off it will be dead by the time he comes home.

It's not a long distance from the kitchen to Cam's room, he was adamant about getting the room closest to the door, "In case someone decides to off us! I'll scream loud enough so you can escape. Doing it for you Red!"

You're just a step away from the door when you realize it's slightly ajar. That is also when you realize the sounds coming from the room. It doesn't register in your head whose voice you hear, whose moans you hear. No, that doesn't sink in until you push the door open ever so gently. Why did you open it so slowly? Were you worried about startling who sits inside?

You can feel your tongue slide along your lips, moistening them before your teeth sink into your lip. Are your ears deceiving you? The sound of skin on skin, the sound of heavy breathing. Cam's voice.

"Fuuck." He groans, as he stares at the photo on his phone.

Your eyes widen, watching as Cam thrusts upward. His hand tightly wrapped around his erect penis, a slight glistening on the tip. You spot the slightest freckle on it, before his hand begins to rub up and down the shaft. His other hand holds his shirt up and out of the way, allowing a view of his toned muscles, that slutty waist you always tease him about. His eyes are staring so intently at the phone, his messy red hair sticking to his forehead.

Cam removes his hand, spitting the slightest bit of saliva onto his palm before sliding over the tip, wetting it. He trails his fingers slowly down the long girthy length, before cupping his balls and groaning deeply. His head tilting back, eyes pressed tightly together.

You can feel the arousal between your legs, no matter how hard you think to look away, there is just something that keeps you from doing so.

Cam begins to grip his erection even tighter, applying more pressure when his palm rubs over the tip. His breathing is hitched, and the sounds coming out of him send a shiver down your spine. You watch as his toes curl slightly, his muscles tightening.

He opens his plump lips, a breathy moan escaping them. "God, I need you." Cam raises up slightly in his chair, thrusting, you can hear the contact of his hand, his balls each thrust he does. Harder than the next. "Red!"

Hearing your nickname come from his lips you gasp loudly, bumping into the door frame. This finally catches his attention, you watch in what should be horror but it's not. As his head jerks to you, his eyes widen in realization. You both stare at one another dumbfounded, but not for long.

Once Cam sees you standing in the doorway, your eyes stare elsewhere, and watch as he tries to cover himself only to see the white substance begin leaking between his fingers.

"I bought Oreos!" It's the only thing from your mouth as Cam stares down to his hand, realizing that what put him over the edge was your very presence. Knowing you were watching.

[the-name-chapter-ella]

Arcade Love- Choi Beomgyu

Pairing: Beomgyu x Afab reader

Genre: smut, fluff, MDNI, 18+!

CW: NSFW, smut, mature language, public setting (arcade photo booth), fingering & head (f!receiving), unprotected sex (use protection guys)

Synopsis: You go to an arcade with your boyfriend Beomgyu. You have some innocent fun playing a few games and taking a few photos, before the tension becomes too much and you decide to have a different kind of fun...

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

The lights of the arcade glistened around you, flickering in time with the music that could barely be heard underneath the noise of the crowd. You stood with Beomgyu at the entrance, his expression unable to mask the childlike excitement he was feeling. Seeing the arcade lights reflect in his eyes seemed to match his excited smile so well. You let your thumb run across the hand you were holding while you admired him softly.

Before you could comment on how cute you thought he was, Gyu's excitement shot into action as he gripped your hand tighter and bolted toward the center of the arcade, practically dragging you. He dropped your hand momentarily to motion to the Dance Dance Revolution platform that stood in front of the two of you. With how proudly he held his arms up toward it, you'd think the game was created by Choi Beomgyu himself.

"I hope you came prepared to lose today," Beomgyu declared with loud confidence, lowering one arm to rest on the bar handle while the other swiped his long black hair away from his face. His sweet smile became a playful smirk as he subconsciously raised an eyebrow at you. You only had time to chuckle at him before he practically jumped over to be directly in front of you. He widened his eyes as large as he could make them and instantly put his face closer to yours. His hair jumped along with him as he hopped up and down slightly, keeping the distance between your faces minimal. "Not going to say anything? Are you scared to challenge me?" He taunted you.

You chuckled at the sheer energy that was so closely bound with everything he said. "Gyu... I'm not scared to challenge you because there's no doubt who's winning". You calmly stated this as a fact, deeply contrasting his rapid enthusiasm.

If you shook Beomgyu's confidence at all, he didn't let it show. The smirk he had plastered on his face earlier still remained as his brown eyes flickered down for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "If you say so," he shrugged before sending a quick wink your way. It was subtle, but still felt dramatic coming from him. You rolled your eyes at his attempt to distract you.

He couldn't even keep himself focused on his own tactics, because within a second he was already focused on choosing the perfect song to dance to. In Beomgyu's concentrated state, you found yourself admiring him again. His eyebrows were furrowed as he squinted his eyes ever so slightly, and his tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth. He looked so serious, and it attracted you to him more than you already were. A loving sigh escaped your mouth and, like a switch had been flipped, he whipped his head around and donned his most innocent expression. His face had instantly softened and his mouth was now slightly agape. You were always amazed at how quickly his entire demeanor could change.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, concern filling his voice. You shook your head and smiled as a way to tell him not to worry. His posture softened, revealing how tense he had been when he had mistaken your sigh for one of discomfort. "Good. I just get worried when I think you could be upset about anything".

Before you could thank Beomgyu for caring about you, he quickly changed the subject and blurted, "But now its time for me to kick your ass!"

He pulled you to the platform by your arm and gave you no time to prepare. You quickly tried to get lost in the music, beginning to get perfect scores on each step, when Beomgyu noticed how well you were doing. He immediately came up with a plan of action.

Your perfect scores were interrupted by two familar hands pushing you off the short platform. You stumbled and glared at Gyu with a look of betrayal as he glanced at you briefly to make sure you weren’t hurt. "Looks like you need to work on your coordination!" He erupted with laugher. Despite his amusement, he didn't let his focus shift away from beating you.

When the song came to an end, Beomgyu looked at you with a prideful smile. "I beat you without even trying," He panted, chuckling in between heavy breaths. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and hopped off of the platform.

"You're evil, you know that?" You mumbled, giving him a playful punch to the shoulder. "Its what I do," he grinned, already prepared to move on to the next thing. You shook your head and laughed silently as you wondered what he would drag you toward next.

Beomgyu's eyes lit up once again and turned to you with the excitement of a small puppy. "Y/n!! You know we have to...."

You followed his gaze and noticed a photo booth in the back of the arcade. Your eyes lit up to match the enthusiasm that were in his; Gyu always loved taking photos with you. He always felt the need to display them in his wallet, in his car, in frames at home...

Your thoughts were interrupted by a gentle tug on your arm, and you looked down to see Beomgyu holding onto it with both hands. You looked up to meet his soft eyes, giving him a nod to satisfy that questioning gaze.

He took the gesture as approval to race toward the booth, keeping his grasp on your arm. He was a few steps ahead of you so you couldn’t see his face, but you knew that the biggest smile was plastered across his lips. Beomgyu was practically skipping across the arcade at this point, and his happiness was radiant.

He pulled you behind the curtain, eager to start taking photos. You sat down next to him as he excitedly suggests, “I think it would be cute if we made a heart!” He held up half of one, waiting for you to complete it. You couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. He was so cute, so eager to make memories with you. You put your heart-shaped hand next to his and smiled.

After the flash went off, he quickly moved on the next pose he could think of. He held up a peace sign with his left hand, as the other made its way around your back to rest gently on your waist. You put up a peace sign to match his, trying not to pay attention to his hand placement. He was being cute and sentimental, just wanting to take photos with you. Surely it’s not the time to think about how commanding his delicate fingers were on your body. Especially not in a public place like this.

Noticing you tense up under his touch, he glanced over at you for a moment. It made his sweet smile lose its innocence for a fraction of a second, although he didn’t want you to notice.

The flash of the photo booth distracted Beomgyu from his fleeting thoughts about you. It startled him slightly, causing him to involuntarily tighten his grip on your waist. You inhaled sharply at the sudden movement. Usually he would have asked you if you were okay, but his mind was preoccupied. Even though he was silent, the look in his eyes gave him away.

Neither of you could say anything as you sat there, both trying to ignore the heavy air around you. You almost felt frozen until you let out a deep exhale from the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. The sound of your breathing made Gyu close his eyes in an automatic response, changing the pressure of his hand on your waist. It’s like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to let go, or grip you tighter.

He brought himself to meet your gaze again, giving away the desperation that had settled in his eyes. His held his lower lip in his teeth ever so subtly as he fought the urge to break eye contact. You fought this urge as well, knowing his lips were practically inviting you.

Maybe the photos were over at this point, maybe they weren’t. All you knew was that time was stopped and you two were alone. You shifted in your seat, your movement breaking the trance Beomgyu was in as he freed your waist from his grip. You looked at the ground to distract yourself from the things you were thinking about him. The relief you felt was short lived, because when you met his eyes once more, he cautiously moved his hand to your thigh instead.

His fingers ghosted over the skin on your thighs, making your breathing unsteady. He maintained eye contact with you during this, with brief moments of his gaze flickering down to his own hands. He couldn’t help but think about what he could do with them as he lingered around the hem of your skirt.

When he looked back up, you were greeted once again by his lustful expression. You opened your mouth to break the silence that neither of you could bear anymore.

“Beomgyu…” was all you could mutter through your shaky breathing. He was barely touching you, but it was sending lightning waves up your spine. He put his finger to his lips to signal you to whisper, you had forgotten you were in public. It was an innocent gesture. Despite that, it made you shift in your seat once more as you focused on it.

Without thinking, you took the finger away from his mouth and guided it to your own face, gently tracing it along your pouted lips. You kept eye contact with him as you put it in your mouth. His eyes widened. He loved when you did this, although usually it was behind closed doors. He wondered whether the curtain they were sitting behind could provide the same privacy. A heavy exhale left Beomgyu’s lips as he removed his finger from your mouth to place it on your waist again. This time it didn’t stay there. He moved his hand down your side until it met the end of your skirt. He made sure you were looking at him as he trailed his fingers delicately along your panties, driving you crazy with the gentle touch. He liked watching you react to his movements, knowing you were squirming at the thought of him. You were so pretty in this vulnerable state, and he liked to be reminded that you were his.

You were painfully aware of how his fingers were barely touching you, teasing you with every gentle movement. Beomgyu must have been waiting for a verbal cue, or any kind of approval, as he looked up at you with a soft and questioning expression. He was unsure whether or not to take the risk. Only having the curtain to separate you from the crowd of the arcade made it even more of a rush to you, and soon you couldn't take the anticipation.

"Please... I'll be quiet." You swallowed. You hadn't noticed that you were practically drooling over the thought of him. Beomgyu exhaled with what seemed to be a sigh of relief as he impatiently moved your panties to the side. The sudden rush of cool air on your now exposed area caused you to breathe in, almost in surprise. He popped his fingers into his mouth and then traced them where your panties used to be, the warmth giving you another feeling of shock and pleasure. He then brought his lips to your neck and kissed you softly, swirling his tongue on the tender skin. You shivered at the feeling, needing him more and more every moment.

When he pulled his lips away from your neck, you pouted at him. He responded with a soft smirk. Keeping eye contact with you, Beomgyu lowered himself to the ground in front of you, his wet fingers still moving along your clit. He broke eye contact with you to swiftly replace his fingers with his tongue, and you held your breath as a wave of pleasure flooded your body. You nestled your hands in his hair and pressed your lips together as he pushed two fingers into you, curving them upwards to hit the spot he knew you liked.

As you felt his fingers move in and out of you, you squirmed and thought of how desperately you wanted all of him inside of you. He slowed down his pace and lifted his head to look at you with a loving expression that was full of craving. He always teased you like this before you had sex, and today you were more needy for him than usual.

You started getting impatient. You gave Beomgyu a pleading look, to which he answered by trailing his now wet fingers back up to your waist. Before you knew it he was back in the seat next to you, almost effortlessly lifting you to his lap.

As he sat you down to straddle him, and you gasped softly at his erection that pressed firmly against you. Instinctively you sat up higher, and Beomgyu responded by bucking his hips upwards to meet your body once again. The corner of his upper lip raised slightly when he did this, a breathy groan leaving his mouth. You were getting wetter by the second, surely leaving a mark on his pants already.

“Are you sure we should-“ you began to mutter, before being interrupted by a passionate kiss. You immediately melted into it, starting to slowly move your hips back and forth against him. The grip he had on your waist fell to your hips as he guided your movements. You bit his lower lip, letting a soft moan slip into his mouth. You knew this drove him crazy.

He pulled away from your kiss briefly to let out heavy breaths, unable to close his mouth. He looked down at your hips grinding against him. His hands tightened on your body, clinging onto you in desperation.

You stopped moving, causing Gyu’s gaze to quickly flicker back up to meet yours. He waited for you to say something, but instead you lifted yourself off of his lap. You stood up in front of him and kneeled down to hook your fingers in the waistband of his pants. His breath caught in his chest as he watched you pull both layers down, exposing himself entirely to you.

Despite seeing his dick many times before, your eyes still widened at what was in front of you. Beomgyu smirked softly at your reaction. He shook his head slightly to get his messy hair out of his face, so he could better admire you.

“You better be quiet, okay?” He spoke softly. You nodded, unable to speak. He placed his hand on your chin to lift you up to eye level, so he could look at you as he ran his hand up your skirt. He slipped your panties off gracefully and lifted you to sit on him once again.

Now you were sitting slightly above him as Beomgyu lined himself up with you, not breaking eye contact. He traced his dick back and forth along your wet center as you shuddered in response. You sunk down slowly and you let out a gasp as he entered you. Beomgyu let out a quiet groan. You matched each others rhythm as you bounced. Your breathing quickened, gasping every time you felt his dick fully inside of you. Beomgyu’s hands roamed your body desperately until one of his hands settled on your waist while the other nestled in your hair. You pressed your lips to his with a hunger, sucking on his lower lip.

He pulled away and used the hand on your waist to stop you from bouncing. "Just sit on it. Don't move." He teased through gritted teeth. Your body ached for movement, you ached for him. “Beomgyu… please-“

He interrupted your pleading by breathing into your ear, biting down on your earlobe and moaning softly. He couldn’t help himself but to buck his hips ever so slightly, the stillness killing him even more than it was killing you. He moved from your ear to trail kisses down your neck, gently sucking on the tender skin. A moan escaped your lips, and he tightened his grip on your waist to tell you to be quiet.

At this point you were squirming on top of him, unable to stay still. Beomgyu gave in and held you firmly with both hands digging into your hips as he bucked into you. His pace quickly increased. The feeling was like fireworks in your stomach when he took over, it was almost impossible to stay quiet. You brought your face next to his ear so you could let quiet moans escape your lips, you wanted to let him know how he made you feel. You needed to make some sort of sound, even if it was restrained.

Beomgyu let out a low groan in response to your noises. He bit his lip to stop from making another sound, and tightened his grip on your body. You winced at the pressure change, and Gyu adjusted his hands to be more gentle. “Is that okay baby?” He panted, sweat dripping from his forehead. He didn’t stop his motions to ask you this.

All you could do was nod as he thrusted into you with more pressure. You were unable to close your mouth and let out a few more soft moans, squeezing your eyes shut. He kept thrusting in and out of you quickly, his mouth open as he moaned silently. He was penetrating you so hard that you could feel the buildup of excitement in your lower abdomen. “B-beom…” you whined. You placed a hand on his chest, signaling him to stop so you could take over. You werent ready to cum just yet. He panted as he came to a stop, where you picked back up almost immediately by bouncing on him. You lifted your shirt, exposing your bra-less chest. Beomgyu immediately placed his hands on your boobs, making sure he touched every inch of them. He then started toying with your nipples. He squeezed them, causing you to let out a gasp of pleasure.

“Quiet, or I’ll stop” he said between heavy breaths, his eyes full of lust. You closed your mouth immediately and shut your eyes, shuddering slightly at the pleasure that was flooding your body. You let out another unexpected gasp as you felt his tongue wrap around one of your nipples, Beomgyu's puffy lips sucking on it generously. He swirled his tongue around your nipple, as you lowered your bounce to start grinding on him instead. His teeth grazed you as he bit you softly. You couldn't help but let out a breathy moan, which caused Gyu to remove his mouth from your nipple so he could tell you to be quiet.

"Since you can't keep it down, I'll at least have to muffle the noises you make." Beomgyu pressed his needy lips to yours, and you took the opportunity to start bouncing on his dick again. This time it was Gyu who let a moan slip into your mouth as he gripped your hips. His grasp became commanding as he guided your movements, picking up the speed. You exhaled heavily onto his tongue, lightning waves striking every inch of your body as you felt the buildup in your stomach come back.

You let a soft "Yes" escape your lips. "Like that?" Beomgyu panted. Your only response was a moan, one that was a little bit louder than before.

He broke away from the kiss to throw his head back in pleasure, thrusting into you with more power. His sweaty state caused his hair to look wet now, making him look even sexier to you than he normally does.

The fire in your lower abdomen grew the harder he thrusted, and you moaned softly as you tried to fight it. "Beom.... Im.. Im close" you tried to whisper, but it came out like more of a whine. He replied with a desperate "mm-hmm," signaling that he was ready too. His thrusts got messier as he lifted his head back up to look at you with a flushed face. His eyebrows furrowed as he let out a restrained groan, and his fingers dug into your skin.

Your climax was coming to a high, the electric feeling becoming unbearable. You pressed your lips together and shut your eyes as you focused on each thrust into you, the pressure creating a feeling that felt like an ice cube and a fire were on your center simultaneously. You gasped as you reached your peak, throwing your face into Beomgyu's neck to muffle your moans.

As you did this, he bucked his hips into you one last time with power, hearing a groan of relief fill your ears. You twitched slightly at the warmth that flooded your insides from Beomgyu's pleasure.

You both relaxed and softened your posture, letting go of the tension in your bodies. The only thing you could hear was the pounding of your heartbeats in between your heavy exhales.

You lifted your head back to face him, admiring his sweaty hair and bright puffy lips. You smiled at his messy features, and he planted a soft kiss on your lips.

"You know I love you right?" He whispered in between heavy breaths, chuckling slightly as he moved some hair out of your face.

"I love you too." You grinned. You took another look at the state of him and giggled. "But maybe we should fix you up before we get out of here." He gave you a playful punch to the shoulder, "Hey now, it's your fault isn't it?"

