#i found a reason to keep goin

[casually-salad]

It's my birthday!!! I'm turning 20!!!!

[bonyato]

Sorry abt the occasional digiposting as of late, im coming to terms w/ the fact that it's starting to grow on me orz

[elixirfromthestars]

Tulip

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: On a night when the past weighs heavy on Bucky, fate brings him to you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): established nickname -> tulip / fluff / mentions of grief

a/n: After seeing how much people loved Biker Bucky in Usual I decided to share more of their story with you all 💕 This is going to be a bigger collection of fics, so I will have an official taglist for it and there's more info on that here. That taglist in this fic is not related to the tags on here. The tags on here were for just for fun!! Hope you enjoy!! Likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

next in their story ♡ // the whole collection ♡

It was one of those nights where Bucky was irritated without reason. His face was etched into an intimidating scowl as he looked at nothing in particular in his bar. The laughter was too loud, the clinking of glasses irked his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, and his heart felt heavy. Almost as if one of the men in his bar were pressing down on it with their heavy boot. 

Bucky was getting tired of this. Of having these moments where his body thrummed with discomfort and his fingers found the familiar grooves in the wooden table he sat at—etching the oak with erratic lines until his nails were chipped and uneven. He could already hear the shit Sam would say as soon as he saw the added marks. 

Bucky was getting restless—reluctantly so.

“Hey, Buck, one of the—”

“‘m goin’ out for a ride.”

As soon as Steve came over to give Bucky an update on the business, Bucky stood up from the table and dismissed himself. Steve held back a sigh, his lips forming a tight line as his best friend blew him off. He didn’t take it personally, at least not tonight. More than anything Steve was worried for Bucky. It was never easy seeing him fall into this state once a year. 

Bucky always got like this around the anniversary of his father’s death. 

Steve and the rest of the crew exchanged wary glances as Bucky pushed through the bar in a rush. His hands at his sides flexed as he sought out the comfort of his bike. He took out his leather gloves from his jacket—dark and weathered from years of wear—and slipped them on before mounting his Harley. It thundered to life underneath him, the deep rumble easing the tension in his shoulders. 

He pulled out of his parking space, the blacked-out engine chrome gleaming under the streetlights. Bucky had no set destination, just a familiar path he had taken hundreds of times while on patrol. One that transgressed the entirety of the small town he lived in. 

The small town he and his gang protected. 

Bucky twisted the throttle, the Harley's roar echoing through the quiet streets as if warning the town of his presence. He drove down the roads at a steady speed, letting the breeze brush through his hair like a soothing balm. Hoping the night and his Harley would take away the hollow ache in his chest. 

He couldn’t keep thinking of his dad. Not right now. There was too much going on in his life. 

Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to be swept by the bittersweet memories. There were dozens of problems at the bar he needed to solve, rival gangs were stirring up trouble in neighboring towns so his people depended on him now more than ever, and his Ma and Becca relied on him as the sole provider.

Giving himself a moment to grieve—to feel—was a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

After a full loop around the town, Bucky decided to survey the downtown area once again. It was nearing ten at night and the majority of the businesses were closed, and yet he was still adamant about getting a good last look before he returned to the bar. 

He witnessed the usual: Yori and his son closing up their family-owned restaurant for the night, Mr. and Mrs. Fury bickering on their walk home, the savory aroma of Stark’s Pizzeria wafting through the air as he drove by, and a stack of wooden crates dancing in mid-air. 

Hold up. 

Wait a minute.

What?

Bucky had to do a double and then a triple take to make sure his eyes weren’t tricking him. He hadn’t had an ounce of alcohol tonight, and yet he began to gaslight himself into thinking maybe he had. 

That was until you appeared from behind the wooden crates. Huffing out in annoyance and setting them down on the bed of an old pickup truck. Glaring at them as if the fury behind your eyes would suddenly make them ten pounds lighter. 

Bucky stared at you from afar perplexed and yet with a ghost of a smile on his face. He had never seen you in town before, meaning you must have moved here not too long ago. A faint memory of Sam telling him a new shop owner was coming into town crosses his mind, but Bucky couldn’t remember all the details.

With a multitude of other things on his mind, he hadn’t been paying attention at the time. 

The Harley’s rumble softens until it comes to a still as Bucky parks it on the street opposite you. He sits on it for a moment watching you, searching his brain for the finer details of what Sam had mentioned, but nothing comes to him. He’s left to find out more about you in the here and now. 

Bucky suddenly catches the determined expression on your face as you go to pick up three of the wooden crates again. His eyes widen and before he even registers what he’s doing he swings off his bike and jogs over to you.

“Here let me help,” Bucky doesn’t ask or wait for a response as he easily takes the crates from your arms, lifting them as if they weighed nothing. You watch him in startled awe, wondering where this incredibly strong stranger had come from. Hand on your heart to calm yourself down from the sudden intrusion on your solitude. 

“Oh! Um…you really don’t have to—” 

“‘m already carrying ‘em, dollface. Jus’ tell me where to put ‘em.”

Bucky’s voice was calm and collected, but on the inside he wanted to ask you what the hell were in these crates. He’s used to carrying heavy boxes of supplies for his bar, but even then he’d use a hand truck to haul everything in. To think you were trying to carry all of this by yourself…he didn’t know whether to be impressed by your determination or laugh at your stubbornness. 

The wooden crates obstructed your view of each other—and he’d never admit it—but they covered enough of his eye sight to where he had to tilt his head to watch his step.

“Here, let me guide you,” you placed a tentative hand on his arm, trying to ignore the way his bicep flexed under it. There was fragile cargo in those crates and you needed to make sure they got into your shop safe and sound. Bucky showed no signs of rejecting your guidance. 

You carefully led him inside, sliding away any obstacles from his path with your feet. You were still adding the last touches to the decor so there were tools, supplies, and different sized cardboard boxes scattered across the floor. You were able to direct him to a spot in front of the main counter where he could put the crates down—the one area clear of anything.

He placed them down gently before turning to face you. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat the moment his eyes met yours. Your pretty irises glimmered with sincere appreciation coupled with a soft smile that caused an unfamiliar warmth to spread through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that. His brain has gone fuzzy, words evading him. Almost like a part of him that had been dormant for far too long was yearning for him to not break this gentle moment with you.  

You on the other hand were enchanted by the color of his eyes. A rich blue you tried to pinpoint through the catalog of flowers in your mind. Could the color be matched to a morning glory? A harvestbell? A brunnera? Forget-me-nots? Delphiniums? Hydrangeas?

The longer you thought the more you concluded no flower seemed close enough to the particular shade of blue that was looking right at you.  

“Thank you,” your voice was far too quiet for your liking when you broke the silence. You brought Bucky back to the present, yet not from the trance you had him in. He was particularly invested in the curve of your lips when you spoke and the way your eyes held his like you had known him all your life. 

Bucky cleared his throat, propping his arm on the counter in a nonchalant manner, “Not a problem—looked like you could use the help.” He topped his cool reply with a casual shrug and smirk that made it seem like he did this all the time. 

“Was it that obvious?”

“For a second there I thought those things would crush you.” 

Your sheepishness melts away into a laugh. The sound leaving your lips before you could stop it. You imagine what you must have looked like struggling with those heavy crates. The mental image of it is enough to fill you with mortified mirth. 

Your laugh elicits a soft chuckle from him—the first proper laugh he’s had in about a week or two. 

“‘m gonna go get the rest for ya…” he pushes himself off from the counter, but his voice trails off by the end when he realizes he never asked for your name. A heartbeat passes and with one quick lookover your frame a nickname falls effortlessly from his lips. 

“Tulip.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. You know exactly why he called you that. You were wearing denim overalls self embroidered with a multitude of small tulips adorning it in a range of colors. As if that weren’t enough tulips, you had two small pink tulip hair clips on either side of your head, pinning your hair away from your face. 

“I-It’s Y/n, actually.”

“Pretty thing like you—Tulip suits ya.” 

The nickname already had your heart fluttering, but the wink that followed his compliment had you weak in the knees. This man was handsome—deadly handsome. You had sworn off men for a whole year and counting—and now this man presented himself into your life tempting you to throw that oath away until it was nonexistent. 

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to help with the rest um…”

“Bucky. The name's Bucky. And I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry ‘bout it, Tulip.”

With an emphasis on the nickname he’s chosen for you, he makes a smooth exit, the smirk never leaving his face as he saunters back and forth from the pickup truck and carries in crate after crate for you. You distract yourself with miscellaneous tasks around your shop. Yet, your eyes drift to his form here and there greedily taking in his display of strength. 

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky notices, and every time he does he unknowingly straightens up his posture. Trying to make it seem as though the crates were as light as a feather.

When’s he’s all done—after ten crates in total—you’re behind the main counter, arranging a small basket of goods as he approaches you. 

“That’s all of ‘em. Mind me askin’ what’s in ‘em?” Bucky motions over to the crates at his feet with a nod of his head. You present him with a basket of sweet spreads encased in decorated mason jars—the covers all distinctly patterned with different florals. 

“They’re my homemade jams and honeys. As a thank you for helping me carry all those crates in here, I’m giving you one of each,” you hand him the basket and his features soften. His fingers hovering over the rim of the basket like he doesn’t believe he deserved such kindness.  

“Tulip, ya really don’t have to thank me for helpin’.” 

“I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry about it, Bucky.”

When you echo his words from earlier and use them on him he lets out a breath of a laugh, a grin of disbelief on his face. He didn’t expect that. Having his words used against him in a good way.

He was used to the opposite of that.

You were something else and Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot. Especially the way you said his name, it sounded sweeter falling from your lips. As if his name were made out of the same sugary sweetness the goods in the basket were. It caused a stutter within his chest he wasn’t used to. 

No one’s ever given Bucky butterflies this quickly–or maybe ever like this in his life.

For the next twenty minutes you both dove into small talk to get to know each other better. It started off as a pretext of a friendly conversation between two business owners, but it quickly became something more. You confirmed Bucky’s assumptions about you being a florist when you chatted away about your shop. Your outfit and the floral mosaic that decorated one of the walls—the one you told him your aunt had hand painted—was enough for him to put the pieces together. You learned that Bucky owned a bar a few blocks down, one that he ran with his childhood friends. He had served the military with a lot of them and even knew some of them since he was a young boy.

As if the leather jacket, the leather gloves, and the motorcycle parked outside wasn’t enough to tell you—he clearly was a biker. You knew as much when he had this passionate look in his eyes as he went on and on about him and his bestfriend Steve fixing up motorcycles since their high school years. He saw the same passion in your eyes when you told him the story of how your aunt had awakened your love for gardening. The very catalyst of events that led you to move into town and end up on this night here with him.

Both of you offered a part of yourselves in that conversation. An exchange that might seem small to others, but that to the both of you meant so much more. For you both had closed a part of yourselves off for quite some time. 

For entirely different reasons, but with a similar outcome nonetheless.

“Let’s make a deal. I get to keep callin’ ya Tulip and you can call me for help anytime ya need it,” Bucky offers this after you explain to him that your aunt had only been visiting you and left a few days ago. Leaving you to finish up the preparations for the grand opening of your shop in a few days time.

“Tempting offer…” you start, pretending to think about it and hiding your delight at the thought. In reality, you could use the help, and seeing more of Bucky was an added bonus that was hard to refuse. You wanted to get to know him better—you couldn’t deny that—and this seemed like a perfect place to start. 

Plus who were you kidding, you enjoyed being called Tulip. 

“Alright deal,” your smile matches his when you agree. Bucky was in the same boat as you. Not knowing where this could go, not dwelling on what the future may hold, but certain that he wanted to spend more time with you. 

Reluctantly, Bucky pulled away from the counter,“Well I gotta hit the road, the guys’ll be wonderin’ where I’ve been.” The vibrations in his pocket from his phone notifications told him as much. 

You hid your disappointment behind a grateful expression,“Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks again for the help, Bucky. Let me know what you think of the spreads!” 

Bucky grabbed a hold of the basket of sweets, and slowly walked backwards towards the exit as he wanted to keep his eyes on you for as long as he could. Every fiber of his being fighting to stay.

“Anytime, Tulip—and I’ll let ya know. Have a good night.”

“You too, Bucky. Drive safe!”

Bucky walked back to his Harley smiling like a teenager with a crush. His every step feeling lighter than earlier in the night. Whether he recognized it or not that day, it was all because of you. There was just something about you that was refreshing to Bucky, like the morning air after a night of heavy rain. The first rays of sunlight after a cold winter’s night. The cool breeze that brings you back to life on a hot summer’s day. 

That was you. 

You were the morning air, the sunlight, and the cool breeze. 

He didn’t know it yet, but in due time he would. 

In due time, you would be his Tulip. 

tagging some lovelies who asked to be tagged & others who seemed eager to read more ♡ ♡ ♡

@fanfictionreaderfan @nicksolemnlyswears @tilltheendofthelinebuckaroo @princessjellyfishlove @thewritergremlin-rae

(these tags were only for this fic and not for the full collection, so if you'd like to be tagged for the full thing let me know!!)

[fangswbenefits]

Discovery

Summary: Miguel tries to fix the damage of his obsession for you, only to discover a secret you’ve been keeping that will change everything…

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

Word count: 3k

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed and jealous Miguel. Inexperienced/In*ocent/V*rgin reader. Mast*rbation. Voye*rism (have to thank this anon).

Part 1 (if you’re just starting out) - Previous Part

Miguel O’Hara took pride in being able to keep his emotions at check.

For the most part, at least.

But when it came to you, he constantly found his reason at war with his feelings.

The way you were eyeing him expectantly, made his stomach flip.

“Is there something wrong?”

Many things.

For once, he didn’t want to lie to you. However, he dreaded what might happen in case he told you the truth.

Shaking his head, he took your pad in his hands, and glanced over at his watch.

100%

He wanted to just open the file and finally know who this Tom individual was, but he could see a faint frown settle on your face.

“Why can’t I have access to the settings?” you asked, coming to stand by his side to glare at the lit up screen.

He really didn’t want to lie.

“I needed to adjust the prototype first, before giving you full access,” he managed to say.

Great, Miguel.

Your eyes moved to glare at him. “You could have informed me of that.”

He could only nod, he tapped and scrolled through the interface, overriding the block he had placed on it a couple of days ago.

You didn’t seem upset in the slightest. If anything, it you seemed… tired? Sleepy?

“It’s done,” Miguel said, handing the pad back to you. “The interference was probably a mic, by the way.”

As you fought back a yawn, your face twisted into confusion. “A mic?”

Miguel was trying to play it casually, hoping that it would be enough to deflect this issue altogether.

But you… you were not easily detracted.

“Why is there a mic in my suit?”

His heart rate had nearly doubled, and he felt his sweat grow cold as your gaze intensified.

Then, he saw you straighten up as if hit by a sudden realisation.

“You… don’t trust me?” your voice was but a whisper and you started backing away from him. “You’re spying on me?”

Somehow, the conclusion you had drawn was almost as appalling as the truth.

“No! That is not why.”

“Then why?”

Miguel pressed his lips together, and you took his silence as an answer.

“Oh… you really don’t trust me, do you?” you went on, tears welling in your eyes. “I mean… Jessica did tell me you were against me joining Spider Society… I just… thought she wasn’t being serious…”

Miguel stepped closer, feeling a surge of indignation. “That was before I realised your potential!”

You blinked your tears away angrily. “You’re not even denying it.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “I had my doubts at first, yes. Your inexperience, for example. But Jess quickly convinced me to take you in,” he continued, knowing that he sounded desperate at this point. “You are a very talented spider, and I realised that nearly right away.”

Then your eyes widened all of a sudden as if you had just realised something daunting.

Miguel felt his stomach flip, already anticipating more something much worse.

“Oh… oh… you — you sent Jessica to my dimension because of Tom…” you said, visibly shaken. “He’s subject A. You… you… woah!”

Miguel felt control slip through his fingers with each accusation you threw at him.

There was no point denying it, and he didn’t want to lie to you. If anything, he only sought to do damage control.

But your usual calm and sweet demeanor had long vanished.

“Who do you think Tom is?” you said between gritted teeth, clenching your fists at your sides. “Some… some secret weapon against Spider Society? Is that it?”

It was evident from your reaction that he clearly wasn’t that.

“Listen, I d-”

But you immediately cut him off, tears streaking down your face. “You want to know who he really is? Do you?”

In truth, he did. However, not at the expense of your emotional stability. Not like this. Everything was going sideways and he felt petrified.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll tell you!” you spat, hurt swelling in your voice. “Three days after I got bitten by that spider, I was struggling to get the hang of all the changes.” You began pacing nervously around the room, no longer looking at him. “I was heading toward a robbery site and… Tom was there… the criminals had dynamite and were threatening to blow up the building,” your voice cracked momentarily and you took a deep breath before continuing. “In an effort to get him out of there, I shot my web at his chest, but lost control and balance, and sent him flying across the street as the explosives went off…”

Miguel could only stare from a distance, feeling the frustration in your words.

You halted and glared at him, lips quivering and more tears spilling. “Tom broke his arm and suffered a serious concussion. Because of me.”

He opened his mouth to offer words of comfort, but decided not to interrupt.

“I grew up with Tom. He is — was my best friend,” you sniffled, lowering you gaze. “I even had feelings for him at one point, which was ridiculous… he was too good for me, anyway.”

Miguel took a few steps in your direction, wanting to convince you otherwise, but you immediately retreated away from him.

“Thankfully, he managed to fully recover. No one found out it had been me who caused it in the first place… everyone just assumed it happened because of the explosion…” you mumbled, before crossing your arms and hugging yourself, showing him you had done this multiple times before in search for comfort. “And I was a coward… I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth… so I removed myself from his life.”

A tense silence followed.

Nothing could have prepared Miguel for this revelation, and he couldn’t help but to feel a wave of sympathy for you wash down on him.

You then eyed him. “I don’t want your pity. I deserve this. I was never a decent spider-woman and-”

He quickly stopped you. “That is absolutely not true and you are not a coward.”

“Oh, but I am. When Jessica approached me with the offer to join you, I didn’t even think twice,” you confessed. “I’d do anything to spend as much time away from my dimension as possible.”

“You still perform your duties, as far as I know,” he pointed out rationally.

You let out a pained groan. “Because I have to! I’d much rather stay in the lab, piecing things together and be useful in other ways.”

“You could have told me.”

This time, you frowned and Miguel realised such expression didn’t suit you. At all.

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t have to. This is something I’m ashamed of.” You then pointed at his watch. “Your file won’t tell you any of this, and I really wish you hadn’t gotten involved, because this was my story to tell.”

Your words pierced through him like sharp knives, and he realised he had not only gone too far, but had also managed to hurt you in the process.

“If there is anyone here who understands what you are going through, it’s me,” he began carefully. “I know how it feels to want to do the right thing, only for the consequences to be disastrous.”

He watched your face soften ever so slightly, and you didn’t flinch away from him when he came to stand right in front of you.

“I’m really sorry that I overstepped the line,” he said softly. “I really care about you. That is the reason why I had the mic in your suit and why Jessica went looking for Tom.”

A half-truth, he figured. He couldn’t flat out say the actual reason. How would he even explain that he was obsessed with you? How could that justify any of this?

Simply put, it couldn’t.

And you would resent him.

So, he settled for a half-truth. He did care about you. Immensely. More than he could possibly reason with. But he just couldn’t have you know how much he wanted you to be with him to the point of extreme obsession.

Especially not after discovering this secret of yours.

He had to win you over.

“There is no one who can understand how hou feel better than me,” he whispered, cradling your face in his hands, tilting it enough to have your eyes meet his.

“But… you’re the Miguel O’Hara… you’re so… ” your voiced trailed off.

“Spider Society exists because of my mistake. Many people died at my hands, even if it was unintentional,” said with a sigh. “That is a burden I’ll carry forever with me. What you see here came at a price.”

You swallowed.

“But you don’t have to go through this.”

“How so?”

He caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. “You get a chance set things straight. Tom is still alive. I don’t get to have that.”

He would never have Gabriella back. Ever. That was the ultimate price he had to pay.

Your gaze dropped and he saw a couple of tears streaming down your face. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not, but it’s still an open door. A choice you have.”

He felt your hands grip his wrists for support, as silence took over you.

“I just wish you’d told me,” he whispered, closing his eyes and planting a kiss to your forehead. “I would have been here for you sooner.”

The effect of his words coupled with the gesture were enough to have you break into a sob, tears streaming down your cheeks, as Miguel held your face with both hands.

This was painful to witness.

He knew all too well how it felt to feel powerless and thinking that you’ve run out of options.

He knew you now. He understood you. Better than anyone ever could.

“I’m… s-sorry…” you mumbled, trying to keep yourself from crying. “You’re… getting all w-wet…”

Miguel couldn’t help but to smile endearingly at your concern, as your tears began to roll down his hands.

“Do not apologise,” he said firmly. “You can cry. I’m here for you.”

Nodding, you opened your eyes again and tilted your had back to stare at him.

“Please s-stay…” you said in between sobs, your hands gripping him tightly. “Please…”

You were killing him.

Little by little.

Miguel would give you everything.

He nodded and you stepped back and let go of him, running the back of your hands across your cheeks to dry them.

Then you went to sit on your couch, removing the clutter of wires and boxes that were in the way.

Miguel spotted a blanket nearby and came to sit by your side, draping it over your shoulders.

You leaned against the backrest, and he followed suit, feeling your head drop to his shoulder.

“Please remove the mic… and delete that file…” you mumbled.

“I will.”

He swung his arm across your from you, to pull you closer to him.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, and Miguel closed his eyes, relieved that he had managed to somehow control the damage he had caused. Unfortunately, it had come at the expense of you having to open up to him, and he felt guilty for that…

He knew he had to prove himself to you, and was grateful that you hadn’t chosen to shut him out completely.

“Somehow… this was sort of cathartic?” your voice was suddenly heard.

Miguel squeezed your arm tenderly.

“I had… never told this to anyone…”

Guilt hit him at once. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be… I think I needed to let it out,” you mused against him.

He couldn’t help but to feel an intense wave of compassion for you. There was no way around it: Miguel was in too deep when it came to you. Everything about you pulled him in and gripped him.

You would always be his sweet girl.

His devotion was yours.

Just yours.

“Hey, Miguel?”

He felt you shift beside him and he looked down to meet your sleepy eyes. “Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Your words didn’t register at first, and he thought he had misheard you.

“What?”

You slipped your feet under you, before leaning slowly into him, face drawing near. “Can I kiss you?”

Denial hit him. “You’re just sleepy.”

But you didn’t back down. “No… I just…” your eyes darted down. “Can I?”

His heart went into a frenzy and he was left speechless. Your eyes were set on his lips and he somehow found the strength to nod.

It took you a couple of seconds to adjust yourself, and once you did, you closed the the gap, parting your lips slightly.

Miguel was left perplexed.

Weeks of yearning and obsession were finally being vindicated.

“Pretty eyes,” you whispered, breath fanning his lips. “So pretty…”

Your noses brushed together and he fought the urge to pull you into his lap at once.

“You’re the pretty one…” he said truthfully.

A smile curved your lips even through your sleepiness. “I’m going to kiss you now, Miguel O’Hara…”

And you did.

The moment your lips met his, Miguel felt his body react. It didn’t take long for the blood to rush down to his cock, slowly stirring it.

He could taste the inexperience on your lips as you kept breaking the kiss to gasp for air. It was blatantly obvious you needed some help figuring out what do next, so he happily obliged.

With one hand he managed to shift your leg to swing across his, and with the other he propped you onto his lap.

You broke the kiss, adjusting yourself and lacing your arms behind his neck and taking his lips again.

This time, he pressed his thumb to your chin, parting your lips, so he could deepen the kiss with his tongue. You immediately complied, and allowed him in with a soft whimper.

Miguel finally tasted you.

His sweet girl.

You came down to press your crotch against his painfully hard cock, and he immediately had to still your hips and lift you slightly.

You broke the kiss again, confusion in your eyes. “What…”

He didn’t dare confess it to you.

Instead, he pressed on your lower back so you would lean into him again with a kiss.

He wanted to taste you, but he couldn’t have you sit on his cock like that… he would absolutely burst.

His sweet girl sounded so sweet and receptive…

He felt you trying to defy his hold on your hips, surely wanting that friction, but he couldn’t afford that.

As much as he wanted to feel you grinding on him, he would be too embarrassed to cum so soon, and that thought was what ultimately prevented him from reaching the point of no return.

He brought one hand to grip your wrist, allowing the top half of his digital suit to disintegrate, so he could place the palm of your hand on his chest, revelling in your heated skin against his.

Suddenly, you parted from him with a gasp. “Wait… I’m…”

He arched an eyebrow in confusion and watched as you snaked your arm in between you two, sliding your hand down your sweatpants.

Miguel’s eyes widened and he was about to lose it until he realised what was really happening.

You slowly removed your hand and glared at it. “Oh.”

Your fingers were drenched in your wetness.

You were soaked.

For him.

He carefully looped his fingers around your wrist, wanting to taste you, but that sent you into an immediate frenzy, and you fumbled to get up from his lap, nearly falling back if not for his incredible reflexes.

“Easy…” he cooed, caressing his thumb along your pulse point. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.”

You tumbled to the side and he let go of you, watching you sit back against the cushioned backrest and looking startled like a deer in headlights.

Just how inexperienced were you?

“Thanks…” you mumbled, chest heaving erratically. “I’m… yeah… and sorry…”

Miguel sat up straighter and arched a brow. “You don’t have to apologise.”

You nodded, your eyes falling to his bulge. “I mean… for that…”

Only you would ever apologise for giving him a raging boner.

His sweet girl…

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, feeling his heartbeat slow down. “Are you okay?”

“Yes…”

He offered a warm smile. “Good.”

Miguel didn’t even know where to begin. He couldn’t quite grasp the events of tonight, and it almost felt like a fever dream.

He was so used to getting hard from just the thought of you, that he couldn’t believe he was now hard because of you.

Still, the way you had reacted when you realised how wet you were for him led him to believe that maybe you were far more inexperienced than he had anticipated.

And he would respectfully give you all the time and space.

He would wait for you to ask him for more.

He could wait. His throbbing cock not so much, but he had other ways of dealing with that.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked, adjusting himself over his suit.

Your eyes widened. “Oh…”

“Just to ease some of the tension,” he immediately said.

He was desperate to let his cock spring free, and let it calm down until he was back at his apartment.

You then averted your gaze. “Can you… do it here?”

Miguel was utterly and completely taken aback.

“I… I have never…” you went on, quickly pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them, and covering your face. “Nevermind…”

Oh.

Now it all made sense.

“Hey… look at me,” Miguel started, reaching out to tug at your wrist. “It’s okay.”

Slowly, you lifted your head to peer at him with evident hesitation. “Is it too… weird?”

“Not at all.”

And he meant it. By this point, he could feel his cock twitching more often, as more and more precum began to drip from the tip.

“Are you sure?” he asked, needing the absolute confirmation.

You promptly nodded, resting your chin on your forearm, eyeing him intensely.

He paused for a moment, expecting to be jolted away from this dream, or to have you backtrack.

“Please…” you whispered.

Swallowing hard, he allowed himself to sink into the backrest, before having the lower half of his suit disintegrating, and his cock finally released from its confinements.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted.

An instant ego boost that caused him to hiss as he wrapped his fingers around it. His body was so ready for you. Almost too ready. It didn’t take long before Migue felt droplets of precum sliding down his hips.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from you and it only added to the pleasure he felt.

Giving himself a few tentative pumps, he watched closely as you glared at the motion, curiosity splattered all over your face.

The first moans escaped his lips and he nearly slid his eyes shut, trying to stop himself from cumming too quickly.

But he didn’t want to miss out on anything you had to offer.

Miguel soon found a steady rhythm and began to fuck his hands like so many times before. But unlike those other times, he had you as an audience and he knew he wouldn’t last long no matter how hard he tried to muster images of the Vulture to dwindle his impending orgasm.

Then, you shifted closer, your legs dropping, but still pressed together.

He groaned, knowing exactly why you were being so fidgety.

Your hand was clutching at the hem of your shirt as a way to anchor yourself from the visual stimulation.

“You can touch yourself…” Miguel rasped, tightening the grip around himself, precum now flowing down his knuckles.

You pressed your legs tighter together and Miguel had to halt his motion or he would burst.

“…. or not,” he added, not wanting to overstep your line of comfort.

Your eyes darted to his face momentarily and, for the second time, Miguel saw your hand disappear inside your pants. You gasped softly and he could only guess that you must have reached your clit.

You let out the sweetest whimper, and Miguel’s cock twitched immediately.

His chest heaved and he swiped his thumb across the tip of his cock, letting out a groan.

He watched in awe as your arm moved rhythmically, and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Look at me…” he breathed.

You were biting yout lip, but did what he asked.