You rolled your eyes with a smile and started to adjust your hair and clothes, giving Beomgyu a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Maybe. But next time, I wont take the blame."

You gave him a loving sigh and grasped his hand, hoping nobody was waiting for their turn outside of the photo booth.

[godsfavdarling]

Velvet & Veils pt.2

Spencer Reid x Original Character (chapter list) wc: 3,8k

From a distance, we could be mistaken for sisters. The same striking eyes, the same dark, cascading hair, round face and pointed nose, although mine seemed a bit more turned up.

"Oh my God..." I breathed, the realization crashing over me like a tidal wave. 

We all looked the same. 

I had always known that Gina and I had similarities, but Naomi too? I hadn’t really looked at her properly before. This was a pattern. And I fit it.

Reid and Prentiss remained silent, their expressions somber as they stared at the photos. Part of me was waiting for them to explain it to me, to rationalize the growing dread, but they just waited, allowing the weight of the realization to settle. 

Finally, I tore my gaze away from the photos and met Agent Reid’s eyes. His face was etched with worry as he looked at mine - a face that could very well be the next victim.

Reid nodded solemnly. "It’s possible there’s a reason why these women share such striking similarities. We need to understand if there’s even more connections."

I nodded, a chill running down my spine as the implications settled over me. This wasn’t just about a missing girl - it was about a disturbing pattern that I was a part of.

"Serial killers often have a type," Reid continued, his voice steady but grave. "It's not unusual for the victims to share similarities. Thankfully, your looks and occupation are quite obvious. Sometimes, the similarities aren’t obvious at all, and we have to dig deeper."

My mind spiraled into a vortex of fear and uncertainty. Had anything strange happened to me recently? Had someone been staring too intently at work or on the metro? Had I always locked my apartment door? What if he was already there, waiting for me? Where did he grab Gina? On her way home? At some bar? Where did he find Naomi? 

It must have been at the club. We were all burlesque dancers. That couldn’t be a coincidence. He was a client. I had seen him. I must have. 

I tried to piece together faces from the club, sifting through the fog of stage lights and music. My heart pounded as I realized the danger wasn't some abstract threat - it was real, it was near, and it was targeting me.

My breath started to quicken, the room closing in around me. I could feel the panic building, each heartbeat louder and faster, thundering in my ears. My vision blurred, and the photographs of Gina and Naomi seemed to swim in front of me. They weren’t just pictures - they were reflections. 

Mirrors of what could happen to me.

The edges of my vision darkened as my chest tightened. My mind raced, thoughts crashing into each other like waves in a storm. 

I couldn’t breathe. 

I couldn’t think. 

What if he was out there right now? Watching me? Waiting for me? 

A faint ringing sound cut through the chaos, but it felt distant, almost unreal. 

My phone. 

It was my phone, but I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t move. The sound grew louder, insistent, but I was paralyzed by the fear gripping me.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me,” Agent Reid's voice broke through, steady and calm. He moved closer, his presence a grounding force. I forced myself to look up, my vision clearing just enough to see him. 

His hair was a fluffy, endearing mess, tousled in a way that suggested he ran his fingers through it often, perhaps in deep thought. It framed his face, softening the intensity of his expression. His eyes - brown like mine but softer, lighter - seemed like they held a depth of understanding and kindness. They were like warm pools of melted milk chocolate, inviting and comforting, a stark contrast to the stormy darkness of my own eyes.

His eyes matched his hair in a harmonious blend, both a gentle brown that seemed to catch and reflect the light in a way that was almost calming. If my eyes were dark chocolate, intense and almost bitter with fear and anxiety, his were the milky counterpart, smooth and soothing, promising safety and reassurance.

As I focused on them, I could feel the warmth emanating from his gaze, a silent promise that he was here to help, that I wasn’t alone in this.

“Breathe,” he said gently, his voice a lifeline. “Just breathe. In and out, slowly.”

I tried to follow his instructions, focusing on his eyes. They were kind, filled with a concern that anchored me. My breaths came in ragged gasps at first, but gradually, they slowed, matching the rhythm of his calm, measured breathing.

“That’s it,” Reid encouraged softly, his voice soothing the raw edges of my panic. “You’re okay. You’re safe here.”

As I regained control, the room came back into focus. The photographs, the files, the sound of my phone still ringing. But most of all, Reid’s steady presence, his calm demeanor helping me piece myself back together. 

He gave me a reassuring smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Better?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. Thank you.”

Reid’s expression was serious but kind. “We’ll figure this out. We’re here to help. You’re not alone in this.”

I didn't even notice when the phone stopped ringing, the insistent sound fading into the background of my panic. 

“Who was that?” Prentiss asked, her voice breaking through the silence. I didn’t have to check.

“My boyfriend,” I replied, my voice shaky but certain.

“How do you know?” she pressed gently.

“He already called a few times,” I said, my fingers twitching towards the phone. “I’ll call back.”

“Do you live together?” Prentiss asked, her tone probing but not unkind.

I wanted to say yes immediately, to cling to that semblance of normalcy and safety. But the truth was heavier, more complicated.

“No,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “No, we don’t.” Not anymore.

Reid and Prentiss exchanged a brief, meaningful glance before Reid spoke up, his tone measured and calming.

“We’re going to give you some phone numbers,” he said, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. “You’ll have our direct lines, and the main FBI contact number as well. If you notice anything unusual, or if you remember more details, call us immediately. No matter how small or insignificant it might seem, it could be important.”

Prentiss nodded in agreement, her expression serious yet reassuring. “We’re here to help you. You’re not alone in this.”

Reid handed me a piece of paper with their numbers neatly written on it. His handwriting was precise and clear, just like his demeanor. “Here’s my number,” he said, pointing to it. “And here’s Prentiss’. Below that is the FBI contact number. Don’t hesitate to use it.”

I took the paper, the texture of it grounding me a little. “Thank you,” I murmured, feeling a bit more secure with these tangible connections to safety.

Prentiss placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to do everything we can to find out what’s going on and keep you safe. Remember, you can reach out at any time.”

I nodded, clutching the paper tightly as if it were a lifeline. “I will,” I promised, my voice steadier now. 

Reid gave me a reassuring smile. “Take care of yourself. We’ll be in touch, and we’ll keep you updated on any progress.”

After Reid and Prentiss left, I took a moment to steady myself before heading downstairs. The air felt heavier as I descended, each step echoing in the silence of my thoughts. When I reached the bottom, I paused to take in the familiar sight of the club.

The room was bathed in dim, ambient light, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Velvet couches and armchairs were arranged in intimate clusters, their deep burgundy fabric inviting yet slightly worn from years of use. Dark mahogany tables were scattered throughout, their surfaces polished to a gleam, each one a silent witness to countless conversations and secrets.

My gaze shifted to the stage, the focal point of the room. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back, revealing the expanse of the platform. It was where I’d performed countless times, where I’d felt the thrill of the spotlight and the rush of the audience’s attention. But tonight, the stage felt different. 

I had to go up there today. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. The show must go on, as they say, but now the stage felt like a battleground. Each step I would take, every move, every glance from the audience would be tinged with a new, unsettling awareness. 

I walked slowly towards the stage, my fingers trailing along the edge of one of the tables. Memories of past performances flickered in my mind. My heart pounded as I reached the steps leading up to the stage. 

Tonight, the performance would be more than just a dance. It would be a mission. He might be here tonight, hidden among the familiar faces in the audience. Watching. Waiting. But I would be watching too. 

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

The club was packed that night, the usual hum of chatter and clinking glasses filling the air. The ambient lighting created an intimate, almost seductive atmosphere, perfect for a night of burlesque. I stood backstage, adjusting the last details of my costume, my mind a whirlwind of nerves and determination.

The music started, a sultry beat that signaled the beginning of my performance. I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage, the bright lights immediately enveloping me. The audience’s applause was loud, enthusiastic, but I barely registered it. My focus was sharper than ever, my senses heightened.

As I moved to the rhythm, my eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of him. I saw the usual patrons, faces I recognized, regulars who came for the show and the ambiance. 

But tonight, everyone was a suspect. Every lingering gaze, every too-intense stare sent a jolt of suspicion through me.

I twirled, the sequins on my costume catching the light, sending sparkles into the dim room. My movements were fluid, practiced, but my mind was elsewhere. 

I saw groups of friends laughing, couples whispering to each other, individuals watching with fascination. I tried to catch every detail, every flicker of recognition, every hint of something out of place.

A man at the back caught my eye - he was alone, his posture slightly tense, his eyes not leaving me for a second. Was it him? I felt a chill, but forced myself to stay composed. I couldn’t jump to conclusions.

Another man, closer to the stage, seemed overly interested, leaning forward, his eyes following my every move. My heart pounded as I danced, my body moving on autopilot while my mind analyzed every face, every reaction. 

Who among them was the one who had hurt Gina and Naomi?

My first routine neared its climax, and I pushed myself to perform with all the grace and allure expected of me. The audience cheered, but my eyes remained vigilant, my gaze sweeping the room one last time. 

As the final notes played and I struck my last pose, I saw him. 

A man near the exit, slipping out quietly, his face half-hidden in shadows. There was something about his demeanor, something that made my instincts scream. I held my pose, a smile plastered on my face, but my mind was racing.

The applause thundered, but all I could think about was that fleeting glimpse, the potential lead.

My heart skipped a beat as he turned briefly, the light catching his features. I knew him. He was one of the regulars. It wasn’t him. He’s been coming to Velvet Nights for years.

Was I losing my mind? 

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

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, still catching my breath from the performance. My face was flushed, a mix of exhilaration and the heat of the stage lights. 

But as I looked closer, it wasn't just my face staring back at me. 

All day, every time I'd caught a glimpse of myself, I'd seen Naomi and Gina. 

And my mom.

The resemblance was uncanny. The same cheekbones, the same full lips. My mom and I had always been mistaken for sisters, especially as I grew older and started to look more like a woman. We were each other's constant comparison that neither of us could escape, even in my own reflection.

I sighed, reaching up to touch my hair, a cascade of dark curls that had been carefully styled before the show. My mom had always joked that my hair was my crown, a fitting complement to her own mane of curls. Gina, with her hair a bit more straight and sleek due to overusing a flat iron, had envied me for it.

Now, looking at myself, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Naomi and Gina were gone, but they haunted me, their faces merging with mine every time I looked in the mirror.

I leaned closer, my breath fogging up the glass. The women’s eyes stared back at me, dark and brown, filled with the same fire and determination that had driven probably all of them all their lives. 

I reached for the makeup remover, the cool cotton pad a welcome relief against my heated skin. 

Julia, another dancer, was in her own mirror, brushing out her long, blonde hair. She glanced over at me, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. 

“That was quite a performance tonight,” she said, her voice warm but tinged with exhaustion. “But you seemed a bit off. Everything okay?”

I sighed, setting down the makeup remover and turning to face her. “Yeah, it’s just… been a rough night. Rough day… days.” I sighed again, running a hand through my hair, feeling the tangles that had formed from hours of performing.

She nodded, leaning against the counter. Her eyes were soft, but there was a glimmer of fatigue. “I know. It’s been kind of crazy lately. But... They are gonna catch him. Or her. Who knows?” She shrugged nonchalantly.

Julia was sweet but... quite unserious. She had this light-hearted demeanor that made her seem almost detached from the grim reality we were living in. People were getting killed, but she acted like it was gossip, like something happening far away that had nothing to do with us. It had everything to do with us. With all of us.

“Besides,” she added, her lips curling into a sly smile, “the FBI got involved, and I'm sure that cute Mr. Agent Doctor is gonna get that psycho.”

“Who?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to follow her train of thought.

“The guy. The cute one who talked to all of us today. There was also this woman. Honestly, I couldn't stop staring at both of them.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.

“You mean Agent Reid?” I said, trying to sound disinterested, but the name brought a faint warmth to my cheeks.

“Yes, Misty. Whatever his name is. The cute one. Don’t you think he’s cute? Seems like a nerd. Not your type, I guess.” She grinned, clearly enjoying this.

“I don’t have a type,” I replied, feeling a bit exasperated. I could feel a blush creeping up my neck.

“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

“I don’t. Besides, you only know Jimmy. That’s the only guy I dated here. And speaking of Jimmy, he’s here to pick me up so I don’t get murdered the second I take a step outside.” My voice dropped slightly, the humor in the statement dark but real.

“I thought you guys broke up,” she said, tilting her head in confusion.

“We did. Bye.” I gave a curt wave, ending the conversation.

I gathered my things, throwing my jacket over my shoulders and slinging my bag over my arm. The back doors creaked as I pushed them open, stepping into the dimly lit alley. 

The cool night air hit my face, a stark contrast to the bright, stuffy dressing room. Jimmy was there, thankfully, leaning against the car door, his familiar silhouette a somewhat comforting sight.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice soft and almost sensual. His eyes devoured me.

“Hey, Jimmy,” I replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as I approached him. His presence was appreciated but I’d rather not be accompanied by him. I’d rather not be at all at this point. Not with my mind only focused on one thing - am I next?

But at least he was here and I couldn’t help but smile, even if just a little, even if we were over, even if he still didn’t wanna let me go.

“How was the show?” Jimmy asked, his voice gentle as he pushed off from the car door.

“It was… fine. Just a bit overwhelming, I guess. Long day.”

He moved to hug me, concern etched on his face. “I’m okay,” I said quickly, raising a hand to stop him, but he still stepped in front of me to open the car door. He was often a bit much, but he was a good guy.

“Thanks,” I murmured, sliding into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind me and walked around to the driver’s side.

As he settled in, he glanced over at me, his eyes searching mine. “You sure you’re alright?”

I nodded, giving him a small smile despite the weight on my chest. “Yeah, just tired. Let’s get out of here. Thanks for picking me up. It’s just… you know.” I trailed off, unsure if I should confide in him.

I wondered if I should tell him what I found out today. He probably didn’t notice. He had a talent for not noticing things. He didn’t know how much danger I could actually be in. But if I told him, he probably wouldn’t leave me tonight, and he’d stay the night, and that’s the last thing I wanted.

“I know. They’re gonna catch him, though. Don’t worry. I’ll pick you up every day,” he said, his voice filled with an earnest promise.

“Thanks.” I looked out the window, the neon lights reflecting off the glass, casting fleeting shadows across our faces.

We drove in silence for a while. The hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city filled the car. The city lights flashed by in a blur, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that made my head spin. 

Suddenly, we were in front of my building. I had to get out onto the pavement and walk up to the third floor. 

He could be there. 

Waiting.

“Well… we’re here,” Jimmy said, his voice pulling me from my thoughts as I sat, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty.

“Could you… maybe... walk me upstairs? Just in case?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, sure! No problem!” he said, his face lighting up with a smile.

“Thanks.” I tried to muster a smile, but it felt forced.

He walked beside me with a smile from ear to ear, his optimism almost frustrating. Did he think I invited him to stay? 

No. 

Maybe. 

He is such an idiot.

“Wait, I’ll get the mail,” I said, detouring to the mailboxes in the lobby. Among the usual bills and flyers, there was a postcard from my grandma. The familiar handwriting made me smile, a small comfort in the midst of all the chaos.

“What’s that?” Jimmy asked, peering over my shoulder with genuine curiosity.

“Postcard. Granny Lucy went to Lake Michigan for a few days.”

“Nice! We always wanted to go! Maybe we should get away from here for a few days,” he said, his eyes lighting up with the idea.

“No. You always wanted to go because you want to do kayaking and some other water sports stuff,” I replied, my tone a bit sharper than intended.

“Yeah! We could get on water! Go into nature! Leave DC while this psycho is on the loose!” he said enthusiastically, missing my point.

“Jimmy, I am not getting in the water. And why are we even talking about this? I'm not going anywhere.” I sighed, feeling the tension rise again.

“Well... if you change your mind, let me know,” he said, still smiling as we walked up the stairs, his optimism almost maddening.

We reached the third floor, and I paused outside my door, fumbling with my keys. The hallway was eerily quiet, every creak of the floorboards magnified in the stillness. 

Jimmy stood close, his presence both comforting and slightly annoying.

“Thanks for walking me up,” I said, finally unlocking the door and glancing back at him.

“No problem. You sure you’re gonna be okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Jimmy.” I tried to sound reassuring, even though my heart was racing.

“Goodnight, Misty,” he replied, lingering for a moment as if wanting to say more. Then he turned and headed back down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

I watched him go, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. I stepped inside, locking the door behind me, and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. The apartment was dark and quiet, the only sound my own breathing. I walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains, watching Jimmy drive away until his taillights disappeared around the corner. 

Finally, I allowed myself to breathe, the tension of the day beginning to melt away.

Then I remembered the postcard still in my hand. I walked over to the small lamp on the side table and switched it on, the warm light illuminating the room. 

The front of the postcard showed a serene view of Lake Michigan, the water a brilliant blue under a cloudless sky. I traced my fingers over the image, longing for that sense of peace. 

Not in a sense of being on or in the water. 

But maybe the water. The lake kind of water. Calmer. Not the ocean I was in right now.

I sat down on the couch, the familiar creak of the old leather offering a small comfort, and turned the postcard over to read it.

On the back, Granny Lucy’s handwriting was a welcome sight, neat and elegant despite her age.

Dear Misty,

Lake Michigan is as beautiful as ever. The water is so clear, you can see straight to the bottom. I wish you could be here with me to enjoy it!

I’ve been thinking about your mama lately. Usually, after the anniversary passes, I let the memory of her rest, but this year I can’t stop thinking about her. Your dad also misses her greatly. He’s been going to church all the time! You should talk to him! He’d be very glad to hear from you!

Love, Granny Lucy

I read the words again, trying to find comfort in her familiar tone. Granny Lucy always had a way of infusing her letters with hope and affection. 

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. 

No, he wouldn’t be glad to hear from me. 

Granny Lucy’s endless optimism was both touching and frustrating. It was cute how she always seemed to think that my decision to distance myself from the family was just a phase, a youthful rebellion that would eventually pass. 

She’d always said the same thing - “It’s just a phase, Misty. You’ll come around.” 

Why would this time be any different?

[mindhowyougo]

and now, for some reason, a coda to... zenana?

The first police on the scene are uniform. They take possession of Thursday's gun and politely suggest he and Morse wait a safe distance from the body of the young woman: somewhere still in plain view but where they were unlikely to interfere with the scene. Thursday thought Morse might protest leaving Violetta, but he goes along without argument, following the direction of the uniform's pointing hand like someone drifting through a dream. He nearly walks into a headstone. He does not react even to Thursday pulling him clear.

Thursday's hand feels emptier after: missing the familiar weight of the gun, perhaps, or the warmth of Morse's elbow, or maybe just purpose.

Next on the scene is a middle-aged inspector in a well-cut coat that can't hide the crooked slouch beneath it. He steps off the police motorboat just moored along the canal, takes a brief glance at Ludo's body newly fetched from the water, and then makes a considerably longer tour of Violetta's beneath the arcade. When he gets to them, he implies with sticky English he might be able to make the gun disappear; Thursday replies in tart Italian he rather expected the gun back. Even rusty, the words are sharp, and the deputy inspector jerks as if pricked.

“As you like,” he sighs, more irritated than embarrassed. In short order they are hauled off and handcuffed.

Morse never says a word.

–

There are many kinds of long nights. Time stretches itself out and sleep doesn't come. Life offers no shortage of reasons for the long dark: fear, boredom. Either way you find yourself waiting for dawn, for an excuse to move and pretend again.

But the nights he always finds hardest to bear are the ones that come after – after whatever it is you would have called the real action. The danger has passed but your guard's not fully down; the world has revealed itself to be other than what it was, and you don't know what will come next. But nothing comes next. Nothing becomes that's it? And before you know it, whatever-it-is becomes just another thing you've survived.

He looks at Morse staring down at his lap as they wait in the police station, and he thinks he sees it all in the hard carve of his mouth, the unnatural stillness of his eyes. He could turn to marble right now and be no less alive.

(Survivor of His Own Mistakes the plaque might read, and one day tourists would come from all over and snap clueless photos; small children would climb over his lap and on his back, tuck their chin over the crown of his head; no one would guess his age or that his hair could look almost reddish in certain light, that his eyes had ever held more heart than some of the flesh and blood around them.)

Thursday speaks to a young man who has the look of a constable about him. Five minutes later a hot mug is delivered into his hands. He takes a cautious sniff and mentally shrugs, for it isn't like there is anything else on hand. Sometimes all one needs is something warm.

“Morse,” he says, and he stands close in front of the man so his feet are in his sightline. He waits for him to look up. Tells himself he'll wait at least thirty seconds before laying a hand on his shoulder. (And a lifetime before tipping his chin like his fingers itch to do.)

He is at only nine seconds when Morse stirrs and glances up.

“Drink this,” he instructs, and shoves the mug into his hands.

Morse passes the mug between his hands, searching for a safe way to hold the scalding ceramic. “What is it?” he asks doubtfully, blinking down into the middling brown contents. Just as well he isn't looking at him and cannot see the relief the sound of his voice brings.

“Best not to question it,” he says; Thursday had asked for tea. “Down the hatch, now.”

Wonder of wonders, Morse obeys: tips his head back and take a healthy belt. When he lowers the mug, his face is set in a faint grimace. Likely unable to muster the sincerity for speech, he merely nods his thanks to Thursday.

Thursday finally sits next to him, and his knees ache faintly from his long vigil.

“How long do you think they'll keep us?” Morse asks quietly. He pinches the mug between his knees and tips his wrist to check his watch.

Two bodies and two foreigners; by all rights, they might never leave. Thursday will have to take his pension from this bench.

“Shouldn't be too long,” he says firmly. “They're contacting Thames Valley to check our identities, and I've called the British consulate here in Venice to keep them apprised of the situation. At the very least, I think they'll feel comfortable releasing us on our recognizance, once they got our statement.”

“That's rather optimistic of you,” says Morse, dubious.

“Well, one of us has to look on the bright side.” And if he was a wincing man, he would've done then. He is spared having to see Morse's reaction by the reappearance of the inspector from the canal, and he stands quickly to draw his attention. Like he might shield Morse from the rest of the world with his body.

–

Their continental counterparts wish to talk to them separately. They want the whole story.

It's nothing he wouldn't demand himself, if he was in their position, but he is in possession of a few important facts. Or maybe just the one – Morse, and how unlikely some of his leaps of logic might seem. Add in the language barrier and he is distinctly leery of letting the other man out of his sight. He's heard things about Italian lockups; the same thing they say about English ones, probably, but with a different syllable stressed on the sneer.

“I should be there,” he tells the chief inspector, a peaceable man who'd introduced himself as Ripamonti. “I'm his superior officer. And I'll need to translate for him.”

Chief Inspector Ripamonti is amused. “Your concern does you credit, Inspector, though I confess it also causes me some confusion – you were the one who shot Mr Talenti, were you not? Yes?” He makes a doubtful sound. “It was your gun, and you have admitted all this already?”

He realizes then that a large part of him still thinks of the situation as being Morse's fault. The law can be bloodyminded sometimes, but thankfully less so than people. It's one of his favorite things about it.

“Morse had nothing to do with it,” he confirmed.

Ripamonti smiles and claps. “Then your Morse shall manage just fine. The interview can be conducted in English. And as this is not a military tribunal, there will be no need for your presence.” His tone is not unkind, and he pauses, thoughtfully looking Thursday up and down, dark eyes lingering over his grey hair, the lines of his face. “You were here during the war, maybe?”

Given the other man's age, there was no way to guess a safe answer. So Thursday sticks with the truth.

“Ah, well,” says Ripamonti, and that's all he says.

[mickey-gomez]

Chapter 9 of Fade Into You

Warnings: Word crimes, thesaurus crimes, soft smut, fluff.

Pairing: Rita/Reader

A/N: Picks up directly after chapter 8. It's a little long sorry. I tried to write it the best way I could to describe what it feels like when you're hopelessly in lust with someone. But it's a little muddled. It wouldn't let me put a chapter title/header in, so idk, I guess it's untitled? Also I strongly dislike the series title, so if anyone has an idea for a new title please let me know.

I have most of this series written in dribs and drabs on a big working doc, but I don't really have a structure, so therefore I don't know how to connect it all yet. Also I don't think I'm very good at writing smut, and it sort of intimidates me. So it's hard to update more frequently because I overthink it and constantly rewrite.

The two of you performed a delicate dance throughout the week, hidden glimpses as you passed one another in the halls, fleeting and restrained touches as you slipped past each other in doorways, lingering looks shared in an office wide meeting.

You caught her gaze once more as you walked past her out of the meeting, walking in the opposite direction, rounding the corner of a dimly lit hallway, the soft glow of the wall sconces illuminating your path, casting shadows as they danced across your features. 

You leant against the wall, nearing the exit, as you waited. And for a brief moment, you considered giving up, with the thought that she hadn’t followed you, or had gotten caught up in conversation, then you saw her out of the corner of your eye. 

You ran your eyes over her as she approached you, her long, warm and rich brown hair cascading down her back, her tailored suit that clung to her in all the right places, and the faint smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. 

“Hi” she said in a low, husky voice, as she stood in front of you. 

“Hi” you replied, your voice a little breathless. 

You both stood there for a moment, your eyes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. You felt a rush of heat spread through your body as you watched her gaze flicker down and then back up again. The attraction between the two of you was undeniable, and it hung in the air like a tangible force. 

“Are you free on Friday evening?” Rita asked, breaking the silence, though her voice still held that seductive tone. 

You nodded, or at least you thought you had, your words momentarily escaping you, before realising you hadn’t actually spoken or given her an answer. “Maybe, why?” you eventually answered.

“Rafa, against my many protests, has organised farewell drinks with some of the other staff at Whiskey Tavern.” 

“That place is so not your scene.” You were right about that part, but you knew Rafael had most likely organised drinks there because it was a block away from the office, it was cheap and a pretty popular bar amongst the young District Attorney’s office staff. Exactly the sort of place that Rita would never be caught dead in.

“I know, but at least they have halfway decent scotch.” She took a step closer, closing some of the distance between you, her fingers brushing against your arm, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Plus you can’t really call yourself a New Yorker unless you’ve made out in their photo booth.” your eyes shone as you said it, and her gaze dropped down to your lips once more. She leaned in, just slightly, as if she was testing the waters. “I’ll see you on Friday” you whispered next to her ear as your cheeks brushed together, and you slid out from between her and the hallway. 

You pushed open the heavy wooden door, the soft ambient hum of conversation greeted you. Warm, dim lights bathed the room, revealing a mess of weathered wooden tables, each one crowded with company, and littered with peanut shells. 

“Got stuck at the precinct, sorry I’m late.” you said brightly as you approached the table.

“Hey!” Rafael’s eyes widened as he greeted you excitedly, standing from the table to embrace you in a friendly, but hasty hug. “Sorry I haven’t had a chance to say hello at the office yet.” 

“Don’t be sorry” you touched his arm and smiled sincerely “So, will we see you at Thanksgiving again this year? You know, to protect Rita from the wolves?” you teased and he grinned, from a mix of liquor and playful amusement. 

“I think my mom would probably beat me senseless, if I missed another year.” 

Across the table, Rita sat relaxed in her chair, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Her hair was pinned back with her natural waves flowing down over her shoulders, and her hazel eyes framed by dark lashes, locked onto you with an intensity that made her almost impossible to ignore. 

Your eyes finally met, and a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you both. The air thickened with anticipation as your gaze held for a moment too long. Rita’s lips curled into a knowing smile, as your heart raced just a little faster. 

You tore your eyes away before it became apparent to everyone at the table that there was palpable tension between you both, saying a quick hello to people you didn’t quite recognise or remember, before offering to buy a round for the table, pointing at everyone one at a time as you memorised their order. 

You settled into the open chair next to Rita’s after you dropped the tray of drinks into the middle of the table, leaving everyone to reach for them, while you and Rita exchanged false pleasantries. Rafael introduced you to the group as you sat, and Rita’s hand moved to your thigh, out of sight, something reserved for the two of you.

The hours melted away as her peers continued to share stories and amusing secrets, while the two of you shared stolen glances, your connection growing stronger with each passing moment. The bar’s dim lights cast shadows on your faces, enhancing the intrigue of the situation. 

And when the conversations seemed to pair off and you found yourself speaking directly to her, your conversation danced on the edge of intimacy as you exchanged stories, lingering touches, and smouldering glances. The playful banter masked your desires, but every word and gesture secretly revealed the simmering passion that threatened to consume both of you.

“Alright” you stood from your seat at the table, “Does anyone have a silver dollar?” you asked, holding your hand out flat and waving your fingers. One of them handed you the dollar out of their pocket, and after a thank you, you turned to Rita and tilted your head towards the opposite end of the bar. “You can’t leave the DA’s office without a memento.” you said with a glimmer in your eye, she knew almost immediately what you were alluding to, and so without hesitation, she followed you with intrigue.

As you both stepped inside the booth, the heavy curtain fell behind you, cocooning you in a private world of dimmed, flickering light. The soft hum of the booth’s machinery enveloped you, drowning out the noise of the crowded bar. 

The camera counted down - three, two, one. The flash illuminated your faces, capturing a moment of shared vulnerability. And as it started to count down once more you both turned your heads, gazes heavy as they fell over one another’s lips, three, two, one. The flash went off and in that moment, you crashed together. 

Your lips were greedy and you could taste the sugar that coated her tongue, a low moan escaped you and your arms wrapped around her shoulders, your fingers threading through her hair as you consumed one another. 

Three, two, one. You both moved together, as the flash went off once more, your hands now scrambling for the others’ body, desperate to feel the touch of skin on skin. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” she whispered against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You swallowed, hard, and nodded in response. With that, you both knew the night had just begun, and the tension that had been building between the two of you was about to ignite into a fiery passion that neither of you wanted to resist, finally feeling free after all these years. 

Rita reached for your hips and you swung your leg over, your knees brushing against the sheets before they met the skin of her thighs, your fingers gripping onto her shoulders as you held yourself upright. She ran her hand along your cheek delicately, and her thumb traced along your lower lip, and as your swollen lips parted, you drew the digit in, encasing it and running your tongue over it. She was powerless not to moan at the sight, and ever so quick in arching her shoulders and craning her neck, exchanging her thumb’s place with her own tongue. 

Rita reached down in between your bodies, her fingers moving through you, and into the pool of desire that awaited her, grinning at the wetness she found. Her thumb curled up to rub with intent over your clit, and you moaned into her mouth.

Your hands joined at the base of the toy, as you both lined it up with your entrance and you slowly sunk down, both of your gazes fixated on the sight of it, and you let out a shallow breath you’d been holding in your throat.  

She felt the exact moment you relaxed and for a moment you were both still, your hips flush, eyes locked on one another. Until Rita gripped your hips and you rose up on your knees, as she drove a little further, a little harder, into you. Your eyes fell closed, and your mouth flew open and you went slack jawed. She shifted her hips slightly, allowing herself to feel the friction at the base of the strap, and the movement caused a loud moan to spill from your throat. 

“Right there” you gasped, your nails raked down her back and she moaned in response, before reaching a hand around to deliver a sharp spank. The feeling of her hands on your skin, the soft contact, your chests pressed together, and breaths and moans fanning over skin, it all promised to overwhelm. 

“Do that again.” you groaned, and instead of acting on your demand, she pinched you suddenly, and roughly on your inner thigh. You let out a high pitched whine and before you could even think to question her, you realised why she had done it. “Do that again, please.” You said slowly and deliberately, and you knew she was smirking, even with your eyes firmly closed. 

You moved your hands, one down to your clit and the other alternated across your chest, pinching and twisting. Her gaze followed your movements and she moaned as she watched you, feeling herself falling closer to the edge. She watched when your breathing started to become more erratic and frantic, and pulled your hand away from your clit, and you let out a loud whine, your eyes flying open, gazing down at her through hooded lids.

“Not yet” she said breathily, and you leaned back down to kiss her, your hands weaving around her neck. The kiss was a mess of teeth with little control or coordination, but it didn’t seem to bother either of you as you chased your peaks together.

She moved two of her fingers down to rub your clit, “Be a good girl and come for me”, and the combination of her words and her movements pushed you over the edge. When you came, your knees tightened against her hips and your back arched, right at the moment you heard her let out an almost feral sound. 

Your tongues slid together lazily as you both came down from your highs, floating back. The room was filled with a serene stillness, a stark contrast to the frenzied passion that had just consumed you both. 

Your hearts continued to race in tandem, gradually slowing down as you basked in the shared intimacy of the moment. You traced your fingertips gently along the curves of her body, your touch mirroring the depth of your own emotions, and everything left unsaid.

She raised her head up to look at you, her eyes filled with a soft, affectionate gaze. But it was fleeting, you noticed the moment she trapped her vulnerability from spilling further, and when the light in her eyes changed.

“Well that was a spectacular farewell.” she smirked and raised her eyebrows, and giggles erupted from both of you. 

“You should quit every day.” and you both laughed

“You wanna go again?” 

“Knees” you said, a mix of sighs and laughter.

Rita understood, and so she gently gripped your hips and shifted you both until you were on your back, with her on top of you, the heels of your feet resting against her back. She pulled all the way out and you groaned a little at the loss, and just as you went to ask for her to come back, she slid back in, with more force this time, and at a more intense pace.

The room was cast in a tranquil hush, the remnants of your night still lingered distantly in the air, the warm sheets and her arms enveloped you. Then the shrill and incessant ringing of your phone shattered the fragile peace, jarring you from your shared cocoon of intimacy. 

You blindly reached for it, feeling around the nightstand until it was in your hand, holding it up to your ear as you whispered in conversation with the detective on the other end. Your voice still carried the remnants of sleep, and their words, a blend of apologies and urgency, rudely awakened you to a new day. Rita kissed your shoulder, as you hung up the phone, and you turned in her embrace to drop a chaste kiss against her lips. 

“I have to go get a warrant” you whispered as you pulled back, and she let out a drowsy sigh in response, nestling into the pillow beneath her head, you smiled as you drank her in. Her tousled hair that spilled across the pillow like a dark river, and her eyelashes that cast delicate shadows on her cheeks. You traced your fingers along the contours of her face, marvelling at the peaceful expression that adorned her lips. 

Reality, however, began to nudge at the edges of your cocoon of affection. Responsibilities beckoned, and the detectives in the world outside were awaiting your arrival. 

“I can feel you staring”, she murmured, stirring as her eyes fluttered open, and a sleepy smile met yours. 

“Can I borrow some clothes?” you hummed, the urgency of time bore down on you, as you tried to savour this precious moment, etching it into your memory. 

“Only if you come back with breakfast” she teased, another smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she fought to repress a yawn, “Bagels.”

You knocked softly on the car window, handing over the warrant to Fin as he wound down the window. “Brought you this as well” you smiled as you extended the coffee tray, he plucked one of the paper cups out with a thank you, as he stepped out of the car, and the two of you leaned against the doors, waiting on the other detectives and officers. 

You looked off into the distance, taking in the city around you as it unveiled its quieter side. The occasional taxi hummed past, its yellow hue a vivid contrast to the still muted palette of dawn. A lone jogger, headphones in place, raced past you both, his feet pounding against the pavement, as if the sound was the slow heartbeat of the city, still in transition from the night’s revelry and the day’s responsibilities. Your mind cast back over the night, and you couldn’t help the involuntary smile that graced your features at the flashes of memories.

“You’re in a good mood.” Fin commented as he watched you, “You get laid last night?” and when you didn’t give him a verbal response, instead glancing down, a soft breath of laughter leaving you and your smile growing wider. He let out a low laugh, “Good for you.”, he commented with genuine candour. “Is it serious?”

“It’s all still relatively new, but it doesn’t feel new.” you reflected “It feels like we were always going to end up here. I don’t quite know how to describe it.” 

“The two of you friends?” he asked, and you nodded softly. 

“I don’t know if we were ever just friends though.” you murmured in thought, losing yourself in the threads of the past. “Sorry, I’m oversharing.” you shook your head, pulling yourself out of your own introspection.

“It’s cool.” he said without hesitation, and with authentic sincerity. “My old partner, back in Narcotics, was a woman. So, you can talk to me, if you want.” he tipped his head over to look at you “You’re part of the squad, we like you, you know? Stabler just has a hard way of showing it.”.

He was trying his hardest, and persisting through his stammering, to form a deeper connection with you. One that extended beyond the surface level of professionality that you all operated with. 

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” You smiled at him, and put your hand on his shoulder for a brief minute, before the moment you were sharing was interrupted with the arrival of squad cars, and that same earlier responsibility beckoned. 

You returned back to Rita’s, letting yourself in with her keys as you juggled the brown paper bags cradled in your arms. You carefully set everything down on the counter, and bent down to remove your shoes. 