The urge to replace you hand with his — better yet, his cock — was almost painful and he knew he was heading towards the precipice, having to space out his strokes.

Your gaze fell to his hand. “How’s it so hard?”

He would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire and him being in need of release.

You scooted closer and closer, until your face was mere inches away, while still touching yourself.

For him.

Because of him.

“Why do you think?”

You gasped and he saw your hand slid out of your pants, fingers glistening with your wetness.

“Can… I?”

Miguel was too far gone to deny you of a newfound experience, so he nodded, bracing himself for what was about to happen.

He would burst.

You chewed on your lower lip as if unsure of what to do next, but he wanted you to take your time. A few moments later, you reached down with your soaked hand and he lets go of his cock, welcoming your touch.

He threw his head back and had to muster all of his willpower not to cum right away, as the pads of your fingers tentatively traced the underside of his cock, slowly moving to graze the veins that bulged from under the sensitive skin.

Everything inside him was suddenly burning like wildfire and he couldn’t stop his hips from jerking up.

By the time your thumb reached his tip and grazed slowly, Miguel hissed violently.

“Stop… stop - stop… please-” he begged, but was already being overtaken by the suffocating grip of a powerful orgasm.

You had indeed stopped touching him, but the damage had already been done.

His cock twitched rhythmically as hot spurts of cum began to cover his abs. Witch each roll of his hip, Miguel felt his vision blur and his fangs extend. He groaned your name a couple of times, before his words started to fuse together in a incoherent mess.

The stiffness of his peak shattered after a while and he slumped into the couch, struggling to even out his breathing.

Once he was finally able to open his eyes again, you came into his field of vision, holding a towel in your hands.

“Here,” you said as a smile broke across your face, before sitting by his side and offering it to him.

Even through the haze of an orgasm, Miguel was ablet o feel his heart skip a beat from your tenderness.

He proceeded to clean himself, wiping away the impressive amount of cum that had pooled on his lower abdomen.

“That was…”

His eyes were immediately on you. “Do you want me to…” he trailed off, allowing the not so subtle implication to dangle.

You didn’t catch it at first, but his silent was very telling.

“Oh, no — no, I’m fine, thanks,” you said with a chuckle.

“It’s only fair that I return the favor…”

You shook your head more vehemently this time. “It wasn’t a favor to begin with, Miguel. I was curious and… just wanted to watch you do it,” you mumbled as his digital suit began to cover his body again. “I had never… yeah — I’m still…”

Miguel had his suspicions that you were inexperienced, but he had no ultimate proof of that.

But this… “You’ve never had sex before?”

You settled back on the couch, crossing your legs. “No.”

He wasn’t sure of what to say. Was there even anything he should say?

So, he fell silent, waiting for you to take the lead.

“But… this was an interesting experience,” you eventually went on with a smile. “Do you… regret it?”

“No.”

But he could see doubt already settling on your face. “Maybe it was too much.”

“Not for me,” he said truthfully, straightening up in his seat. “Don’t think that, please.”

You nodded, but Miguel felt a pang of dread spread across his body. The last thing he wanted was for you to regret having opened up to him.

He had been longing for this for far too long to let it all be for nothing.

You were his sweet girl and you had his heart.

“Listen,” he started, set on preventing that from happening. “I can only speak for myself, but that was extremely hot. You are so, so attractive,” he went on, earning a doubting glare from you. “You are. I usually last longer than that.”

Your lips curled into an embarrassed smile, but Miguel could feel his words weren’t exactly reaching you.

Then silence took over.

You kept staring at your hands, head down and humming softly.

“Are you okay?” he shifted closer.

You took a deep breath. “I was thinking about your words earlier…”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

He watched you closely. “And what are you thinking?”

“I think you’re right, Miguel,” you drawled out, your voice but a whisper. “I’ve been blaming myself for what happened to Tom for too long.”

A jab of compassion and empathy tugged at his heartstrings. “You’re absolutely right.”

Then, lifting your head, you met his eyes. “I think… I want to meet up with Tom again. Thank you for making me realise that, Miguel,” you finished with a sweet smile.

Part 6

Masterlist

[headspace-hotel]

listen one of the major reasons i care so much about Arundinaria is that she's gotta be legit the most exciting rising star in the evolutionary world.

Flowering plants emerge like 100mil years ago, proceed to become the baddest bitches on planet earth with hundreds of thousands of species found in every environment.

from this lineage emerges the GRASS which, using the simple technologies of "Grow leafs from the bottom so the tops can get eaten and you can just keep a-goin'" and "Not die when stepped on" become the undisputed masters of the sunny and arid regions

From the lineage of the GRASSES. Emerges a grass that decides to step up its game and invent WOOD to become some sort of fucked up tree. This grass is known as WOODY BAMBOO and it kicks everybody's ass.

The woody bamboo is mostly thriving in Asia, but around 2mil years ago, a bamboo got LOST AS FUCK and accidentally went to NORTH AMERICA. It turns out the south-eastern part of North America is a downright luxurious climate for a bamboo and so the bamboo actually evolved into its own genus.

However, there was an ICE AGE that froze a bunch of North America and the bamboo was forced to a tiny edge of the Gulf Coast. Fortunately, the bamboo made a mutualistic symbiosis with HUMANS, which used controlled burning to create its ideal habitats in exchange for using the stems for a super-strong, versatile, flexible, water resistant material for literally everything. So basically it spread all throughout the Southeast of North America and formed its own habitat type, a bamboo forest environment known as a CANEBRAKE.

It's native North American bamboo, y'all. It's been reduced to 2% of its former extent and a lot of people don't even know it exists.

This plant is going places we can't let this shining streak of weird-ass plants with ideas just strange enough to work collapse because of a freak colonialism incident

Arundinaria gigantea my absolute beloved

[fyodior]

FUCK YOU, FUCK ME!

pairing: toji fushiguro x gn!reader (no anatomy described)

cw: pegging toji !!!! reader uses a strap, toji is hesitant but goes along with it and ends up LOVING it. anal (m!receiving), missionary and doggy, minor orgasm control, etc. kind of glorified anal so keep that in mind. MINORS DONT INTERACT ILL BITE

notes: this is a sponsored fic for @ficsforgaza, and im so so excited to finally be posting it!! (other wips available for sponsor here) go check out some other great creators on the blog too!! and this is my first time back writing in a bit so pls be kind :") divider by @/cafekitsune!

wc: 2.8k

“Toji, sweetheart, you need to relax.”

“Fuck- I’m fuckin’ trying,” your lover grunts, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath. “I’m not fuckin’ used to things inside’a me like you are.” You choose to ignore that last quip. 

Only half a very well lubed finger deep into his tight ass, you figure this is going to be a long night, but you know it’ll be so, so, worth it - for both you and him. 

The day you first proposed trying anal to Toji, he was all for it - excited even. Until he found out that you meant he’d be the one receiving, and his face immediately fell. 

“No. Nope. Nothin’s goin’ up my shitter,” he had responded, making you roll your eyes and groan. You swore up and down that a prostate orgasm could be life changing for males, but he flat out refused for months. It wasn’t until your birthday when you promised him he didn’t have to buy you a gift if he agreed to try anal just once - and then he was all for it. 

He was hesitant as the two of you scrolled through sex toy websites to search for the best possible strap and dildo for him. Pointing out ones you thought he might like only made his face contort in discomfort, haunted by the thought of something going inside his asshole. The list of “hard no’s” grew and grew the longer you searched: nothing longer than 6 inches, nothing girthier than a circumference of 5 inches, no skin colors because that felt too real, and no balls. Toji Fushiguro was a hard man to please. 

Finally, finally, after months of convincing, hours of online shopping, and a few more days following the arrival of the package, did you have your lover laid out in front of you, legs spread and hole awaiting. It was the sweetest fucking sight in the world, and you were so grateful you maintained enough patience to get to this moment. Good things really do come to those who wait.

The harness was already strapped around your waist, painfully eager to attach the dildo and get to it, but of course there was ample prep required, especially for someone completely new to anal. Per your request, he had showered prior to you getting home from work and had tried to clean himself out a little bit, which you were very grateful for. Now you were tasked with stretching and prepping his hole. Your mouth watered at the thought of it. 

Instructing him to lay on his back, for no other reason than you wanted to see his face, you press his thick, sinewy thighs apart and settle between them. You had done your best to create a gentle, relaxing environment in your shared bedroom, with the lights dimmed low, a few candles flickering on the shelf, and soft music playing from the TV. Yet still, the man was as tense as a clenched fist. 

The goal was to get him a little worked up and wanting it, so you start with a little foreplay. Kissing him softly, you jerk him off slowly, getting him hard enough that he wants to cum. His hard cock lays neglected on his belly as he rests on his back, propped up against a horde of pillows, and you could honestly cum just at the sight of him. Toji is fucking beautiful.

But now it was finally time. After dousing your fingers in a thick, goopy layer of lube, you press the tip of your ring finger against his puckered hole, and he immediately flinches.

“Baby, I promise I won’t make this hurt, you have to breathe, though,” you plead, using your other hand to massage his thigh. “Here - take a deep breath with me.” 

Motioning for him to follow, you suck in air, watching him closely. After rolling his eyes and deciding he’ll finally play along, he mimics you. The second he releases the breath he was holding, his body deflating, you take the chance and slip in your finger down to just the first knuckle.

He immediately gasps, furrowing his brows and grunting. “Hey! You fuckin’ tricked me!” he accuses, indignant as a little kid. 

You chuckle in response. “It got it in, didn’t it?”

You stay like that for a bit, wriggling the tip of your finger purely just to start getting him used to the feeling of something inside him, watching his expressions closely.

“Does it feel good at all, babe?” 

It takes Toji a moment to respond, clearly chewing on the idea in his brain. “It… it’s weird,” he finally says, pursing his lips. “It just feels strange - not… bad, though. Yet.” 

“Good,” you nod. “Good. Just hang in there, and you’ll feel good soon, okay? Promise.”

He just grumbles before gripping his cock, fisting it a few times before you smack his hand away. 

“Hey!” he gasps, jaw wide open. “It’s my dick!”

“No. I said no touching yourself yet,” you bite back. When he looks like he’s about to pitch a fit, you decide to throw in a “please, baby? For me?” and he backs down. Toji is nothing if not a sucker for you.

After warning him, you push your finger in to the second knuckle. He sucks in a sharp breath, but makes no protest - a good sign. Soon, you have your whole finger inside him, and he’s panting a bit.

“See, baby? I knew you could take it,” you smile softly. 

“Whatever,” Toji grumbles, avoiding your gaze. He can deny it all he wants, but he can’t hide the fact that his dick twitched every time you pushed your finger in a little further. “Let’s hurry this up and get it over with.”

Your eyes go wide at that, but you nod. “Your wish is my command, sir,” you smirk.

And just like that, your whole pointer finger has bullied its way inside him. 

“Fuck!” Toji coughs, lurching forward. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, but I can,” you grin impishly. “Just lay back and let me work you open, okay?”

Now that you have two fingers inside him, you can actually make some headway. Squirting some more lube around his entrance, you start to very slowly fuck him with your fingers, pumping them in and out at a snail’s pace. Toji stays silent, still refusing to meet your gaze, but his cheeks are cherry red and he’s gripping the sheets with a tight fist. 

The quiet music coming from the TV hums softly in the background, and you hope it’s relaxing him at least a little as you slowly spread your fingers apart, trying to scissor them open to loosen the muscles and stretch him out. Toji’s breath hitches when you spread them even past when his hole starts to resist, and you smirk. You guess he likes the feeling of being full just as much as you do. 

Time passes painfully slowly while you work him open with your fingers, aching to finally get inside him. To finally fuck Toji in the way he deserves. Finally, you feel like he’s prepped enough to adequately take the strap. It might hurt a tiny bit, but what’s the harm in that?

“Okay, sweetheart,” you start as you fit the jet black dildo into the O-ring connected to the strap. “You okay on your back like this, or do you wanna take it from the back?”

His face burns bright red at the thought of you fucking him in doggy, so he just shakes his head. “ ‘m fine like this,” he mumbles, and you nod.

Once again settling between his thighs, you wrap a hand around his cock and pump it lazily, offering him a small smile.

“You look so pretty laid out like this for me, legs spread and ass spread so wide, ready to take my cock,” you muse, mind in overdrive.

“S-st-stop,” Toji squeaks out, biting his fist. He won’t admit it, he can’t admit it, he’ll die before admitting how much that turns him on. He can’t admit how his ass has started to ache for something to fill it back up again, even though you’re more than willing to oblige. 

“Can’t, baby boy,” you frown, leaning in for a kiss. “Not when I finally have you like this.” 

The brief kisses seem to relax the tense man just a bit, melting against your lips and kissing back hungrily. You could’ve sworn you caught a just fuck me already under his breath, but he’ll refuse it until his deathbed. 

When you make eye contact with him and he nods, you press the well-lubed tip of the strap against his hole, watching with stars in your eyes as it resists, but still tries to spread open. A cough can be heard from near the headboard, but no protests so far. Soft whines fight to escape Toji’s throat as you push in each centimeter of the silicone cock, face burning hot and red. About halfway in, you pause, giving the man a moment to breathe and acclimatize to the intrusion inside him. He’s grateful for it too, huffing and groaning and squirming as he tries to find a more comfortable position, but there is none. Not when there’s something hard shoved up his ass. You just stay as patient as a saint, massaging his muscly thighs and running your hands up his torso, trying your best not to lean too far forward and inch any more of the cock inside him. As a treat, you give his throbbing, aching cock a few tugs with your spit coated palm, and he lets out a sigh. 

One more moment of eye contact, and more nod, and you push your hips a little farther forward. Suddenly, Toji lurches forward again.

“Gah!!” he cries out, eyes wide and heaving. “What- what was that? What did you do?” The accusatory questions only make you laugh, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. 

“Must be your sweet spot - your prostate,” you chuckle. “Here - let’s try again.” 

Pulling out a few inches and thrusting in again has Toji sputtering and groaning all over again. You can’t help but break out into a wild smirk. This is exactly what you wanted. Not only for yourself, as a perfect view to marvel at and take in, but for him - Toji deserves this, deserves to feel good. 

Leaning forward, hands braced on either side of his chest, you muster up all your strength and thrust hard. This time his head is falling back against the pillow as he cries out with a call of your name, too.

“It’s all the way inside, sweetheart,” you smile, marveling at how the silicone balls are pressed firm against his ass. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he nods, gulping. “Just- let’s just do this- please,” Toji chokes out.

This version of Toji, one so vulnerable and desperate, is one you’ve never seen before. Not even when he’s fucking you - he’ll get desperate to get his dick wet, sure, but this is… different. Sweeter. His dark, unruly hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, and his chest is heaving in anticipation. You simply have no choice than to give him exactly what he wants.

Inching your strap out to where the tip is almost dangling out of his hole, you thrust all the way back in, relishing in the way he once again moans. His reaction is so much sweeter than you could’ve imagined, and you simply can’t help the way you go fucking crazy. Your thrusts pick up speed, anchoring yourself by gripping the sheets hard as you erratically fuck your lover’s ass. The both of you are complete messes, groaning and whining and gasping almost theatrically, chasing a beautiful high. 

“Harder,” Toji grunts, pulling you in by your cheeks for a messy kiss as his thick legs circle your waist. “Fuck! Fe-feels so fucking good, fuck, fuck fuck…” he blabbers, your face still in his tight grip. You couldn’t give less of a shit, just want to see him falling apart even more, so you give him exactly what he asks for.

Wet sounds of lube and skin on skin echo throughout the bedroom, mixed with the tunes of both your moaning and groaning. An ache is blossoming in your thigh muscles and you can feel yourself losing stamina but you refuse to give in just yet, using every ounce of your strength to piston your hips in and out of him. Toji can’t help but clench tight around your cock, you can feel it by the increased resistance, and you truly think you must have died and gone to heaven. 

“Toji, sweetheart,” you call, trying to grab the man’s attention. “Get on your hands and knees for me, okay?”

For the first time likely ever, the man does as he’s asked with no protest. He hisses a bit as you slip all the way out of his tight heat, but scrambles to flip over and present his ass for you. There’s no way this is your Toji, not when he’s acting like this - but you decide you’ll allow yourself to indulge in this doppelganger, just for tonight. 

Some adjustments to his stance are required, as he is taller than you, but you soon find a comfortable position so that your hips can be flush against his ass. His throbbing cock and balls hang heavy at this angle, dangling between his thighs, but he doesn’t seem to mind. At this angle, you have a much better view of his beautiful ass, using two hands to spread his cheeks apart and stare with a slack jaw at his abused hole, puffy and throbbing. It’s mind boggling that you were inside him. And will be again. With one languid thrust, you’re bottoming out again and pressing his face into the pillow, making him cry out. 

This angle, while depriving you of your lover’s beautiful face, is much easier for your task. Having his ass presented for you like this makes fucking him a breeze - so you take, and take, and take, and take. Pump in and out of his tight, wet hole, both of your bodies trembling as you���re overcome with so much emotion and overstimulation. You feel like a bitch in heat with the way you’re rutting into him, bottoming out with almost every thrust. 

“Fuck,” Toji spits. “I’m gonna fucking cum.” 

Your eyes go wide at the realization. He’s going to cum? Just from getting fucked? Holy shit.

“Yeah, baby? Wanna cum? Feels so good getting fucked, huh?” you tease, continuing to fuck him hard and deep. “Want me to help you out, or so how long it takes for you to cum just from getting your ass fucked? Hm?” Your own words are lost on you, seemingly coming from a place of pure lust and not from your rational mind.

“Please help,” Toji chokes out. And he’s been so good, not touching his cock this entire time, taking your cock so well, that you decide to do as he asks. 

Your pace slows down some as you wrap a hand around his aching, angry red cock, thumbing at the tip and using his tacky precum to lube up your hand some. It only takes one, two, three strokes before he’s gasping and spurting thick, hot ropes of cum onto the bed, whole body tensing as he cries out louder than you’ve ever heard before. He collapses onto the bed, and you take the message, pulling your strap out from his abused hole. No words come from his mouth, only heaves and gasps for air as he tries to come to terms with what just occurred. You don’t nag him at all, just flop down next to him and push his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes.

“Did that feel good, baby? Hm?” you ask, smiling softly at him. That’s truly all you ever wanted. You truly couldn’t give much of a shit about your own desires and lust - all you ever, ever wanted in this world was for your lover to feel good. 

Toji gulps. “....Yeah. Felt real good.” It’s obvious he’s exhausted, only moments from passing out. You can’t blame him.

“Did so, so good for me, sweetheart,” you coo, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Now get some rest. It’s hard getting fucked, isn’t it?” That makes him chuckle weakly.

“Fuck you,” he rasps, but he has a lopsided smile on his face. “Love you. Really. Thank you.”

Your heart soars and you smile widely. “Of course, sweetheart. Always. I love you. Now please get some rest so we can go for a second round.”

[notiddygothgf]

❛ Talk to me, baby. I'm goin' blind from this sweet, sweet craving, whoa-oh. Let's lose our minds and go fucking crazy. I-I-I-I-I-I keep on hoping we'll eat cake by the ocean. ❜

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: you and choso find a way to beat the heat.

★ c.w.: sexual tension, PWP, porn without plot, happy ending! au?, idk everyone's happy lol, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, cowgirl in the backseat, creampie, blowjobs, choso has mommy issues lowkey, and the reader caters to them lowkey. dom/sub undertones, choso doesnt know how to deal with his horniness lol, old fashioned, nasty ass sex, just read it you'll love it.

★ a/n: hi baby girls!! I have been holding onto this one for a MINUTE bc I wanted to make sure it's perfect. im doin a lil bit of a kinktober, so send those requests in! I hope u all love it as much as I do. bitchz w mommy issues wya???🗣️🗣️

★ w.c.; 8.6k

masterlist

CHOSO LOVED THE BEACH. Not for the reason one might normally proclaim such affection for an otherwise family-friendly pastime, but it was a valid reason nevertheless. He used to hate it, actually, especially when Getou and Mahito would drag him out there on the hottest day of the summer for their stupid villain conventions. He was quite comfortable at home in all of his layers. But there was something about the beach these days, something that had him reconsidering his bias. 

Call him classless, call him perverted. Whatever it was, there was this strange pull towards the beach that had him in a chokehold. He just couldn’t quite place it.

“You’re staring,” Megumi remarked.

Choso’s brow quirked. Letting his head loll to the side, teetering just off the edge of his beach chair, he offered the following words to his brother’s friend. “No, I wasn’t.”

He totally was. The way his sun glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as you walked past the two was a dead giveaway. But, shit, you looked too good to be true. You were this pretty little thing, strutting around in a pretty pink bikini, soaking in the rays of sunlight, and you were bringing a drink to your friend, Maki. Looked like a lemonade. Also looked like booze. It could have been anything, in all honesty, he wasn’t looking there. 

If there was a god out there, he hoped they would forgive him for his ravenous gaze. He had always had a little thing for you, if you will, but the moment you had walked onto the beach today he found himself completely enamored by you.

As you bent down to set the drink in the sand, the bottom of your small pink bikini slipped inward, revealing the smooth, sand-dusted skin of your plump little butt. Then you plopped down on the beach towel next to your friend and popped open the bottle of sunscreen.

Choso watched – rather shamelessly – as you sprayed some of it onto you arm, rubbing it in. You held the canister towards your chest at arms length and released some more of the sheer spray onto the skin there. It trickled down, catching the light of the sun, dripping down between your breasts–

A pair of hairy, pale legs obstructed the view. 

“Found a sand dollar,” Spoke none other than the world’s quirkiest little brother, Yuuji Itadori. In a rather fitting slow-pan up to his face, Choso took note of the dorky goggles that he had popped over his eyes. He was shirtless. You would think that the man would have learned that you don’t need to go deep sea diving at the beach by now. “You guys coming?”

Megumi took the words right out of Choso’s mouth. Or, actually, ‘word’ might be more fitting. 

“No.”

“I’ll pass,” Choso sighed, repositioning his sunglasses over his eyes. Silently, of course, he cursed his brother for putting on such a show in front of – what was he talking about? Choso Kamo… letting his desires cloud his love for his brother? He usually wasn’t this bad. “I thought I threw those out on you?”

“I bought new ones,” Yuuji muttered. He practically tore the goggles from his face, sending locks of pink hair standing up in the air. Tossing them to the side, he plopped between Megumi and Choso on the picnic blanket.

“Of course you did,” Megumi, who had, for a brief – but beautiful – moment been alluded into believing his friend had decided to keep his remarkable lack of social awareness to himself, reached into the cooler they had filled earlier that day and produced a much needed refreshment. 

“Hi!”

Choso, Yuuji and Megumi all turned their heads toward the sound.

It was you. His ‘crush’, as Yuuji had embarrassingly called it. And, shit, you looked even prettier up close. Your hair looked so soft. So did your–

He shook the thoughts away. 

“Sorry to bother ‘ya,” You lowered your head apologetically. You extended your arm out towards the three men. Clutched in your small hand was the bottle of sunscreen you had been using before Yuuji had caught Choso’s attention. “My friend is out cold. Could you just get my back for me?”

Choso felt his face grow red at the mere prospect of being so close to you. He had never had the courage to actually reach out and touch you. He felt as if, for some odd reason he didn’t quite understand, his touch would have killed you. You had always been so sweet to him, offering him small talk, refreshments, and friendly jokes when it was just the two of you away from the group.

“Not a problem, Sensei,” Yuuji replied rather quickly. 

He reached for the bottle. Before he could grab it, Megumi jabbed his elbow harshly into the back of Yuuji’s neck.

“Bitch, ow,” He hissed.

The glare Megumi shot him could have been heard from ten miles away. Choso sighed, refraining from shaking his head.

“I think he’s sick. I’ll bring him to the infirmary,” Megumi added quietly, standing up rather abruptly and taking Yuuji with him. 

Yuuji babbled mindlessly the whole way back.

Highschoolers.

Choso looked back to you. Just you. Alone. He felt his hands get all clammy again. He blamed it on the sun. You were holding the bottle expectantly. 

“Uh… I can… I can help, if you’re okay with that,” He looked away, internally kicking himself for fumbling so hard. 

You only tilted your head at him. Your eyes were so pretty, wide open as they lingered over his body, his eyes, his nose. Your gaze was a wildfire spreading over the expanse of his face.

It was then that he realized he was very, very shirtless.

“‘Kay, thanks,” you smiled softly.

As you laid down on the beach blanket, Choso felt his heart race even faster. He could hardly believe this was all happening – hell, part of him wondered if he had overstepped by offering his services to you. The sun beat down on your skin, his head, the sand – he blamed the warmth flooding his face on the weather. 

You were laid on your stomach only a few inches away, completely oblivious to his moral dilemma. 

He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself while he reached for the bottle of sunscreen you had set onto the blanket beside you. With hands that trembled ever-so-slightly, he uncapped the bottle and squeezed a small amount onto his palm. The sunscreen was cool to the touch – so, not wanting to cause you even the slightest bit of discomfort, he warmed it up between his hands.

He then hesitantly placed his hands on the smooth valley of your upper back. 

You gasped, twitching beneath his palms. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asked quickly, withdrawing his hands.

“No, sorry,” You sighed, shifting on the blanket and then relaxing once more. “Your hands are cold ‘s all.”

Choso felt the blush coming on all over again. He hoped you wouldn’t turn your head back around and see him like this. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, averting his gaze. 

“You’re all good, hot stuff,” You offered. “You can keep going.”

His face burned like hell at your compliment. He knew you were that way with everyone, dropping little ‘babe’s and ‘honey’s to your friends and fellow sorcerers. He wasn’t anything special, anyway. Surely, you weren’t talking to him.

He replaced his hands on your back, touch delicate like your skin would crack if he pressed too hard. He started with broad strokes, making sure to spread the sunscreen across your skin evenly. His fingers splayed out over your warm, soft skin, moving in circles. He massaged the sunscreen into your back with a tenderness that surprised even himself.

He wasn’t sure what this stuff actually did. He had seen some of Yuuji’s Jujutsu friends slather some on earlier. Judging by the name, he assumed it protected them from the sun. From what, though? Could the sun hurt some humans? He didn’t really understand.

“You’re wondering something,” You asked, seemingly sensing his pensiveness by the way his hands slowed. “Ask away.”

Choso bit the skin on the inside of his lip, “This lotion…” he asked, “What does it do?”

“Sunscreen?” You hummed. “It forms a layer over your skin so you don’t get sunburnt.”

“Sunburnt…” He reiterated. 

“Yeah, that shit hurts,” You added. “I’m guessing Itadori never gave you the run-up on beach necessities…?”

“I guess not,” He remarked quietly.

“I can show you how to apply yours if you want,” You said.

Choso’s heart felt like it would burst. “Okay,” he said, pausing slightly. “I’d like that, thanks.”

Then he was back to his job. His hands smoothed over your back, dipping down a little lower until his thumb brushed against the strap of your bikini. He felt suddenly aware of how soft and warm you felt beneath his touch. 

He was dangerously close to the knot in the string that held your whole getup together. He worried for a moment that the dainty bow would come undone – by some strange, supernatural turn of events – despite him making a great effort to move around it. 

Choso’s breath hitched when his finger caught on the string, making the knot snap against your skin. He froze up, heart pounding in his chest, perfectly still over your body. The string felt like a fragile barrier between your warm skin and his cold touch, between your body and the thoughts that raced through his mind.

He wondered if you found him weird and off-putting. His gaze flickered up to your face, leaning over slightly, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. 

But when he looked into your eyes, he found you were looking at him with the same curiosity. You smiled at him, pretty lips forming a reassuring expression, wordlessly encouraging him to keep going. 

Slowly, unsurely, Choso continued his ministrations. He trailed two digits down your spine, stopping at the string. He felt a knot beneath the skin there. He knew sorcerers put themselves through rigorous training. He didn’t doubt that you were feeling sore from the mission you had just come back from a few days ago.

“You’re tense here,” He said quietly.

You turned your head to look at him, “Yeah?” 

“Right here,” He pinpointed the exact area with his knuckles, pressing deep into the tissue. 

In response, you moaned quietly, back shifting beneath his touch. His shorts seemed to get just a little bit tighter. 

Calm down.

“You got magic hands, Choso,” You quipped, though your voice was strained as he passed over the knot a second time. “You could be a masseuse.”

He felt his nerves subside only slightly, though he felt flustered by your words.

You got magic hands.

You could be a masseuse.

Unbeknownst to him, the sensation of his touch created a pleasant tingling beneath your skin. You closed your eyes, letting him take the reins.

Choso continued to work his fingers over your back, feeling the tension slowly melt away beneath his touch. He had used up the last of the sunscreen to cover your lower back, the skin just above your bottom, and he realized his job was done.

“I think that should do it,” He said softly, voice tinged with reluctance as he removed his hands from your back.