Quietly walking down the hall, you ran your hands over the bedroom door, gently prying it open. You watched her for a fleeting moment, the soft rise and fall of her chest, and the peaceful expression on her face as she slept soundly. You hesitated on whether or not to wake her, but before you could make your mind up, she stirred amongst the sheets. 

You walked over to her side of the bed and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, planting a soft kiss there. “Good morning” you whispered, keeping your voice as soft and gentle as the morning light streaming in through the curtains. “Breakfast is on the counter.”

“Where’d you go?” her eyes flickered open, and she rubbed at them, trying to remove the traces of sleep.

“Well first I went Russ & Daughters for the bagels and appetizers, then to Ray’s for beignets, and then I dropped by the newsstand on the corner to get you the paper.”

“Mm thank you” she murmured with a suppressed yawn, she sat up, the sheets pooling around her, as she ran her hands through her dishevelled hair. “Which Judge did you wake up?” 

“Ridenour” 

“I bet he was mad.” her eyes widened just slightly for a moment, and she held back her laughter. 

“That’s… putting it politely.” 

“Judge Taten lives about ten blocks from here, and isn’t as cranky, for future reference. She even puts on coffee, and sometimes she’ll give you pastries.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that four hours ago? I went all the way uptown!” you hit her arm as your face contorted in irritation, and you looked at her with your mouth agape. 

“I was asleep.” she shrugged, but the brief glimpse of a smile gave her away, revealing it was far more likely she had deliberately withheld that information. Presumably for her own amusement at the thought of you uncaffeinated, with a throbbing headache after a night of drinking and sex, being shouted at and scolded while she slept soundly. 

She climbed out of bed, stretching out her arms and rolling the muscles in her neck as she suppressed a yawn. When she walked into her wardrobe, your eyes were glued to the back of her. 

“Follow me” she tied the belt of her robe tighter around her waist, and beckoned you with one finger. 

You did as she commanded and followed her down the hall and into what you presumed was her office, glancing around the room briefly as she unlocked her desk drawer and pulled out a worn leather notebook.

“This is my black book” she closed the drawer and turned back to you, holding the item in both hands, looking at you expectantly. 

“Okay..?” you looked back at her confused, your eyes narrowing and your expression motionless. 

“Let me rephrase.” she smiled as she looked away for a moment, then back to you. “This is a notebook with every sitting judge’s name, phone number, address. As well as the names and phone numbers of their clerks and assistants. There’s also notes under each Judge, their kid’s names, pets, hobbies, political affiliations, and so on.” She raised an eyebrow as she took in your reaction. 

“How did you get this?” your eyes went wide and your mouth opened, almost in disbelief. It was a secret roadmap, one that would help you not only pick and choose which judge to grant you a warrant, but also how to pander to them in court and build up rapport with them; she was giving you the keys to winning. 

“I didn’t ‘get’ it, I made it.” she scoffed “It took me a couple of years which is why-” 

“Gimme” you reached for it, snatching, almost childlike, and she pulled it back, staring at you with a stern but amused expression. 

“-Which is why, I have never ever shared its contents.” 

“But… you’re now going to share it?... With me?” you spoke slowly, tilting your head to the side, trying to ascertain her intentions. 

“You may borrow it for one week, to copy it and to make your own. But you are not to share it with anyone else, and I expect it back this Friday.” She slowly extended it, and right as you reached for it she pulled it back, and you looked back to her. “And you now owe me.” She smirked, knowing you had no choice but to agree to that term. 

“I hardly think that’s fair considering I just brought you breakfast.” you rolled your eyes, and she went to put it back into her desk drawer until you snatched it. “Fine! Fine. I owe you.” 

“And?” she looked at you expectantly. 

“Thank you” you leaned in and kissed her, backing her into the desk. Your hands blindly reached for the tie on her robe, fingers gracelessly undoing the knot. “So this is how you always win.” you teased, whispering against her neck and you heard her scoff loudly before she smacked you. 

“I always win because I’m the best.” she mumbled, her breath catching in her throat as your fingers swept over her stomach, tickling her. 

“Yes, yes you are.” you murmured as you sunk down onto your knees, winking at her as you pulled her leg onto your shoulder. 

Taglist: @storiesofsvu @imlike-so-gay-dude @wannabe-fic-reader @alexusonfire @momlifebehard @annegilletteslostwh0r3 @drduckthief @giftedchildturns40 @holycrapraewth @when-wolves-howl @ladysc @itwasrealtome @fanfictionfangirl04 @upsidedowndanvers @jetaimedarling  @red1culous @daddy-heather-dunbar @svushots

Taglist link here

[kxllsbybill]

BILL PAGE. twenty-six. watcher. former police officer.

bio / starters / photos / answers

— Moans and groans fill the night sky, blunt nails scratch along the smooth surface of a car caught amidst a horde of infected. Screams from inside barely carry, they can barely be heard in the distance. But what's that in the distance? Is that ARCHIE RENAUX? No way, that's BILL PAGE. The 24 year old MALE (HE/HIM) used to be a POLICE OFFICER. Since the outbreak, they've proven to be SUBSERVIENT & EFFECTIVE, but rumor has it they're also RUTHLESS & CYNICAL, which may pose a risk to the group. They appear to have taken the WATCHER role within the group. Only time can tell if they succeed.

BASIC INFO

full name — william robert page age — twenty-four gender — cis male, (he/ him/ his pronouns) orientation — homosexual occupation — former police officer role in the group — watcher preferred weapon — remington 700 clothing style/ armor — light clothing that allows mobility, no armor

PHYSICAL INFO

face claim — archie renaux hair — brown / eyes — brown height — 6'1 build — ectomorph scars — a couple of gunshot scars in his shoulder and leg, scratches on his waist and legs. tattoos — none. piercings — none. special characteristics — he's the runner type, can take a hit and still get back up sexual preference — switch

PERSONALITY

alignment — lawful neutral positive traits — effective, loyal, brave negative traits — ruthless, cynical hobbies — keeps a journal with him and a tab for his zombie kills.

MEDICAL INFO

mental — ptsd physical — none phobias — fear of hordes, rats, winged animals eyesight — 20/20 dominant hand — right hand drug use — before the outbreak alcohol use — when he gets the chance diet — whatever's available, hates canned food

BACKGROUND

birthplace — unknown parents — unknown siblings — unknown education — high school graduate notable skills — a great shot, disciplined, a good climber and swimmer, decent deescalator, barber, good cook.

the calm before.

xx. never knew his parents or where he comes from, his first memories come from being raised in an all male catholic children's home. xx. ran away at the age of 16 doing cheap labor to sustain himself till he was old enough to join the police force. xx. kept in touch with some of his brothers from the home, helped out some of them offering housing and food as much as he could. xx. has been shot a couple of times, nothing too severe other than the scars left on his shoulder and scratches on his waist and arms. xx. not one to keep a partner for long, fooled around often. xx. has let go of smaller rascals he knows are out of luck in the streets but inoffensive in the larger scheme of things. xx. a great shot though never fired his gun at someone else, other than warning shots.

the storm.

xx. was in the front lines when it happened, and stayed behind to free everyone held up in his precint once everybody else left. xx. first couple of weeks he patrolled the streets looking to help out others in need, but more than enough close calls pushed him to seek refuge himself. xx. works well with others and holds on to the feeling of a community but has no leadership skills. needs someone else to make the call for him to follow. xx. never hesitates to snatch a beer or a bottle of liquor when he has the chance. he misses the feeling of getting drunk. xx. is still freightened about the undead but that fear prompts him to take action, he doesn't take any chances with them, one can be as dangerous as a group of them. xx. while he isn't religious per se, he believes the outbreak was the beginning of the end. he doesn't hope for a better tomorrow or for things to go back to normal, he's just afraid of dying. xx. keeping watch gives him a sense of purpose, so he never shies from taking a double shift if that means helping in keeping that building and everyone in it safe. also he doesn't have to be in the front lines anymore.

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - a Baldurs Gate fanfiction - part 3

Chapter 15 - the end of a new beginning {this is the end of “Heart of the Weave” for now but stay tuned for a new part!}

The past several days have only brought us a serene life thankfully. I decided to hide the photos and letter my mom sent me over a month ago rather than burn it. I can at least look at the happy times between my mother and Gortash, back before he worshiped Bane. I no longer feel sadness from the events that have occurred thankfully, and I’m welcoming every positive feeling that greets me.

Today, we’re all spending the day at the beach. I love how it’s walking distance from our tower, so we can enjoy the sunlight as we stroll to the crystal waters that practically lives in our backyard. Shadowheart and Astarion come with, which is so nice because I haven’t seen either of them in ages!

Astarion takes Asher into the shallow waters, while Gale introduces Jenevelle to the beauty of the placid ocean. She loves baths, so I imagine she will be quite fond of the sea. The guys are talking and smiling, exchanging some sort of conversation. Whatever it’s about, they both seem heavily engaged in it. I love seeing them be best friends; who would have thought? When we all first met, they didn’t exactly like each other. Shadowheart and I lie underneath the blazing sun, getting a tan and a small break from the babies.

“I’m so glad we’re all hanging out again. Astarion needed some guy time, and I missed you like crazy,” she comments as she takes a swig of her lemonade.

“I missed you too. I was worried we would drift apart or something. Gods, it feels so nice to be living in peace for once without any burdens. I can finally get back to life again.” Shadowheart chuckles as she lies there, absorbing the energies of the sun. She knows how much we went through.

“I imagine. I’m thankful you’ve found peace.” As we converse and catch up on life, disregarding any horrible past experiences, I hear a familiar voice.

“Emmy!” Rolan. I can separate that voice from anyone else’s immediately. Shadowheart and I turn our heads to see him approach us. I wonder why he’s been in Waterdeep so much lately?

“Whoa, hey Rolan!” I cheer, a smile lighting up my face.

“Wow, you both brought your families today. How have you been?”

“Not too bad honestly! Say, what are you doing in Waterdeep? Did you move here? I feel like I’ve seen you a lot here lately.” He takes a sip from his wine glass.

“I actually got a job at the Academy, I’ll be Gale’s new assistant. Cal and Lia are watching the tower for me while I’m gone. I’ll eventually open up my own school or become a professor down the road, whichever comes first. I figured I could learn a thing or two from your intelligent husband.” Shadowheart and I both smile with pure intensity, thrilled at this news. This could mean another friend to add to our circle, or someone to discuss magic with for Gale’s sake.

“Rolan! That’s amazing!”

“Yeah, congrats! You’re going to accomplish everything you’ve ever wanted. I just know it,” Shadowheart adds. He smiles, revealing his cheek dimples. He has worked so hard to get where he is now, and he still has so much to look forward to.

“Why thank you, my dear friends. And I must say, I’m proud of you all as well. It seems you both have an incredibly happy family. After everything, you deserve it.” Shadowheart and I smile, exchanging glances and then look back at Rolan. We have come such a long way in three years. Wow… It’s hard to believe nearly four years ago, I found myself abandoned from a nautiloid crash.

“Thank you Rolan. Life is pretty peachy, if I do say so myself.” I admire my handsome husband who is playing with our infant in the water. She seems to really be enjoying herself thankfully, and nothing makes me happier than seeing my two favorite people enjoying themselves. Gale turns to face me, passing a smile with his perceptive and glistening chocolate brown eyes as he holds Jenevelle close to his chest. I mouth the words I love you to him as our eyes hold contact with one another. I couldn’t ask for a better life despite the insane circumstances.

[sravtheshark]

Network Pt.2

Part 1:

Dr.Hethen first noticed the smell, even before the door was opened. He doubted he smelled any better though. Dr.Jeev opened it fully, and stepped into his lab and rushed to his desk in a desparate attempt to clean his desk before his guest. Hethen doubted there was any physicist -or scientist for that matter- whose desk wasn't a mess right now.

Hethen looked around the room, taking it all in. Random papers and chinese takout covered every inch of every surface. He picked up a family photo of Jeev and placed it carefully back on the desk. Jeev cleared out the desk and stuffed everything into the overflowing trash. "Sorry for the mess", he sheepishly aplogised. "No problem, you should see mine," Hethen responded.

For the past week, no one had left their rooms, except for the occasional bathroom breaks. Jeev had talked from scientists from over 30 different countries in the past week, each more confused and frustrated and sleep deprived than the one before. Everyone was desparate for answers.

Jeev hurried to his coffee kettle and poured two mugs and handed one to Hethen. Hethen took a sip of his and studied Jeev. His brown hair was a mess and eyes looked bloodshot with dark circles. But he could feel a glint of excitement beneath them. Hethen put down his mug, "so you had something to show me ?"

"Oh yes," Jeev exclaimed and rush to the whiteboard. "I got access to the Theta Lab SuperComputer for the past day." Hethen was surprised. Every top scientist was fighting for every supercomputer that existed for the past week. Jeev must have presented something good. Jeev excietedly picked up papers and thrust it into Hethen's hand. Hethen studied them carefully.

"... what is this ?"

"Admitedly, approximations," Jeev replied. "But I think I successfully extrapolated the entire structure."

"How ?" Hethen ruffled through the papers. The distance scales were in millions of light years. The numbers were ridiculous. And in his mind, Jeev's claim was even more dubious.

"Machine learning and neurological common sense," Jeev said. "Again, I know it's not accurate, but it's pretty much as close as we can get."

"Jeev, if this numbers are even close to being accurate... this structure, this brain... It's almost a hundred billion light years in size."

Jeev nodded. "It is."

"What sort of creature would need a brain of this size ?"

"God ?"

Hethen slapped the papers on the desk and sat down on the ground, exhausted. "God ?"

Jeev shook his head. "I don't know. This size. It's beyond our wildest imaginations. Its beyond our maths, physics, science."

"So you turned to philosophy and theism ?"

Jeev laughed and sat down beside Hethen. "Hey, a man needs answers. And nobody has anything good so far."

"Fair."

Both men sat in silence for some time, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. It all seemed so inconceivable, so much beyond them. A secret humans were never supposed to know, much less understand. It was a Lovecraft story, come to life.

"Are you gonna publish soon ?" Hethen asked.

Jeev took a sniff of himself. "I need a shower before." Hethen chuckled.

"Are you scared ?" Jeev asked suddenly.

Hethen turned to him and thought. "Scared ? Maybe. Intrigued more. Why ?"

"Cause I keep thinking... this neural network, brain, whatever you want to call it is obviously thinking. And judging by its size, it may even have a conscious."

"So ?"

"Well... if all it does is think, its not very much frightening. Awesome, yes. But not scary. But what if it acts. But what if.. it's an actual organism, creature of that size, scale and omniscience ? What are we before it ?"

"I think you read one too many of those Aristotle wannabe articles."

Jeev didn't laugh. "It could kill us all if it wanted."

"I like to think such a huge thing would rather do a hundred more things than go after a bunch of puny apes," Hethen replied.

Jeev stared straight ahead. "Somehow... thats even more terrifying."

[ikiyou]

📝

Sorry for the delay, when I received this I was still traveling and all my wips were on my computer at home 😅

Soooo I was looking through my WIP files and I have SO MANY. And some were broken snippets that would have been good if ONLY I spent the time to give them more words. So it was really hard to find, BUT. I have, so for the price of one, you get TWO:

Spirited Away AU:

“What do you think I should do?” Chuuya asks the shadowlings.  They waver and skitter apart, and spit feelings of warmth and uncertainty.  He chuckles.  “Yeah, I think he’s cute too.  His hair is so fluffy, and it’s nothing like anything in the forest.  His eyes are browner than…..” Chuuya’s face scrunches as he tries to find words.  “They’re like the forest inside the cold lake in summer.  So brown but so deep.  So cold, but the sun makes it warm.”  Chuuya sighs.  “But he’s so different.  He’s different from the People.  He’s different from me.  I don’t know what to do.”  He stares down at the shining window from the underneath the eaves.  The shadows swarm over him with a restrictive hug, but it doesn’t feel so restrictive to Chuuya. 

..................

“I like your eyes.  They’re like the forest in the lake.”

Dazai looks at Chuuya with a raised brow.  Chuuya hisses and stamps his foot.  He stomps over to the writing desk where he grabs the photograph of the other men and Dazai in the forest and brings it back to the mirror.  Pointing it towards the mirror, he glares at Dazai expectantly. 

Dazai looks over Chuuya’s shoulder into the mirror.  “…my eyes are like the reflection of trees?”

Chuuya huffs and drops his hand holding the photo.

Dazai chuckles and grabs Chuuya’s hands pulling him close.  “Thank you.  I like your eyes too, they remind me of the ocean under a summer sky at the seaside, the changing light that refracts through the capricious waves and can’t seem to sit still, deep blue and aquamarine and teal, and it can never make up its mind.”

Chuuya’s eyes widen, a gasp slips from his lips, and his cheeks begin to redden.  His face feels warm and he wonders how words can change the temperature of things.  Maybe it has something to do with Dazai’s warm eyes.

“I don’t know half the words,” he grunts.  “But thank you.”

“I want to give you a kiss.” 

A kiss.  The word rings feelings inside Chuuya, but he doesn’t know what it is.  He half remembers shared gazes and hand holds, smiles and warm feelings between people he barely remembers.  He shrugs.  “Okay.”  Chuuya looks at Dazai.  When Dazai doesn’t make a move to approach him, he holds out his cupped hands expectantly. 

Dazai’s gaze rises to the ceiling and he nearly dies inside.  “Oh, Chibi.”  He breaches the distance between them and takes Chuuya’s cupped hands in his, raises them to his mouth, and presses his lips to Chuuya’s palms.  At the soft touch of Dazai’s lips, a shiver runs through Chuuya like a spark of electricity.  “Keep it safe for me.”  Dazai glances up into Chuuya’s eyes and folds Chuuya’s hands closed around the kiss.

Little Mermaid vers 2 (I have a vers 1 currently in the works which is entirely different):

Chuuya reached out his arm, beseechingly.  Help me, he seemed to be saying.  Dazai felt a twinge of concern flow through him, and hopped down to the rocks without another word.  Chuuya didn’t seem to be pretending.  The detective grabbed Chuuya’s arm, and Chuuya locked his hands around Dazai’s.  Dazai pulled upwards and grunted.  “Have you put on weight, Chuuuya?”  He muscled Chuuya upwards onto the rocks, and then, a green fin flipped upwards out of the water.

“Holy,” Dazai breathed, letting go and stumbling backwards into the cliff face, eyes wide.  “What happened to you?”

Chuuya sat on the rocks, and where his legs used to be, a scaled lower half dipping down into the lapping tide, rising back up as a large, translucent fin.  He looked down, seemingly ashamed, before he glanced back up and made eye contact, brows pinched in distress, and gestured to his throat.

“You can’t speak?”

Chuuya shook his head.  No, he mouthed, and clenched his fist in frustration.

Dazai sat there for a moment, quietly observing Chuuya.  His ex-partner lay hunched over his fin – tail – flipper? head down, and picked at the sand grains and moss encrusting the rock he sat on.  His tail flicked quietly in the water, the sun catching the fin just right and dancing through it to cast a green tint among the rocks and breakers.  It was really quite lovely.  Chuuya was really quite lovely, with his orange hair and green tail, and-

“Alright then!”  Dazai stood up abruptly.  Chuuya looked up, startled.  “It’s clearly the work of an Ability user, we’ll just have to find out who it is, and get you back to normal!”

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The tears sliding down your face are involuntary. Like when a baby receives a shock they can’t quite understand. Your insides are yawning like when you take the first step off a skyscraper. It’s not fear – why be afraid when you can fly? – but it’s close. Like dread and helplessness, and deep down in your soul something whispers this can’t be happening.

You are the last one in the locker room. The red benches and teal cubbies where your team stores their gears are drenched in muted shadow. The TV stationed in the corner by the door is soundless. The light that flickers from it hurts your wet eyes, but you can’t look away.

They’re finally reporting on it.

Silver Arrow, dead at 35.

Fuck. Fuck.

It hurts worse than hearing it from your hero team leader, Omit. He’d said it off-handedly, like gossip around a water cooler. The team in Atlanta killed another villain. They’ll likely move our audits up now.

You didn’t recognize your own voice. Who?

Silver Arrow.

And the team didn’t notice when you froze on the bench, not following them up and out to post-training dinner. You can do that, even to someone like Omit whose power allows him to erase objects from perception. You go still and silent until the color of the room seeps into your aura and you become invisible. A bird in the bush.

You suck in a deep, wet breath through your mouth. Your chest expands and your eyes are so hot they hurt nearly as much as your throat. Your body is in crisis, but you can’t react. You feel it shudder and shake around you.

The news program cuts back from commercial.

They choose the shitty photos. The 2015 rendition of his costume where he was trying to reference the old hero comics. Underwear on the outside. The only benefit to it is that the bright red brings out the blush in his skin so that he looks like a cherry tomato topped by wheat-colored hair. The fan art from that era had made for a great Christmas gift.

Silver Arrow was initially a hero. In 2020, after the Atlanta’s team victory over Swamp Woman, he mysteriously defected. Only a rookie then, Silver Arrow was not anticipated to be an equal foe to the Atlanta team. However, his power of generating and shooting bolts of electricity seemed to grow after leaving behind his hero mantle. He quickly became one of the East Coast’s most prolific supervillains, assassinating prominent members of society including Hero Navarre—

This is your brother’s legacy. Back when you started together, it had always been both of your legacy you imagined. But Hero Force doesn’t put siblings together and you’d had to make your peace with it. Chicago needed a flier and Flare was born.

Atlanta needed a distance fighter and Silver Arrow was assigned.

So it is his legacy they’re talking about as each new photo of his victims flashes across the screen.

Victims.

The news is calling it an accident (don’t they always?). You know the truth. Brennan died in Atlanta, home of his former teammates. He died crushed under a building he would have been on top of.

You stand up. The room spins and your first step is more of a stagger, like a knight limping out of the arena. You feel wounded. It takes effort to pull your dragonfly wings up and back so that you can fit through the door.

You have paid leave. Brennan never wanted you to visit, convinced that you were doing the most good as a hero, even as he became the world’s villain.You have two months of vacation time. You draft an email to Omit.

Sorry, sir, but a personal issue has come up and I need to take some time off. I—

Omit is standing at the side of your car. He’s not in costume which is against Hero Force policy in the parking structure of HQ. His brown hair is so wet that it’s dripping onto the shoulders of his rather ratty looking sweatshirt. He’s wearing crocs which are definitely not part of his uniform. There’s a wild look in his deep set eyes and his shoulders collapse in relief when he sees you standing there.

His work phone is clutched in his hand.

“Sir,” you say. You’re surprised by how normal your voice sounds. It should echo inside the cavern that’s opened in your chest. “Did you forget somethi—”

Your voice dies as, wordlessly, Omit turns his phone towards you.

“Hero Force normally doesn’t release the civilian identities of villains,” Omit says. His words are short and clipped. “However, considering Silver Arrow’s past as a hero, it was deemed necessary. So that team leaders could help counsel any heroes who used to work with him.”

You’re silent, studying the photo. Brennan is so young in it, his thin face like yours. His brown eyes are bright in the studio light and he seems like he’ll break out into a grin at any moment.

“I need leave, sir,” you say. You’re hoarse now and you can’t gather enough moisture in your mouth to clear your throat. “I have the hours.”

Already you can hear Omit’s next questions. Did you work with him? Did you know him? Why didn’t you tell me? And he’ll try to stop you. Like a good hero, he’ll detain you for questioning and to test your loyalty to Hero Force. He’ll--

“Did you work with Silver Arrow?” Omit asks.

They wouldn’t let us, even though our last names are different. “No.”

Omit nods like he expected it. Then, like you expected, he asks, “Was Silver Arrow your brother?”

Was?

The past tense is jarring. Despite knowing that this was coming, you can’t control your reaction. A tornado rips through your head.

“He is my brother,” you snap. Your wings flick out and shiver, sending rainbows of light across the ground as the harsh illumination of the parking garage spills through the iridescent membranes. “He’s dead but he’s still my brother—"

Omit crushes you in a hug. He’s been your team leader for five years now and though you aren’t friends, you are close. He knows how to hug you without crushing the delicate membranes of your wings.

“I’m sorry,” he says into the side of your neck. “I’m so sorry you found out this way.”

It’s so like Omit to apologize. You thought you were done crying but tears spill as if they were waiting. He’s going to stop you but the comfort feels like the only reason you’re not collapsing in on yourself right now.

“They used the stupid pictures,” you sob. You cling to Omit. “They should have used ones where he’s wearing his new suit. Those looked so much cooler.”

You’re babbling nonsense. Omit hugs you through it all, not seeming to mind when his sweatshirt grows wetter from your tears than his wet hair. He must’ve seen the photo when he was at home and come straight here. Not because you’re a security risk like you’d feared.

He came straight here out of the shower because he was worried about you.

The realization makes a new round of sobs start. You don’t realize you’re saying your thoughts out loud until Omit shushes you.

“Of course, I came back,” Omit says. He strokes your hair, expertly avoiding pulling on your mask ties. “I would never want you to go through this alone.”

“I have to,” you say. You pull away from him and scrub your face with your uniform shirt. The billowy top that allows your wings out makes for a great handkerchief. “I—they did this to him.”

“What?”

You take another step back and swallow. Omit doesn’t know. The news called your brother’s defection mysterious. You know Hero Force thinks the same. “The Atlanta team killed my brother. I can’t let them live.”

Omit rears back. “Flare, you’re not a killer. You don’t know what you’re saying. It was an accident.”

Each sentence feels like an excuse he thought of on the spot. “It wasn’t.”

Omit’s eyes search you. “You’re serious.”

You nod.

“…your brother was a villain,” Omit says finally. His words are gentle but they feel like a blow anyway. “There are…risks. For us too. Both sides risk dying in the types of fights we get into—”

“He knows their secret,” you blurt out. You feel like crying when you force yourself to say, “He knew their secret. My brother was a villain, but it was— Hero Force was never going to prosecute for it. Brennan did what he thought was right.”

“By killing people.”

“By saving people,” you snarl. You think of Hero Navarre, Brennan’s first victim and your lip trembles. “N-not the right way. Not like we do. He saved them the way he thought best.”

Omit is silent for a long moment. The silence of the parking garage is suffocating as your hero leader thinks. You really don’t want to fight him. Omit is only considered a C-rank hero, but you think that’s only because intelligence doesn’t factor into the ranking. He may only be able to disappear one object from your perception, but not being one hundred percent aware in a fight can be lethal.

You’ve seen villains fail to dodge Zone’s ice bullets because Omit made sure they never saw them coming.

“Tell me,” Omit finally says. His eyes dart around the parking garage, lingering on the two or three Hero Force personnel cars still in the lot. He unlocks your car (see? You don’t even remember when your keys left your hand) and gets into the driver’s seat. “Come on. We’ll talk at my place.”

“I can drive,” you protest weakly.

“Your brother died and you’re talking about killing heroes,” Omit says flatly. “You’re in crisis. I’ll drive.”

You don’t protest anymore. You close your eyes as Omit pulls out of the parking structure and into the Chicago streets. Sick relief is rolling through you. Omit is willing to listen.

------.

The story you have to tell is a bad one. Omit patiently waits for you to start, tending to a kettle on the stove as you think.

His apartment is a lot nicer than you expected. It’s modern and clean. Minimalistic. You wonder if there’s anything in here he’s blocking you from seeing. You wonder if, after this conversation, you’ll be enemies.

Omit is the one who has to break the silence. “Tell me about Brennan.”

Your breath releases. That’s an easy one. “We’re twins. We did everything together until my wings came in.” You frown. “I was sent away after that. Adopted into a new family.”

“To one of Hero Force’s sanctuary towns, right?” Omit asks. His eyes flick to your dragonfly wings. Kids with obvious physical powers were often sent away by parents ill-equipped to handle them. “Your brother didn’t go with you?”

“His powers came in later and were easier to hide,” you say. Your chest warms at the memory. “He fought my bio parents hard when the agents came to pick me up. He didn’t have his powers then otherwise things might have ended differently. We wrote each other every week and called as often as we could. He was my best friend.” Your voice cracks when you realize what you’ve said. “How can he still be my brother but not my best friend?”

Omit hands you a cup of tea. It smells warm and fragrant, but you don’t drink it. At best, the new liquid will hydrate you enough to get you crying again. At worst, Omit has already judged you to be a security concern and drugged it.

You tell Omit about Brennan. Brennan’s sense of justice often got him in trouble at school. He electrocuted the quarterback for making a girl on the debate team cry and the kid couldn’t play that night’s game. Brennan took his three months of detention with ill grace. You sent him a copy of the Breakfast Club for his birthday and Christmas that year.

“I wanted to be a hero first,” you confess. You gesture to your wings. “I didn’t see a future for myself outside of that. In the sanctuary town, it felt like you had only two options. Hero or villain. Three options if you counted freak.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve talked to Omit about it. With his power, he’s erased your wings from public perception, giving you the experience of walking around normally. Still, like always, he shows sympathy. “That must have been hard.”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “Brennan didn’t like that either. But he became a hero with me. We got to go to the academy together, but after that…Atlanta already had three fliers between Ibis, Dove and Dirigible. They didn’t need me.”

Omit leans forward when Atlanta comes up. “Nobody you just named is part of the Atlanta team now. Ibis is dead, Dove is MIA, and Dirigible is retired.”

You hear his unspoken question. So why are you convinced they killed him if they aren’t part of the team any longer? You grin without humor. “Atlanta is big, Omit, and it’s a training hub for new heroes. Some of them are from back then. Some of them must’ve known.”

“Known what?”

“I’m getting there.” You do take a sip. If it’s drugged, it’s a delicious drug and it soothes the ache in your throat. “In 2019, my brother and I were assigned hero teams. We weren’t on the team, not yet. We were part of our respective team’s B team. You weren’t here when that system was in place. Think of it like interning.”

As always, Omit gets a strange look in his eye when you remind him you’ve been a hero longer than him. “Right.”

“In 2020, Atlanta HQ was breached,” you continue. Your words come more slowly now. Brennan swore you to secrecy and telling his story feels like taboo. “Synthesis and Marshwoman—”

“Synthesis?” Omit interrupts. He blinks quickly. “Sorry to interrupt, but he broke into an HQ? I know every S-rank villain file and that’s not in his.”

“Hero Force made the call to hide what happened in Atlanta,” you say. “If you want to jump to the end of the story, that’s it. Hero Force hid the truth and my brother wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Sorry.” Omit makes a gesture for you to continue.

You breathe in through your nose. “Synthesis made a deal with Marshwoman. She used her powers to make a tunnel under Atlanta HQ and gave him access to restricted files. They locked down the intern wing, preventing them from escaping to help the main fighting force. Between Synthesis and Marshwoman, they didn’t stand a chance. From what my brother told me, they had Ibis, Dirigible, Dove and MindSweep in a cage and he gave Marshwoman the key. He also gave her bombs scattered across the city, a detonator and a wish.” Your mouth twists. “He also gave her a hostage to use against the heroes.”

“Oh no,” Omit says and rubs a hand over his face. He sits in the armchair next to her. “Fuck.”

No shit. “It took weeks for my brother to find out what happened. At first it looked like the heroes prevailed, like always. Two bombs went off under near empty buildings, but they were able to prevent the detonation of twenty-two more in the city center. The hostage died attempting to escape once the heroes engaged Marshwoman. Crushed by falling rubble. He was one of eight casualties in an incident that could have caused thousands of deaths.”

“This should be in Synthesis’ file,” Omit says.

“That version, sure,” you agree. “The real story would look a bit worse for the heroes. Two weeks after the incident, Brennan was patrolling the wetlands around Atlanta. His partner was sick with a stomach bug and so it was just him. His first patrol after being held captive in HQ. He knew it was important to show the city a strong image after the breach, so he went without a partner.

“He found Marshwoman bleeding out. When he asked her who had done this to her, she said that Ibis did. She said that’s not all the heroes did.”

Omit licks his lips. “Villains lie.”

“She said that she used her last wish from Synthesis to put a kill switch to the bombs in the hostage’s chest. She gave the hostage the key and told him he had a choice. He could either give the key to the heroes and hope they didn’t rip his chest open to get to the kill switch, or he could keep the key and let Atlanta blow up. Then she left.

“She said it didn’t take long for the detonator to stop working.”

Omit stares. “You’re saying that the Atlanta heroes killed an innocent to get to the kill switch.”

“Ripped him open,” you specify. You settle back into the couch and watch Omit. The horror of it is inescapable. What was one life against thousands? What about when a hero had to take that life themselves? “Didn’t even call the Morality Hotline.”

“Hero Force would have investigated,” Omit says. His expression is complicated, but his tone isn’t. He’s begging you to agree with him. “They investigated and found that it was n-necessary loss of life. Or that it was really an accident.”

“They didn’t investigate because the Atlanta team never reported the full extent of what happened,” you say patiently. “Instead of reporting it, Hero Ibis chased Marshwoman down and gutted her, leaving her to die in the mud. She survived for two weeks because of her powers. She died shortly after telling my brother the truth.”

Omit is a traditional hero. He saves lives and doesn’t ever deal the final blow. When he thinks he’s done something wrong, he turns himself over to investigative authorities without question.

“They killed the witness,” Omit says. A spark enters his eyes. “They played judge, jury, and executioner.”

“My brother didn’t defect,” you say. Your chin raises and you’re surprised by how liberating it is to tell Brennan’s truth. “He was a hero. Ibis and Dirigible chased him out and slandered him to Hero Force so no one would ever believe him. He took matters into his own hands.”

“He killed any hero who made the same choice they did,” Omit realizes. He shakes his head. “He killed people. That’s not justice, Flare.”

“Maybe the wrong sort of hero,” you say quietly. You, after all, never followed your brother to the villain side for a reason. “He didn’t deserve to die at the hands of heroes who should’ve done better.”

The hour is late now. Omit’s living room is filled with warm light but the hallway to the rest of the house is abyssal dark. You find yourself staring down it as you wait for Omit’s decision.

“We still don’t know if the Atlanta team killed your brother,” Omit says finally. His words feel like a death knell. Quietly, you draw your wings up and back in preparation for a fight. His sudden gaze freezes you in place. “But, regardless, they need to be investigated. We need to go to Atlanta to find out what really happened to your brother.”

You hold your breath. “We?”

“We do things properly,” Omit says. He rises and looks down at you. “You’re better than a killer, Flare. You’re a hero. We do this for the right reasons. Justice for all those years ago and justice for your brother now.”

A part of you rebels. Your twin is dead and justice seems like a silly concept when half your soul is missing. But Omit is reaching a hand out to you now, his eyes warm and kind, and you can’t look away. Maybe…maybe this will heal you too.

“Justice,” you say quietly and let him pull you up into another hug.

 Maybe you’re more like Brennan than you thought. Because as Omit sets you up in his guest room, promising you that you’ll both make arrangements to go to Atlanta tomorrow, a thought forms and grows.

If Hero Force justice fails, it will be my justice that’s enforced.

And the thought helps you sleep through the first night of Brennan’s death.

----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to support me or would like to see works like this a week early, please check out my Patreon (X)!

Next week's story is already posted:

Based on this prompt (X) : You never knew your birth parents, growing up across the country in orphanages. While alone you learned to cook and shared your meals across the world, eventually owning your own business. One day you suddenly find out what your parents were. They were Fae… you’ve fed thousands Fae Food.

Summary: You are a culinary titan. You are also fae. These two facts make for an interesting recipe.

You and your twin are opposites in this world of heroes and villains. One a villain, another a hero. You just heard one of your colleagues talk about how they killed your twin.

[joylinda-hawks]

There are photos of ZZH that always bring a smile to your face when you look at them. Many of these photos are taken by ZZH himself. Today I made this choice. A selfie taken while preparing for a photo shoot (I think). ZZH, sitting in an armchair and waiting for the hairdresser to style his hair, decided to take a few photos. I don't think he's wearing any makeup, there's some slight stubble above his mouth. I like photos of ZZH with close-ups of his face, and I like photos without a filter even more because then you can clearly see his beautiful complexion. Here in the photo, ZZH has a partially prepared hairstyle, the slightly curled hair is intended to serve as a base for further work by the hairdresser. Thanks to this close-up and lighting, we see that ZZH has dark brown hair that shimmers with different shades of brown in the light. Apart from his hair, which is the first thing that attracts attention, it is impossible not to notice his eyes, large, dark hazel with an intense look. Additionally, thick eyebrows and pursed lips are waiting for styling, which suggests that ZZH doesn't really like what he sees in the mirror. But the tips of his mouth are slightly raised, showing that he's having a hard time holding back his laughter. By taking such photos, ZZH shows that he has a lot of distance towards himself, he is not a pompous, inaccessible and cold star who treats his fans with disrespect. This is real ZZH.