You sat up, stretching, turning towards him, eyes sparkling, “Thanks, Cho, you’re a lifesaver.”

You’re a lifesaver.

A shy smile tugged at his lips, “Of course.”

Then, to his surprise, you asked. “You’re sweet. Mind if I sit with you?”

Choso felt his heart skip more than one beat. His eyes widened. He looked at the sand, the shoreline, anything but you. “Sure,” he said.

Smooth, dumbass.

You grinned and pushed yourself up, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Choso took a moment to collect his thoughts as you left. He was getting ahead of himself. Way ahead of himself. Stll, you had chosen to spend more time with him. You wanted to sit with him. 

Conveniently, only a brief moment after you had stepped away, Megumi returned with Yuuji in tow. Choso quirked a brow at the speed of their return.

“That was quick,” he remarked.

Megumi shrugged, “Took him to get ice cream on the boardwalk instead.”

“You get her number?” Yuuji asked.

“I was doing her a favor,” Choso’s calm facade broke. With wide eyes, he hissed, “Pervert.”

“Dumbass,” Yuuji sucked his teeth.. “Look, tonight’s the night to make a move. When else would you find yourself alone with her like this?”

And before Choso could respond, you came back, holding a speaker in one hand. “I brought snacks!” You smiled.

Some time around sundown, sometime after Getou had summoned up one of his low-grade curses to start a fire, the beach day transformed itself into a fireside chat. It was a picturesque scene. The sky was a canvas of blue, with hues of pink and orange painted over the horizon. It was mostly empty there, now. The waves lapped calmly at the shore, a quiet noise that seemed to accompany the quiet chatter of friends gathered around a fire.

There was laughter, groups of people indulged in conversations. Everyone seemed so calm, so happy, it almost seemed to good to be true.

Megumi and Itadori were caught in a cock-off with Maki. Nobara stargazing on her and Maki’s beach blanket. Gojo and Getou were talking in his direction, but not necessarily at him.

“I just think you have an unfair drinking advantage because you’re a man,” You were saying just off to Choso’s side.

The mood was light. Everyone seemed to be content. 

Choso, however, couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. The warm, fading sunlight seemed to caress your features from the side, highlighting your pretty smile and making your eyes shimmer. He found himself completely and utterly enamored by you.

You and Getou had cracked open a bottle of Tequila about an hour ago. Getou’s boyfriend long-term-long-distance-low-commitment-casual-boyfriend, Satoru Gojo was red in the face, slouched against the bare chest revealed by Getou’s unbuttoned floral shirt. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Gojo chuckled, letting Getou top off his fourth shot of the night.

Getou denied any relationship with Gojo. Their eyes betrayed them, though. The connection was evident in the loving glances they exchanged. 

You had a faint flush of your own, though you had only taken two shots so far.

He tried two of his own, only because you didn’t want to do them alone. He had never been big on drinking. He just didn’t want to seem like a pussy.

“Why don’t you pour me one so we can test that theory?” Nobara nudged you in the side.

Choso watched the scene unfold with mild interest.

“Because you’re a minor,” You said.

Nobara pouted, leaning back onto her blanket. “Not like I’ve never drank before.”

Maki chimed in over her shoulder, “Got vomit stains on my carpet to prove it.”

“Shut up,” She bit back. 

You handled the situation effortlessly. “I don’t condone teen drinking,” You began, your voice softening as you continued, “But. I know the four you will probably go hit up one of those beachside bars tonight with your fake IDs anyway.”

“Fake IDs?” Gojo looked at Megumi out of the corner of his eye. Megumi did not look back.

You clapped. Choso’s ears perked up at the sound.

“That being said!” You raised your voice a bit. “I would rather you drink something less potent. Under adult supervision.”

You turned to Getou and Gojo, who exchanged knowing glances before nodding their approval. Choso couldn’t help but be impressed.

“So who wants a Malibu rum spritzer?” You clasped your hands together.

Excitement rippled through the group, and all of the kids, yes all of the kids, Including Yuuji, eagerly raised their hands. 

Choso shot his brother a disapproving glare, one that dissipated the moment you leaned in, laying your head on his shoulder. Your voice, soft and smooth like your skin, enticed him as you sing-songed, “Let the kid live a little.”

It was rather remarkable, actually, how quickly his defenses melted at your gentle persuasion. He sighed in resignation. “Alright.”

You grinned up at him, effortlessly stealing his breath away. 

“Great,” you said, getting up from your spot without another word. “I’ll go get them from my car. Don’t wait up for me, I walk real slow.”

Turning your attention back to Choso, you looked at him with a warmth behind your gaze he couldn’t quite place. “Choso, sweetie, could you help me carry the cooler?”

His heart soared at your request – at the prospect of you wanting his assistance. He got to his feet quickly, eager to help. 

The sand felt cool beneath his feet as he followed your lead. 

The moon hung low in the sky as you and Choso strolled through the parking lot, searching for your jeep. The temperature had dropped quite a few notches from earlier, cold breeze rustling through Choso’s hair. 

When you spotted your ride, you said, “There it is!”

Choso followed wordlessly behind you. He was still quite nervous that – for the second time today – it was just you and him… alone. Yuuji’s words echoed through his mind.

“When else would you find yourself alone with her like this?”

You popped the door to the backseat open, sitting on the floor – your truck was raised a bit off the ground, so it didn’t put you too far below him. 

“My legs are so fucking sore,” You sighed. You dusted your leg off with the backside of your bare foot. When you peered up at him through those long, dense lashes of yours, he felt himself fall for you a second time. 

You asked him, “Mind if we take a little break?”

Choso nodded along like the dumb little dog he was for you.

You pushed yourself up and away from the truck, gesturing for him to get inside. It didn’t take much at all for him to step into it and take a seat. You settled in right next to him – perhaps a little closer to Choso than was strictly necessary. He couldn’nt help the pleasant shiver that went down his spine at the feeling of you sitting next to him; so warm, so soft, so perfect.

You let out a contented sigh and leaned your head on his shoulder once more. “I got tired of bein’ social,” You confessed.

He tried hard not to quirk a brow at the admission. Am I an exception?

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” He asked sincerely. He tried even harder to ignore the warm weight of your small head on his shoulder.

So close.

“No,” You hummed quietly. The interior light faded away, gently submerging the two of you in darkness. He could still see your face, your eyes – the way they seemed to sparkle as they looked up at him. “You’re different.”

Choso’s heart took the liberty of skipping one, two, three beats. 

You continued without allowing him time to come up with an adequate response. “Can I be honest with you, Choso?”

His cheeks flushed. Still, curiosity piqued, he muttered, “Of course.”

Your voice was soft and vulnerable when you replied, “I think you’re really hot.”

If his face wasn’t hot, it sure was now. He turned away even though he knew you couldn’t see him blushing. 

She thinks I’m hot?

Does that mean she likes me?

You had nothing but sincerity in your eyes while you gazed up at him. “You feel the same way, don’t you?”

He bit his tongue, answering honestly, “I do.”

He hated how calm and collected he sounded. On the outside, he was the image of composure. On the inside, he was dying a hundred times over. 

You grinned at his admission. “Can I ask you something else, then?”

His lips suddenly felt very dry. He tried his best to focus on the street outside, counting landmarks and objects like his life depended on it – two seagulls, five wooden posts, two dim street lights.

“Sure,” he said.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

And, dammit, when you asked him like that – he could practically feel the last of his resolve crumble beneath your gaze, beneath the weight of your head on his shoulder, beneath your gentle touch on his knee that he hadn’t noticed until now.

You were so close. So close that if he turned his head, angled it down just slightly, your noses would touch. He felt your breath, warm and steady against his neck – a calming symphony that contrasted the trembling mess he had become,

Yuuji’s words played on repeat again. Tonight’s the night to make a move.

He was such a fool for you. Still, he considered himself to be a man of restraint.

His voice was small and scarce, hardly above a whisper when he breathed out, “Yeah.”

Time seemed to slow down as your request hung out in the air. He could feel the anticipation building, buzzing. His heart pounded against his ribcage like a mallet to a gong. He had spent months wondering what would happen if you – by some odd, small chance – returned his affections, and now, with your vulnerability laid bare, he couldn’t resist any longer.

He considered himself to be a man of restraint, that was, until he peered into your wide, longingful eyes. 

With a barely noticeable nod, Choso turned his head just slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. Just as he had anticipated, your noses brushed together – he could feel the warmth of your breath on his lips. 

You were magnetic.

And in that final, heart-pounding moment, your lips met in the middle – in a gentle, tender union. Choso’s hand seemed to find its own way to your cheek, touch soft as he cupped your cheek. He felt for some odd reason that you might vanish altogether if he let you go.

He wasn’t entirely sure if it had been you or him who deepened the kiss. Either way, he felt himself melt into the seat. The world outside seemed to fade away, ceasing to exist in your presence. None of it mattered – not the empty, public street, not the group of friends waiting on the beach for his return.

Yuuji. 

Choso pulled away with a shuddering gasp, pressing his forehead against yours. He licked his lips, panting, “The drinks… We– we should probably– uh… get those.”

He feared that if his heart beat any faster he would explode.

You made no effort to put any distance between you and him. In fact, you put your hands on his shoulders, moving yourself so that you were situated comfortably in his lap. 

“There’s no rush,” You hummed. “Getou and Gojo are probably off sucking face somewhere, and those kids have been keeping themselves entertained just fine. Who would notice?”

His eyes were everywhere but your face. For a half-curse, he found himself to be no better than a man, hungry eyes wandering over your body – your eyes, your lips, the subtle curve of your waist, the fabric of your bikini that seemed like it was hugging you just right.

You seemed to have caught him in the act. 

“Do you wanna touch me, Choso?” You asked, and it sounded like an invitation.

Still, he worried he was reading too deeply into things. Doing his best to refrain from making you feel any sort of discomfort, he swallowed, “I…”

He was about to fucking explode – both metaphorically and physically, judging by the way his shorts began to tighten again at your words.

“You think I didn’t see you staring today?” You continued, letting your fingers slip into his hair. 

He wanted to freeze up, wanted to feel some form of remorse, but when you were massaging his scalp so gently, so lovingly…

“I’m  sorry,” he lied.

“Don’t be,” You giggled, and he felt his stomach do a fucking flip at the sound of it. You leaned in close to him, close to his ear, and whispered into it, “I was staring, too.”

He felt like such a virgin, thighs tensing up at your admission. He thought of you on the beach again – sneaking sideways glances at him, at his body, at him…

He felt his resolve break when you pressed a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. 

“Kiss– Kiss me again,” he breathed, feeling slightly lightheaded from all of the attention you were giving him. You placed another kiss to the corner of his jaw. “Please… kiss me again.”

You pulled away, pressing your nose right up against his again. Your breaths were shallow and ragged now – strange. “You want me, baby boy?”

Baby boy. Baby boy, fuck.

He licked his lips, “Please.”

And then your lips were on his without so much as another word. You ate him up like a starved woman, teeth nipping at his lower lip for entry.

The last of his restraint flew out the window.

The kiss was electrifying, sent sparks shooting through his veins, fingertips tingling as they found their way to your hips. It was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He could taste you – the sweetness of your lipgloss as it smeared messily over the lower half of his face, the beat of your heart thrumming beneath his touch, the scent of sunscreen that lingered on your skin.

He found himself getting lost in the moment.

He deepened the kiss further, gripping your hips, your lower back with a bit more confidence. For a moment, he could forget about his responsibilities, his past. It didn’t matter; not now, not when he could feel your body pressed up against him, hot and soft and compliant.

His face burned when he felt that familiar tingling feeling – he knew he was getting hard beneath you, he could feel the way your hips lifted when you adjusted yourself over the tent in his shorts. 

However, to his surprise, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing yourself even closer. He felt dizzy, sliding his tongue across your wet lips, exploring your mouth. You tangled your fingers in his touseled black locks, rolling your hips against his slowly, hesitantly, like you were testing the waters. 

The jolt of electricity he felt from that small movement had him pulling away. Even in the midst of the fervor, Choso was acutely aware of his own impulses. He feared he was getting too far ahead of himself; if you kept rubbing yourself against him like that, he was gonna cream his fucking pants like a middle schooler.

“Wait, wait– ah–” He grunted, leaning back against the seat.

“Hmm?” You hummed – still, you only slowed down a little bit.

His mouth hung open. It felt so good, the friction, the feeling of your warmth rolling up and down the thin layer of fabric separating the two of you. Fuck — why did he tell you to stop, again?

He fought hard to regain his composure. “I– I’ve never done this before,” he stammered.

“Really?” You asked, teasingly, almost, like you knew the effect you had on him. You rutted up against him again, a little harder. “You’re a natural.”

He could feel you – the thin cloth covering your nether regions left little to the imagination. You felt so warm, so welcoming. He ached to pull the thin fabric to the side and sink into you.

Fuck. Stop. He turned his head away, at war with his impulses.

Again, for a half-curse, he felt like nothing more than a man. A weak man, and it was all your fault.

The whine that left his mouth felt anything but natural. “Won’t– What if someone sees us?”

You said nothing. When he looked back at you, you were undoing the knot behind your head – the one holding your bikini together.

His eyes went wide. If his attraction to you were any more obvious, his jaw would have been on the floor. 

“Let them watch,” You grinned. Then you let your top fall over, breasts spilling out like something out of a porno. 

He was in awe. You were perfect. There were little bits of sand stuck to the skin where your bikini lay only seconds prior, faint tanlines already forming over your skin. He felt his mouth water.

“You can touch them, if you want,” You answered his unasked question.

And he wasted no time, gently cupping one of your tits with his large, warm palm. He gave it an experimental squeeze. Then another. Then his thumb wandered down to your nipple, giving the bud a gentle flick.

You whind, hand sliding up the back of his head. 

She likes that, he noted.

So, deciding to take his experiment a step further – and for the sake of conserving time, he began peppering kisses to your hot skin, to the valley between your soft, plush mounds. He held both in his hands, rolling his thumb over the hardened buds to compensate for the lack of attention.

He wanted nothing more than to take his sweet, precious time with you – committing every curve and valley of your body to memory. But, alas, he knew you were on a time crunch. Any minute now, someone could find the two of you here, like this.

He kissed his way back over to his hands. Then, finally, he wrapped his lips around that place he knew made you feel good. 

Sure enough, you arched into him, pink, swollen lips parting to release a pant of his name, “Choso, baby.”

He flattened his tongue over the tip of your nipple, rolling over it in slow circles – then quicker ones, until he felt the spit gathering between his lips and your skin. You responded in kind by rutting against him a little faster. He had never felt a burn quite so delightful in his life.

He can’t quite help himself from letting out a little whine when you tug on his hair. The flavor of sunscreen and salt lingered on your skin. He felt hot– you were hot, oh so hot.

Before he could return the favor on the other nipple, you pushed him away. You looked disheveled, pupils blown wide, hair frizzed up.

“Y’feel so big,” You gasped, still humping his hard cock like a dog in heat. You stopped, but only to sink into the space between his legs and the back of the driver’s seat. Splaying your fingers over his thighs, his shorts, you panted, “Wanna taste. Can I?”

He could only blink up at you. This isn’t real.

“Of course, baby,” He replied, throwing the nickname from earlier back at you, already reaching for the strings of his swim trunks when you batted his hands away. Your enthusiasm made his head spin.

He let you take the reigns – watching with hungry, lustful eyes as you undid the bow yourself. You reached for the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down and letting his dick spring free. 

It nearly hit you in the face, how big the thing was. He had never actually thought about it that way, at least, not until now, when you were gazing up at it with wide eyes and wet, parted lips. 

Your eyes were on his tip, glistening with a bead of precum, then wandering down the shaft as the two of you watched it drip.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

You didn’t bother pulling his pants the rest of the way down, or even acknowledging his comment. No, the moment the waistband was out of the way, you were swallowing him whole.

Choso exhaled sharply, nearly doubling over at the sensation of your warm mouth closing in around him. He felt the muscles in his abdomen tense with the strain of it – he thought he could cum like this, with your lips stretched around him, and he didn’t really think he would mind testing that theory.

His skin was hot. He burned for you.

You pulled up. Sucking him back into your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks. Then you throated him again, right up until your nose brushed his navel. He felt himself throb in your mouth.

“Fuck, ‘s good,” He heard himself whimper weakly, tangling a trembling hand in your hair while you picked up the pace.

And you went at it like you were made for it. Up and down, up and down, fitting him all the way in until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat. Over and over again, until his vision blurred a bit at the edges, mind a little hazy with lust.

You were sucking and slurping on him so lewdly – fuck, he could die like this. 

You didn’t show any signs of stopping, either.

He moaned – much to his embarrassment – actually moaned. You were working him rather quickly up to what he knew would be an earth shattering (albeit poorly timed) orgasm. 

You made a noise in response, though it was broken up by the nasty, dirty sound you made every time you gagged on his dick. You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, through long, wispy lashes, leaving a trail of saliva running down his thighs that he didn’t even mind.

Choso caressed the side of your face, biting his lip. “Mmh,” he panted, “You do it so well.”

In response, you put a hand over his. You directed his gentle touch to the top of your head, instructing him to push down. Hesitantly, gently, he began to guide your head, bobbing you back and forth on his length while you sat back and let him use you. 

He noticed that you were struggling to fit the whole thing in your mouth. He saw that there were tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but he knew you were determined. He used his thumb to wipe your tears away, tucking your hair behind your ears to keep it out of your face.

With a shudder and a whine, he pushed your head down a little further. You gagged on it again, swallowing him down, tightening your throat around him like you were made to suck dick.

If this was to be his last night alive, he would die a happy man.

His legs felt weak, as did his arms. You took over, gently assisting him in fucking your mouth. 

“Ah– nnh, you’re–” He licked his lips, guiding your head while allowing you to continue setting your own pace. You were making him feel so good, so hot.

You pulled back for a moment to slurp unceremoniously on his tip, letting spit drip down his shaft. You wrapped your hands around him, working what you couldn’t fit into your mouth while your tongue did tricks on his tip – circles, shapes, letters, he didn’t even know anymore.

He felt like he was going dumb.

Just as he leaned his head back into the seat, you pulled off, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Got carried away,” You giggled breathlessly. “Sorry.”

Then you were climbing right back into his lap, bracing your hands on his shoulders, kissing him with a ravenous hunger. 

“I’m not gonna blue ball you, don’t worry,” You licked your lips. Reaching down, you slipped the fabric of your bikini thong to the side. “I want you.”

“H–...” He trailed off, fighting to catch his breath – better yet, to regain his surroundings. “How do you want me?”

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to feel you sink down onto him, to feel your warmth envelop him entirely. He wanted you to ride him past the point of hypersensitivity. He wanted you to use him until you were satisfied – like some sort of fuck toy.

He didn’t care anymore. He had left his inhibitions at the door. 

“Wanna fuck you right here, like this,” You muttered against his lips, licking a stripe from his chin all the way to his cupid’s bow. You guided the head of his dick between your folds, smearing your slick all over him in a way that made him arch up. “Wanna drain that pretty cock of yours, wanna cum all over it– can you do that for me?”

You were so nasty… so dirty that he found himself a red, blushing mess at your words. But, still…

For you?

Anything.

“Yes,” he groaned. He felt like he was going to melt if he waited another moment longer. “Fuck, please, use me until you’re satisfied.”

He hadn’t even thought about saying it. It had slipped out.

You paused, blinking down at him with wide, lustful eyes. Finally, you said, “you’re such a good puppy, you know that?”

He would be whatever the hell you wanted him to be.

“G’nna let me ride you, pretty boy?” You cooed, sliding your hands up his torso, up his bare chest, up his shoulders while you hovered over him. 

This was moving quickly. Not like he had any objections to that, of course. Clearly, you didn’t either. As you positioned the tip in line with your dripping cunt, sinking down onto him, he felt his eyes roll back into his head.

He gasped, letting his eyelids fall shut. He didn’t even care that he was losing his virginity in the backseat of his coworker’s truck like some cheap whore. He would let you take it, take more, take everything you wanted from him.

You lifted your hips and then sank down on him again, eliciting a strangled grunt of your name from him. The filthy squelching sound your cunt made as it squeezed him in threw him for a loop.

He leaned forward, shivering, burning his head in your neck. “S’too tight,” he panted, though he let you continue working on him with a remarkable amount of ease – sliding back and forth in a way that had the both of you panting for more. “Fucking– shit, ah–”

“Chosooo– ‘S so big,” You moaned his name like it was made of honey, fucking yourself down onto his dick, letting all of the sinful noises flow from your lips. “Fuck, feel it in my guts.”

He would have thought you were lying to him if it weren’t for your spectacle earlier.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathed. When he looked up at you again, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. You were the image of pornographic beauty – sinful, beautiful, sultry. Your brows were scrunched together with concentration, legs trembling around him as you slowed down to savor the way he worked you open.

“Pretty baby,” He mused, running his hands over your stomach, your hips. “You keep goin’ like that ‘n– fuck– I won’t– Last long.”

“Mmh,” you giggled.

Then you picked up the speed a bit, like you hadn’t even heard what he had just said. You were rising and sinking on his dick with newfound purpose, chasing after the promise of paradise like a wild animal.

“Look at me,” he begged, eyes half-lidded and desperate, tongue running across his lower lip. “Fu-uck– please, ‘M...”

You obeyed, meeting his gaze with such a fiery passion that he almost wished he hadn’t asked you – feeling that coil in his gut grow a little tighter when your hazy eyes were on him. You bounced obediently on his cock, up and down, up and down until you were a grunting, groaning mess. 

“Mm… fuckkk,” You sighed, hips faltering a bit. “Feels good, Choso.”

Choso felt his hips twitch beneath you, hands tensing on your backside. Then, slowly, he began to meet your thrusts midway. His ass lifted off of the seat, legs spreading a bit further apart while he used his strength to continue fucking you senseless.

He was mesmerized by you, by the way you clenched and squeezed him, by the way your mouth lolled open to make way for broken cries of his name, by the way your tits bounced in his face whenever he thrusted up into you.

He worried for a moment that he was being too harsh with you. 

“Harder– please!” You gasped, clawing at his shoulders, at his chest.

Still, he obeyed. He fucked you dumb, hips snapping up against your ass with such strength that the whole car lurched forward. Your head came dangerously close to the ceiling.

But he didn’t have the guts to stop. Not when you were screaming for him, repeating his name like some sort of mantra. He was as weak for you as he had always been.

“Choso– Choso–”

The feeling of your warm, wet walls massaging the head of his cock had him whimpering into the crook of your neck. It was a hot, gummy abyss he wouldn’t mind getting sucked into for the remainder of his life. 

“You like that?” He asked you, spare hand sliding up from your hips, past your breasts, to your neck. 

He knew now that you liked it rough. He could provide that. 

So, with no further warning, he gripped your hip roughly, sliding into you at full force. You cried out his name again, fingernails digging into his skin. 

The car bounced every time he pounded up into you. Faster, faster. 

It felt like you were squeezing him for dear life. 

Choso cried out, a broken whine as he slowed his thrusts for a minute to a much slower pace. Feeling your perfect pussy clenching around him, he nearly doubled over from the sudden pleasure. “Please,” he gasped, laying his head back. “Fuck, that’s good.”

You bit your lip, sliding up until it was just the tip left inside of you, and then slamming back down onto him at full force. You repeated this action a few more times, lips parted to make way for the sinful… sultry moans that passed from between them. Clearly, you were relishing in the way he squirmed and gasped beneath you.

He couldn’t blame you. He knew that he, too was doing everything he could to commit this scene to memory, wild eyes raking over your body, over the junction where you met him. The way you were riding him… shit, he didn’t know he would be able to make the walk back. 

You looked so obscene like this, all fucked out, dumb on his dick.

Throwing your head back, you groaned.

He was gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. Fuck, he knew that– cursed strength and all. But he couldn’t bring himself to slow down.

“So f-fucking good,” he stammered. He sought out your lips again, snapping his hips up against your ass mercilessly. For someone who had been so concerned about being discovered a little while ago, his quiet grunts and gasps turned into moans and whimpers against your sore lips. Louder and louder.

Admittedly, though, he was more focused on the noises coming out of your own mouth. You were practically screaming for him.

He had no idea that sex could even feel so mind-numbingly good. For him, especially, but for you…?

You froze up rather suddenly, hips spasming wildly, toes curling up on either side of his thighs while you gasped brokenly. 

“FUCK!”

There it was.

He felt his face burn. You cried his name again, bouncing up and down on it, wildly chasing after that high. “Choso– m’close–”

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” He hummed, once again throwing your nickname back at you. He grinned, knowing full and well that he had cracked the code. So he kept that same speed, same pace, same everything while his fingers dropped from your neck to the mess you had made between the two of you.

He knew what to do now – surprisingly enough. He had done some… internet research after his brother had broken the meaning of his feelings down to him (along with what Choso was to do when his crush came to fruition). 

What? Curses didn’t make love. Sex was transactional.

He was curious about how sex was on the human side of things.

He ran his tongue over his thumb, reaching between the steamy, sweaty union of your bodies to find your clit. He pressed down, rolling over the nub in quick, expert circles. 

One look up at you, and he knew you were close to your breaking point. You looked like you were about to pass out, letting yourself be thrown around on his wild hips like a ragdoll. You were too weak to move, so you sat there and took his dick like a good girl, eyes glazed over with pleasure while he fucked you dumb.

You looked like you were in love.

Choso sped his ministrations over your clit up a little faster, feeling the knot in his own stomach begin to grow faster than he wanted. He was in another world, out of this plane, hypnotized. 

All he could see in that moment was your angelic face above him, face scrunched up in pleasure – and partially in pain, as he bullied his cock into your cervix – sweat rolling down your neck, your breasts, your voluptuous body.

“Mine–” You gasped out, clawing at his shoulder blades while your back arched. “Oh– fuck! Th’s dick ‘s mine, mmh?”

It was.

He nodded. But, clearly, that wasn’t good enough. Your hand shot out to grip him by the neck, painted fingernails digging into his throat. 

“‘S yours,” He gasped back into your mouth. “All yours, I swear– ah–”

You were so hot. It made him feel things– feel like he was dying over and over again in the best way possible.

That along with the way your hand gripped his throat – using your small thumb to cut off his blood supply for a few seconds too long before loosening your grip, letting him gasp for air as the blood came rushing back – he felt lightheaded.

The way your pussy was spasming around him certainly didn’t do anything to help. He knew you were close, shit, but could you hold on a minute?

You were gonna make him cum too fast.

“You’re mine, yeah?” You asked again, keeping your grip strong on his neck. “All mine?”

“M’yours,” The cursed womb grunted against your neck. His brows were furrowed in concentration. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin, careful not to leave marks. “All yours.”

He meant it. Even though he would have said anything you asked him to at this point, he really meant it. He hoped you knew that.

Judging by the way you came a moment later with a stutter of your hips and a strangled cry of, “Cho–”, he assumed you understood. 

Your cunt was a warm, wet, death trap, walls milking his cock for all it was worth. 

Shit, he thought. You really weren’t lying about that.

His dark eyes were burning into yours, burning with a desire so intense he felt he might burst at the seams if he kept looking a moment longer. 

“Want you to cum inside of me,” You commanded him, holding his head in your trembling hands. “Fill me up, please, I need it.”

His eyes widened, blinking down at the white ring you had made around the base of his dick. His eyes flitted back up to you, pleading with you to let him go. Pleading for you to give the soul that you stole from him back,

“I can’t–” he released a trembling breath.  

He thought of himself as a father raising a child. Right now, it didn’t seem so bad.

“Please, ‘m on the pill,” you begged him, gazing into his eyes like you knew he wasn’t strong enough to refuse. “Wanna feel it dripping out of me. Think about it– what– ah– what would they think? … If they knew–”

You gasped when he delivered a harsh smack to your ass, slowing his strokes so that he could savor the way you sucked him in. “If they knew we snuck off to fuck? That– that I had your cum dripping out of me while they ask what took us so long?”

“Fuckk,” Choso groaned, hips trembling beneath you. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, cheeks burning. His breaths – and yours – had fogged the windows up.

You squeezed around him one more time, placing a tender kiss to his lips. You muttered into his mouth, “Do it f’me… please, Choso.”

“Mmh–!” And that was all it took. Choso rolled his hips up into you one more time, twitching, whining, feeling your warmth spasm around him as he spilled into you. He drove as deep up into you as he could – holding onto you for dear life while the coil snap, and he came so hard that his legs gave out. Lots of it. 

So much that he felt it drip out.

You sought another kiss from him, sealing your lips together. When you pulled away, you giggled, “Good boy. Good puppy.”

“God,” he shuddered, falling back against the headrest once his orgasm subsided. You fell against his chest, snuggling up to him.

And Choso, not knowing what else to do, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. To his surprise, you didn’t immediately leave him in the dust. Instead, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of your post-coital bliss. 

You broke the silence after a minute or two. 

“So…” You began, trailing a finger up his bare chest. “Help me carry that cooler back to the beach?”

And Choso, breathless, felt himself begin to laugh.

The two of you came back onto the beach. Choso was carting the cooler behind while you walked ahead, waving your friends down. 

As you approached, Itadori remarked with crossed arms, “The hell have you guys been?” His hair was done up into two, pink, little pigtails. It was clear as day that Nobara had a hand in his current hairstyle.

“Oh!” You had grinned rather awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “We– Well, we realized we didn’t have as many spritzers as I thought. Had to make a run to the liquor store.”

Itadori raised a brow. Still, if he noticed something, he didn’t say anything about it. “Uh huh.”

Choso bent down to set the cooler onto the ground, back turned to the group.

Getou peeped up from his paperback novel, lips twitching at the sight of Choso’s back. He nudged his counterpart, Gojo.

Who nearly spat out his drink.

You sat on the beach blanket nearest to Gojo and Getou. The moment your butt hit the sand, you practically collapsed into the ground. 

You could feel eyes on you. So, begrudgingly, you rolled over, throwing Satoru a weak glare. “What?”

He only nodded towards Choso.

You turned around, following his gaze. It settled over his back. He bent down, picking a few spritzers out of the ice. It was then that you noticed the harsh red claw marks on his shoulderblades. 

Subconsciously, your gaze drifted down to your hips, to the skin where purple imprints of Choso’s fingertips stood out as clear as day.

You gasped, then, clamping a hand over your mouth.

“So,” Gojo began casually, handing you a shot. He leaned in, ocean blue eyes twinkling as he teased you, “Was he gentle? He seems like he would give it rough.”

You turned to his not-boyfriend, brows furrowed. “Suguruuu…”

It was with no great amount of satisfaction that Getou looked up from his novel. “Satoru,” he sighed languidly. “Not in front of ths kids.”

Gojo ignored his not-boyfriend’s remark. “Was it big?”

You sank back into the blanket, feeling the heat of your embarrassment burn your cheeks as your words from earlier came back to bite you in the ass.

Who would notice?

a/n: hello there my precious little sugarplums! I hope u enjoyed the first installment of my kinktober writings ( which will prob continue throughout the fall bc I started hella late ). send in requests! there's no part two to this, but I would write one if enough ppl requested it. yk the drill though, comment ur thoughts/wishes below! I love reading them. reblogs are alway always always appreciated bc my reach is ass on Tumblr...

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

credits: cover artist(s) unknown??, dividers: @bpdier, @cafekitsune

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @mindurownbussines , @hearts4sid , @simplefools , @ynjimenez

wanna join the taglist? | like this story? read more! | requests open!

[xxanaduwrites]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

teachin’ a lesson

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which benny teaches the newbies a lesson ‘bout messin’ with his honey….😤 + a super cute ending ofc 💋

warnings: an absolute smack fest, the whole shabang: bar fight, dudes being creeps, talks of violence, blood, & injury. hyperventilating & shaking. unwanted advances :(

author’s note: another angst piece. couldn’t help myself…but this will be ending with a certain request i keep receiving ;) this is from the goin’ steady segment which can be found on da main hive, so they are fully dating here for time line & context purposes…or are they? 👀

word count: 4.2k

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You were at the club when it happened. It being something you could only daydream about. Something you never actually expected to come tumbling out of Benny’s pretty pillowy lips.

It was a regular day — as regular as one could ever be at the club. The boys were havin’ a meeting and of course Benny dragged you along. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go. Hey — you’d been to plenty of meetings. Yet, your two cents only became required when the other guys' old ladies were involved, and today wasn’t one of those days. Being the only lady currently on the premises, you dropped your backpack on the bar, the sound of your keychains reverberating around the space with a chorus of clanks. A chorus you hadn’t noticed caught the eye of some other bikers mulling around. In your defense, you were far too focused on your man, his baby blue eyes drooping down at you with a precious pout to match.

“M’sorry, honey,” he said suddenly, eyes trained on you as y’sat your sweet butt on one of the nearby bar stools.

His apology took you by surprise, and your fingers which were now fiddling about on the zippers of your backpack paused momentarily. “For wha?” You asked, tilting your head to observe him.

“Takin’ y’here. Not bringin’ y’straight home,” he admitted, in the midst of flagging over the bartender with a flick of his finger. “Shouldn’t take too long though.”

You sighed. “S’fine, Benny. S’not like I can’t make myself busy,” you reasoned, motioning to your backpack in front of you that held all your work supplies. “Stap it with t’pologizing.”

It wasn’t Benny’s fault that he had a meeting to be at fresh after school hours. It was more your fault for not knowing how to drive. But you knew he didn’t care so much about that. He cared more about making sure you were safe and spending as much time with you as possible. And those rides well — they assured all of that. He didn’t have to worry about you waitin’ to take a random bus full of creeps. Didn’t have to wonder about the next time he’d be seeing you because surely it would be every day on your morning and afternoon drives, right?

So be it. Here you were, and you wouldn’t complain — no. You wanted to be with Benny just as much. And besides, the more time you spent at home, the more your parents were concerning you with their honey business, keeping you away from the lesson planning you really needed to do. Benny — bless his heart — was such a good sport with that. Giving you the space you needed — well while simultaneously taking it all up. You couldn’t deny how much you adored being perched next to him, tucked in a booth at Rosie’s diner, his arm slung around your shoulder. His pretty blue eyes would stare at you so intently, watching every little move you made and god was it so hard to concentrate sometimes. Yet, he made you feel so comfortable. Too comfortable, uncoiling the ball of stress that’d become you anytime you found yourself swapping or changing plans. He was so good. So attentive. Oh the thought alone was making your cheeks dust pink.

A brow raised in intrigue as he popped a fresh cig in his mouth, his smile curving around the cylinder too perfectly. “Wha?” He asked, catching the not-so-subtle shift in your features, now doused in burnin’ love.

“S’nothin’.” You shrugged and bit down on your lip, the taste of your vanilla honey lip gloss hitting your taste buds.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, eyeing you up and down for a second. A second that proved he knew it wasn’t nothing. Knew it was very much something. But, he wasn’t gonna find out. No, not with the bartender finally sauntering over and putting your conversation to a halt.

“Hay, you two,” the man greeted. Marty to be exact. He swiped a dishrag over his shoulder and dropped his hands on the counter in front of him before asking. “What’ll it be? The usual whiskey and shirley?” He asked, knowing both of your orders by heart.

“Nah, a beer’s fine,” he replied, his answer taking you by a hint of surprise, but you figured it was because he was taking you home right after. Home to your mother and father. But you didn’t want to assume. You knew Benny was well — Benny. That he didn’t care what anybody thought about him. Could give two shits about it. Yet, when it came to you — oh he couldn’t stand anyone that thought less of you. Sure, he’d still be drinking, but he hadn’t picked the harder option of the two, and hey — you understood. I mean it wasn’t like you’d be here for the night, hanging out, shooting the shit, and playing pool like a normal weekend. Hell — it was the middle of the week. An absolute bummer to say the least. “Honey?” He summoned you, swiping you right out of your thoughts.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Shook your head even, making your dangling earrings shimmy about. “Hm, yeah?”

“Y’alright?” Benny asked, his leather clad arm snaking around your back, calloused fingers hugging your side.

“M’fine. Sorry, didn’t mean to miss what y’said,'' you replied sheepishly, mind wandering all over the place. “What y’say anyways, hm?”

Benny bit down a smile then, enjoying the way your litftle nose scrunched up in pure thought. “‘Tender askin’ for your order,” he reminded.

“Oh, right! Ya, I’ll just have a plain ale, Marty.” You told him, motioning your hand about. Delicate fingers traced the air, pink ballet slipper polish doing its usual dance on your nails.

“Y’sure your alright?” Benny asked again, clearly unconvinced as Marty left you two with a solid nod, already working on your order. Benny was really good at reading you. Too good. The more he spent time with you, the easier it was for him to understand you. Knowing that you were a quite talkative and bubbly person, always so attentive to what everybody was saying, it was unusual for you to be so out of touch.

“M’sure, baby. Just thinkin’ ‘bout my plans, y’know?” You assured him, opening up your daily planner simultaneously. A vibrant array of colorful sticky pads and gelly pens jumped off the pages as you flipped through to your desired date.

“I see, I see,” Benny’s lips turned up soundly, the sight of your school books always getting a kick out of him. You were just too cute with your pretty pens and neat cursive, pencils always sticking out of your sunny updo. The passion you put in your work always felt so reminiscent of the way he felt ridin’. It was hard not to love you the most when you were in your element. “Meetin’ starting soon, so I’ll leave ya to it, Honey. But M’gonna take a piss quick. Be back for my drink.” He told you, but then asked, “Y’watch?”

“Course,” you smiled up at him, as his fingers trailed across your back, leaving your hold. And then he was off and across the room, saying something to Johnny before excusing himself completely. And you — you had your nose in your books, skimming the pages with precision, tuning out the rest of the world around you. So much so that you hadn’t noticed the drinks in front of you nor the ogglings newbies eating up your form until you did.

“Wha’s a lil’thing like you doin’, ere’?” One asked, perched to your left, an elbow knocking over your pencil case.

Before you could reply another took purchase on your right, caging you in. The stranger picked up one of your colorful pens and chuckled. “Y’know this ain’t the library, right sweet’eart?” He mused, a warm breath reeking of alcohol hitting your neck and tickling your nose.

“I —“ you began, but got cut off immediately by the original guy. The one on the left of this supposed sandwich you were entrapped in.

“S’no use Hank. Whad’a she know besides this frilly shit, aye,” he laughed, degradindly. “Y’wanna know somethin’ rough, somethin’ real, sweet’eart? Gotta itch y’need to scratch?”

You felt small. So small against these men, that you usually — oddly enough felt tall around. But no, these men weren’t your boys. Just men. Some trickling back from war. Most spawned from new chapters, doped up on things you’d never seen before. Doped up on an image and level that you didn’t know. A level you’d never match. And they didn’t like that, no — not one bit. You in your sweet savory appearance was no match against these rowdy men that didn’t know better. Didn’t know the club the way you did. The way Johnny did. The way Brucie did. The way Benny, Cal, Corky, Wahoo, Cockroach, and Zipco did. Even Funny Sonny!

“I — M’good. No thank ya,” you managed out, still startled by this whole display.

“Ahh, c’mom…know y’need it. S’just a lil’scrtach,” one of them kept going. Which one you weren’t sure, but whoever it was wasn’t taking no for an answer. Suddenly a rough hand was grabbing you and before you could react the stool went spinning around. Your vision blurred in an instant, a yelp escaping you at the contact. The bar became a fizzy of light and color, deep mahogany wood meshing into the cottony blend of your clouded eyes…

Pop!

If it weren’t for a bar of bikers being present, you would’ve thought a balloon had popped in front of your eyes, maybe even a bag of popcorn. But no — it was the man, the man who had just grabbed you, and now as your hand braced the bar behind you, your stool settled down, your vision evening out, you could see him. As clear as day, he was smack on the ground. Flat on his back. Face being knocked about. Back and forth. Up and down. Fists to skin against bone. Fists — upon your further inspection and descent across the man’s form — to be Benny. Your Benny. Pinning the man down and going at him in full force.

“Oh — Benny!” You hollered in distress when the man got a swing at him suddenly, your feet planting down on the ground in an instant without a second thought.

Of course, to your dismay, you didn’t get far. An arm materialized around your waist in an instant and pulled you back to them. And if it wasn’t for the familiar fringes of a certain jacket swinging against your sides — sparkly jewels of your own design shining in your peripheral vision — you would have fought. “S’not safe for ya, Cuz. Let ‘em at it,” Funny Sonny mumbled in your ear, the sound of his voice relaxing you as much as it could. Grateful to be in the arms of someone you knew instead of that of a strange man had you slipping without a second thought.

Eyes darting all around, your gaze lost Benny in the shuffle of it all. To the looks of it, all the newbies darted after Benny after the first swing and well — the oldies were not having that. Not one bit. What you’d come to learn later was that Benny had already been trudging across the way with a look to kill, his fist connecting with the man’s face not even a second after the man grabbed you. Another second that could’ve been too late upon anyone else’s action. Punch after punch, blow after blow, you could see them. All of them. Johnny in a wrestle with one guy, Brucie trying to block Marty and bar from any advances, Cal holding another up against a nearby wall by the collar, Zipco swiping a rando out with one hit and then sipping his beer ever-so casually, Corky and Wahoo slamming around with these other two guys near the pool table — a ball of two cracking in the process, and Cockroach being Cockroach.

With too much to process, you tried to remain steady against Sonny, but your tremblin’ became obvious. Too obvious to him under his dirt driven finger tips. “Sh, S’all good. They’ll cool down,” he assured. Of course he was right.

Breathless and exhausted, one by one the men broke apart. Panting with their hands on their knees. And then there was Benny, the last of the bunch — still pulling throws at the man under him, face soaked in a deep crimson, what features could be present?

“Benny — aye, Benny…’nough,” Johnny was calling him, pulling him up by his feet like a rag doll. “Y’lesson learned.” He mumbled in Benny’s ears hoping it would do the trick.

Benny only wrenched forward just a bit, Johnny’s hand flattening against his chest to keep him in place. Instead of keeping the physical assault going, he opted to be vocal. “Y’stay ‘way from my wife, y’here?” He spit out ever-so suddenly. Too suddenly that if Sonny wasn’t holding you back you would have fallen to the floor in complete and utter shock. Wife? Wife! Had he really just said what you thought he said? “If I see ya ever lift a finger, even look in ‘er direction again, i’ll kill ya.” He gritted out, sending a stillness across the club.

“I —“ the man choked on the ground, trying to get his words out, but failing with a breathless huff. “I did—didn’t —“

“We uh — we didn’t know she was y’wife, man. Sorry,” the other dude that had been flanked at your side earlier spoke up, who you assumed to be Hank confirming that your ears had in fact been working. That you hadn’t been imagining things after all. He had said what you thought he said, and now well — now you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

“Now y’do,” he grumbled, and with one last look down at the crimson smeared man below him, he made his statement known with a solid spit.

The show was over as soon as it came, Benny turning out of Johnny’s hold. Johnny patted him on the back before he walked away. Away towards you. Only you. Johnny was saying something. Making an announcement of sorts about you when Sonny’s grip on you was released. Without a word you fumbled into Benny’s side, your makeup coded face smudging into his vest jacket as his arm curled around you. So warm. So protective. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes snapped closed as you made your way outdoors, the sound of the bar door swinging confirming your relocation. His boots stopped scruffing against the pavement and your ballet flats planted as soon as he did.

You turned in his hold, pawing, gripping at him. An unusual display of yourself before him, detached from the strong independent bubble you’d built around yourself. But he took you in. Into his hold as you snuggled deeply into his chest, practically crawling inside his colors with the two sides draped over your shoulders. His strong arms wrapped around your back without a second thought, pulling you in further, deeper, closer. Yet, you never felt close enough. Not like this that is….

“M’right ‘ere, baby. Right ‘ere.” He mumbled into the honeydew mop of curls at the top of your head.

“Aye were — he was s’close to…to…” you stammered into his chest. “an — and my p—pens..”

“I kno — I,” Benny grimaced, words catching in his throat by your addition. “Wha’ ‘bout your pens, baby?” Instead of replying you just nuzzled your face further into his chest. “Hm?” He pushed, worn fingers threading fallen strands of your hair out of your face so he could look at you. “Y’tell ya Benny, Honey?”

Looking up at him, your eyes glossed over, a light sniffle escaping you. You were too stunned to cry, but shaken enough to feel emotional all over. “One of ‘em p—pushed my pencil case o—over. Think some of ‘em f—fell behind the bar. Saw my fav—favorite pink one…” you hiccuped, words all over the place but coherent enough for Benny to understand what you were stammering about.

He found your worry over your school supplies to be real wholesome. Here you were coming off of the high of almost being attacked, and you were more worried about your work than yourself. Just went to show how much passion you put into your craft, and oh did he just love you for that.

He had to suppress a laugh, had to stop himself from smiling when you were clearly so upset. “M’sure Marty will find it, baby.” He bit down on his lip soundly and then added, “Not, I’ll buy ya a whole bunch a’new ones. Y’never realize ya lost one, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” you nodded, the smooth skin of your face moving against his warm palms.

He knew you wouldn’t have lost one to begin with. Not if he was there. Not if he hadn’t left ya for just a minute. Not if he would’ve been more claimin’ near the bar, holding you closer. Kissin’ ya before he walked away. His biggest fears had come to fusion. The thoughts of you being creeped on were always on his mind, and yet here he was. At the club. A place he felt safe in. A place he thought you’d be safest in. Of course there weren’t any thoughts behind those baby blue eyes of his when it came to making them know you were his. He never had to after all. It was obvious in the way he looked at you. Everybody knew — well everyone before the newbies came along. And the newbies, who he’d hoped would be better than that towards the ladies, proved to be otherwise.

You tiny fingers reached up, splaying over his large hands in solace and breaking his thoughts tenfold. “How’s y’hands?” You asked, urging them lower so you could inspect them.

His knuckles were battered and bruised. Raw to the touch and he didn’t even flinch when your fingers ghosted over his burning skin. “M’fine,” he assured you, and he was fine. As fine as he could be. Barely a scratch on his face was present, just a small splash of blood dried up on the bridge of his nose. Blood of the other guy who’d been sputtering below him.

“Wha’ about you? Tha’ bastard didn’t grab ya too hard, did ‘e?” He gritted, his fingers meticulously trailing down your sides and pawing at the edges of your shirt.

“Nah, nah,” you shook your head in earnest. “S’quick, couldn’t even leave a dent.”

“Tha’ right?” he double checked, pleased to know he swooped in just in time.

“Mhm,” you hummed, your finger finding a lone string from one of his patches, clearly losing its stitch. You twirled the material ‘round your little finger, making a note to patch it up for him later on. “Y’gonna tell me wha’ that was all ‘bout anyways?” You began, not giving much context on the matter, but not thinking you had to. The elephant in the room — well now outside — was obvious. Far too obvious to ignore.

“‘Bout what?” He asked innocently, blue eyes sparkling so much that he had to look down and busy himself with his pocket. Paw out a new cigarette to stop himself from giving you a look that would reveal it all. “Had to teach ‘em a lesson. Learned from the best.” He mused, drawing a cheeky smile out of you with his obvious flirting.

But your thoughts gnawed at you, so much so that your lips tightened into a thin line. “Y’know….” you trailed off, a shyness taking over you. You kept your eyes on the string, finding it easier to talk about such a matter this way. “The whole bein’ married thang…M’not your wife, y’know?” You shrugged casually as if it wasn’t such a life changing notion.

“I know…” he mumbled just as nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly, you figured the entire conversation was canned. Never to be open again, but no — to your surprise he kept it open. “Not yet at least…” he mused and your heart lurched in your chest. Catapulted even. No one ever saw Benny as the marryin’ type. One to settle down and start a life. But here he was, pitchin’ just that in a beat. A beat that had you questionin’ for a second or two if he was messing with ya.

“Benny…” you warned, a twinkle dotting your eye as a smirk managed to scoot through your lips. “Y’Wouldn't dare pull my leg, would ya?” You asked, nibble fingers pulling out his lighter and hitting the end of his cig for him.

“Nah…Nah. M’serious,” he exhaled, a cloud of smoke swirling around you two, making y’dizzy. Looked like you were gonna need a smoke now too. Was perfect timing truly, catching him trying to rip off one his rings from his swollen fingers, the cigarette dangly dangerous from his lips. Swallowing the lump that was forming in your throat from eyeing his action, your mind buzzing about with assumption, you didn’t hesitate to shakily draw the cylinder from his lips, taking your own drag of the thing. “Fuckin’ hell…” he groaned, almost losing his patience until his pinky ring slid off with one last nudge. “‘Ere,” he motioned then to your vacant finger. A finger you hadn't realized was itching for a ring longer than anticipated. Longer than your childhood daydreams could ever imagine. “Y’wanna get hitched, baby?”

Too stunned to speak, your cheeks dusted the same shade of bright pink, mirroring your pretty pen tossed behind the bar somewhere. Holding out your hand to him, you nodded in confirmation. Making it known to him that you wanted this. Wanted him.

“S’not pretty…” he huffed, slipping the bulky thing on your little finger. “but, it’ll do f’now. Until I get ya a betta one.”

“Oh Benny, no!” You chirped, cheeks hurting from smiling so hard at the comically large ring. “S’perfect. So perfect!” You assured him, popping the cig back in his mouth before wrapping your arms around his neck in pure excitement. You couldn’t care less about one of those big rocks. A flashy piece your fellow teachers would come in with just to flaunt. Money didn’t matter to you like that, not as much as love. And you loved the fact you’d be wearing a piece of Benny’s jewelry on your finger. A symbol of himself practically adorned to you. It was beautiful. So beautiful.

His eyes widened in shock, a laugh escaping against an unusually big grin, reverberating against your chest like the sweetest song. “Now who’s the one pulling legs?” He joked, dropping the cigarette you’d been sharing to the ground and putting it out with his boot.

“Oh shut it,” you mused, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt for a kiss which he obliged. His lips molded against yours like honey — thick, sweet, and oh-so smooth. And he was all over you, buzzing you up from head to toe, stinging your neck with peppering kisses as his hands grabbed your behind like he was kneading the dough of a honey bun. In his defense you were his honey bun, and now you’d always be by law. By marriage. By love. And god did you two just love eachother so. Kept whispering it into the smokey air like a decree.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out there, but you figured it was a while. Enough time for Johnny to have a stern talking to the other guys about you. About the rest of their girls and wives and whatever other woman stepped into the club. There’d be no going after any gal like that, no matter who they were. End of story as far as Johnny was concerned. And now Johnny was sauntering outside for a cigarette, figuring you two were long gone. But no — you were leaning against Benny as he mused sweet nothings into your ear, a broad smile stretching across your sweet face making Johnny certain that you were alright.

“Aye Johnny,” Benny called the man only a few feet over, a burning orange dowsing his features in a glow as he lit up his own cylinder.

“Yeah, kid?” He raised a brow, giving Benny his attention as he took a fresh drag.

“Think y’can get that Father down ‘ere for Honey n’ me?” He asked earnestly.

Johnny squinted in the afternoon sun, blinking once, twice to digest Benny’s seriousness. “Hitchin’ a ride?” Johnny reviewed subtly, not trying to stir the obvious to the newbies inside that thought otherwise.

“Somethin’ like that,” Benny hinted, you confirming the notion just as fast. For a second time that afternoon, your pink ballet slipper nails danced in the air, but this time with a funky new addition to the mix.

And Johnny couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, delighted at such a sight. Knowing as sure as shit that he’d do everything in his power to make sure the two of you were happy. Cause Benny was family, and now you’d be too. Calling Father? ‘Course he would. He’d be crazy not to as far as his daughters were concerned. Couldn’t wait to tell them that their favorite teacher would be their brand new auntie. They’d be jumping up and down for sure.

“I’ll give ‘im a ring,” Johnny confirmed like a big ol’ fairy godfather.

And there, outside the bar after a crazy afternoon of swinging fists, it was settled.

Sure as shit — you’d be the future Mrs. Cross after all. And hey — maybe that bastard biker was right about one thing. You had an itch to scratch for sure. One that required filling your notepads and planners with your sweet swirly cursive, your new name etched into the thin sheets with your favorite pink pen….

Mrs. Cross. Mrs. Cross.

Mrs. Cross. <3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

author’s note: these bees are engaged !! 🐝💍🐝

big ty to @zablife for being such a doll & inspiring the iconic mrs. cross cursive. x 💋🫶

my requests are open for ONLY miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

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smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

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[wolvietxt]

𝓭ay 𝓽en.

logan howlett and wrong assumptions.

for days, the tension between you and logan had been simmering, slowly reaching a boiling point. it all started with a seemingly innocent conversation in the rec room. you’d walked in to find logan and jean sitting close, their heads tilted toward each other, sharing a laugh that seemed a little too familiar. the sight of jean’s hand brushing logan’s arm made your stomach twist uncomfortably. there was an easiness in the way they talked, an effortless chemistry that you couldn’t ignore. and though you knew logan was a friendly guy, this felt different - too close for comfort.

you’d tried to shake it off, to remind yourself that you had no reason to doubt him. but the gnawing insecurity in your chest didn’t let up. it didn’t help that you kept catching glimpses of them together around the x-mansion, sharing quiet conversations or exchanging smiles. each time, it felt like another tiny betrayal, a reminder of how easily you could be replaced.

it got worse when, one afternoon, you saw them training together in the danger room. jean laughed at something logan said, her hand resting on his shoulder as she leaned in closer than necessary. your chest tightened, and you turned away before either of them could see you watching. the rest of the day, you avoided logan, ignoring the messages he sent asking where you were and why you hadn’t shown up for dinner.

that night, you curled up in bed, your thoughts racing. it wasn’t just the idea of losing him that hurt; it was the feeling of being unworthy, of not being enough. you’d always struggled with insecurity, and seeing logan with jean - who was confident, beautiful, and powerful - only magnified the doubts already lurking in your mind.

a knock at your door broke through the silence, followed by logan’s voice, low and edged with frustration. “open up, will ya? we need to talk.”

you hesitated before getting up and opening the door, your gaze immediately dropping to the floor. “i don’t think there’s much to talk about.”

logan’s expression softened slightly, though there was still an unmistakable tension in his eyes. he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “you’ve been actin’ different. distant.” he kept his tone calm, but there was an edge of something else there - hurt, maybe. “if somethin’s goin’ on, you need to tell me.”

“what’s the point?” you said quietly, crossing your arms over your chest. “you’ve barely noticed i’m even around.”

“damn right, i noticed,” he shot back, the frustration in his voice finally spilling over. “you’ve been avoidin’ me for days, and now you’re actin’ like it’s my fault?”

you took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. “i saw you with jean,” you admitted, your words barely audible. “the way you two have been… i thought maybe you’d found someone better.”

logan’s eyes widened, and he shook his head in disbelief. “jean? you think i was flirtin’ with her?” he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “darlin’, she was just helpin’ me with some meditation stuff charles suggested. i’ve been on edge, and she figured it might help.”

“did it have to be her?” you asked, voice breaking. “you seemed… close.”

logan took a step closer, his expression softening with understanding. “you really think i’d trade you for anyone else? jean’s a friend, but that’s it. there ain’t nothin’ between us, not like that.”

you bit your lip, still struggling to believe his words. “but she… she’s gorgeous and confident, and i just… i’m not…”

logan closed the distance between you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “don’t you dare say you’re not enough,” he murmured, his voice rough but full of tenderness. “you’re the one i come back to at the end of the day. you’re the one i wanna hold and kiss and wake up next to.” he rested his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing a soothing line along your jaw. “there’s no one else, and there never will be.”

you felt tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them back, your breath shuddering as you tried to let his words sink in. “i just… i got scared,” you confessed. “thought maybe you’d see everything she is and realize i’m not enough.”

logan’s grip on you tightened slightly, his other arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. “you’re more than enough for me,” he said, his tone unyielding. “jean doesn’t make me feel the way you do. she doesn’t make my heart race or my head spin. only you do that.” he tilted your chin up, his gaze searching yours. “and i ain’t ever gonna let you go, you hear me?”

you nodded, feeling the weight of the past few days begin to lift from your chest. “yeah, i hear you.”

without another word, logan pulled you into his lap, settling you against him. his lips found yours in a deep, lingering kiss, as if he were trying to erase all the doubt you’d carried with you. his hands slid up your back, holding you securely, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

as the kiss broke, his mouth trailed along your jaw, planting soft kisses down your neck. “you’ve got me, baby.” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm. “always.” he tightened his hold on you, his embrace wrapping around you like a promise - unwavering and true.

you sank into the warmth of his arms, the last of your fears melting away as he continued to murmur quiet reassurances, each kiss sealing the truth between you. whatever happened, you’d face it together. you weren’t just enough - you were everything.

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[chucky-vs-the-giant-tortoise]

sleepless nights

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

(REQUEST): Hiii!!! First of all i hope you're doing good🫶🏻 This idea just popped in my mind and I was wondering if you could write it. So sister!reader has trouble falling asleep so brother!jj let her hang out with the pogues for a little while so she'll maybe drift off easier but nuh uh that girl is still being restless then once she's tucked to bed, she keeps calling jj to come and sleep with her, because she only feels safe by his side♡ Thanks you!! I love your account so much mwahh💋

warning(s): N/A

a/n: thank you so much for being my very first request, my dear. i took a few liberties with your prompt but i hope you enjoy it all the same. i am very grateful for your support!

JJ had tried everything.