[eaaaazygurl]

Of Horses and Men

Synopsis - Weeks have passed since Bodecia's passing. Arthur Morgan, now mountless, has been borrowing the gang's horses from Taima to your own ever since. Having just escaped the perils of Colter's chill and making anew at Horseshoe Overlook, you can't help but remember the beautiful white mare you had crossed whilst out on the hunt up in the mountains. Perhaps the perfect mount for the perfect Outlaw.

Pairing - Arthur Morgan x F!reader

Wordcount - 8900+ (Long read, seeing as I'm good at overdoing it ^^')

Pointers - Newly established relationship, a whole load of fluff, swearing, a little bit of pain here and there (nobody said horses were easy to tame!)

Notes - Probably one of my more tame and calmer readings, and one I thoroughly enjoyed writing up! I wrote this over a number of days just out of bordem so u apologise if it's a little sloppy.

Some perilous weeks had passed since Colter; the snow and chilling winds were something you'd rather forget now that the Van Der Linde gang had settled at their new homestead, Horseshoe Overlook.

The cliff ledge from which Dutch had placed his boot upon and claimed as his own was a gorgeous little stretch of land, overhanging the beautiful forested section of the Dakota River, its promise of plentiful fish well known by the constant splashing of Blue Gill, making an easy meal of the insects that skimmed the river surface during warm golden evenings. A thicket of fir trees obscured the camp from curious eyes and ongoers that rode too close and beyond that was the vast Heartlands - a beautiful stretch of lush grassland that went on further than the eye could see, rich with various game such as Whitetail Deer and Pronghorn, as well as the occasional Buffalo herd.

You sat idle on the outskirts of camp at the overhang, fiddling around with your hunting blade, allowing the gentle breeze to caress the soft fuzz of your rosy pink cheeks, your bright eyes meeting the snowy peaks of the mountain ranges in the far distance. You took in a settled breath, bending over slightly to investigate the treeline below.

As you peered over the ledge of the cliffside curiously, legs swaying lazily over the edge, you felt a sudden catch of cold wind furrow your face and neck, managing to wriggle its way down your shirt like a frozen snake.

Such a breeze gave you an awful memory, your spine tingling...

It was a hauntingly accurate reminder of recent events; the torment of Arambino's unforgiving landscapes within such a seemingly stunning state.

Lucky for you that you had been in a shirt and pants to shield your frostbitten skin from most of the cold, and not a loose dress or skirt, unlike the other women in camp.

Whilst you still dawned a more feminine look to your fabrics that you chose to sport, you much preferred to be clothed in skin-tight pants over the usual skirt or dress that a women of your age was expected to dress in. Your attire comprised a black button-up shirt, light grey pants, white suspenders, a loaded oak brown gunbelt that seemingly never went short on bullets, thick riding boots for long taxing horse rides and a pleasant black gamblers hat. It was unique given the time period, but you felt comfortable and nobody but Micah Bell seemed to care.

Another gust of wind threatened to have you shiver so violently you might have toppled over the edge, so you pulled yourself away for safe keeping, sheathing your knife back into it's holster upon your gunbelt and settled back into your recently constructed tent.

It was quaint, just enough room for your bedroll and a chest for your belongings alongside a small bedside table where you stashed your most prized and precious mementos.

You let out a grunt as you flopped onto the bedroll, your back hitting the fabric with a soft thud. Then your head fell to the side, meeting the bedside table beside you where a collection of photos you'd collected over the years were nailed tight to the oak surface. Your eyes grazed across one such picture that you had pinned onto the side of the wood; you were seated on top of a handsome stallion, beside you stood another equine, a little larger than your own with darker features and white flecks.

You could tell by the way the greys toned out darker on that particular horse over your own. Sat, mounted on top of that horse beside you was none other than Arthur Morgan himself. He was significantly younger, perhaps in his early twenties, as was yourself. You both dawned the brightest of smiles, hands bound in leather reins.

Your mind skipped back to that day so long ago: the day you broke your own horses in the vast countryside of the Wild West, opposed to buying or borrowing mounts.

A gentle sigh escaped your jaw as you rest your eyes upon Arthur's mare, sadness clouding your expression.

"Oh, Boadecia..."

It had only been a few weeks but the memories were still awfully fresh. Boadecia had been Arthur's first true mount, a beautiful Silver Dapple Pinto female. She was most certainly a fine horse, one that could outmatch any of her opponents in speed and strength. She had even taken out a charging Cougar with one fatal kick after it had decided to try and make a meal out of Arthur. That horse was as loyal as the sun was to moon for the big burly Outlaw, and her passing had been a tragic loss for him. Arthur hadn't chosen another mount since, and it had been weeks. Perhaps even a month or so. It was as if choosing a new mount terrified him, or perhaps he didn't want to feel as though he was replacing Boadecia.

Arthur had been going between the members horses since her passing, though he much preferred to ask you and Charles on borrowing your mount Sundance or Taima, Charles' mare, over others such as Old Bill or Silver Dollar.

Today had been no different.

Slowly pulling your gaze away from the photo you decided to sit up and begin rolling the tips of your fingers into the burning muscles upon your legs to relax your aching calfs, still sore and complaining after a hard days work. You were just about to kick your riding boots off when the sound of thundering hooves caught your attention. You pulled yourself to the edge of your tent curtains, eyes scanning the clearing to where the horses were hitched.

Appearing through the treeline was a flash of light gold, bright white hair draped from the equine's neck and it's oak-brown leather reins stiffened and strained slightly signalling for it to come to a hault. You didn't have to look twice, you could recognise that animal from anywhere: Sundance your stallion had returned, and with him, Arthur Morgan.

You watched curiously as Arthur dismounted, throwing the leather strap over the hitching post before taking great care of cooing your horse praises and offering him a healthy looking carrot.

You most certainly admired Arthur's way with the horses. He may be a notoriously terrifying man, one that could quite simply bring you to an early grave just by pressing you with a single finger, but his gentle nature towards animals of all kinds was something you appreciated - one of the many reasons you had fallen for him and took him as your partner.

Your relationship though still very young had been brewing between the two of you for many years. You had grown up together, faced a plethora of different life threatening circumstances and had always pulled through. You understood one another in such a way that no one else could and had a connection with eachother that was almost telepathic. Whatever one of you was planning, the other knew. If you were in danger, Arthur would know something was off, vice versa. You were, together, an unstoppable force of nature and not to be reckoned with so help anyone who attempted to stand in your way.

"Mr Morgan." You gave Arthur a welcoming smile as he came trotting towards your tent, careful not to have anyone catch onto his return so that he wouldn't be pulled away from a chance to spend some quality time with you.

"Miss Y/l/n," Arthur returned your greeting, gently ushering himself inside to take a seat beside you, Arthur kicked back the tent curtain and settled onto your bedroll, grimacing at the texture of the solid floor below, halfly muttering to himself, "I ought to ask Miss Grimshaw if she can get you your own cot. Better yet get her to move you in with me."

By the flush of his face and somewhat gentle panting you could tell he'd been busy. Even the faint specks of dirt and dust on his cheeks told you that he had most likely gotten himself into a scuffle.

You rolled your eyes, amused and curiously questioned Arthur, "So, how was your ride home?"

"Went alright, I suppose." Arthur's response was tiresome as he beckoned you to shuffle against him, though you shook your head and placed a hand against his face to pull him onto your own shoulder - it was he who was tired, not you, and your gesture to offer him a resting place upon you pulled a smile from his lips in gratitude.

"Just 'alright'? You sure? Cause the muck on your face ain't convincing me, Arthur Morgan." You emphasised with a smirk, knowing that the use of his entire name would tell him he was in for a scolding if he didn't come clean now.

Sighing heavily in defeat, Arthur finally replied, shifting against your shoulder awkwardly: "Oh-kay fine... Some O'driscoll fella tried pissin' me off."

"And by the looks of things..."

"They managed." Arthur responded quickly, subconsciously placing a hand against his right cheek to massage the reminence of an ache away.

You simply clicked your tongue, a brow raised as you began to slowly card open fingers through the Outlaw's soft dirty blonde hair, "Well, I can't argue. He was an O'driscoll, to hell with it! The man deserved a good smack."

"Beatin' more like." Arthur replied with a small chuckle, relaxing into you as you continued to brush through his hair.

Your eyes met a few discarded creamy hairs attached to the collar of Arthur's shirt, gently picking at them and flicking them onto the floor, "How'd Sundance treat ya?"

"Treated me well. He knows how to give a good buck." You could hear the amused pride in Arthur's voice.

"To the arse?"

"Yep. Had the O'driscoll running for the hills till the adrenaline wore off. Pretty sure he broke their pelvis or somethin'." Arthur smirked, briefly remembering how he had dismounted Sundance to land a few hearty beatings to the O'driscolls nose before the stallion had paced over in a frantic whinny, his hind legs raising to then give a strong buck outwards, back hooves connecting with the O'driscolls rear earning a loud crack at the point of connection. He had sent the man almost five foot into the air, dragging out an amused laughter from Arthur who watched on as the O'driscoll managed a couple of feet before collapsing - writhing in a ball of agony before passing out.

"He's quite the horse." Arthur managed to force out through a yawn as he shuffled to get comfier against you. You quietly hummed in agreement, letting your head fall against Arthur's. As your head twisted to the side, your eyes caught sight of the image of Boadecia again. You frowned, gently whispering, "As was Boadecia."

Arthur froze for a second. You felt the tense of his muscles against your neck and body. You wondered if you'd accidently hit a nerve from the way Arthur remained deathly silent, panic began to bubble within the deepest pit of your stomach and your fingers began to curl.

"She was a darlin'." He finally responded, taking your small hands into his own, a thumb gently caressing the soft skin on the back of one of your appendages. He knew you too well, "Y'know you don't have to feel like y'can't talk about her. Can tell you were worryin' cause you fidget."

"I just don't wanna upset ya is all." You brought your hand from Arthur's and tenderly caressed his cheek, your thumb brushing over the thin line of stubble, "She was a stunning horse, you haven't even put a thought on getting another mount yet."

Your side suddenly felt cold when Arthur sat up, removing himself from your embrace to turn and face you head on. He gazed down at you sadly, closing the distance between you both as your head pressed against his own, eyes closed as you breathed his aura in, the tip of his nose gently tapping yours.

"Only time you'll upset me darlin' is if you get hurt and I wasn't there to protect ya." He placed a gentle feather-soft kiss against your half open lips, "Guess I haven't found the right horse yet."

With another light loving kiss from yourself this time, you brought Arthur further down to rest upon your bedroll. The both of you settled, bringing yourselves impossibly close, legs coiling around eachothers like a tangled of ivy or a pit of snakes. Once you got yourself comfortable, you pecked the crown of Arthur's hair, sighing into it, "Well, we'll see about that. I think I might have a few things in mind."

Some days had passed since your conversation with Arthur. He had gone out on many trips upon your mount since then, leaving you to tend to duties around camp or take the wagon into Valentine for a quick trip of pickpocketing.

You had allowed it, afterall.

Arthur had asked for your permission the other night. He would have never taken your mount if he knew you staying around camp would drive you mad, but instead it was a nice break from Dutch's incessant hounding about needing money or creating more outlandish plans.

It was another fresh morning upon Horseshoe Overlook. Dew drops scattered the grass shoots that danced around your feet, tiny glistening rainbows that sparkled as the light caught them. A thin blanket of mist tickled the back of your throat as you took in a deep breath, pushing your way towards the edge of the Overlook and away from the warmth of the coffee pot you mulled over previously that dawn.

You passed John who had been sat back upon a wooden chair, his feet kicked up upon the table in front of him with his own coffee in hand. You gave the man a little hand gesture in greeting as you went past, only to hear Miss Grimshaw bark an insult at the man for having his feet on the table. Something along the lines of, "Would ya shit where ya eat, Marston? No? Then get your god damn feet off the god damn table!" Earning a rather high pitched squeal from John once the sound of a flinging shoe wafted through the air. You turned to see John scampering off, Grimshaw in hot pursuit with her heel in hand. You let out a snort of amusement, shaking your head.

You passed Charles next, who had already started on the daily routine of cutting wood. He gave you a soft smile and wave as you passed on by, greeting him with a "Mornin' Charles."

As you advanced to near the edge of the overlook you recognised the head of Hosea perched neatly on top of a smooth rock that acted as a pleasant little seat, overlooking the forest below.

The devious old con-man was flicking through the ledger that the gang used for keeping track of payments and contributions.

Your shadow had loomed over him some time ago before you had even come to his side, drawing a soft "Good morning," from his tired lips.

"Hosea," you now paused beside him, your eyes scanning the woodland below the Overlook, "How's things?"

"So, so. The usual, if it were. I'm stiff as a log and as bored as a caged animal." There was a hint of amusement in Hozier's tone as he turned to face you, smiling softly, "I suppose being stuck here has driven you to the border of insanity?"

You shook your head at that comment, giggling as you took a seat next to Hozier like a child would to their father, "Nah, it's been nice not to listen to Dutch bark up the same tree all day and night. Besides, I know how much Arthur needs his time away, he and Sundance get along well."

"That's very nice of you, y/n. You and Arthur are certainly made for eachother." Hozier shot you a pleased smile, covering his mouth afterwards to heave out a few hearty coughs, beating his chest with a clenched fist. You wanted to offer him help, but you knew as well as anyone that help wouldn't do Hozier any good. You knew that whatever disease had cursed his lungs was terminal - no going back. All you could do was offer verbal support, to which Hozier would always brush off. He much preferred others to ignore those coughs he often hacked - and so you did.

Hozier, after clearing his throat with a quiet apology, turned his attention to you fully, "Though... the poor boy does need to get himself a new mount sooner or later."

Hozier was right. The gang moved frequently and it was only a matter of time until Horseshoe Overlook would become a thing of the past, despite how much you enjoyed the view and atmosphere here.

You needed Sundance back soon, Dutch would be getting restless not putting you back to work, and Arthur needed his own horse. Hiding away from the absence of Boadecia wouldn't be doing the Outlaw much good.

"Say... do you remember back at Colter when you, Javier and Charles went huntin' round lake Isabella?" Hozier broke you from your thoughts.

You hummed in question, squinting slightly as you drew your mind back to that trip. It was in the midst of the storm, the gang needed fresh food fast. Arthur was back at camp - or rather what little resembled a camp - tending to other business while you snuck out with Javier and Charles to catch a bite to eat, despite Dutch's orders to not brace the storm. You had all made it to lake Isabella, a beautifully remote section of the mountains that was plentiful with game of all species; Mountain goats, Whitetail Deer and Elk. You had all managed to take down a relatively large mountain goat, enough for the entire gang to feast on for a day or two.

Hozier breifly broke your train of thought, "If I recall, I remember you askin' if I've ever known horses to live wild in such conditions. Always struck me as odd, given the fact that you never really told me what you saw on that trip."

Returning your mind to your memories, you remembered how you made haste back to camp, the image of a white silhouette amidst the blizzard resembling that of a horse burning into your memory. Quite a small one, probably around the same size as Dutch's stallion, The Count. You couldn't be too sure though. It was freezing, you were hungry and Charles was ushering you back to Colter before you got a chance to investigate, fearing that leaving you behind in the storm would prevoke a very worried and angry Arthur Morgan. You questioned Hozier on the possibility of 'mountain horses' as soon as you found your way into one of the cabins to warm your frozen bones. When Hozier had understandably shot you a confused glance and politely asked if you were well in the head, you'd taken off, embarrassed, without an explanation.

"Yeah... I'm sorry about that." You gave Hozier an apologetic grin as he brought you back round to present day with a polite chuckle, fiddling with the end of his chin in thought, "Well I did some investigating in Valentine the other day. Was talk of a nature photographer spending the morning at the Saloon for breakfast."

One of the ledger pages flipped to reveal a long list of needed items. Food, medicine and ammunition. Hozier continued on with his story, "Thought I might as well ask the fella if he's ever seen horses in the mountains surroundin' the Grizzlies. If he's a nature photographer then why would he want to pass the chance to capture the image of an urban legend?"

"Urban legend?" You quietly repeated, your arms folding as you furrowed your brow in question, "I thought you didn't believe me back there in Colter?"

Hozier bowed his head in response, "Admittedly at the time I thought the cold and hunger got to your head, but in the back of my mind I knew you wouldn't make a fool of yourself. So, I went and asked the locals on my first trip to town." Another page was flipped. "There's been talk of a certain white horse living in those mountains, was always a myth though among these here parts of New Hanover."

Interest peaked as you leaned in closer, brows knitting together with curiosity, "What sort of myth?"

Hozier simply shrugged, though a small smirk seemed to form against the corner of his mouth as he spoke, "Folk down in Valentine seem to think there's this mysterious horse that lives in the mountains for whatever reason. Some say it's a ghost, others say it's the long lost horse of some weary travellers that didn't make it past the lake." Dry fingers flicked the page of the ledger across, dreary eyes scanning the contributions made over the last week. To no surprise, you noticed Arthur's name had filled most of the week's page with various donations of money, pocket watches and a few discarded wedding bands. Hozier continued, tracing his finger across the page, "I wouldn't know myself. You are the one that saw the supposed beast, and if other folk think there's such a thing then perhaps you weren't wrong." He shuffled uncomfortably on the hard surface of the rock, readjusting his position. "Besides, that photographer I found - I forget the name... Ah! Albert I believe, says he is certain he saw the creature himself, though one image alone would never suffice."

Now you were genuinely excited and awfully curious. Perhaps you did see a horse up at Lake Isabella, and better yet, a horse strong enough to survive in such conditions that even the gang could hardly withstand. A mount like that would certainly peak Arthur's interests.

"I suppose it would make a good trip for Arthur and you, and we aren't far from the mountains down here." Hozier flicked his hand in the direction of the mountain peaks, despite still having an eye on the coffee brown ledger pages, "Arthur needs a new mount. He can't keep stealin' Sundance. That won't help him pass the grief of losin' Boadecia." Repeating himself from earlier to emphasise the need for Arthur to take on a new mount, Hozier cleared his throat, "You can head off as soon as I convince Dutch and Susan to let you go."

"And you really think Miss Grimshaw will let us go as well as Dutch letting Arthur loose for a few days?" There was an amusement to your tone as you rocked your weight from one leg to the other, arms pointed outward with gloved hands gripping your hips. Hozier simply closed the ledger, turned his attention to you and smiled, "I can make it happen, dear girl."