He'd tried bedtime stories and back rubs, he'd hummed old Disney songs and offered mugs of warm milk. Hell, he'd even tried good old fashioned bribery, promising all the sweets and plushies her tiny heart desired in exchange for a good eight hours of shut-eye—but to no avail.

This kid just would not sleep.

JJ watched dejectedly as Y/N plucked at the strings of Kie's ukulele, curiousity shining in her large eyes. She'd been at it for a few long minutes now, her tongue poking out of her mouth from the sheer intensity of her concentration as she composed a grating, pitchy version of 'music'.

In hindsight, bringing a very lively Y/N around his very wasted group of friends wasn't one of his better ideas, but the blond had grown desperate. Nothing was working—for whatever reason the five-year-old just wouldn't go down. He'd hoped that being around the Pogues would pacify her somehow—that their late night conversations around the fire could serve as a comfort to Y/N's reeling mind—but, unfortunately, lady luck just wasn't on his side tonight.

John B whooped and hollered as Y/N teased her final note, clapping exaggeratedly at her lacklustre performance. "Nice goin', Poguie! You've got some crazy skills." Y/N beamed from where she sat propped up in Kiara's lap.

"Encore!" Pope exclaimed in support, but JJ intervened before the young girl could start in on her next 'song'.

"No. No encores." He put a hand out to stop his sister from assaulting the ukulele any further, motioning that it was time to make her way back to him. The initial agreement of her staying with the Pogues was that she not stray from JJ’s lap, but it hadn’t taken long for that expectation to fly out the window. "It's getting late, Y/N. C'mere."

“Just a little longer, JJ, please?”

“We passed ‘a little longer’ fifteen minutes ago.”

Y/N pouted, slumping back into Kie's arms. “But Jay—"

"Now, Y/N. I'm not playing anymore." Y/N huffed. She knew not to fight with her brother when he got that severe edge to his voice, even though she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her night treating the Pogues to their very own VIP concert.

The young girl shuffled over to her big brother with a sour face, sinking into his arms without a fuss. She could tell that JJ was annoyed with her—he'd been too busy dealing with Y/N to have had the privilege of drinking, and without the alcohol to boost it, every minute he spent awake further weighed on his mood.

"Boooo!" Kie heckled. "You're such a party pooper, JJ."

"Big papa's mad," John B continued, earning a chorus of drunken laughter from the rest of the Pogues. JJ only rolled his eyes, adjusting himself so that Y/N could reluctantly rest her head on his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up JB. See what happens the next time you need me to fix the Twinkie's engine." John B only pouted in response.

"Oh, come on, dude! You wouldn't let the ole girl die now, would you?" JJ cracked a smirk.

"Keep laughin' and y'all are gonna find out."

Y/N felt her eyelids growing heavier as she listened to the Pogues lose themselves in rapid-fire banter and shoulder-shaking laughter, the warmth of the fire caressing her back. She found comfort in the way her brother's stomach would tremble with the occasional chuckle, breathing in sync with the steady beating of his heart.

She'd spent the past twenty minutes playing with JJ's fingers, spinning the rings on his digits as he spoke, and the boy looked down at his sister with a smile when her hands eventually fell limp against his palm.

"Close your eyes, peanut," he whispered, though she might as well have been asleep already. Her lashes fluttered as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, clearly losing the battle she'd been fighting with sleep. "I've got you."

"Mm-mm," She mumbled, burying her head in JJ's t-shirt. He couldn't help but smile despite her defiance. Whether or not the Y/N was being difficult, she was pretty damned cute. "I wan’ stay up."

"I promise you're not missin' much, kid. Pope's jokes really aren't that funny."

"Hey!" The boy interjected, having now abandoned whichever one of Kie’s stories he'd been enthralled in only seconds before. From what JJ had gathered, it had something to do with Rafe Cameron and a golf buggie.

Y/N joined in with the Pogues as they mocked Pope’s now wounded ego, emitting quiet giggles that just barely stifled a yawn. JJ sighed. Though it was a pain, he would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed with Y/N’s determination to stay conscious. "How 'bout we get you to bed now, hm?"

"No," Y/N persisted, fighting not to shut her tired eyes. "I wanna stay with you."

The older boy patted his baby sister's back, pressing a long kiss to the top of her head. "How about this, kiddo. If you promise to shut your eyes and keep 'em closed, you can stay right here. That sound good?"

He barely had to tell her, it seemed, because Y/N's small body had gone limp against him before the words had finished leaving his mouth. JJ chuckled lightly, brushing a few hairs away from her now closed eyes.

"Finally," He breathed, kissing her head once more as he wrapped Y/N in a protective embrace. It had taken four long hours, but the small girl had finally given in to rest. "Y'all better quiet down. If Y/N wakes up it's on your goddamned heads."

"I don't think she's waking up anytime soon, Jay," Kie chuckled. She was right, JJ thought—Y/N would be having one Hell of a late morning tomorrow.

"Gotta hand it to her, though. Kid put up a good fight," John B said, raising his drink and saluding to Y/N before taking another swig of beer. “She’s one Hell of a Pogue if I’ve ever seen one.”

“You gonna bring her in?” Pope asked, and JJ considered it for a moment before shaking his head.

“Nah, man.”

He watched attentively as Y/N’s chest rose and fell with steady breaths, her small hand fisting a handful of his shirt. It warmed his heart to know that through all of her fussing and restlessness, all Y/N had really wanted was to stay by his side.

In that moment, JJ swore to never let her go.

“I think she’s good where she’s at.”

[4lydsmarie]

sweater weather .. dallas winston x reader

fem!reader x toxic!dallas winston "it's too cold for you here.."

warning(s): toxic relationship! dallas keeps trying to push reader away but she won't budge, and he's js like "?? why r u still here" because he's TERRIFIED of love or commitment. things change toward the end though(?).

a/n: i have woken again to post for you guys 🥰 this is true dedication bc i started this at 1:03am and it's now 2:50 at the time of officially uploading this (with this a/n cause it's an edit). first i was gonna talk ab how dilf matt dillon is, then i was gonna make matt hcs, THEN i was gonna do dally hcs, and FINALLY i decided on writing this because toxic dallas is stuck in my headdd😣. i am a FIRM believer that dallas winston is EITHER loverboy softboy around reader OR cold toxic bf that is afraid of commitment and love because of his past in new york. NO OTHER WAY TO PUT IT!

dating dallas, you knew whaat would come with it. no, not just the constant "gettin' it in with the fuzz" or his repetitive fights at buck's on a thursday night, but the laid back "ya know i don't love anythin'" motto he always has going on. you and dallas had probably broken up 5 or 6 times in the past month. either he'd be out with another broad, or he'd be dismissing your feelings again and telling you "i mean i like ya, doll. that's close enough to what you're talkin' about, right? i mean what's love anyways? don't say things you don't understand.."

you'd recently just gotten back together with dallas. you'd broken up with him because you found out he was hitting on another girl, this time a soc named cherry valance.

well, in due time another argument would come up. so here you are, arguing with dallas again because you told him you loved him again and finally snapped at his unbothered, half-assed response.

"dallas i don't understand!" you yelled. "all i try to do is get you to love me because that's what a relationship is all about! i do everything for you and give you chance aftter chance. but no, you just HAVE to keep it up like you care about nothing i do for you!! what's the point dallas? why knock my heart around just 'cause you can't commit to anything?" by now tears welled up in your eyes, but your anger overshadowed the embarrassment you might have crying in front of dallas.

"i don't have to keep nothin' up doll, that's just me. man i thought this love problem you got goin' on in your head was a one time thing. if i knew you were always gonna be so emotional and stuck on tryin' to get love all the time then maybe i wouldn't have dated you at all!" dallas yelled back. you scoffed as you walked up to him, even angrier than before.

"god i hate you dallas! you're not fucking cool, and one day i hope you wake up and see that! the world isn't all bad you just make it out to be that way so you can have a reason to be miserable. i hate it all, and the thing i hate the most is that you just can't love me after all i do!" you gave dallas a little push at the last part. at this point, you couldn't stop the tears from flowing as you grabbed your stuff and walked home. not to mention, the whole argument was in front of the curtis' house. who needed tv when you had your weekly dallas and yn drama, huh?

seemingly on queue, rain started to pour, drenching you in water. you let out a huff in annoyance as you finally made it to your house, slamming your front door behind you.

meanwhile dallas stood in front of the curtis house still, watching you walk away. he tried to act like he didn't care, but deep down he knew he did. "did she get home safe? is she alright? man, i messed up. god, im a jerk. do i love her?" were the questions racing through his mind. he didn't know wether he should run to your house or keep going about his day like nothing happened.

the sound of the curtis' screen door closing brought back dallas' attention as darry walked up to him, trying to give whatever advice he could. "hey dal, maybe you guys should call it quits or somethin', i mean-"

"hey man how 'bout you shutup, alright? mind your own." dallas clapped back, interrupting darry. darry seemingly understood his defeat as he raised his hands in surrender and backed up into the house. all the guys asked what was going on, and as a response he just sighed and shook his head.

..

about an hour later you heard a knock on your door. assuming it was your best friend marcia, since you'd called her a couple minutes before to sleep over, you opened the door without checking who it was. to your surprise, you were met with dallas.

in his hand he had a rose, definitely stolen, some soda (i say pop where im from but whatever..), and a box of milk duds, also probably stolen.

you scoff out of shock before finally speaking. "dally? what's this?" you asked. dallas just rolled his eyes and responded "just let me in the house, man i wouldn't even be caught dead doin' this for anyone.." you couldn't help but grin as you let him in, closing the door behind him. yeah you guys had previously argued but, it felt good to be in dally's presence again..

you both took a seat on your bed, sitting in silence for a bit. finally, you decided you'd had enough of the tension. "so, you gonna explain where all this came from" you asked, pointing towards the items he'd brought you. "just thought i'd do somethin' nice man, that's it." he leaned back onto your bed a bit. "oh, sure okay." you responded dryly.

dallas sat back up and scooted towards you. "yn.." he said, making you look up and respond with a simple 'hm?'. "listen, i care about you alright? but you gotta stop with the saying you love me. i'm not a good guy and i don't do right all the time. you gotta love someone who ain't like me, alright?" you frowned at his words. "dallas, the way you see yourself is totally different than how i do. i know you've been through a lot that you'll probably never tell me about, but that doesn't mean anything in my eyes. i do love you and i won't stop saying it cause i know one day you'll say it back. sometimes you're a little cold, sometimes it's too cold for me here...but i'll keep tryin' anyways dally." you turned away from dallas as you spoke, tears filling up your eyes yet again.

dallas sighed and stayed quiet for a bit, seemingly thinking about what to say. finally, he replied "yeah, alright. hey ask me again in the future. maybe my world'll be different and i'll think about it, huh?" you told yourself "at least it was a start" as you nodded in response to dallas' words.

finally, you'd decided to move onto dallas' lap. he grinned as he leaned in to kiss you. and you guys kissed for a while too. dallas didn't need to say it, but you knew he loved you deep down.

and he knew it too.

yet still, you both awaited the next argument to come. after all, he's still (somewhat) the same old dally. only difference is you both knew he cared about you a bit (and sorta loved you too).

[frvnkcastles]

Hii I love your work so much!! I was wondering if you would do Frank Castle x reader based off of Sunlight or Francesca By Hozier? I don’t know I just feel like with how deeply this man feels that one or those would be perfect for Frank and the reader.

I WOULD DO IT AGAIN ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: A glimpse into the way Frank feels for you.

Warnings: Fem!reader, violence, reader has unspecified mental health issues

Word count: 1.2k

Author’s note: I fell in love with both these songs thanks to this request!! I tried to combine both of them, though I suppose I got more out of Francesca. I’m a little on the fence about this one shot in general, but I hope you like it! Thanks for your patience <3 Also, I keep forgetting to say this, but thank you so much for 700 followers!!! It means so much to me that we’ve created this little community of traumatized Frank lovers :)

There was nothing Frank wouldn’t have done for you. He had known that quite early into your relationship, his devotion for you growing more and more every day, even if you weren’t officially dating. In fact, your feelings for each other had gone unspoken ever since you had met, but he couldn’t deny they were there — he cared for you so much it terrified him, it kept him up at night.

He thought about the first time he met you often. He’d never forget the way you looked in that dress you had dug out of your closet just for the occasion, how the warm bar light illuminated your starry eyes and how you had been nervously gnawing on your lip while glancing at your phone for the millionth time.

”Whoever’s standin’ you up would regret if they saw you in that dress”, he had spoken up from across the mostly empty bar counter, and you had immediately looked up only to find a man so attractive your stomach did a somersault. Rough around the edges but undeniably easy on the eyes, even more so when the corner of his mouth had twitched upwards in a sneaky smirk, even when his stare was focused on the crowd behind you. You had shuffled on your feet, looking around to see who he was referring to, but when you had turned back to him, you found him gazing right at you, making your mouth run dry.

”I was supposed to have a date”, you had explained over the music, ”guess it was a waste of a pretty dress.”

He had chuckled at that. ”Well, for what it’s worth, you made this old sucker’s heart skip a beat”, he had shrugged before gesturing at the empty seat next to him. ”Buy you a drink?”

And ever since then, he had been hooked on you. You made him feel alive, you gave him a reason to get up in the morning. So when you had told him you felt like you were doing the opposite, his heart had shattered in his chest.

”I realize I have a lot of baggage. So I don’t blame you if you want to, I dunno, check out now”, you had explained meekly, distance between you as you both stood in your kitchen at an ungodly hour, fresh stitches on Frank’s abdomen. ”I guess I’m not a very easy person to be around, is what I’m saying”, you had added with a quiet chuckle, and at that, Frank had closed the space between you, his hand coming to rest on your cheek as he swallowed all the air from your personal space.

”You think I am?” he had stated matter-of-factly. ”You’re wrong, sweetheart. I don’t remember the last time it was this easy for me to be around someone. You make me feel… Yeah, you just make me feel. I can’t get enough of you. Don’t ever think I’d wanna get rid of you, ’cause shit, as long as you’ll have me, I ain’t goin’ anywhere”, he had explained, passion behind every word, and it had made you tear up.

”You know everything that’s wrong with me and you’re saying you still want to be my friend?” you had asked to confirm, and licking his lips, Frank had glanced at yours before nodding. He had forced himself to withdraw, not wanting to cross any lines, but he had given your hand a squeeze, nonetheless.

”Never been more sure of anything.”

He wasn’t letting go of you. As much was confirmed when his enemies caught whiff of you being involved with him — before he knew it, your name fell from the lips of his latest target, and he had seen red. The men were coming from left and right, punching him, stabbing him, each of them claiming their piece of the Punisher, but he wasn’t going to rest until he’d know you were safe. Their taunts of getting to his little girlfriend had pushed him over the edge, and with feral anger, he slaughtered the lot of them, not letting a single henchman slip out and get to you.

He had wanted to avoid you seeing him like this so badly. But as soon as he was done, as soon as the men lay dead at his feet, he was rushing out of the warehouse he had been lured into, just to make his way to you.

The urgent knock on your door in the middle of the night wasn’t a completely unfamiliar sound — you had stitched Frank up more than a few times, but you could tell something was wrong. As soon as you opened the door, a bloodied Frank burst through, his eyes wide and alert, his shaky hands clamoring to find purchase on your shoulders.

”Hey, hey, what is it? Are you okay?” you asked with worry, eyebrows knitted together as you tried to balance Frank’s larger frame, your hands resting on his arms.

”I—I needed to know you were okay”, he managed to get out, breathless and panicking, and nodding to promise him that you were, you attempted to meet his frantic eyes and calm him down.

”I’m okay, Frankie, I’m okay. Breathe, honey”, you reassured, and slumping against your body, Frank pulled you into a vicelike hug, squeezing you tight, breathing you in. Blood stained your clothes and hair, but your priority was getting Frank across the panicked state he was in, to assure him everything was okay.

”They said they were coming for you. I—I couldn’t let them. I wasn’t gonna let them”, he repeated, before grunting, ”I killed ’em all.”

Pulling away slightly, you looked into dark eyes with a disbelieving frown. ”You did that for me?” you whispered, and finding solace in your gaze, Frank found it in himself to catch his breath and understand that the imminent danger was over.

”You’re goddamn right I did. I’d do it again and again. I’d do anything for you”, he swore, letting his forehead fall against yours. You closed your eyes and took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze before pulling him towards the bathroom.

”Let’s get you cleaned up, big guy.”

Even after he had had time to shower, he was still on alert, constantly checking the windows and pacing around your apartment. You had to fight him to the bedroom, insisting that you both needed to get some rest, and he supposed he could do that — watch over you, make sure you’d get to sleep soundly. Soon enough, you were cuddled up in the bed and Frank was sitting next to you, resting against the headboard with his eyes laser-focused on the closed door.

”Hey, you can relax. They’re all gone. No one’s coming for me”, you reminded him softly, caressing his arm with tender fingers, and swallowing, Frank slowly and reluctantly sank deeper into the mattress to be closer to you.

”I ain’t ever lettin’ anythin’ happen to you. You know that, right?” he grunted, and with a nod, you reassured him.

”I know. You always make me feel safe.” His eyes softened at your words, and gently, he reached over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering for a brief moment.

He really would have done anything for you.

[chaosandmarigolds]

imma request more bc that adoption one actually sent me to the heavens and back..

so i have a similar idea that i wanna throw out there but have it be Dad!simon riley and foster/adopted!reader. Have like, their interactions when reader has to first meet simon, and simon is able to bond with reader bc hes traumatized too

it can be like a headcannon style or a one shot, whatever idea striked you.

like actually can i be you? like you write SO GOOD so QUICKLY my writers block could NEVER

(I'm actually a Tomato right now I'm blushing so much in my school library what- thank you so much!! your words will live rent-free in my head for the next seven to eight weeks ngl

Ahem ahem I have a new thingy- Adoptive dad Simon! lil blurb (700-1000 words i think) & foster!care reader (i don't think I used gendered pronouns but if I did please remind me)

For the record, you never thought yourself to be a problematic child, sure you were a little unruly and you lived by your own rules but to be honest any person in your situation would be the same. A child whose childhood was ripped from you the second your father grabbed a beer bottle and the rest you preferred to keep locked away under a lock with a key you kept away. So you sat in your social workers office for what you thought was the billionth time in the month, hands mindlessly fiddling with your hoodie string and eyes staring out the window.

Birds. You always wondered what it would be like to be a bird, it must be nice, to be free like one at least- no matter how cliche the thought you enjoyed it.

Only for it to be ripped from you as you hear your named hissed from the workers, Margi's, mouth. With a grumble you turn to look at her from across the oak table, trinkets from her perfect life adorning it, and her perfect little family in a golden frame, staring at you- made you sick.

"Seventh school, seventh! Are you trying to have to move counties again?" She snipped at you, her voice dull as she typed something into her computer.

"Maybe I am."

Margi gives you a look, a frown written across her face, "What does that mean?"

"The Wilsons, Adams, Johnsons, Kievs, they all suck and they were mean."

"They were mean?" She mocked your voice and then scooted her chair to face you fully, "I'm trying here, kid, I'm trying. But you-" she shuttered a laugh as if she just found your mere presence unbearable, "You make it so hard, you're goin to Douglas county."

A look is etched across your face as you take in the news, Douglas was forty miles away, so the news was a bit shocking. "Wha-"

"There is a single man-"

"No."

"Yes. You'll sleep here and he's picking you up in the morning."

--

It was stupid, Price had told him he needed to find purpose in his life and that fostering might fulfill that- well...he didn't realize his captain meant dogs and cats and somehow he had passed to be a foster parent. For reasons that are beyond him. So there he was, four foster kids deep- all adopted within two or so months and then going to their new homes. He wouldn't lie, he didn't like any of them but he was sure to be as kind as possible, as...open as he could (which is close to none) but according to the children he did a great job.

Somehow.

There was a new one, problematic from the file, a story reading a bit too close to his own that he almost didn't want to take it up for the sake of his own mental clarity. However, it was urgent, and there was a need and the solider in him urged him to go on and fulfill it. So that is why he was now standing in the police station at six in the morning an hour away from his home.

A brief conversation with the social worker and a few police officers that had encounters with you, all warning him with the banter of your antics and that if he had any common sense he'd 'slap some sense into you' All of that he just responded with a glare and changing the topic.

Then they brought you out your lively hood packed into a small and tattered black and blue duffle bag and clothes a bit worse for wear, looking exhausted upon all of that. Simon made eye contact with you for a moment, it almost seemed like a stare-down- until the social worker cut in-between you both.

She motions to you as she introduces you to him and she then motions to him, trying to take your bag to hand to him but you had an iron grip, "Mister Riley-"

"Simon." He interjected, giving the worker a look, "Call me Simon."

You bite back a smile at how flustered Margi became by his correction and after a few more warnings of how you like to run away and skip school and everything you had a tendency to do you sit on the bench in the building. A good forty or so minutes passed and you wouldn't lie you were hungry so as soon as 'Simon' came over you chirpped up, following as he had motioned for you to do.

"Could we get some food?"

Simon stayed quiet until you reached the truck, letting you put your duffle bag into the back and then stopping you from getting in the front, checking your height against his chest and then with a breif motion of the hand told you to sit in the back.

Alright. You thought, not a big talker.

"Diner okay?"

"There's a good one down the street-"

Simon hums and grabs his phone from his pocket as he buckles up, holding it back for you to take, "Put it in the gps, yeah?"

A faltering silence as you stared at the phone, which was new, normally your foster parents wouldn't let you touch anything of theirs- much less a piece of technology. An unlocked piece of technology.

--

"Can I get juice?" You ask quietly as you look over the menu, subconsciously looking for the cheapest option.

"Mmhm, what else?"

To that you look up, "An...and pancakes?"

"An' eggs."

"What?"

"An' eggs," he said again, looking up from his menu, "Growin, need protein."

"I don't...like eggs." You see his blonde eyebrows furrow to your words and you mumble on, "Not alone, I like potatoes and eggs but eggs alone make me gag."

"Then get potatoes an' eggs."

Darn, there goes pancakes. So when the waitress comes back over she gets Simon's order and then yours, and you ask for the potatoes and eggs, only for when she left Simon to be staring you down.

"Have you ever been told you're scary?"

"All th' time. Though' you wan' pancakes."

A moment and you blink, "You said to get eggs and potatoes."

"Get al' three."

"But that's expensive."

"Ah, yea- 20 dollar's for a meal tha' gonna make you full an' happy is expensive," He dully replied, and then your expression he did his best to soften his expression, "Kid, is okay, yeah? Don' feel bad."

You sniffle as you see the waitress come over with your juice and his very boring black coffee, "Can I actually pancakes?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

(anywaaay that's it! hope you liked it! <33 ps. i love feedback and comments it truly makes my day!

[pygmi-cygni]

Lucky Number Seven (2)

goin' strong, y'all. woohoo.

cw: arguing, flashbacks, Angst

pt one here

He was fine. Somebody dragged him to a tent and gave him some water. You, however, were thrown into a room with a scowling officer who had some choice words.

Harassing a senior officer....stepping out of line...acting like a fucking child...your skin crawled with the urge to deck him too.

After your reaming was complete, you stomped back to the main area for a debrief.

And found this.

Rage burned your toes numb. You felt so overwhelmed with adrenaline, your physical body started to melt at the edges. If this was what exploding felt like, you were a supernova.

Poe's mouth was moving a mile a minute but you were having none of it. Famously verbose but equally as arrogant, Black Leader plowed through a hack-job retelling of your arrival. He wanted you gone within the day, he demanded, to the stoic chagrin of the answering Sergeant.

There were three other pilots in the tent, exchanging embarrassed glances. You'd felt shame, initially, before realizing what was happening.

"Sergeant, if I may," you seethed, cutting off another bout of complaints. Dameron's gaze lasered into your temple.

The flickering holograph raised his eyebrow.

"Whatever Dameron is upset about," your words sliced like blades through the smog, "is not in any way relevant to the current mission. We have a personal history and this issue does not extend beyond those limits. None of this impacts my work-"

"I don't know what this officer is referencing-" Dameron barged in, cutting off the snickering behind you.

"Enough."

Leia's face replaced the Sergeant's, looking steely-eyed and determined. The tent fell silent, everyone's faces drawn and hesitant. You swallowed down the tail end of your outburst, patting away the flames. Anger still smoldered, but you could keep it tucked away.

"I don't care how you feel, Poe," she said, with the sternness of a mother, "nor you, cadet," her gaze flickered to you. "I have assigned everyone in this program for a reason, and unless you are calling my judgement into question, I want to hear nothing about it."

Nobody dared speak. Nodding primly, she murmured a farewell and the tent was thrown into cavernous silence.

The tension was palpable. The sludgy ground had glued you in place, iron rods replacing your bones. Dameron burst out of the meeting as soon as it was adjourned, leaving you to fend off stares alone.

Personal history was a bit of a stretch, and perhaps conveyed a sultriness that was far from the truth. Tumultuous history might be a better term, one that conveyed the friction rife between you. It was a thorn you'd nursed for years, and one that never seemed to leave.

It never ceased to confuse your crew. Everybody liked Dameron. Truly, you saw the appeal - looks, charm, easy smile. And he was by definition, a good guy. But everybody had somebody to poke at, and for him it just happened to be you.

well, that wasn't the whole problem.

You tried to fade into the background of the gathering crowd. Any hopes of anonymity were shot dead in those few minutes online. The quizzical stares burned familiar scars in your back, until you collided with a bony face.

"Oh shi- you okay?" You righted Tonks, seconds from biting it. They chuckled, shoving you off.

"Yeah, yeah. What's up with Dameron? You guys seemed-"

Speak of the devil, he'd climbed atop a stack of crates, tablet and holopad in hand.

The debrief had begun.

The mission was 'simple:' have a few posing smugglers get a lay of the land whilst the home base soldiers mapped out the Imp hangar hidden a few clicks away. Once all the intel had been gathered, you'd reevaluate the plan and move in. No prisoners, no hostages.

Thirteen groups total (a number that made your stomach twist) and every group had a 'sister' group they were to be in contact with all the time.

"This is to ensure safety and support," Dameron explained, "no group gets left behind."

Ha fucking ha. You tried not to let your gaze burn his hair off.

Groups 1-4 were going to be the smugglers, a total of eleven people. 5-11 were tactical, and the last two were strictly intelligence and communication. You let out a sigh of relief when Tonks raised their hand for twelve. That was probably for the best.

Dameron's cold gaze flickered over you for a moment as he listed off your group - seven, how funny - and you were dismissed to brief with your groups.

Seven...tactical?

"Wait a minute, I'm intelligence division," you called out, "I'm not supposed to be tactically assigned-"

"Do you have your field training?" One of the superior offices looked you up and down.

"Yes, but-"

"Then you're qualified for tactical. Alright, quickly, let's get this done!"

Confused, you were swept into a tactical suit, headset, and gear pack and bunched with eight other people you'd never met in your life.

A harsh, muggy rain had begun to fall. Several tents were sinking into the mud and more than a few people were having difficulty digging their boots out of the slop. You held a booklet over your brow to stop any mudfall into your eyes.

"So," the head? Superior? Leader? of your group shouted over the din of thunder, "We're gonna chart the geography around the hangar, and then find the best entrances and exits. Once the undercover operatives we have get back, we'll send them off with a coupla you's to go and lay the explosives. Got it?"

A chorus of agreement, which you begrudgingly followed along with. Something distinctly sour was clouding the back of your mouth. One of your strengths was cartography and surveillance, but Dameron or whoever was running this shitshow had specifically pulled you out of the surveillance group and into...whatever this was.

Six hours until the first checkpoint. Teams 2 and 3 would be comming in with an update, and you needed to be at your post by then.

Perfect. Just enough time to beat Dameron's ass.

He was eating soup out of a tureen when you threw open the door to his tent. You didn't miss the tightening of his jaw when he turned to stare at you, eyebrow raised.

"Why the hell am I on tactical?" You hissed, ripping off your headset, "you know that I'm the best fucking spy on this crew, and I'm stuck on tactical?" The set made a satisfying thunk against the holoprojector as it toppled into the mud.

Poe leaned back, folding his arms. "Leia-"

"No. No, no, no, this was not Leia, this was you, Black Leader. You fucking put me there."

The muscles in his jaw were working overtime. Your steely gazes met in a clash rivaling Jedi battles. If he dares, I'll kill him. He'd better not even try.

"Well," he began slowly. "You can't deny the last time. How it...went."

He did.

The fucker.

"What?" You exploded, hauling him up by his collar, "What, what did I do? How did "the last one" go? Huh? Were you there? That one mission three fucking years ago that had a screwy plan and yeah, okay, something went wrong,and we lost some people, I'm sorry, but you weren't there, you don't get to tell me how it went!"

Your shouting had attracted a crowd outside. Poe winced when you pressed on his sore cheek, eyes aflame.

"Cadet," the word stung your heart, "why don't we continue this conversation later, okay? I've got a crew to run," he whispered, teeth glittering in the dingy light.

For the second time that day, you watched the retreating form of your Commander with a sense of defeat souring in your belly.

T-minus five hours.

That smell, what was it? Expensive, yes, but astringent. Burning roses, sickly sweet and singed with ash. It grew stronger every minute, as did the red glow under the door. Your hands were sticky with a thick crimson paste. Blood. It had been blood, which had been a body, who had been-

no. not them anymore. just sticky.

Hot. Your shirt was soaked to your skin with sweat. An orange light blinked on your radio. SOS. Help.

No response.

You watched the door shimmer and wriggle in the rising heat. Fire. And screaming. Who was screaming? Tell them to cut it out, it’s too l-

The shutter flicked, and you jolted awake. A deep, cavernous feeling of terror flitted through you so intensely your teeth rattled. Once the essence of paranoia faded, you huddled deeper in your jacket. It had been a while since your mind had slipped back into memory. You didn’t miss it.

The blinking holopad said three hours had passed. On autopilot, you packed your things, hands robotically cataloguing everything in its place. The safest thing to do right now was shut your brain off and let instinct do the talking. Wallowing would do no good in the field.

Your tent shuddered with the movement of somebody crossing the threshold. You were dimly aware of this but paid it no mind, focusing only on the rough fabric under your palms.

“Hey.”

Barbs littered your skin, raised and ready for battle. Steeling yourself, you turned to face him.

Poe, to his credit, stood a respectful distance away and met your gaze with patient neutrality. He took in your defensive scowl and the tension in your shoulders and held up a hand.

"I kinda screwed that up earlier," he said, with a strangely forced tone. "My apologies. I understand the last situation was complicated. But I can only access what's in the mission report, so-"

"So you just skipped the parts that didn't fit your narrative? Fuck off, I've got a crew to run." You shoved past him and rejoined your new squad. Poe yelled something after you, but you ignored it.

Thankfully the other members caught the drift, and you were on your way without a single glance back.

The moment your boots left the ring of lights surrounding the base, swampy smog enveloped you like a fist. It was hard to see in front of you, and you appreciated whose idea it was to clip fluorescent bulbs onto the back of your helmets.

In total there were eight of you, but the only names that stuck were the cartographer - Hana - and the weapons expert - Duke. There was a mute comms officer, which would have made for a great stand-up skit, but his searing gaze prompted no joking. You made your silent acknowledgements of each other and moved on.

As you hiked, a thrilling shiver ran down your back. It felt like a layer of bacta, soothing away the sore spots of your heart and returning a fire to your veins. Any distractions of the day melted away and left your mind startlingly clear. This was where you were supposed to be. You'd been folded for too long, crammed in the protective womb of drills and safety checks. You longed to stretch your fighting legs and run.

There was a reason you were the best on the team. Nothing Dameron said could change that.

The dark undergrowth of the swampy jungle slowly calibrated to your eyes. Snapping twigs sounded like gunshots and your hair prickled with caution. A certain air of insignificance swept over the group as you waded through marshes deep enough to swallow you whole. You kept that feeling close to your chest. Best to be aware of your weakness than to let it blind you. A common mistake, assuming you were the top of the food chain.

Though you’d never stepped foot on the planet before, the terrain seemed almost familiar. Nal Hutta’s geography wasn’t complicated. Hilly but nothing unclimbable, and the same marshy consistency across the surface. It was easy to get lost with nothing memorable to mark.

Hana quietly recited the map as you went, annotating any notable regions. It was a quick journey, relatively speaking, and you soon found the cleared-out trench designated for the first stop. As instructed, a few soldiers dug up the cargo hidden in the brush. The canvas bags contained kilos of explosives, which Duke took gingerly from their hiding place.

A shiver ran through you at the sight.

Fire, hot and stinging. Red cloth burning, the smell of roses-

You blinked rapidly and took a swig of water. Not now.

The comms officer spoke quickly and quietly into the accompanying receiver, jotting down whatever Poe was communicating on the other line. You felt strangely affronted, irritated that you couldn’t listen in. It was a strange sense of paranoia that made your throat close up. You forced yourself to step away, peering into the shady woods.

A cough behind you grabbed your attention. The comms officer looked up, receiver in his hand. It took you a moment to realize he was handing it to you. Dread settling, you took the device and held it to your ear.

“Yes?”

“New plan,” came Poe’s voice from the other end. He sounded strained, and you realized the change wasn’t going to be good. “I need you to go in.”

“What?”

A crackly sigh. “I need you to go in and get the access key by yourself. The security is tighter than we expected and a crew this size will be suspicious. You’re….the one with enough experience.” A resigned edge laced his tone. This wasn’t an easy admission.

You’d be glib at the compliment, but in truth the idea filled you with terror.

You hadn’t done it since. This was the first time you’d gone alone, and the thought of last time made you nauseous.

“Still with me?”

“Yes,” you said hoarsely, clearing the tension from your throat. “Yes, yeah, I’m…I’m here. That’s fine, but…”

“But?”

“Nothing. I’ll proceed.” You wanted to cry.

“Copy. And, cadet?”

You wiped your eyes, hiding from the rest of the group. “Mhm?”

“We’ll be in your ear the whole time.”

Your fist clenched around the comm long after he disconnected, knuckles paling.

Burning roses, singed cloth, screaming-

auck I hate the exposition chapters.

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love 

@unear7hly @chaithetics @thecraziestcrayon @lilacspider @whisperofthewild

[ghostboneswrites2]

Lots of love if you write this, and lots of love if you don’t!

Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?

Note: this is a cute idea! I might write a different version of this one later <3 not sure how I feel about it. This ended up a lot more angst and has a lot more of an argument than I originally intended tbh

Another note: I usually write in past tense but this one has both past and present tense. It’s lightly proofread but I apologize if I missed any errors in past vs present tense!

Summary: Every since he first saw you he’s seemingly had it out for you. All that frustration comes to a head when you have to go rescue him from the side of the road.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: Daryl bring a Dickson, profanity, TWD typical non graphic violence, guns

        Daryl stepped into the RV for a gun, shaking his head with annoyance at the sight of your failure. Well, multiple failures. See, you started with a standard Glock, but the recoil spring in that one was too hard to set in place. Then, you switched to the Beretta, where you found your current firing pin spring issue. 

        Daryl stared down at all the bits and pieces sprawled on the table in front of you. 

        “Y’gon’ take every damn gun apart ‘til we ain’t got none when we need ‘em?” He complained. You glared. 

        “Well, excuse me if taking apart guns to clean them wasn’t my hobby of choice before shit hit the fan.” You shot back. 

        That day was the beginning of a long standing feud between the two of you. A feud that was frankly one sided. You never had a problem with the smelly hunter. In fact, you often made meager attempts at impressing him or even going as far as to be friendly. Unfortunately, you were always met with rude snark and bitterness. 

        One time, at the CDC, you had a little too much wine with dinner. You were stumbling through the hall, attempting to find the room you had previously claimed, when you had the misfortune of walking right into Daryl. 

        “Oh! I’m sorry.” You giggled. 

        “Damn it.” He grumbled with an annoyed sigh. “Can’t ya watch where the hell you’re goin’?”

        “I’m sorry, really—“ You tried to apologize again but he had no intentions of hearing it.

        “Don’t drink if ya can’t handle yourself.” He snapped. “Got the dead roamin’ the damn earth and you get shit-faced the first damn chance ya get!”

        In your drunken, emotional state, you sniffled and cried quietly to yourself that night. Why was he always so damn mean? You missed your friends and family so much, and you couldn’t even bare to think about your cat.

        When Sophia got lost everything was worse. You’d offer to help with the search and you’d always hear the same response; “I already got one little kid to look for. I don’t need two.” 

        You also tried to console him when Sophia’s body came staggering out of that barn. 

        “You’re a great tracker, Daryl. We were all just too late.” You’d say. 

        “Ain’t no we! You didn’t do shit but stay back and twiddle your fuckin’ thumbs! Get on somewhere. I don’t need your caudlin’.”

        When the farm fell, he’d always snap at you for lagging behind the group when you were on the move. You couldn’t help it. You were so tired and hungry.  

        “Keep up, damn it. Can’t afford to keep slowin’ down!” 

        When you were all clearing the prison, he wouldn’t even let you shoot. 

        “Jus’ stay back and hit the fence. Distract ‘em. You can’t shoot for shit.” 

        Since then, you reasoned to just avoid him. You’d never met anyone who could make you feel so bad about yourself. You decided to stop asking yourself why he hated you. You weren’t going to try and change it anymore. You were just going to exist the best you could, as far away from him as the prison yard would allow. 

          Which brings us to now. Inventory is your main task at the prison. Some people make it hard. Carl never checks out his weapons, nor does Daryl. But with Carl losing his mom and Daryl being such an ass, you never say anything. You just make notes on the weapons they’re most likely to take without telling you. 

        Beth sometimes grabs formula without letting you know, but taking care of a baby is hard work for a teenage girl to be doing full time. You have no intentions of nagging her. So, as usual, you just check your inventory every day and report to Rick or Hershel, usually the latter. 

        When your inventory is done for the afternoon, you decide to find Carol and help her with laundry. Maggie is on the tower today with Glenn, so she’s all by herself out there scrubbing everyone’s smelly clothes. 

        “Hey. Need some help?” You ask her, pressing your lips into a thin smile. She returns the same expression and nods. 

        “Please? For such a small group we sure go through a lot of clothes.”

        “No problem.” You say as you get down on your knees and begin scrubbing and ringing out a pair of jeans. “Jeez. These really stink.” You mumble. Carol giggles. 

        “Daryl.” She sighs. 

        “Does he ever shower?” 

        “I mean.. never would be a strong word. Rarely, though, that might be the accurate description.” She jokes. You chuckle.

        “Hey, (Y/N)?” Rick asks as he approaches you. You look up from Daryl’s stained jeans. “Could you take a car out to the main road? Daryl’s broken down out there. He can’t carry all those supplies back.” 

        “Me?” You raise your eyebrows, tossing a quick glance to Carol. If anyone is accustomed to your strained relationship with the archer, it’s her. Daryl would often complain about you to her, and she’d just as often give you a reassuring pat on the shoulder when she’d notice his harsh treatment. 

        “Well, yeah, if ya don’t mind.” Rick nods. He is a little more oblivious to how rude Daryl can be toward you, but he isn’t  blind to the visible tension the two of you share. He just assumes it was never that serious. 

        “Um.. Sure.” You shrug. A pit in your stomach is already festering, growing bigger as it feeds on your anxiety. You had been very successful at avoiding Daryl since you’d been at the prison. The only solace you find is in the fact that you had grown more confident since you guys found this place. Being in charge of inventory gave you a much needed sense of control. From there, you realized just how much you really did have control over, and soon enough the scared girl you once were had become a productive young woman. Now, you have to put that confidence to the test, facing the man who kind of stole what little faith in yourself you had to begin with. You vow to yourself that today will be the day you stand your ground to Daryl Dixon.

        You brush off your jeans and accept the keys from Rick before making your way to the vehicle parked near the gates. When you start the engine, Carl drags open one gate, then the other, and you head out. You notice Daryl right away when you make it to the main road. He’s smoking a cigarette, leaned up against the red truck he had taken into town. 

         You can’t help but wonder why he was on a run by himself to begin with. It isn’t like Rick to send anyone off on their own. Then again, knowing Daryl, it’s not that hard to figure out why he might be a solo kind of guy. 

        You pull the car up beside the truck. He glances up at the vehicle but immediately looks back down at the ground when he realizes it’s you. He makes sure to seem indifferent. 

        Instead of letting his lack of a greeting (or gratitude) phase you, you just step out of the driver’s seat and pop the trunk open before approaching the bed of the truck and beginning to transfer all of his loot into the car. When the trunk fills up, you resort to packing the back seat. 

        By the time Daryl finishes his cigarette, he notices there are a few more items still in the truck. He huffs and impatiently grabs the three items, shoving them in the back seat and slamming the door shut, mumbling something about you taking your sweet time. 

        “What was that?” You speak up before sitting back down in the driver’s seat. 

        “Move over. I’m drivin’.”

        “That’s not what you said, first of all. And no. I drove here just fine, I can drive back.” You roll your eyes. 

        “Quit bein’ difficult damn it! I’m tired. Been workin’ all day out there riskin’ my neck.” He snaps. 

        “I’ve been working too.” You shrug, sitting down and starting the engine. 

        “Scribblin’ on a clipboard ain’t nothin’ like what I do.” He argues, still standing by the driver side, waiting for you to give in and let him drive. You won’t, though. You won’t cave in and bow to him like a puppy with its tail between its legs like you used to. He lost the privilege of your kindness — or maybe cowardice — a while ago. 

        “Actually, I woke up and spent two hours on the fence impaling skulls, then I helped Hershel hoe the ground for spring crops before I scrubbed the common area of the cell block on my hands and knees. Then I did inventory, then I washed your smelly ass jeans. So, no, I don’t just scribble on a clip board.” You correct him. “And, while we’re on that subject, you’re supposed to check out your fucking weapons. Would make the scribbling part a lot easier for me.” 

        He clenches his jaw and his fists at your insubordination. 

        “I don’t know when you grew a smart ass mouth but I ain’t got time for it so quit your bitchin’ and move outta my seat.” He demands. 

        “Or you could stop wasting time and just get in the passenger seat.” You roll your eyes. 

        “God, do you ever stop bein’ such a damn burden?!” He shouts. You run your tongue over your teeth and nod. 

        “Burden?” You repeat. 

         “Yeah. A burden.” He drawls. “As in, makin’ shit harder for everyone around you.” 

        “Hmm.” You hum thoughtfully. “Okay.” 

        With that simple response, you shut off the engine, toss the keys on the ground beside him, and stand up. With your knife in your belt for protection, you start walking toward the woods. You realize that he is absolutely unbearable. You won’t subject yourself to even a five minute car ride with him. 

        “Where the hell are you goin’?!” He calls out after you. You ignore him. “C’mon, (Y/N), get in the damn car!” 

        By this point you’re blending into the trees and he’s losing sight of you. He groans and slams the car door shut, snatching the keys off the asphalt before he marches off after you. He swears when he gets his hands on you, he’s dragging you back by your ankles and cramming you in the trunk with the rest of the shit he looted today.

        “(Y/N)!” He shouts. You sigh. 

        “Fuck off! You wanted to drive so bad, be my guest! Whole car to yourself!” You call back. 

        “Quit bein’ so damn—“

        You whip around, eyes blaring with fury. 

        “So what? Burdensome? Annoying? Stupid?” You cut him off, recalling some of the insults he had bestowed upon you in the past. “I’m so fucking sick of you! All I ever did was try to be nice to you! And all you ever gave me in return was cruelty!”

         You’re shaking now. He’s stopped a few feet away from you, silent as you unleash your pent up frustrations on him. 

        “You know,” you begin, not as loud and shrilled as before. “I didn’t even want to come help you. Because I knew it would be like this. I only came because I was asked to. So you wouldn’t have to try to carry shit back to the prison and go through more trouble. I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t try to be friendly or otherwise vexing. Yet, somehow, that wasn’t good enough. If my presence alone makes you so miserable, then I’ll walk.” 

        With that, you turn around and start storming back toward the prison. 

        “(Y/N)—“ He tries to protest but it just triggers another wave of anger. 

        “What?!” You throw your hands up. “What did I ever do to you?! Just leave me alone!” You shout, turning back to him. “Why do you hate me?!” 

        “I don’t hate you!” He fires back. 

        You scoff and cross your arms. “Sure seems like it.” 

        “Well if ya would just listen to me I wouldn’t get so mad!” 

        “I’m not your fucking dog, Dixon! I shouldn’t have to listen to you for you to treat me like a human being.” 

        “Treat you like what?” He scoffs. “All I ever did was try and look out for ya! Ya can’t do anything right! How the hell am I supposed to keep ya safe if ya can’t follow a simple fuckin’ direction?”

        “Look out for me? How? By making me feel like shit about myself? Reminding me every chance you get how much you just can’t fucking stand me? You don’t treat anyone else like that. Nobody.” Your eyes are watering now. The rage is slowly wearing down into what it really is at its core: hurt. He hurt you time and time again and you always tried to make it right, even when you had done nothing wrong. Shit, (Y/N), get it together. Don’t let him see you like this. 

        “Well why the hell are ya so worried ‘bout what I think?” He asks. 

        “I don’t know!” You snap, turning away from him again. You hug yourself and sniffle. “Just leave me alone.” You beg quietly. “Go drive yourself back. I’d rather walk.” 

        He stands there silently, mouth opening and closing like he has words to say but can’t find them in his sea of thoughts. He doesn’t want to make you cry. He doesn’t even know why you piss him off so much. He does know that seeing you there, hugging yourself as your shoulders rise and fall with silent whimpers makes him feel like shit. He steps toward you slowly, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. You flinch at his touch and he retracts his arm. 

        “I don’t hate ya.” He finally speaks. When you don’t respond he realizes he has to continue. “I just don’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”

        “Yeah, right.” You mumble. “All you do is hurt me.”

        He swallows a dry lump. Is that true? 

        “I don’t mean to.” He insists. “I just.. Ya don’t belong in this world. You’re nice. Ya ain’t violent, you’re pret—“ He stops. Your ears perk up. Was he about to call you pretty?

         “What I’m tryin’ to say is… Ever since I first saw ya I knew ya had to be looked after — kept safe. Ya ain’t like most people. I’d feel too bad if ya… If ya got hurt.” He admits softly. You turn your head a little, peeking behind you to try and catch a glimpse of him. 

        His hand finds your shoulder again and this time you don’t shrug him away. You sniffle and wipe your eye clean of tears. 

        “So you’re mean to me to protect me?” You summarize. He realizes how stupid that must sound. 

        “I just get frustrated when I see how vulnerable ya are. Can’t clean a gun and put it back together, can’t aim to save your life, can’t—“

        “Couldn’t.” You correct him. “I couldn’t do those things, but I’ve learned how. You just haven’t been around to see it. Or encourage it.” 

        He nods. “‘M sorry.” He mumbles. “Maybe you could, uh, show me sometime.” 

        “Show you what?” You turn back to him. 

        “Dunno.” He shrugs. It’s a lot harder for him to speak freely when you’re actually looking at him. “What ya can do.”

         “Oh.” You nod. “Maybe you could stop being such an asshole.” You suggest. 

        He smirks a little. 

        “I can try.”

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[gretavangroupie]

Transcendent - One

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 24.0k

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Smoking, Cursing, Mention and Use of Magic, Black Magic, Curses, Fire, Death in Fire, Anxiety, Arguing, Physical Violence, Fighting, Use of Weapons, Blood, Arranged Marriage, Unhappy Relationships, Sadness, Illness, Death, Use of Restraints. Smut: Heavy Pining, Kissing, Light Touching.

A/N: Surprise! @gretavanmoon and I are back with what has to be our favorite project yet. Without giving too much away, this will not be your traditional storyline. We've been dreaming on this one for a while and after a quick little break we are ready to get back to business. There will be no posting schedule with this story, taking it as it comes to give you the best story possible. But, it will be ongoing throughout this Fall and Winter season. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting and reblogging. It means the world to us and truly keeps us going.

JAKE

I push the old wooden door open, the rusty handle leaving my hand feeling stiff and dirty. I swipe it against my canvas trousers, all the while knowing they are just as dirty as my hand is now. A hard day's work will do that to you. A hard day’s work is also how one finds themselves wandering into a bar at quittin’ time. I had to ask around to find one, the mason on the jobsite informing me of this place tucked away between two shops just a few blocks down the road from the job. There’s no sign out front, nothing that would ever reveal that it was a barroom. But as I open the door and step inside, the smell is what hits me first and I know I’ve found the right place. 

I make my way towards the bar attendant, the room warm from the kerosene lamps burning on the tables. It's dimly lit and the place seems to be full of laborers like myself. Everyone has just gotten off a job or is looking for work themselves. I keep my head low as I approach the attendant, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I don’t know who knows what around here, but the town is small and I know people talk. Especially in my line of work, ain’t nothing to do besides talk. 

“What’ll ya have,” the attendant asks. His lips are almost fully enveloped beneath his thick mustache as his eyes look me up and down. 

“A Lager, thanks,” I say, sticking my hand into my trouser pocket in search of coins.

“Outta the Lager, I can do a Porter,” he counters, reaching for a mug. “I seen you around here before?”

My eyes flick up to his, “No sir, don’t believe. Just here temporarily for work.” He seems perplexed by my answer, as if he doesn’t believe me.

He fills the mug with the ale as he continues, “What's ya trade?”

“Carpenter,” I answer quickly, “Boarding house goin’ up a few blocks away.”

“The St. Lemire job?” he asks, and again I nod.

He doesn’t say anything else, instead passing me the mug of ale with a grunt. He seems uneasy about my presence. For why I don’t know, but I don’t question it. I nod in thanks and pay him what he’s due, taking the mug of dark beer over to a table in the corner. The kerosene lamp is burnt out and the table is dark, but that’s almost better. I didn’t come here to make friends, I came here for a drink, and once it’s gone I’ll be on my way.

As I sit in the old wooden chair I begin to look around at the other patrons. They are gathered in groups of three or four, loud and boisterous as they drink away their troubles and a day's work. One man is passed out on the table top, his friends poking and prodding at his face with no reaction. Someone taps away on the old out-of-tune piano in the corner, playing a song that grits my nerves. 

A few women occupy the bar, but not the kind I mess with. These women are here for a reason. They know we have a little money in our pockets and they plan to get their hands on it in exchange for their time. This is not something I am particularly interested in, despite the urges that naturally invade my mind from time to time. Not that I don’t feel attracted to them, because trust me, I am. I just need more substance and a little depth in my women. To be able to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around sex. Call me old fashioned, I suppose.

It is rare that I even find myself on this side of town, avoiding it and my brother Joshua at all costs for several years now.  However, the ad in the paper promised good pay in exchange for quality work, and if there is one thing about myself that you should know, it’s that everything I do, I do the right way. I knew they would be happy with my work and I was fully prepared to prove myself. 

It’s been two weeks that I’ve been working the job, arriving just after the foundation was set and the frame was ready to be built. I've done this hundreds of times now, maybe not this scale, but all buildings are built the same way more or less. Working with my hands is what I know. It’s what I’m good at. Just like my father before me. I spent most of the day today putting up walls on the second floor. The stairs took me longer than I anticipated, but I got it done. I always do. 

I take a long pull from my mug, letting the alcohol warm my blood and ease the tension in my neck. My shoulders are sore from hauling lumber upstairs all day, but I’ve felt worse so I can’t really complain. 

I’m about halfway through my beer when the door opening harshly grabs my attention. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he caught wind of my arrival into town, and I knew I wouldn’t be met kindly. Josh steps through the door, his eyes scanning through the tables until he finds me. His eyes narrow as he locks in, pushing chairs out of the way until he gets to me, positively seething and full of fiery fury. 

“Why’re you here?” he demands, slamming his fist on the table, rattling the glass of the dark kerosene lamp. 

I sit back in my chair, unaffected by his anger, much to his dismay. He always was all bark and no bite. He’d been that way since we were boys. 

“I’m here for work, I think you know that though, Joshua.”

“How long,” he seethes, a curl of hair falling to his forehead.

“Couple months, maybe, if all goes to plan,” I answer, my casual attitude only infuriating him further. 

“Don’t fuck with me, Jacob,” he grits out, leaning against the wooden table. His eyes are dark and still the mirror image of my own, though somehow his are different. As if he is completely detached from reality and no longer sees me as his own flesh and blood. 

“Won’t bother you if you don’t make no trouble for me,” I offer, hoping he will accept my suggestion. “I’ll finish this job and you won’t see me ‘round here anymore.”

He raises his eyebrows at me and ticks his jaw to the side as if he's considering my proposition. He then pushes off the table and heads towards the bar without a word. I let out a sigh and take a drink from my mug knowing that conversation could have gone a lot worse. Honestly I expected more after three years of silence. 

A few minutes later I see him slide into the seat across from me, slamming his own mug down on the rickety table. “Fuck,” I groan, suddenly realizing that the conversation is in fact not over. 

“Ya know, I thought about it, but what’s a drink between brothers…” he sneers, flashing a bit of a teeth through his snarl. 

My chest grows tight and my heart rate picks up, an uneasy feeling entering my body as his eyes size me up. I lick my lips and lift my mug towards his, tapping the glasses together. I raise my eyebrow, “Yeah, brothers.”

He takes a long pull from his mug, swallowing down the dark beer. “So, had any nice tail lately?” he asks, catching me off guard. He settles back in his chair, rocking back onto two legs as he waits for my reply.

I haven't spoken to him in three years and he wants to know about my sex life?

“The fuck do you care?” I spit, refusing to answer him. I know exactly where this conversation is going and I will not give him what he wants. 

Josh shrugs at my response, acting unaffected by my unwillingness to play his game. “Just thought maybe you could send some my way.”

I turn my attention to the ladies making the rounds and nod my head towards them, “Could take you home one of them,” I say, catching the attention of a woman behind me I didn’t know was there. 

“Fellas?” she grins, leaning against our table. 

Josh flashes her a smile and she smiles back. Of course. 

“Did I hear you two was looking for some company?” she asks, locking her eyes onto mine. 

I quickly pull my eyes away and look down at my beer, not wanting to answer her. 

“Could be,” Josh answers, deepening his voice. 

Her eyes begin to flick between the two of us and realization hits her. “You two brothers? You look mighty similar.”

“Twins, actually,” I correct, hoping to cure her curiosity.

“Twins, huh? Can’t say I’ve ever been with twins,” she says, pursing her plum colored lips. My eyes scan over her body, curvy in all the right places, with skin softer than anything I’ve touched in a long while, but I refuse to give into her temptation. 

Her hand reaches out and brushes over my forearm, sending a tingle through my body for what feels like the first time in a long time. She moves her fingers in circles over my sun tanned skin, not even caring about the sawdust still covering me. I swallow harshly as I try to will away the desire running through me. I don’t want her, but my body sure does. 

“I’ll tell you what,” she pauses, looking between Josh and I, “I’ll cut you a deal. I like the both of you, so I could do two for the price of one.”

“No–”

“A deal…” Josh ponders, interrupting my refusal. 

She moves to lean on me, pressing her chest into my face in an attempt to change my mind. I see a flicker of fury and jealousy returning to Josh’s eyes as she comes onto me, and I can tell he is about to lash out. 

He snaps his fingers, grabbing her attention, “You know sweetheart, come to think of it, there's no need for a deal. You can keep me company tonight. He will just end up fucking killing you, anyway,” he says, cutting his eyes at me.

Anger takes over my rational brain, and I shove my beer mug forcefully across the table, crashing into his chest and splashing the remnants all over him and the woman. 

“What the hell?!” Josh immediately stands, pushing her off of him as he bucks up at me, trying to gain the upperhand. I stand too, meeting his stature as I stare back at him in disgust. 

“You’re never going to let that go are you?” I shout, no doubt drawing attention to the both of us, just like I was trying to avoid. 

“This is why I ignore you, Josh! This is why I steer clear of this place, this whole damn town! There is nothing I can do or say to get through to you that her death wasn’t my fault!” I grit my teeth as I walk back to snatch my hat off the table. “You just needed me as a scapegoat for your bad choices. You’ve always been this way and you’ll never change!” 

I feel Josh’s hands as they push at my shoulders, sending me stumbling backwards into my chair and into the wall behind me. The pictures on the wall rattle above me, and I can hear the bar attendant starting to shout at us now. 

I know I shouldn’t fight him. I know I shouldn’t, but thanks to the alcohol my inhibitions are gone, and my hands are quickly flying up to defend myself against my own flesh and blood. My hands connect with his shoulders, shoving him away from me as the woman runs off to the other side of the bar, no longer interested in being Josh’s woman of the night. 

Josh grunts out a few profanities as he tries to swing at me, but as if anticipating his next move, I duck out of the way and take him down by the waist. Our scuffle makes its way to the sticky barroom floor, and before he can land a punch on me, we are being dragged out the side door and tossed into the alleyway by the barkeep. 

We both stand, dusting off our clothes of the stale beer and alleyway sludge, the smell putrid and unpleasant as it seeps into the canvas of my trousers. Josh is still cursing at me, gearing up for the next round no doubt. I take in my surroundings as quickly as I can, seeing a number of shady characters lining the dark, musty alleyway. Peddlers, more women, even a few rabble rousers. They seemed intrigued by us, all turning their attention our way as Josh connects a blow right to my face. 

I can hear the crack of my nose as his fist connects with it, blood instantly pouring down my face. He’s broken my nose more times than I can count. My eyes start to water, further obstructing my vision in the dark alley as I rear my arm back in order to return his punch. I connect with his jaw, knocking him back a few steps as he turns his head to spit blood. 