"Well, I wish you luck on talking to Susan about that," your reply was seething with doubt, yet playful, pulling a rather loud chuckle from the old man who you saw as a fatherly figure.

Whilst Dutch was the formidable leader of the gang, Hozier was the man people would often go to for support - you included.

With a heavy slap to the knee, Hozier stood and sighed: "You and me both my dear... you and me both." He was cradling the ledger between his chest and armpit and had scooped a thin square object from his top pocket with his spare hand, passing it to you between his index and middle finger. You gently took it - a photograph. No doubt the same picture he had spoken of earlier, he must have paid Albert for it. Eyes scanned the image which revealed a very faint outline of a horse. The image itself was mostly white, but the treeline behind said silhouette and the edge of a frozen lake in the bottom right hand corner was all too familiar to you. By the time your jaw parted to celebrate with Hozier he had vanished.

You already knew what you had to do.

Once Arthur had returned from whatever escapade he had been sent on, Hozier had ambushed him before you had even gotten the chance to notice. It hadn't taken much convincing - Arthur was overjoyed to finally get some well deserved time alone with you, though he hadn't been told why exactly.

It had taken half a day to convince Grimshaw to let you and Arthur go. Dutch took half that time with Hozier's careful prodding, but eventually, the two allowed you to leave.

With camping gear equipped for the snowy weather and the two of you laden in thick, warm coats, you were off, and it hadn't taken long for you to finally enter the crystal white landscape.

The weather had calmed, allowing for an easier stride through the thick snow. Once you and Arthur had advanced to Colter, you decided to take the lead.

"I thought Hozier told us to collect whatever it was we left here?" Arthur questioned you curiously as he watched you and Sundance trot right past the old rundown village and onto the trail that lead next to a small stream. He had politely asked Charles to borrow Taima once more, who had happily agreed in exchange for a few days rest. The beautiful spotted horse whinnied in irritation at the cold snap, gaining a gentle brush and carrot from Arthur's hand.

"You really think Susan would've let any of ys leave supplies behind?" Your reply was sarcastic yet amused as you glanced back over your shoulder at the frozen Outlaw. His expression frowned back at you, "So... why exactly are we back here then? You want me to freeze to death? Cause I really disliked bein' in this snow..."

Arthur's complaints pulled a playful tut from your mouth as you spurred Sundance onward, "Just trust me, hun. It'll all be worth it once we find what we're lookin' for."

"Which is?"

"Just be patient and keep your voice down."

Another half an hour of wading through the snow and you had finally reached Lake Isabella. Arthur had commented on the beauty of the landscape before narrowing his ocean eyes towards you, yet again scolding you for going off into a blizzard just to find food.

You'd endured his nagging over the situation three times now, although you understood why. He was worried for you, if you'd been injured or worse, the snow would have certainly buried you - they'd never find your body. Regardless of the fact, you had survived and fed the entire gang that night before escaping the barrens of the mountains. It was all for a good cause.

"We should set up a small camp here. No doubt we'll be searchin' a little while, perhaps into tomorrow." Your eyes scanned the wilderness ahead of you. To your right was the edge of the frozen lake, and your left a thick wall of forest.

As you lept from your mounts side, Arthur followed suit. You felt a large hand grip your shoulder, "Okay, can you please tell me why we're here now?"

Suppose it was now or risk him racing into the path of the mysterious beast only to spook it away.

"We're getting you a horse."

Silence.

Arthur glared at you, dumbfounded. Then, you watched on with a displeased sigh as the man folded in on himself in a bellowing laugh: "A horse?! Here?! Christ Y/n you kill me!"

Unamused at the hysterical Cowboy, you slowly shook your head and leaned back on one leg as he struggled for air, tears forming in the corners of his eyes that stung once the cold snap hit them.

Finally Arthur turned his attention to you and paused.

It was that look he couldn't ignore. One eyebrow slightly teetered upright, piercing judgemental eyes and a completely flat expression upon your straight lips.

"Okay, okay I believe ya! Kinda... jus' stop lookin' at me like that."

Arthur had ceased his laughing fit, slowly catching his breath as he brought himself upright to stare at your blank expression. He shifted uncomfortably, cuffing a boot over the virgin snow in an attempt to settle his mind onto something other than your expression.

Finally you gave in, smiling once more with rosy red cheeks against the frozen wind. Your hand repeated Hozier's action as you flicked out the photograph from your satchel and handed it to Arthur, "Take a look."

Arthur carefully took the square picture from your fingertips and brought it to his face, focusing on the image with squinted eyes. You watched on, smirking a little when Arthur's brows rose and his eyes widened a little in disbelief, "Who took this photograph?"

"Hozier gave it to me, said he met with some wildlife photographer called Albert down at Valentine." You replied quickly, unravelling the tent fabric and poles from it's bind that you had removed from Sundance's saddle.

As you continued on with fixing up a little campsite, Arthur had strode around in an almost-complete circle, his eyes studying the image, "Well, he is one crazy son of a bitch comin' all the way out here for a picture. Next minute you know he'll be photographin' an entire pack of wolves."

You had cleared a patch in the snow and outstretched your bedroll by the time Arthur had finished pacing, glancing up in his direction with an amused snort, "You come tell me if you ever see anything of the sort. Wolves... I could definitely imagine it." With that in mind you shook your head, a soft smile lacing your lips as you finished off with the tent preparations.

Now with a finished camp, you and Arthur sauntered off into the treeline for some fallen branches, placing a little ring of rocks for the base of a small campfire once you both returned. It didn't take long for Arthur to work at the twigs, stoking the embers to crackle into a pleasant warm dance of oranges, yellows and reds whilst you set up hitching posts close by for Sundance and Taima.

The distant sun had now dipped below the peak of the mountain, casting heavy black shadows against the sparkling snowdrifts. Stars were one by one piercing through the violet stratosphere above and a delicate scattering of fluffy pink clouds sailed into the distance, promising a clear night.

Sundance and Taima were grazing at a small stack of fawing hay you had managed to pull from the frozen pile left behind at Colter. It wasn't much, but was certainly enough to quell the equines hunger for the night ahead. Both horses stood close to the fire, allowing the orange glow to warm their sides, tails swishing with content.

You watched from the inside of your small tent as Arthur bent himself close to the fire, his arm outstretched and hand holding onto his silver hunting knife. Attached to the tip was a thick chunk of fresh venison.

The flames of the fire cast a beautiful amber shade upon his face that you couldn't help but study; his sharp jawline peppered with short stubble cast a deep shadow against his neck, the angled bridge of his nose and the strong browline defining his masculine features. His chin dawned two thick scars which you could only imagine were inflicted by a knives edge. Those heavy definitions of his face however brought out the most entrancing thing that had always sent you into a flurry of emotions with each passing gaze. His eyes. Ocean blue with a hint of aqua, teal, lime and bronze. In one instance those irises were lit with the fires of absolute fury, sharp and terrifying. Whilst on other occasions, they were soft and inviting, perhaps even sad. You found yourself lost in them almost daily.

"Here," without having realised, Arthur held out the now cooked chunk of meat in your direction. You were far too lost, focusing on his face that you failed to notice him waving the venison in front of you.

"Oh- sorry. Just got lost in my own head," innocently smiling you gently took the handle of Arthur's knife, only to realise that he was smirking back at you, "What?"

"Oh nothin'. Jus' you, starin' at me. Sure you was lost in your own head or lost on my face?" Arthur rose his brow and thrust himself forward to almost touch you with his nose. That left you squirming on the spot, attempting to argue back but to no avail; your voice was sparse and simply silent. So, you snapped your jaw shut and curled yourself into your legs, muffling an awkward: "Shush."

Arthur chuckled at the sight of you all embarrassed and coiled up like a snake hiding from an soaring Hawk overhead, amused that he had already won and planted a messy kiss upon your forehead, the only section of your face he could get to. He kissed you again and again until you pulled your face from cover with a deep blush and a flustered giggle, only to be cut off when Arthur pressed his lips against your own.

"Easy Mr Morgan, don't wanna give yourself chapped lips cause of the cold," You mused as your back hit the soft surface of your bedroll, Arthur caging you underneath him. He let out a snort of contempt at the idea, shrugging, "Worth the risk."

"Not when you're complaining over it!"

"If I complain then you get to shut me up." Arthur challenged you as he began to plant little nips and kisses across your jawline and down the dip of your neck, gleeful in listening to your tiny squeals of delight, "That tickles!"

"So?" The Outlaw chided as he continued on, now pinning your arms down to stop you from pushing him off. He purposefully began to drag his stubble across your neck, knowing full well that it was an unbearably ticklish spot of yours. Your quiet complaining soon erupted into sharp laughter, squirming underneath the cowboy's grasp. You weren't a match for Arthur's strength, and every wriggle to escape him was proven futile. Though, despite the torture of his tickling, you couldn't help but blush and enjoy the mischievous look on Arthur's face as he finally pulled back to allow you some air.

"I love you," You wheezed joyfully as Arthur placed a warm kiss upon the tip of your nose, "I love you too, sweetheart."

With that excitement out of the way, Arthur flopped onto his back, discarded his clothes until his union suit remained and wriggled himself into your side. You had undressed into your chemise, slipping into the bedroll whilst also layering a number of pelts and coats on top for extra warmth, letting your clothes thaw next to the fire. Arthur slipped between the blankets, nestling his head into the crook of your neck.

Your previous playfight had brought back pleasant memories, sighing outward with a smile you reminisced to Arthur, "Hey, you remember when Hozier came up with that brilliant idea to lock us in that shabby old hotel room up at Blackwater?"

A low chuckle vibrated against your neck and Arthur pulled his head up to meet your gaze, "Oh yes, how could I forget? Was better than any of Dutch's plans cause it actually worked."

"Don't let him hear you say that," you teased, gently brushing away a lock of hair from his blue spheres, "Dutch will have your guts for garters."

Arthur shrugged, pulling the blanket of the bedroll tighter around the both of you so that your body was flush to his, "We must've been in that room for what, half a day?"

Your brow bent downwards as you brought your mind back to the time. It had been during the early days of the gangs arrival at Blackwater. You and Arthur had been tasked with scoping out the town, and Hozier had really emphasised checking out the hotel. "Yeah I'd say so. Was a brilliant idea on Hozier's part, bringing us together like that. Said we wasn't leaving till one of us 'spoke your truth'," you brought your voice a little lower, attempting to imitate a slightly thicker accent so that you sounded a little like Hozier, playfully prodding Arthur's bare chest that was exposed from the unbuttoned midsection of his Union suit. The Cowboy grunted, the corner of his mouth hooked upward, dragging his calloused thumb across your jawline, "Had to be me makin' all the effort of speakin' my feelings first huh?"

"Yeah but I still kissed you first." You snapped back with a playful pout.

Arthur's head teetered to the side, "Don't count, I admitted how I felt first."

"Why you-" you were quickly silenced by Arthur's soft kiss, your lips dancing in unison before he eventually pulled back, hovering over your face with a proud grin, "Remember Hozier's face when he opened to door on us? We were practically naked at that point."

You couldn't help but snort out an amused laugh, thinking back to how Hozier had unlocked the door counting on seeing the both of you cuddled up together. It had been so much more than just a cuddle. You and Arthur had been harboring those feelings of longing and love for years, so it only made sense for a simple admittance of love and shy kiss to escalate into something much more intimate. Hozier, the poor soul, had walked in on you both. Although you hadn't yet done anything, the both of you were still half naked with just your panties and Arthur's shirt still gripping onto your skin.

"I honestly thought we'd given Hozier a heart attack..." You muttered quietly, brushing a hand across your face in an attempt to wash away the post-embarrassment. Arthur nuzzled your hand away and placed a gentle peck against your cheek, "Ah well, he was still proud of achieving something. Worked wonders, 'least it was obvious."

"Then the ferry job happened..." that had awkwardly slipped from your mouth, earning a rather sorrowful gaze from Arthur.

You had been together a week before that, and you had returned to camp after a long hunting trip to find out that a particular ferry job had gone horribly wrong. Nobody knew who had died, who had made it, who had been captured or injured... and you weren't aware that Arthur hadn't been on that job.

You remembered high-tailing it from camp and into the streets of Blackwater, eyes wide and frantic. The law had already swarmed the streets and were starting to become suspicious of you. One man had even pulled you from Sundance and placed the barrel of their Navy Revolver against your head, demanding the location of 'Dutch Van Der Linde', only to be shot in the head himself by a furious Arthur Morgan.

You'd fled Blackwater and West Elizabeth mere hours after Dutch had returned to camp. Pinkerton's were hunting down his tracks like wolves to a fresh blood trail, and you all had no other choice but to flee into the mountains where the law and the agents wouldn't dare to follow you.

Mack had been shot and vanished just after escaping the ferry, Davey had been in an awful way, too. Poor Jenny, a good friend of yours, had died on your pursuit to the mountains and Sean was nowhere to be seen.

"We're alive though, darlin'. I'm alive. Got nothin' to worry about, okay?" Arthur buried himself against you once more, ushering you onto your side so he could wrap his legs around you. His warmth enveloped you, drawing out a relaxed sigh and small smile, "Okay Arthur. I love you."

"I love you too, darlin'. Always."

"Got any other stories about the Wild West then?" You questioned with a purr, drawing a low rumble from your partner as he thought back to those brilliant golden years.

You weren't entirely sure how long you had spent tangled in Arthur's arms, your head resting upon his chest as you listened to him remanice over the 'good old days' further west. You'd clearly fallen asleep, now waking, disturbed by a slither of silver light peaking it's way through the crack of the tent curtain. Once you had shifted to sit upright, Arthur too had stirred and cracked a single eye open only just: "I would say good mornin', but it's freezin' and I'm miserable."

Giving off a soft chuckle you planted a gentle kiss upon Arthur's frozen nose, "Well hopefully that horse is out here and the weather doesn't change. Then we can be off by nightfall, maybe earlier."

Slipping outside of the tent and into the open air of Lake Isabella, you scanned the clearing ahead of you. To your left was a long row of dense fir trees, and to your right the mostly frozen lake. Ahead stretched out a snowy pathway that bowed upward to create a hill.

"So we're lookin' for a bright white horse in a bright white mountain. Should be fun..." Arthur had crept up beside you, his thick blue jacket wrapped rightly around his broad body. In his hand was a piping hot mug of coffee, taking in the warm steam that wavered from it's contents.

"At least you ain't here with Micah," you took your own cup, giving Arthur a huff. The thought of the two men out here together in search of a myth was frankly an amusing one. It certainly wouldn't end well - Micah would most likely burn some other poor soul's house down.

Once the both of you finished off your morning coffees, you decided to set off up the path that rimmed the lake, leaving the horses at their hitching posts as to not make too much of a disturbance. Arthur had mentioned something about a 'legendary buffalo' that had been mapped out around your general location whilst you kept your eyes on the snow-covered floor. Your hand whipped out, halting Arthur just before the hill sloped downward, "There's tracks here. Horse tracks, look. The hooves aren't cleft like a Deer, Elk or Buffalo."

Arthur knelt down and drew in a long winded breath, caressing the side of his jaw curiously, "Yes, they're horse tracks alright. Could have just been someone else's horse though to come do a spot of huntin'?"

You paused, throwing Arthur a rather displeased pout, "Mr Doubtful today aren't you?"

"What? Just bein' realistic." Arthur grunted as you pushed past, slipping over the mound to get a good look ahead of you. The lake rounded off just ahead where the forest opened up into a small valley. Just before you could take a step down however, you felt hands grip into the bunched fabric of your coat and air begin to whip past you as you were roughly dragged backwards. You landed heavily against Arthur's bent knee, parting your jaw to complain but Arthur got to you first, wrapping his hand around your mouth cooing a quiet "Shhhh."

You were confused, a little irritated at the sudden yank, but you knew Arthur wouldn't have done such a thing if it wasn't necessary.

Arthur peered over the edge and back down at you, his crystal eyes glinting with a sudden rush of excitement, "You were right!" His voice was merely a whisper, but you could hear the thrill within his thick drawl, "There's a bright white mare at the edge of the lake where the water hasn't frozen over. Think she's an Arabian, like The Count."

"Told ya," Arthur released you as you spoke, smug written across your face. He then gave you a quick peck to the back of the hand in a silent apology before taking a deep breath, shaking out his arms and stood, "Wait here. We don't know how stubborn she's gon' be. If Boadecia is anything to go by..." his voice trailed off to be replaced with silent focus and determination.

You did as you were told, standing back, eyes fixated on the back of the Outlaw as he slowly approached the Arabian, gently cooing calming words in her direction.

The mare's ears twisted sideways and she quickly threw her head up from the lake, sprinkling rainbow droplets from her muzzle. She huffed, agitated, her left hoof digging furiously into the fresh snow below.

She was going to be a difficult one, you could tell. Boadecia was a strong willed horse, she'd bucked Arthur off a handful of times before finally breaking. But Boadecia had been fenced in and Dutch and Hozier had been there to watch on. This white mare was not fenced in nor did you have the help from two aged Outlaws. But, you did have experience on your hands. Arthur moreso.

You watched on, bringing your fingers against your lips, nervously chewing at the tips as Arthur drew closer. The mare's breath was becoming heavier and much more frantic by the second, plumes of foggy breath retreating from her buzzing nostrils. Her ears were pinned slightly backwards, telling you both that her patience was wearing thin.

"Easy now... easy..." Arthur was a mere few feet away now. He froze. The mare froze also. Both were about to bolt. Arthur drew in a deep breath and leaped, scrambling up the side of the equine and began a fierce battle of staying upright upon the create.

The Arabian let out a hearty battle cry, her head flinging harshly in each direction, strong back legs bucking wildly.

You stood, your breath caught in your throat as Arthur was swung from side to side. He pleaded for the mare to relax but she just wouldn't give in. She came closer and closer until she had almost trampled you, earning a rather shocked squeal as you fell backwards. For a brief second you could see the panic in Arthur's eyes and temptation to veer off of her side to check up on you, but you insisted he keep on her back, "I'm fine! Just keep at it!"

The animal thrashed as best she could, but eventually you could see her tiring. Her bucks were becoming less frequent and her head flicks became lame and slow, her nose huffed and fluttered until she eventually came to a hault, head hung and hoof scraping against the ground in defeat.

"There we go, that's it, easy... not so bad is it?" Arthur almost slumped against the white equine, chest heaving as he gripped onto the mare's neck, "Good girl."