“You killed her! You fucking killed her just to get at me!” he shouts, his teeth red and stained with blood. 

“I didn’t!” I shout. “I told her not to follow me inside, and she didn’t fucking listen to me, Josh! She killed herself!”

“She wouldn’t do that!” he screams, a growl coloring his words. He charges at me, pinning me against the brick wall behind me. I could easily overpower him, but part of me understands his anger. This is his release and it’s been long overdue.

“I shouldn’t have trusted you. She would still be here. My Lizzy would still be with me!” he shouts in my face. I can feel the emotions flowing through him as if they were my own. That’s the funny thing about twins, we share everything. 

“I begged you not to go that night, Josh,” I counter, still remaining tightly in his grip. “I told you to go home to her. To stop gambling your savings away. It would have been you, yelling for her in that fire. I fought for my life trying to get to her! Do you get that? I fucking tried, Josh. I almost died in there trying to save her! It should have been you with her that night, not me!” 

It’s as if his own guilt finally comes to light. A tear streams from his eye as his anger boils over. A scream rips from his chest, primal and laced with rage as something heavy smashes against the side of my head, and my vision quickly fades to black. 

—

The air was already chilling, then, the leaves barely skittering across the ground when a breeze would come through. Joshua and I had met up at the crossroads on our walk home from work, me from the construction of a new bank in the square, and he from the metalsmiths shop.

“I don’t care what you do with her… just keep her entertained until my game is done…” he asked of me as he slipped his arms through his coat.

“It could be the wee hours of the morning by then, Josh, sit this one out for once. Go home to her tonight. You’re about to be wed, for Christ’s sake.” 

As of late, Josh had picked up a gambling habit, secretly tossing he and his fiance Elizabeth’s money away little by little.

He quirked a laugh as we trod down the street. “No see, I’ve got this one in the bag, I can feel it. I’m coming home with my pockets full tonight, brother. Fate is gonna be on my side.”

“Your pockets were empty before you started this nonsense, Josh. Don’t you think you should stop while you’re ahead? Before you lose it all…” I tried reasoning with him. If he wasn’t careful, there would be no money to pay for the wedding Lizzy wanted.

“Just keep her busy, eh? Don’t let her ask any questions…” he argued. “Talk your mind up to her with your wise words that you’re so agile with. I’ll be home before the sun comes up.”

“Fine. Fine!” I threw my hands into the air. “I’ll spend my hard-earned pay on a nice dinner with your fiance. A dinner that you should be enjoying with her. No. I don’t mind at all…” I yelled with sarcasm as we began separating and walking opposite ways.

“Thank you, Jacob. Really. I promise I’ll repay you!”

I scoffed. “You just better be glad she’s good company!”

And really, if Josh hadn’t met Lizzy before me, I might have thought of courting her, myself. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman with a knack for teaching children. She was easy-going, and came from a good family of hard-working people. She never gloated, and she was very easy to talk to, to get along with. Since she started dating my brother, we’d formed a tight kinship that was nothing more than good conversation and shared meals while Josh was “working”, and as of late, discussing wedding plans.

—

Lizzy and I were walking back to their house after a light dinner, arm in arm as the sun was dipping low in the sky. “You truly don’t have to escort me, Jacob, I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself while Joshua is caught up with work…” my heart ached as I realized the lie we were both telling her. That he was off doing his dealings instead of his “work”, ignoring the fact that she was home waiting for him while I sat in their study making sure she felt safe in her own home. 

“Of course you are, Lizzy, but I wouldn’t have ya eatin’ dinner alone and wandering the streets back home all by yourself. And neither would my brother. Not everyone is as kind-hearted as we are, y’know…” I raised my eyebrows and straightened my shoulders with faux-prestigiousness. 

“Stop with ya theatrics, you and Joshua both. A couple of dreamers, full of aplomb, the both of you,” Lizzy pushed her fingertips into my shoulder as she laughed, obviously a bit embarrassed by my gentlemanly actions. “But your kindness is appreciated.”

I reached into my pocket for my watch, noticing sunset was drawing nearer the further along we walked. Josh could either be finished soon, or he would be hours, still yet. Either way, I sucked in a tight breath and rolled my eyes at the thought of him losing last month’s wages in a bad hand, yet again. 

“Something wrong, Jacob?”

“No, I–” I was cut off by the smell of heavy smoke hitting my nose. I glanced West, seeing thick black clouds of smoke rising into the darkening sky just a few blocks away. “Fire.”

I quickly pulled my arm from Lizzy’s and dashed down the street, the sound of her heels hitting the brick pavers as she followed right behind me. I could feel my heart begin pounding with adrenaline as we rounded the corner, coming up on the chaos. It was Berwick’s Grocer, a two-story building with boarding rooms on the second level. Flames were shooting out of the windows and the front door, with twenty or so people already rushing around trying to stop the burn.

“Jacob!” Lizzy finally caught up to me, both of us out of breath and panting with fear. The heat from the building was already so intense that I could feel it heating my cheeks as we stood out in the street.

Just then Mrs. Berwick, the owner of the grocer ran up to the two of us, her hands grabbing at Lizzy’s. “Ms. Elizabeth…! He’s inside, he’s–he’s still in there!” she cried, her face contorted into a panic that told me the depth of her worry. 

“Who, who?!” Lizzy questioned, leaning into her and gripping her hands back in comfort. 

“My baby, my Benjamin! I couldn’t get to him!” she cried, nearly falling to her knees. “My husband is away, the fire happened so quickly, I–”

I watched as the scene became a blur, the helpless cries of people panicked in the streets, watching in horror as the smoke grew darker and darker in the sky. The flames broke through another window, shattering the glass out onto the street as it began to flash inside the building. Lizzy’s eyes met mine in question, both of us trying to decide what to do.

But I knew then, I had no choice. 

I quickly fastened my jacket as my feet carried me to the side of the building, searching for an alternate entrance inside. I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t have a damned clue about anything. All I knew was that I had to find that boy.

“Jacob, no!” I heard Lizzy cry from behind me. 

“Stay back, Liz! Do not follow me!” I spit over my shoulder.

I made entrance into the building from the side, the smoke thick and black but still untouched by heavy flames here. I began calling out for Benjamin, stepping carefully over the boxes of dry goods and storage as I maneuvered through the rooms. It was nearly impossible to see in the smoke, and I pulled my coat over my mouth and nose to shield myself from it. 

‘I built this building, I know its walls,’ I kept telling myself as I called for Ben over and over and over…

I blindly walked through the narrow halls, relying only on my faint memory of building its skeleton just a few years ago to guide me. Finally, after what felt like hours, I heard his voice calling back out. Small and faint, but there. 

I rushed to the sound of his voice, quickly finding him huddled in a corner. I scooped him up and ran right back toward the way I came, my lungs feeling as though they were full of heavy stones. I quickly removed my coat and covered him with it, telling him to keep his face covered as best he could. I kept him close and protected from the nearby flames, instead taking the licks myself as we passed by them. The child cried in my arms as he clutched on to me, terrified and gasping for air. 

“We’re almost there, Ben. Just hold on to me…” I told him. “It’s alright, just keep your face covered…we’re almost out…”

I saw the light of the door, dispensing him back on the floor and pushing him to run toward it. I heard loud crashes behind me, things falling from shelves and pieces of the ceiling breaking and collapsing. My eyes were blurring, and my skin felt as though it was on fire, itself. 

And then I heard Lizzy’s voice. 

Quiet and back from where I’d just come, she called out for me. 

“Liz! I told you not to follow me! Why are you–” I was cut off again by the sound of exploding tin cans, hundreds of pieces of metal falling onto the floor from a high shelf. I coughed hard as I tried to find her in the thick clouds and rubble.

“Jacob!” her voice screamed, curdled and guttural. That sound alone filled me with more terror than when I’d heard Benjamin.

“Lizzy, come toward my voice!” I yelled, the flames daring to lick more closely, now. My entire body was still full of adrenaline, but more so, fear. Why did she follow me in? Why didn’t she stay behind like I’d asked?!

“Jacob, I can’t breathe!” she screamed.

I felt tears flood my eyes as her voice sounded so graveled, the room around us popping and lurching and exploding as the walls heated and melted. An anchor beam had fallen across the floor, putting a giant burning barrier between the two of us. “Here Liz, here! Come to me!” I urged her, willing her to come to me instead of retreating to a corner where she thought she may be able to hide from the flames. 

I was met with silence. 

“Liz! Liz, can you hear me?!” I coughed, my tongue so dry and my eyes so heavy. “Elizabeth!!!”

No. Not like this. 

I felt my mind begin to leave me, my breaths short and shallow as my body fought for fresh air. I had to turn around, I had no other choice… but Liz…

I stood for as long as I could, wandered around in the darkness, still yelling her name as each breath I took filled my lungs with more of the chalky smoke. I knew that if I stayed any longer, I would surely die of smoke inhalation.

I had no control over my body any longer. It had gone into survival mode on its own, and my legs carried me backwards toward the door, away from the flames, away from the smoke, away from the sound of her voice.

Why, Lizzy?!

I fell backwards out the door, my feet stumbling over one another as strangers’ hands gripped my shoulders and arms and pulled me away from the burning building. My limp body was drug away, and cold water was poured onto my face and limbs. I was coughing, strangling for breath as people surrounded me on the ground and tried to keep me alert and alive. 

I went into a state of shock as my body convulsed, ridding itself of the nerves and fearful adrenaline that had kept me alive for the past few minutes. 

“You saved him, Jacob! My Ben!” I heard the faint sound of Mrs. Berwick’s voice from a crowd behind me. “Thank you, thank you!”

The next few seconds were a flurry of more pulling on my limbs, more cold rags to my face, more shedding of my charred boots and clothing. I could smell the scent of my own burnt skin, and the pain of what was sure to be scarred reminders of this day tattooed on my body for the rest of my life. 

Where is Liz…

I could hear the echo of her voice still in the back of my mind, like a screeching siren begging me to come back and find her. And I knew right then that the sound of her voice would haunt my dreams for all of my years to come. How did this happen? Why did she come inside?

And then when I thought my mind couldn’t get any darker, I felt the familiar hands of my twin rest on my shaking shoulders.

“Jake, Jacob, are you alright? Where is she?! Where is Lizzy?” He helped me move to stand, his eyes devoid of anything other than fearful hope. 

“I–I don’t–”

I could hardly move my lips enough to form words. My tongue was sandpaper, my voice like hot embers sitting in my throat. 

All I could do was stare into the fire, the interior of the building now caving in on itself. People rushed us, pushed us aside and trampled us as they carried buckets of water to try and extinguish the flames. 

“Jacob! Where is Elizabeth!” he demanded, moving to stand in my line of sight. But I couldn’t look at him, I could barely even hear him, the world around me sounding as if I were locked in a glass room. Noises reverberating as I struggled to take a deep breath, struggled to think, struggled to even keep my balance on my feet. Why did she follow me?

All I could do was shake my head. Gently, from side to side as my eyes shot back and forth between the burning building and my mirror image, his face sullen and lips already downshot as he let the news consume him. 

“No. No! She couldn’t, she wouldn’t have– why was she…?” he began to pace, stomping his boots into the ground as hoards of people pushed past us. I became dizzy again, everything overwhelming me as I fought to believe it all, as well. Nothing made sense… just minutes ago we were arm-in-arm making our way back home. Minutes. And now…

I watched as my brother fell to his knees, uncaring of the dirt covering up his already filthy slacks. His head fell into his hands, his fingertips gripping into his curls as he screamed, cried, punched his fists into the ground beside him. My mind willed me to console him, but my body didn’t allow me to move. I was stuck in time and space, unable to do anything but stand there and breathe. Blink. Exist.

My back was to the building now as I noticed darkness had completely fallen. One step I took toward him, and then another, before my already weakened knees buckled, falling to his side as my lungs burned with the feeling of a hundred different kinds of rage. I let my weak arm drape over his shoulders as I fought for my own breath, feeling him shudder beneath it. The pain on the skin of my side was nearly unbearable, now. 

“You–” Josh muttered as he finally looked up to meet my eyes. “This is your fault…” he growled, his jaw clenched. “You’re the reason she’s dead, you’re the reason she burnt up in there…” 

“Wha–Josh, I tried to…” I could hardly push the words from my mouth, my body already shutting down on me. 

“Fuck you!” he yelled, pushing me over onto the dirt. I wretched out in pain as the skin on my side felt like white hot burning fire, worse than the flames that danced around my face just moments ago. “She’s gone! And you were supposed to be watching out for her! It’s your fault! She’d stil–” He couldn’t finish as his rage overtook him again, laying himself into me with weak punches to my face and chest. He was crying through it all, but I could tell he was serious. He truly thought it was my fault. 

And in my clouded thoughts… was it?

I couldn’t even fight back. All I could do was raise my arms over my face to defend the blows. Even in my wildest dreams, I could have never imagined this was how my night would have gone. Blow after weak, shoddy blow he delivered to my face, and I let him. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I should have just gone in further after her.

Maybe I should have died in there, too. 

Finally I felt the weight of him come off of me, seeing that two men had pulled him away and tossed him to the side. Through my burning and bloodshot eyes, I watched as he rolled on the ground, turning to sit and face the scene as his bloodied hands covered his face. He wept, his eyes boring into me with more hatred and sadness than I’d ever witnessed on his face. My mind was racing and blacking out at the same time. 

She’s gone, she’s gone. 

In the blink of an eye, and we aren’t getting her back. 

There my brother and I sat as we watched the chaos surround us, and it was only then I noticed all of the money surrounding us lying all over the ground. Coins and bills scattered in the dirt, ripped in half from our scuffle. He’d won his fucking hand. 

And, for what? A night of revelry lost with the love of his life, gambling on the savings they both had worked so hard to collect. He could have had that, with her, tonight. 

But, had he not gone and had I not escorted Lizzy for the evening, Benjamin may have surely met his bitter end. What’s more, the loss of a life at the brink of a new beginning, or the deliverance of an innocent child back into the arms of his mother?

Why must one fate have the other to exist?

Surely, my own redemption means nothing in this grand scheme. I was just at the right place at the right time. 

One more deep inhale of the smoke was the last thing I remembered before I let the exhaustion overtake me, closing my eyes as my body fell limp to the ground. 

—

1860

The smoke.

It wakes me now, except its scent isn’t the same as it was in my dream. The memory of my own burning skin and charring wood is replaced with the scent of a balmy, earthy smell… a little sweet and a little spicy, as if seasonings and herbs were being boiled to cleanse the air. 

I slowly open my eyes, afraid to get my bearings as I remember why I passed out in the first place. Joshua had hit me hard over the head with something in the alleyway of the bar. The flashback memory had confused me a bit, having to relive one of the worst days of my life in the fire, but then again I dream it all the time. I’m used to the nightmare replaying the night my brother’s fiance died at the fault of my own.

Joshua and I had gotten into another argument. But this time, he’d used more violence than he ever had, by knocking me completely out and bringing me… here, wherever here is. I’m lying on a wooden floor, and the room is lit with candles. My body is sore, but I can move. Everything is unfamiliar, and I’m positive I’ve never been here before. The air is humid and thick, and I think we must be close to water, but I know that is a long way from where we were.

I can hear mumbling from behind me… Joshua’s voice mixed in with another, a female. Her voice is unfamiliar too, so we must be at her dwelling. Where on earth did he bring me? I don’t trust him, I haven’t trusted him since the day of the fire, when he completely blamed the loss of his love on me. For a while, I accepted the blame, feeling a guilt so heavy in my state of depression that I believed it, too. But after some time and some reflecting, I realized there was nothing I could have done that night. She entered the building on her own, she became lost inside after I had warned her against it, and tried as I might, I simply could not save her without in turn losing my own life in the process. 

It was a truly horrific chain of unfortunate events. 

I can’t make out their conversation as they’re being hush, and my head is absolutely throbbing from the mix of the alcohol and whatever the hell Josh hit me over the head with. The blood from my nose is dried on my face, my eyes finally stopped watering, though everything is blurry and distorted as I try and listen harder.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” I hear Josh ask the stranger. 

“Do you doubt me, child?” the female challenges. 

“No, no. Of course I don’t. I just want to make sure this is going to go as smoothly as possible, and I won’t have to bother you again…”

What is going on?

I stir on the floor, moving my limbs as I try to sit up and understand. But Josh pushes me back down, before lifting me to sit in a chair. I can’t fight him, I’m too weak. 

“Tie him down,” I hear the stranger demand of Josh. What?

“No no, please,” I beg as I feel my hands being bound behind me. I begin kicking and fighting as best I can, pulling out every last bit of energy I have. 

“Stay still, Jacob, this will go a lot more smoothly if you just stop moving,” Josh bites with madness in his voice, tying a tight knot around my wrists. With the new feeling of the pain in my arms, my head clears up a bit, and I can see who the stranger in the room is. 

She’s a short woman, dark complected with dark gray hair hanging well below her waist. She’s dressed in what looks to be rags, but they’re colorful… Her head is wrapped in the same material, and dozens of gold and silver chains hang from her neck. Her hands, tattooed and adorned with rings and stones rub over one another as her deep black eyes watch Josh tie me to the chair. 

“Who are you? Where are we?” I ask, my voice now sounding more clear as I come off of the liquor. 

“Shh,” Josh spits in my ear as he ties my feet. 

“You’re in my home, child, no more questions,” she says. I hear wind chimes clinging in the distance as the crow of a bird screeches from a high corner. The candles flicker, almost as if the sound of her voice awakens them. The smell of the burning incense hits my nose again, turning my stomach.

“Why am I here? Let me go!” I fight, trying to free myself, but only learn that his knots are pulled tight. He laughs at my poor attempt. 

“Silence him,” she demands, and another wind blows through the rickety walls of the shack. I hear what sounds like shells clanking and sand falling, and the frogs in the bayou waters outside seem to sing a little louder.

Josh leans down to eye-level with me, and I swear I could spit in his face, if my morals didn’t hold me back. “You heard her, quiet. Not another word, or else we can use more force, if you want us to,” he shows his teeth in a pitiful attempt at a smile, but the light in his eyes left a long, long time ago. 

I scowl at him, cutting my losses as I become more nervous for the reason I am actually here. 

“I’m having a curse placed upon you, Jake,” Josh says as he stands back up. “With the help of my new friend here, Seraphine.” A wild whip of air blows through the home again, making my hair fall in front of my face. Fear settles in my belly at his words, and the darkness in the stranger’s eyes seems to become alight, just for a second as she watches us from her seat in the corner. 

I’ve heard about this magic, a cursed and fearsome magic whose practice dates back generations. It’s dark, and it's harrowing. A divination done correctly can change a man’s life for better or for worse, and from the stories I’ve heard told, it is best to steer clear unless you want your life changed forever. 

“You took the love of my life away from me, so it’s only fair if I subject you to a life of similar fate.” Josh projects as he begins pacing the room, his jaw clenched as he speaks. 

“No–” I contest.

Josh’s hands are suddenly on the arms of the chair I’m tied to, his face within inches of mine as he growls at me once more. “I said silence!”

The two of us stare at one another for what seems like minutes, challenging, gritting, both of us shifting our anger back and forth in the thin air that lies between us. “You took everything from me… all of it, and you’re going to learn exactly what that feels like…”

He stands back up, straightening his coat as he clasps his hands together behind him. I feel the sweat beginning to pool on my forehead as my anxiety settles in. 

“You’ll live out your years with no bounds, no end in sight. While everyone around you, everyone that you love ages naturally and grows old, you’ll stay this age forever. Everyone around you will meet the sweet taste of death, while you sit and watch it happen, over and over and over as you stay trapped here, at this very point in your life,” Josh says. “You’ll forever know what it feels like to crave death, wishing daily for it to take you away from this place just as I do, but you’ll never get to achieve it. You’ll watch everyone around you fall from grace and meet God himself, while you must sit with your sins and be a hostage of the Earth for the rest of eternity.”

I feel all the blood drain from my body as I realize he’s wishing, imposing this fate upon me at the hand of black magic. “Revenge,” I whisper. 

He nods, a sick smile gracing his lips. “Precisely, my brother.”

“How fucking could you?!” I snap a whisper at him, baring my teeth as if I could rip him apart with them.

He howls a long laugh, looking at Seraphine for validation. “How could I? How could you? You’re nothing but a sorry son of a bitch, and now you’re going to get every bit of what you deserve. My sweet Lizzy will have her justice.”

My head spins. “Justice?! Joshua, if I could tell you a hundred more times that her fate wasn’t by my hand, I wou–”

“His blood, Joshua!” Seraphine’s voice trembles across the air, loud and boisterous as the walls shake, the wind it causes nearly blowing every flamed candle out. My ears ring at the sound of it, and for a split second I see evidence of the tiniest bit of fear flash across Josh’s face, but he quickly qualms it. “I haven’t the time for any more arguments!”

Josh rips his knife from his side, opening the blade and slicing the rope that binds my wrists behind me. He grabs a glass vial that’s sitting on the table beside us, already half full of some kind of mix of herbs. Also on the table is a silver platter, a green stone, a bit of hair, and a few other odds and ends that I can’t make out before he raises my hand, slicing the skin of my palm until I feel blood dripping from it. I scream out in surprised pain as he collects the blood in the vial, capping it quickly and setting it back in the center of the silver platter. I get a head rush from the pain, and he ties my wrists behind me again. My eyes grow heavy as I hear words of accolades from Seraphine. 

“Good, Joshua, good…”

I feel like I’m about to pass out again as I feel more wind blow across my face, and a new smell drifts across my nostrils. There’s almost a sound of music in the air, but it doesn’t carry a melody, nor does it have a tune. It’s a blend of a thousand instruments that have no weight to them at all, but more so just noise and racket. I hear whispers in my ears as if ten people are standing next to me and in front of me, all speaking a different language from the one next to it. I’m dizzy, I’m confused, and I feel as if I could vomit, but what I feel the most is the scar on my side from the fire all those years ago. The skin is blazing, shocks running through it as if it were being burned all over again. 

I hear Seraphine’s voice, deep and gritty as she begins to recite an incantation. 

“By this blood the spell is cast, to weave your fate through ages vast. In realms of shadow, dark and deep, where time’s eternal echoes sleep.”

“With ancient might and words of old, your endless journey shall unfold. Through ages long and tales profound, in endless life, you shall be bound.”

“Forevermore, through realms of light, in days of dark and endless night. In time’s embrace your soul shall roam, a drifter in the vast unknown.”

Her hands are suddenly on my head, pressing down into my skull as if her life depended on it. My breathing begins to pick up, and I feel myself lose all control of my muscles. An energy flows through my system and all I can see in my mind are Seraphine’s eyes, hollow and black as she laughs at me, taunting me. 

This is it, I have met my fate, and there is nothing I can do about it. All at the hands of my brother, the one I entered this world with. My flesh and blood. He’s now taken measures so horrific so as to take away my entire future. Or give me more of it, I suppose. I’ll never love the same way again, knowing that I will be burdened with watching the end of it like the last petal falling from a late summer bloom. Nothing will be the same. Nothing will feel the same. I hope his revenge tastes sweet, because cursing me by the hand of black magic may end his life in such a way that he, too, did not see coming.

—

One Month Later

I’m lodged between two pieces of lumber, holding myself upright at the apex of a gable as I drive the last nail into the board. My fellow crewmen and I have been working tirelessly on this boarding house for over a month now, and finally we are seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Drink, Jacob?” I’m offered a canteen by my friend John, of which I graciously accept. I look out over the land, the early Autumn air barely peeking through the still-harsh sunlight. I’m a man of few words these days, ever since that night my brother kidnapped me and took me to that woman’s shack. I haven’t been the same since. My mind tends to drift, and I find myself finding new things to dwell over… things that I hadn’t thought of before, now that I am apparently unable to age. 

I’d woken up that next morning in a nearby grove of trees a little ways from where Seraphine’s home was. Josh was nowhere to be found, I knew he wouldn’t show his face again. Not after that. He knew I would probably kill him. 

I felt the same, yet different. It’s hard to explain, and it could be all in my head. And I’m yet to know if the curse even worked. I won’t even know until a few years from now, if I start to see wrinkles on my own skin. 

I don’t know how to think anymore. I don’t know how to live my day to day life. Things seem so uniform and monotonous, and I hope that the rest of my life won’t find me dwelling this way.

“Everything well with you, mate? You’ve seemed a bit off here lately,” John asks as we take a second to wipe the sweat from our brows as we perch on the unfinished high roof of the building. 

I shrug. “Guess so, just feelin’ a bit down, y’know.”

“Season is about to change, you following the next job when we finish here?” he asks, taking another swig from the canteen. 

“If life allows it,” I reply, still feeling so unsure about any and everything. Just then, my eye is caught by someone walking the grounds down below, a woman dressed in a white dress and hat, carrying a parasol over her shoulder as she wanders with another woman. I can hardly see her face from up here, but just from the way she carries herself, I can tell that she is beautiful. “Who is that?” I ask him.

His eyes follow mine. “Oh, that’s Ms. Y/N, the daughter of Mr. St. Lemire. Quite the pretty one, I say.” I see the sunlight catch her face as she cranes her neck up to see us, and just as I suspected, her beauty nearly makes me fall straight onto the unfinished floor of this boarding house. “Lives under her father’s thumb though, so I’ve heard.”

I realize then that I haven’t taken a breath since the second I saw her. My chest tightens, and I finally inhale. “Is that so,” is all I manage. 

“Mmhm. Fellow that started the job with us tried to ask her name once, offer her an escort to get shade under a tree, he was fired the next day,” John explains, drawing my attention away from her. 

“Is that true?” I ask, my interest suddenly piqued. 

“Sure as hell is. Off limits. A damned shame, too. She’s shinier than a new penny.”

I feel myself become suddenly intrigued with the thought of me trying to escort her to get shade under a tree. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the soft touch of a woman. But the other man was fired for even speaking to her, and I need this job, I need this pay. Maybe I can find another way. Lord knows at this point, I have little left to lose.

—

Days pass, and Ms. St. Lemire still graces us with her presence at the construction site almost daily. I don’t know why she does, she has little to no use being here, except distracting the lot of us from doing our jobs. I keep to myself though, as the wandering eyes of the others follow her every move each day she visits. Some days she’s with her father, some days she’s with a few other ladies, but she has yet to be by herself. My friend must have been right about her living under her father’s thumb. 

The workday was about to end one Friday afternoon, and Ms. Y/N had been waltzing around the property with another woman while we cleaned up our tools and wasted nails from the site. I hid my wandering eyes underneath the brim of my hat, only peeking from under it every so often so as to catch glimpses of her. I wouldn’t swear to it, but on occasion I think she may have been looking, too. But I’d never acknowledge it. 

“Evenin’, Ms. St. Lemire, care to indulge with me down at the pub after supper?” I heard one of the men from the sawmill speak from across the lawn. He must not have heard about the other man being fired.

“Oh, no, thank you, I don’t imbibe,” I heard her voice for the very first time, soft but a bit more rugged than I had imagined. He hair fell in a long thick braid down her back, a cream colored ribbon fastened at the end.

“Now,” the man pressed, “not even wine?”

She shook her head as I continued to work, stealing a glance every few seconds. “No. Only on holidays,” she replied, looking to her friend as they both share a giggle. 

“Is every day not a holiday that God has given us, ma’am?” he goes on, obviously pressing more after she had sternly declined. 

“Sure, but not every day is worth celebrating with libation. Good day,” she bites, offering him a nod as she begins to walk away. 

“Oh, come on, let a man show you a good time!” he demands as he catches her, his hand on her waist as she turns, leaving what looked to be a fairly dark mark of dirt and sawdust all over the back of her light blue dress. 

I stand. She turns quickly, ripping her dress from his grasp while her other white-gloved hand slaps him right across the face. The crew erupts with gasps and surprised laughter. “Do not ever touch me again, and do not ever insist upon a lady after she has clearly said no,” she barks, her finger in his face.

I think I just fell in love.

My eyes are bulging from my head, just the same as everyone else on the job, all of us unable to speak after witnessing that spectacle. My Lord, am I impressed.

Her friend pulls her by the hand back toward their horse and carriage as our foreman comes charging toward the group that had gathered. 

“What in the hell is going on here?!” he asks, and we all stay silent. “Someone give me a god damned answer or there will be no break for lunch all next week…”

One man clears his throat and averts his eyes toward the man in question, and I watch as the foreman goes toward him, ready to question the entire scene. Before he does, though, he notices the group’s silence. “Back to work, all of you! Still an hour’s worth of the job to finish! Go!” I make myself look busy until I hear his voice again. 

“Jacob! Attend to Ms. St. Lemire at her carriage, her coachman has gone to relieve himself in the woods. Water the horses,” he demands, and given the state of his rage, I know better than to attest to that. 