"You did it!" You were at their side, slipping against the small snowdrift with excited eyes and a large, proud smile, "And what did I tell ya? Where's my apology kiss Mr Morgan?"

Arthur shook his head with a smirk, replying with a quaint, "Hey, I never once doubted you. I doubted everyone else, okay?" To which your response was to tut, offer your hand with a beckon and as soon as Arthur bent down to kiss it, you stole it with your lips. Arthur blinked, dumbfounded and blushing as you strode off towards the camp, "You're forgiven."

The ride back had been an easy-going one. You and Arthur had both expected his new mount to begin acting up, but to your surprise she had been extremely obedient and forgiving.

You lead Taima behind you, allowing Arthur to ride ahead so that he could take control of his new mount rather than have her follow you.

You were now making your way towards the Dakota River, passing Cattail Pond and in the process stopping to allow your horses to drink.

It was mid-afternoon by this point, having set off at first light. The weather was forgiving; a delightful warmth that hit your skin pleasantly without threatening to boil you inside your coats.

Once satisfied that your mounts were hydrated, you continued onward to Valentine.

"How's she treatin' ya?" You encouraged Sundance to trot beside the white horse, significantly smaller than your golden Missouri Fox Trotter stallion.

Arthur had to gaze up at you this time, a little taken back by the difference but found it humorous nonetheless, "Better than I expected, honestly."

"You thought of a name yet?" Curiosity dug into your flesh like a Hawk to a Rabbit, eyeing the beautiful creature with a bright smile.

Arthur gave you a shrug, "I have a few in mind."

Your eyes beckoned Arthur onwards, who pursed his lips together with a sigh, "You really wanna know, don'chu?"

"Well of course!" Excitement welled in your stomach. You leant forward, almost falling from Sundance's saddle - pausing when you caught sight of a faint frown plastered on Arthur's face, "Hey... what's bothering you?"

Arthur shot you a quick glance, sniffing and dragging his sleeve across his face, "Doesn't matter."

"Arthur... you can talk to me, you know that. Come on... I won't tattle. Promise."

"Y'aint gonna find it silly?" Arthur prodded, to which you gave him a sappy smile, rolling your eyes and sighed, "I don't even know what you're gonna say yet but... no. I won't judge."

Arthur slowly nod his head, chewing nervously at his bottom inner lip. Finally raising his head, he let the words fall out of his mouth like a waterfall, "I don't wanna replace Boadecia. She was a fine horse... loyal as could be, never once bucked me after breakin' her, never once nipped me."

You listened on, elbows pressing into your thighs and chin resting against the creamy coloured mane of your mount.

"What if this girl ain't right for me? What if she's not like Boadecia?"

"She ain't Boadecia, Arthur. You don't wanna replace her, and you aren't." You beckoned your hand out to the white mare who coincidentally huffed as you did so, "This horse here is completely different, so there's no threat of feelin' like you're replacing her. It's a new journey, a new horse... Boadecia will always be in your heart."

Arthur watched you intently, eyes wide and brows bent upwards ever so slightly, his lips barely parted. He then cleared his throat, letting himself relax into a pleasant smile, holding his hand out for yours. Once you placed your palm against his, he leaned over and upright, planting a gentle kiss against your knuckles, "Thank you sweetheart. I needed to hear that."

"Think of her as Boadecia's final gift to you." You chuckled softly as Arthur kissed your soft skin, to which the man snapped his fingers with an 'Ahah!' Dragging a confused glare from yourself.

Arthur offered the mare a gentle scratch and brush, holding out a fat orange carrot under her nose as he shot you a celebratory grin, "Pandora!"

You blinked, amused and dumbfounded, "I'm sorry- what?"

"That's what I'll call her. Pandora. Means gift in Greek or whatever... I dunno, ask Dutch. He loves his books. I jus' remember it from him cause it's a strange word." Arthur settled back into the saddle, spurring Pandora onward into a faster canter now that you were both nearing Valentine, the stables a dot in the distance.

You followed on behind, checking your back to see how Taima was doing; just fine it seemed. Then, you gazed out ahead of you, watching as Arthur comfortably relaxed into the trot, one hand sagging down beside his waist. A gentle sigh escaped your lungs as you admired the man ahead of you, "Pandora sounds just fine."

Once you had both had the Stablemen give the horses a check over as well as a pampering, you made your way back towards Horseshoe Overlook. It was nearing the evening, golden rays washing over the treeline and breaking into a warm amber glow over the camp.

Arthur steadied Pandora, giving the mare a dozen praises and kisses before raising his voice with pride, giving you a clever wink in the process.

"Hozier! Come take a look at this beauty!"

*Mini Extra!*

John and Bill rounded the corner of the treeline to see Arthur, yourself and Hozier fawning over the new snow-coloured mare.

"Who's this?" John questioned curiously, taking a long, hard look up and down at Pandora, her flank fluttering and hooves tapping at the ground tentatively. Arthur brushed a hand gently down the velvety skin of Pandora's muzzle, "This here's Pandora. She's my new horse."

"A bit small for you ain't she, Morgan?" Bill teased, keeping back to give his own mount, Brown Jack, a large kiss against the beast's nose. Brown Jack was evidently much larger than Pandora, who was also overshadowed by John's horse, Old Boy.

Arthur's eyes squinted, narrowing across both John and Bill before he stood back on one knee, rose his chin and smirked, "Hey, I can guarantee all of you that Pandora here could most certainly beat your horses in a race."

Bill and John shot eachother a look before returning that challenging glare at Arthur, Bill snapping back an excited, "Prove it then, Morgan."

It hadn't taken long for the three of the men to saddle up and charge off through the treeline.

You gave Hozier a heavy sigh, eyes rolling as you watched the tired joy on Hozier's face brighten as he smiled, shaking his head, "What it is to be youthful, eh?"

"Aye you're not so old yourself," You gave Hozier a teasing smirk, to which you earnt yourself a playful nudge on the shoulder, Hozier placing a hand against it and gazing off into the treeline after the boys.

"It's evenings like these I'll miss dearly."

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Victorian DILF Brahms x Female Reader

Series: Don't forget who you belong to.

Chapter 2 - Give me your answer, do

Underthecut - NSFW, Male Masturbation, Oral - Male Receiving.

Brahms sat idly in his living room, leaning back in his large leather recliner. Feet shuffling along the Egyptian carpet, thumbs twiddling as he hums Daisy Bell by Harry Dacre,

"I'm half crazy, all for the love of you." He smiles as he thinks of her. How her hair shines in the sun, like a halo above her head. Her eyes sparkling whenever she laughs, how the corner of her eyes crinkles ever so slightly. How her smile makes his heart skip a beat.

Brahms sucks in a breath, his hum-singing continues, "There are bright lights the dazzling eyes of beautiful Daisy Bell." He sits up straight, eyes on the unlit fireplace, the gold gate held an ornate Chinese dog welded on the front. He looks above the fireplace to the mantel, the rows of photos in their ash wood frames.

His face is stern as he glances at a particular photo. He, a half-smile as his hand rests on his son's shoulder. Lawrence when he was a boy of eight. Lawrence's other shoulder had a delicate white hand upon it. Gerti, her lips dark with her favourite shade of lipstick, her slight freckles littered her face, her silky blonde hair up in a beautiful age-appropriate bun.

His hum-singing fades as he continues to stare, the family photo, the family in the photo appearing as sharp and elegant as their social standing. That day, Gerti had scolded him all morning, her eyes wide and glossy, her alabaster skin held a blue and yellow hue under her eyes. Her fingers were cold and clammy.

"For the love of everything, Brahms, hurry for once." Brahms flinches as he can still hear her screeching, "Lawrence, get the cat's paw out of your mouth and stop pulling its tail!" He chuckles,

"I miss that cat," Brahms laughs to himself. Never one for pets but how that scraggly little beast could make his son laugh in the most jovial way, warmed him greatly.

His amused grin falls as his eyes lock with Gerti's. Grabbing the photo, his thumb ghosts over her image, remembering how once soft her skin was. His stomach churns as a chill seeps into his bones, shaking him in his spot.

He places the family photo back on the mantle, right next to a photo of her. Her hands grasping each other, face tilted slightly, a timid smile upon her face. "Sir, I don't need my photo taken!"

"Y/n, as my employee of a year, you are practically family." Brahms let out a shaky breath as his mind replays the conversation. "And you may call me, Brahms. You address Gerti by her full name."

"Gerti and are intimate in ways that have allowed us to be close."

"Pray tell may I watch these intimate moments?" His cheeky reply had cost him an ear full from his wife when she had found out. Brahms still never understood why women used such charged words to describe a close friendship.

Brahms left the living room, a stirring in his gut had him heave. He wanted to call upon her for aid, 'Fetch me a water with some ice, and actually bring some black tea and one of our lemons from Italy.' he clears his throat at the thought of dryness being washed back by the cold refreshment.

He had given her a few hours a week for personal time. Free to be spent however she pleased. Ever since the death of his wife and Lawerence attending Rugby School for Boys she had more free time. Much to Brahms immense displeasure.

Brahms had taken to stalking her on her days off. Wanted to see what she got up to. Where she went and specifically with who. He would linger twenty feet behind, always darting behind stalls and other tall men to hide, he even took to wearing a coat that he kept hidden in hopes she would not recognize him further.

He stared in amazement at how well she helped an old lady onto the trolley all the while juggling her belongings, refusing a 'tip' "It's the nice thing to do." in reference to helping others.

His cheeks flushed whenever she stopped to smell the flowers, literally. A quaint smile as she turned down the offer for a free one from the vendor. She often stopped to sniff the white and yellow flowers. He had noticed Daisys were her favorite.

He seethed when one day you were stopped by a handsome Youngman, his tall lean frame stood confidently as his dark brown eyes held a softness as they looked down at you. He had overheard the name in a distinctly American accent, "Dan, yeah I'm studying medicine with my colleague, I'd introduce you but..." He hated that you always walked near the campus, hated all the young men eager, too eager to chat up a single young lady.

Dan had never gotten farther than chaste conversations and one quick feather-light kiss on her cheek.

Brahms wondered if he should up and move, just to be a little further away from the university, away from the young men, away from one of them stealing her away. She was his, he had just yet to convince her. Ask her, even bring it up in any conceivable way.

One occasion made the blood sear in his veins. He should have been more away, should have been more vigilant of this Dan fellow. He watched from a distance as Dan rounded the corner and collided with her. His tall body fell over hers, his hand had just managed to catch the back of her head, softening to the blow to the ground.

"Oh, God! I am so sorry!" Dan's eyes wide in shock, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

She laughed, "No, no, it's fine," Brahms gritted his teeth.

"No, it's not." Dan pulled himself and her up, his hand holding her in a firm grasp. "I am so sorry." He scratched the back of his head, his expression doleful.

"Accidents happen." She assured, grabbing his hand still wrapped around hers. " It's okay Dan."

"You remember me!" Dan's brown eyes lit up. A Radiant smile over his face as he stepped closer to her.

Brahms seethed as the scene played out before him. She smiled, he smiled. She laughed, he laughed. The words between the two began to fall effortlessly between them both.

He watched despondently. How she could let herself relax so easily in another man's presence. How her demeanor shifted around Dan. Those stiff shoulders eased themselves as Dan placed his hand on her shoulder and winked.

Brahms cursed, the university's chapel bell rang out. Every thunderous clang shot through Brahms. Every clang was a reminder he had another place to be. The dreaded desk in the dreaded little corner of his office.

He turned one last time, eyes watched as she smiled with a warmth he'd never seen, how she leaned into Dan as his smile shined bright.

Brahms walks up to his maid's room, thanking Gerti for installing a sense of comfort in Y/N as to never locking the door.

He jiggles the door handle, "Hm..." Again, "Weird," his eyes narrow, "Bloody thing is locked." He jostles the handle, "Bloody woman..."

Click

"Ah, there we are." He hums in approval as the door creaks open. Forever grateful for the previous owner teaching him how to easily unlock a door in the house without a key "Rickety ol' tings" Brahms mocked the man's heavy accent.

He inhales as he enters her room. The simple little abode warmed his heart. Her bed and the nightgown left upon it stirred his loins. He walks to the bed, grabs the nightgown, bringing it to his nose, he growls as he inhales, her natural scent lingered on the garment.

Brahms holds the garment in his teeth as he shucks off his pants, freeing his painfully erect cock. The thoughts whirl in his mind as he plops onto her bed, sighing with content as he sinks down into the mattress and a sneer as he grips his cock.

The same bed she slept, where when the night calls for it, he knew she'd sleep naked. "Fuck..." He growls through the nightgown, ripping it from his mouth to place it over his chest. Her bed, her bed where she no doubt has touched herself, even if briefly in a beautiful sinful manner.

Does she shy away as she dipped those delicate little fingers into her dripping pussy? Does she bite her cheek to stifle her pitchy moans when that jolt of pleasure shot through her?

Brahms collects some spit in his large hand, sucking in a breath as his cold spit touches his cock. His hand pumps eagerly around his thick member, a low groan as the image of her crawling up to him floods his mind. He sighs as he pictures it as her hand gripping him, gasping at how large it is,

"Brahms, my fingers can't even wrap around it!"

"That's okay, love, use those pretty little lips and that wet little tongue to help you."

"What if my make-up smears?"

"Oh, love, that's what I want." Brahms throws his head back, thumb circling his swollen head, picturing it as her delicate wet little tongue. He grips himself harder as he swears he can feel her lips wrap around his cock.

His low groans and breathy moans fill her little room, her name falling from his lips, "So beautiful, Y/N. My love, so perfect, mhm, yes, further down your throat, moaning around it."

Brahms breathing hitches as he pictures her, clawing at his chest as tears prick the corner of her eyes, "I'm a little nervous," She says as she rubs her glistening pussy, inches over his leaking cock.

"You got this, my love." Brahms keens,

"Will it fit, Brahms?..." She bites her lip, a hand groping her beautiful chest.

"My love, just relax, I have you." He pictures gripping her hip to ease her down onto him, gripping his cock as he imagines her warm pussy gripping him.

Audible slaps from the fisting of his cock, mixing with his now desperate pleas and moans fill her room. She's on top of him, her chest flushed against his, she's commenting on how she loves the feel of his hairy chest, praised-filled moans as she comments on his pecs flexing under her.

Brahms bucks his hips into his hand, "Hold you close." He moans as he pictures rolling on top of her, her legs wrapping around his lower half, arms pulling him in close, whispering in his ear,

"Brahms cum in me, cum in me, make me yours." He grips squeeze around his cock, imaging it's her pussy clenching around him, "I love you, Brahms."

He hisses as his body shakes, muscles flexing, toes curling as he snarls out his release. The image of her accepting his seed sends heat washing over him. His cock pulses in his grip, his cum spraying over her nightgown, the remaining spilling down his fingers and cock.

His temples pulse, his ears ringing. His toes unfurling as his legs ceased in their shakes. He squeezes his cock a few more times, hearing her breathlessly thanking him, "It's so warm in me. Thank you, Brahms." He swears he can feel her nuzzling into his chest as if she was there.

Brahms coughs as he sits up, shaking his head as he gingerly throws his legs over the side, placing his feet on the door. The nightgown falls over his cock. He snorts, using it to clean himself. He stands up, placing the nightgown where he had found it. A wicked and mischievous grin spreads over his face at the thought of her wearing his spent at night.

He grunts as he retrieves his trousers, pulling them up in haste, tucking his chub back in. A content sigh as he eyes the bed and nightgown. She wouldn't be sleeping alone for much longer.

Brahms snaps his attention to the trill of his front doorbell. He clicks his tongue as he makes haste to the door. He debates on if he has time to properly clean his hand, decides to just wear a fancy white-glove he leaves, conveniently, near the front door instead.

"Coming! My Maid is out currently," He sucks in a breath as he pulls a glove over his right hand, he cocks his head quickly before opening the door. "Sorry, it'd have been answered sooner...who are you?"

Brahms stared down at the short man before him. His brown hair combed expertly to the side, his brows immaculate under his thick glasses. He wore a glowering expression, his lips in a tight line.

The man clears his throat, "Herbert, Herbert West." Brahms makes note of his American accent, "I believe this paper is for the lady of this residence." Herbert whips the paper in front of him, his expression changing to say "Well, hurry and take it!"

"Mr. West."

"Herbert."

"Herbert, If by Lady you mean, Gerti? She passed awa-"

"I don't mean your dead wife."

Brahms's eyes narrow at Herbert. He opens his mouth the speak.

"I mean, Y/n. She is the only lady living here. So Dan tells me."

Brahms's jaw slackens, "Dan." He says more to himself.

"Yes, it's an invitation to a formal at the university. He already invited her. Just wanted to make sure she got all the details, it's all there on the paper." Herbert whips it again in front of Brahms.

Brahms yanks the paper from Herbert, eyes scanning it wildly.

University of London

Residents of Handel Mansions we formally invite you to bring along the most beautiful dame for the start of our fall formal.

September 28th, 1900

Entrance fee 1 pound, with a beautiful dame on your arm the fee is waved.

Brahms stares back at Herbert who pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Well," Herbert begins, "I figured be best to drop it off for Dan. He's been awfully busy." He flashes a smile to Brahms as he turns, "Dan also says to let Y/n know he wishes her luck at her new job on Robitaille's farm." He turns back around to Brahms, "Oh, it was nice meeting you, Mr.?"

Brahms pauses, clearing his throat, "Brahms Heelshire."

Herbert clicks his tongue, "I knew that." He walks down the stairs, a pep in his step, "Was nice meeting you Mr. Heelshire."

Brahms stares at the short man walking away, nodding to a man walking past. He turns back around, slamming the door behind in, the frame shook.

He stares down at the paper, eyes reading it over and over again. "A formal." He starts, "That Dan..." His breath catches in his chest, "A job?" he questions aloud.

He collapses against his door, slumping over as he crunches the paper in his hands. His thoughts raced to her, cursing himself for not intervening that day she ran into Dan. Wishing he just took the reprimand from his employer and raced in to shove Dan away from you. Creating some fantastical lie as to why he was suddenly there.

Brahms's thoughts slip to his son. Lawrence, his green eyes shine whenever he and Y/n play. He hugs her like he did his mother. How y/n always promises to play with him, tuck him at night. How were you going to tuck him in if you were to be away? How were you going to be there to kiss his little cheek as he falls asleep?

"How are you going to be there for me?"