I take off walking behind Ms. St. Lemire and her friend, barely keeping up as they are walking rather quickly toward the carriage. I can see the fire raging through her as she walks; no longer is she carrying herself with the same grace she usually holds. She’s mad, and she’s embarrassed.

Her friend steps up into the carriage first, and offers Y/N her hand for help just as I reach them. She steps on the edge, and her shoe slips off the ledge, making her stumble and nearly fall backwards. “Whoa, ma’am, careful,” I say as I catch her back on my shoulder and arm. She squeals out of surprise and tries to steady herself, her hand slipping out of her friend’s. I help her to get her footing on the ground as she turns to look at me, her bodyweight going limp for a fraction of a second as she finally stands up on her own again. I raise my eyebrows in question as her eyes meet mine, sparkling in the late evening sun. “Are you alright?” I ask. 

She clears her throat. “Yes, um, fine, fine, thank you–” she stands, taking her friend’s hand again and successfully stepping up into the carriage. I nod, making my way to the front of the carriage to tend to the horses. I take a few steps to the side of the road where the water supply is, fetching a metal bucket and pumping water into it. I try not to pay attention, but I can’t help but notice Ms. Y/N and her friend quietly whispering to one another while avoiding my eyes. I keep myself busy letting the horses drink, petting them and speaking quietly to them. I can still feel the feeling of her rested on my shoulder, and the smell of her light perfume still dances across my nose.

“Sir,” she speaks up, catching my attention. 

“Yes Ma’am?” I answer, coming out from my hiding spot behind the horses.

“I just wanted to thank you for breaking my fall,” she says, her friend snickering behind her shoulder. “I surely would have landed in the dirt, and ruined my dress, hadn’t you caught me,” she smirks. 

I feel a wave of confidence and anxiousness roll over me at the fact that she’s speaking to me. Thanking me, when all I had done for weeks now was admire her from afar. 

“Not a problem, Ma’am, though I think George over there might have actually left his stained handprint on your dress…” I say. “May have gotten dirty, anyway.”

She turns and pulls the skirt of her dress to the side as they both inspect it. She clicks her tongue as she sees the dark black dusty stain. “Ah, no matter. Nothing a quick wash can’t fix,” she says with a quipped smile. She clasps her hands back in her lap. 

The two of us stare at one another for a beat, unsure of what to say next. 

“I um, I’m sorry he… that he was so insistent with you just then, men can truly be dastardly,” I say, pulling my rag from my back pocket to wipe my hands free of any more sawdust.

She laughs. “That they can,” she smiles, extending her hand out in front of her for me to shake. “Y/N, pleasure to meet you Mr…”

I brush my hand across my shirt for one last attempt at ridding myself of dirt. “Jacob, pleasure is mine, Ma’am.” Her hand isn’t as gentle as I’d imagined. Her handshake is steady and forceful, and her eyes lock on mine as she repeats my name back to me. The sound of that, god, I’ll be replaying in my head for weeks. 

“You’re um, you’re the daughter of the boss man, I hear?” I try to break the silence that had fallen as her hand drops from mine. 

“I am. Unfortunately,” she quips, earning another chuckle from her friend. 

I’m taken aback. “Ma’am?” 

She lets out a loud sigh. “Oh, being the daughter of a very wealthy and very religious man has its perks, I suppose, but there’s nothing like the realization that I won’t ever get to make my own decisions or live my own life, you know?”

At first, I’m astounded by her sudden willingness to share something this personal with a stranger, but her personality seems to reflect that she doesn’t even really care who knows it. 

“I’m sure it could be… trying, at times,” I try and understand, running my hand along the belly of the horse.

“Trying isn’t the word, Jacob. Far from it,” she clicks her tongue again as her gaze diverts back to the work site. “It’s a miracle he lets me take my afternoon outings to come here, let alone that he allows me out of the house at all.”

“Ah,” I say, nodding slowly. 

“You aren’t one of those dastardly men you mentioned, are you?” she asks, cocking her head. 

I bite my lips in, surprised at her forwardness again. “No, no ma’am. I don’t like to think I am, at least.” 

“I don’t believe you are, either,” she replies, and I walk closer to the carriage. 

“And how could you be so sure?” I press, cocking an eyebrow as I let my elbows rest on the side of the carriage. 

“You’ve been nothing but a gentleman yet. Called me nothing but Ma’am even after I told you my name. Apologized on another man’s behalf, and… you care for my horses,” she says, smiling a sweet, coy smile that nearly knocks me to my knees. I’m left speechless, and I can feel my cheeks burning with shyness. 

Instead, I bring my hand back up to the horse. “I was raised with them.”

“Admirable. So you must know them well.”

“A bit, my father kept a barn when I was a boy, taught me how to care for them,” I reply.

“Hm,” she says, averting her eyes to the coachman returning back from his escape to the woods. “We’ve got a pregnant mare back at home, our first experience with one. Maybe you could assist us when her time comes? Should be within the next week…” she proposes, refastening the satin ribbon at the end of her braid. 

“I could, perhaps. If your father and the foreman allowed me a day from work,” I say, knowing that I have plenty of experience in that department. 

“I’ll arrange it,” she says as the coachman takes his place. “Father will be sure to accept the help. Especially from someone who already works for him.” She raises her hand to wave just as the carriage takes off. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”

I raise my hand as well, watching as the dirt kicks up behind the wheels. “Likewise, Ms. Y/N.”

—

Day and night, I think of her. She’s infiltrated my dreams, the sound of her voice still playing like a song in the back of my mind. We’ve only spoken once, that day she slapped George, but it seems as though that’s all the time I needed to know that she already holds a very special place in my heart. It isn’t often that I let a woman in like that, hell, I’ve only ever had one serious relationship my whole life, and it was when I was fifteen and thought I was in love. That feeling gave me an inkling though, all those years ago, of what love may actually be. And though we grew up and went our separate ways, I’ve still searched high and low for that longing feeling that I had in my chest. 

And I felt it that day when Ms. St. Lemire fell off of her carriage and into my arms. 

I can’t explain it. I’m almost embarrassed to admit the amount of space she takes up in my thoughts. I’ve nearly forgotten the fact that my brother laid a curse upon me. My thoughts are taken up by something else, now. A distraction from the fact that my fate is sealed. Her face is the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. I find myself wondering how her lips would feel pressed to mine, how her skin would feel under my rugged touch. How her voice would sound saying my name over and over…

But no. There’s no way a woman like her would ever find interest in a scoundrel like myself. I’m too lowly for her liking, surely. And the fact that her father would probably never let me near her enough to even say hello. No. Surely her life is already planned for her, her husband probably already chosen to keep the family fortune alive long after Mr. St. Lemire’s death. I have no hope, but still yet, I let my mind pretend it exists. 

—

I’m drying my hands off after I’ve cleaned them thoroughly, watching as Y/N sits in the hay with her back against the barn wall. She’s admiring the brand new foal as we give them space, watching intently as it nurses on its mother.

“That was… quite the experience, Jacob,” she mutters through a tired smile, the toes of her riding boots knocking together. “Not sure she would have made it had you not come to her rescue.”

“Oh, she would have been fine,” I say. “Your hands here had it covered,” referencing the other three men who helped to run the barn. 

“I’m not so sure,” she says. “I’m just glad we went and fetched you when we did.” Her hair is a mess and tangled all over her face, her clothing covered in hay and mud from our very eventful afternoon. A carriage had rolled through the construction site midmorning, the coachman yelling for me. He’d announced that the horse was in labor and having a difficult time, so I hopped in and we were at the barn within half an hour. I’d never tell her, but I was glad they got me when they did, too, or else we may have been burying the poor things. 

“Will you stay for supper, Jacob?” she finally speaks again after I’ve taken the spot on the ground across the stall from her. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t, thank you. I’ve got a long walk home, and sunrise comes early,” I say, fighting a yawn. I pull my knife from my side and begin peeling at the grime that is caked under my fingernails. 

“You live to work, don’t you?” she asks gently. “You truly love it?”

I nod. “I do, I’ve always loved to build. Work with my hands, my father and I built a barn about this size when I was a child. He taught me everything I know about laborin’.” I left out the part that Josh helped, too, not wanting her to delve into that detail of my life.

“Well he taught you well,” she says through that sweet smile. I swear that I could sit here and talk with her about absolutely nothing for days on end. 

“Thank you, Ma’am. So… why do you frequent our job site so often, if you don’t mind me asking?” I have wanted to ask her this question for a while, but was unsure about it. 

She takes a deep breath. “My Father wants it to be mine when it’s completed. Wants me to have a sense of purpose, running the boarding house. My husband and I, that is.”

There it is. 

My chest clenches. “Oh,” I reply. “I was unaware of your status, I apologize.” I shut my knife back up, and begin to stand. 

“Oh, no, it’s–” her eyes drag longingly to mine, and I cock my head in question. I shouldn’t stay here any longer if she is already spoken for. My job here is done. 

“He’s away, he travels with my father a lot for work, for business…” she says, her voice fallen. “I–I’ve only ever met him a handful of times, actually.”

I slowly sit back down. “...You’ve only met him a few times? And you’re to marry him?” 

She nods, her face contorting as she breathes in a chopped breath. I stay quiet, quite unsure what to ask next. 

“It’s been the plan since I was a young girl, marry a man within the church, devote my life to him and our work, have his children, and that’s that,” she says tilting her head to the side as she avoids my eyes. 

“...And that’s that.”

“I’m– I don’t believe that that is how I want my life to go, Jacob,” she admits, biting her lip. I’m surprised again at her forwardness. 

“Isn’t it?” I ask. “Why is that?”

Finally she does look at me. “Because he is fourteen years my senior.” There can’t be much difference in age between the two of us, maybe a year or two either way. I’d ask if she is twenty-five as well, but I figure it rude to ask a lady her age. 

I sigh. “That’s a bit of time,” I reply, trying to sound neutral.

“It is. It’s way too much time. I know it seems a normal gap when it comes to marriages but, not for me. That isn’t what I want. Especially not with…” she stops herself, sitting up straighter against the barn wall. “Anyway. It must be nearing time for me to return home.” She stands suddenly, and I follow suit. She extends her hand out to me again. “Thank you, Jacob, for all of your help today.”

I clear my throat. “Anytime, Ma’am, please just let me know if there is anything else I can do to help,” I offer, giving her hand a little extra squeeze as I grip it in mine. Just like lightning bolts.

I watch as her chest turns red. “I will, we will. And please, call me Y/N. See you next time.”

She pulls her hair back from her face as she gives me one last look as we part ways in front of the barn, and I head toward home.

—

Two days pass with only a few sightings of Y/N, and nothing more than passing glances and head nods come from either of us. I chalk it up to her not wanting someone to see us interacting, then reporting back to her father. I trust it, but it still feels as though she seeks me out. Watches me until I notice her so that she can offer me a smile. If only she knew that my days wouldn’t be the same without them, anymore.

That next morning, though, the coachman had come to collect me from the site again, informing me that the foal had begun to exhibit signs of distress in the late hours last night. Again we travel the half hour to the homestead and I gently approach the stable where we had left them before. The stable was clean and bright. I could tell there were several people attending to it at all times. Every tool and piece of equipment you could ever need was in that barn, and I felt envious that I was not raised with such fineries. A small brown paddle boat leans against the side of the barn, a paddle resting against the wall in the morning sun. I step into the barn and there I see an exhausted Y/N leaned against the stable door, her chin in the crook of her elbows, watching on as the mare tends to her baby. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask, startling her. 

“Oh, Jacob,” she perks up. “The foal, he is acting strange. Will hardly nurse, he’s been rolling around…” 

I quickly walk into the stall, greeting both animals. “Has he defecated?”

“Very little, but yes,” she answers, following me in. I squat and run my hand along the foal’s belly, racking my brain as I think back on all that my father had taught me about colic. 

“How many times an hour does he nurse?” I ask. 

She runs her hand over her face, obviously very worried. “Two, maybe three?”

“He may be a bit dehydrated. He needs to nurse seven, maybe eight times an hour.” I take a wet rag from a bucket and clean the mother’s underside as best I can, then try and assist the foal in trying to suckle again. “Sometimes their feedings need supplemented, and he may, but try and just make sure he is eating often, for a few minutes each time,” I instruct. I know that the animals will require care and monitoring through the day and into the evening, so I tell her that. 

“I’ll send someone to tell the Foreman that you need to stay here, with me, and help…” she says, still a mess as she worries herself to death. “I’m sure they can all handle the worksite without you, today.”

“Lots of trust you put in those men, Ma’am,” I joke as I grab a brush and run it along the mare’s back.

“I told you to call me Y/N, Jacob,” she jests, coming to join me at the mare’s side. She’s dangerously close to me, closer than she has been since she stumbled back onto me that day. My heart rate rises, hearing our names said together.

I hand her the brush. “I know you did, but I still feel it to be improper. I would only call my friends by their first names,” I say lowly as she begins brushing the horse at an odd angle.

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second. “Friends,” she mumbles. “Wouldn’t you think of us as… that? As friends...”

I swallow my pride as her eyes bore into mine. I gently place my hand overtop of hers, guiding her hand in a more comfortable way to brush. “I’d like to be considered as such,” I reply, my hand gripping overtop of hers more sternly, now. I can’t help myself.

I watch as she swallows, too, my hand guiding hers. “Then it’s considered,” she breathes, moving her face just a little closer to mine. I can hear my heart in my ears, my palm sweating where it touches her hand. “I’ll not answer to ma’am again,” she whispers, her eyes flitting from my eyes to my lips. 

I’m fighting everything within me not to kiss her, not to give in to her proximity and finally feel the closeness I’ve been craving so desperately. But I push through it. The woman is betrothed. 

Our faces are nearly touching, only inches of thick air separate us. I can hardly breathe, let alone think. But I must speak…

“As you wish, Y/N,” I say gently, her name tasting like sweet summer honey on my tongue. I can feel her breath on my lips, all of my nerve endings on fire as she breathes in the way I said her name. The brush falls onto the ground but our hands stay clasped as she turns to me fully, and I grip her hand tighter, pulling her into me. She takes my opposite hand and holds it like the first, our noses now barely brushing. I can hear her ragged breathing as she holds herself back, and I know better than to make any more moves. So I just wait, clenching my teeth together so I don’t let my urges get the best of me. I squeeze her hands in mine as she rises on her tiptoes, our foreheads now balancing on one another’s. God, this woman is everything…

“Say it again, Jacob,” she whispers, her lips almost on mine.

“Y/N, Y/N… Y/N…” I sing over and over like a hymn to the heavens, wanting to say nothing but her name for the rest of eternity. What a joke that is, since eternity is apparently all that I have. But her name on my tongue is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. She lets out the smallest whimper at the sound of it, and I have to envision ropes tying me down to stop myself from letting my demons win.

Her hand rises to rest on my chest, likely feeling my speeding heart. “You’re anxious, Jacob,” she teases as my worry comes true. 

“Of course I am, look at you,” I mutter, honestly. 

“What, covered in sweat and hay and manure? Sure,” she laughs a little, pulling away as our eyes meet again, and our hands disconnect. 

I push a strand of hair from her eye. “Yes, and it’s beautiful,” I say honestly, again. 

I watch her cheeks rise with pink. “Don’t flatter me.”

I clear my throat. “My apologies, if I was forward.”

Her hand reaches up, her thumb brushing on my lower lip, removing what felt to be a speck of dirt. The action nearly knocks me on my back, the soft pad of her finger so close to where I could just…

“Not forward. No apologies,” she demands, her voice deeper than normal. She steps backward as we both breathe, and collect ourselves. We stand there for a good fifteen seconds, just staring at one another. My chest is rising and falling now, just from watching her watch me. The tension is so thick I could–

“Ms. St. Lemire!” I hear a man’s voice from the front of the stable. “Shall I let the Foreman know we’ll need assistance all afternoon?”

She clears her throat and shakes her head free of her seemingly intrusive thoughts. “Yes, um, yes please, Winston, if you don’t mind!”

“Not in the least, Ma’am,” he says, and I hear his footsteps retreating.

She clears her throat again as we are both relieved that we weren’t caught those fifteen seconds ago. “My father will be home soon, from his travels,” she breathes, laying a steadying hand on the mare still beside us. 

“And your fiance?” I say before I can stop myself.

“I haven’t got a ring on my finger, Jacob,” she barks, swallowing harshly as if she is offended, or maybe just mad at the fact I brought him up. But she’s telling me true, there’s no ring on her hand to indicate her status. 

“...And?” I press, a little confused. “I thought you said they travel togeth–”

“Yes. They will return home together. And I will have to go with him, I haven’t got a choice,” she says, crossing her arms as she shakes her head. 

I leave it at that, there’s not much that I can say. Her life has been decided for her, and though it seems that their plan goes against everything that she actually wants, I’m positive she doesn’t have a dog in her own fight.

—

Later that evening after I’d spent most of the day showing the barn hands more ways to care for the foal, Y/N returns from her afternoon duties at the homestead to find me taking a catnap in the barn stall. 

“Sleeping on the job, Jacob?” I’m awoken by her sweet voice. I lift my hat from covering my eyes, finding her in the same clothing from earlier this morning. She tosses me a green apple, and I barely catch it as my sleep is still barely escaping me. 

I sit up. “This for me, or for the mare?”

“You. This is for the mare. She prefers a red apple,” she says, offering the mare the fruit as she pets her nose. 

I smile and stand, noticing my stomach growling as soon as I take a bite from the Granny Smith. She disappears for a second, but returns back with another horse, a male Appaloosa. “Come on, want to show you something,” she says as she nods her head for me to follow her out of the barn. 

“But the foal–” I say, replacing my hat.

“The hands will tend to them. Come on, evening is setting in,” I hear her voice from outside. When I finally exit the barn, I find her mounted bareback on the horse, one hand on his mane and the other shielding her eyes from the evening sun. “Hop on, come on.”

My eyes widen at her offer, and I freeze, unsure that what I am seeing is truly real. “Jacob, come on! Hurry!” she orders again. 

I decide to cut my losses, so I take a little run, launching myself up onto the horse with the help of her hand. He’s a smaller horse and still young, yet, but I can tell he has a lot of heart. She begins trotting him to the wooded area behind the barn, and as he picks up speed, I’m completely unsure of what to do with my hands. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden this way as a passenger. 

“Hold on!” she instructs, and as the horse begins to run as we rush through the woods, I have no choice but to wrap my arms around her waist. She guides the horse over the grassy trail, expertly avoiding rocks and hillsides as if she’s ridden all her life. And if I had to guess, she probably has. My arms grip tightly around her as I have no choice but to do so, but I still try to keep them at a respectful level. 

After a few minutes, we enter into a clearing, the deep orange setting sun peeking through the leaves and casting a fire-like glow to the air. She slows the horse as I look over her shoulder, seeing a small pond with an old dock built right out into the middle of it. The water looks fresh and clean, and I can tell that though the dock is old, it’s still in good shape. 

“Where have you brought me, Y/N?” I ask, leaning into her ear just a bit as the horse rounds a tree. “And who is this?”

“To my most favorite place in the world,” she says, stepping off the horse and onto the ground. I follow after her as she ties him to a tree. “And this is Silas. Silas the Great, actually,” she introduces me to the horse. “I took him under my wing five years ago, he was injured and we nursed him back to health. I sat all day and all night in the stable with him, just so he knew he wasn’t alone. Now we’re a bit inseparable,” she says, touching her nose to his. My heart swells, never have I met a woman with a passion nearly the same as my own. Maybe more so, even. 

“Nice to meet you, Silas the Great,” I say, running my hand down his side. “You uh, kind of surprised me… I didn’t expect you–”

“To know how to actually ride a horse? Mm, well if that surprised you, then so will the reason I brought you here,” she says as she turns and walks toward the dock, unbuttoning her riding vest. Next, her hands are gripping at the bottom of her white blouse. She rips it right over the top of her head, tossing it behind her as she turns back to look at me. Then comes her corset. She pulls at its ties behind her until it loosens, and she steps free of it.

Again, I stand frozen. …What?

She then undoes her belt, and kicks off her pants and riding boots as she stands on the weathered wood of the dock. “You coming?” she yells as she continues to undress.

“Ma’am, uh, Y/N, I don’t think this is appropriate,” I say, trying to look anywhere but at her undressing herself. 

“What, rinsing off the straw and sweat from the day? Don’t you want to get cleaned up?” she teases though a side smile. 

I open my mouth to speak, and my brain tells my legs to walk, but I can’t. I’m simply stunned, and she’s standing there in her undergarments, begging me to dive into the water with her. She lifts her pointer finger to tell me to come, so I beckon every bit of nervous energy I have and walk down the slight decline to the water’s edge, gently kicking my boots off into the dirt. 

She watches me intently, feeling no embarrassment or shyness in the least from standing before me, a complete stranger, in almost nothing. I walk slowly to the dock, unbuttoning my shirt with shaking hands as I’m terrified someone is going to catch us. I pull my arms from my sleeves and let the shirt fall behind me, and I swallow the lump in my throat as my hands reach my belt buckle. I pull it from the loops, so slowly that I almost stop altogether if it weren’t for her eyes telling me to get on with it. 

I’m finally before her in my undergarments, and try as I may, keeping my excited self hidden behind them is becoming more and more trying, especially since I can see her nipples through her thin white undergarments. She’s absolutely astoundingly gorgeous. 

“Your hat, Jacob,” she laughs, tapping on her own head. “Unless you’d like to wash it, too.”

I swallow, plucking it from my head and tossing it onto my boots beside me. She smiles, offering me a satisfied look as she turns and dives head first into the water. She re-emerges a few seconds later, brushing the wet hair away from her eyes. “Ooooh!” she exclaims. “A little cold but it feels great, come on!” 

Who is this woman, and where has she been all my life?

I close my eyes and send up a quick prayer of thanks and good luck, and I take a deep breath, hurling myself into the water. She’s right. It isn’t warm, but the refreshment clears my mind and wakes me up more than the ride here, and when I surface, her bright smiling face is right in front of me, her hands gripping my face as I catch my breath. 

“Your face is filthy, Jake,” she laughs as her soft hands rub water over my cheeks and forehead, and I can hardly see straight as she calls me by my nickname. No one’s called me that in a very, very long time. 

I’m still shocked and I know she can tell; it’s as though her comfortability with me increases with every passing second. I know better than to argue it. So I let her clean my face, her thumbs and the pads of her fingers gently running over my eyes and jawline… and suddenly I feel a chill come over me, but not from the temperature of the water. 

I can’t pull my eyes from her as we both fight to stay afloat in the water. The way it’s reflecting off her face, making her eyes look like diamonds as they scan over me. Her lips so perfectly shaped as the corners curl up into a smile as she continues cleansing my cheeks from the mess of the day. “There,” she says. “All better.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice deciding to leave me just like all my thoughts have. It’s like the most perfect moment that I never want to end, and I hardly even know this woman. She slowly separates from me and swims to the dock, hoisting herself onto it and sitting with her legs dangling in the water. She wrings her hair out and wipes her eyes, watching as I swim over to join her. 

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” she says quietly. 

“Yes.” I tilt my head back into the water and run my fingers through my long hair, ridding it of any pieces of straw that have lodged themselves there over the past couple of days. 

“I’ve been swimming here since I was a child. I think the water is healing, magical, even. I always leave here feeling like a whole new person. My own little oasis,” she explains, turning her face to the remnant sunbeams as she reclines on her hands. I hoist myself onto the dock to sit beside her, still feeling just the least bit uneasy at our lack of no translucent clothing. 

“Well thank you for sharing it with me,” I say.

She grins. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” 

I laugh a little. “Ah, I don’t know, am I?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me somethin’ you do, besides build boarding houses and take care of foals.”

I lick my lips as I look out over the glittering water, admiring the willow trees hanging out over it. I grip the necklace that lives around my neck in my hand, holding the heavy silver charm between my fingers. I’ve never taken it off, since the day Josh gifted it to me. It was one of the very first things he made in his shop once he became a master silversmith. Though the two of us have become enemies, I still can’t bring myself to remove it. 

“Well, not much really,” I explain, holding back the fact that I am apparently going to stay twenty-five for the rest of eternity. “I devote myself to work, leave myself little time for much else.”

“Hm. No friends, family, no other hobbies?” she asks. 

I shake my head slowly as I turn to her. “No more family,” again, I keep Josh from conversation. “I guess I enjoy going on long walks, learning history, telling stories… spending my last spare coins on a beer or two to reward myself for a long work week,” I shrug. “Not much to me.”

“I think there’s more to you than you realize, Jake,” she says, her eyes searching mine. Again, my heart drops at her use of my name, and the way her eyes look at me as if I’m the only person left on earth. “You were the one that saved that boy, Mrs. Berwick’s son, from the fire… weren’t you?”

My breath catches as I nod slowly. 

“And you were burned pretty badly, your side, here…” she says, motioning to the now healed burn marks along my ribs. “You saved that boy’s life, I remember you were the talk of the town, all over the newspapers… it was you.”

“Right place, right time,” I shrug, trying to calm her talk of heroism. 

“But there was also a fatality, that day, wasn’t there? A woman, did you know her?” she presses. I feel a chill run over my body again, and I close my eyes for a second as the memory floods back.

“I did. She was a…friend,” I swallow.

She pauses, and nods in understanding. “I’m sorry you couldn’t save them both.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” I admit, more to myself than to her. There’s a lull in the conversation as we both breathe in the evening air, giving a moment of silence for the life lost that day. Finally after a minute or so, she reclines back onto the dock, her arms splayed out above her head. I try to avert my eyes from her chest, falling so perfectly. But then, I join her. 

“Do you ever think about running away, Jake? Just packing a bag, and getting on a horse and riding until you can’t see what you’ve left behind you?” she asks, her voice high-pitched and longing. 

I watch as a crow lands in the tree above us, rustling a few leaves to fall and float through the air. “Sometimes,” I say. 

“I think about it all the time. Just leaving. Heading north, probably.” 

I swallow, feeling her elbow barely touching the side of my head. “But, your father, your fiance, your business…”

“I don’t care about any of that. None of it truly belongs to me, it’s all been handed. It’s all been planned, you know?” she breathes, looking at the sky. “I don’t want to live out the rest of my days under the thumb of a man who’s decided my every move since I was born, only to marry another one who will continue to do the same exact thing. Who doesn’t even love me…” she blinks.

“I’m sure he cares very deeply for you, Y/N.”

“No. No he doesn’t, Jacob. The man couldn’t care less about me. He’s–he’s the most unkind person I’ve ever met. Brash and difficult, rude in many ways. Uncaring and hateful. Tries to keep me happy by buying me nice things, sending me gifts. I’ve only kissed him once, and it sent an emotion through me that I’ve never felt. Something bad, something ominous,” she says. “He may care for me on the surface, but I can tell that he knows he will be miserable with a woman fourteen years his junior, just as I feel.”

I don’t know how to respond, so I let her keep going.

“I dream of having a love so fierce that I can hardly sleep at night, for fear of losing a single second of time. A life so free that I look forward to each morning. I want to feel my life, Jake. Not wish for the day that I don’t have to live it anymore.”

Her words hit me like a train. Never has anyone opened up to me this way, before. And for some reason, I feel the need to help her. It’s ironic, here she is telling me that she wants to feel her life come alive around her, while I’m moping at the fact that I will have to live each and every day not knowing if I’ll ever see the end, at all.

I nod and fold my hands underneath my head as she sniffs away a rage-filled tear. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have let all that out on you. Wasn’t very ladylike of me.”

“No no,” I interrupt, “I understand. I wouldn’t want my life to have been chosen for me, either. I couldn’t– I couldn’t imagine it, actually. Especially with someone whose love isn’t mutual with mine.”

“Exactly,” she says, pushing herself up on her elbow. “Am I not crazy, Jacob?”

I shake my head. “No, you aren’t crazy. I’d want to run away, too.” And truly, I would.

“Then let’s go,” she whispers, her eyes wide and hopeful. “You and I, and Silas.”

“Me?” I’m surprised yet again. 

“Yes, you! Why not, you know? This town offers me nothing, nothing is holding me here…” she goes on.

“You’d find no benefit in runnin’ away with a person like me, I can offer you nothing, Y/N,” I argue, completely blindsided by the fact that someone like her would want to have me as a running partner. “I have no money, I have no excitement in my life. No inheritance, no family, no fancy home… You should stay here, where you are comfortable and have a prosperous future waitin’ for you at your doorstep.”

She shakes her head as she stays silent for a beat. “That’s the most I’ve heard you speak, yet,” she finally laughs, rolling back to her back. “Do you think I truly care about all of that, Jacob? I mean I hardly know you, but you have to have noticed that I just spent the last few nights sleeping in the hay of a barn floor. The last thing I care about is how large and appealing my home is, or how much money lines my pockets… I want someone willing to lie there in the hay with me. Someone like, well, you.”

She isn’t wrong. She can read herself like a book.

I sit up and lean over her, bringing my face close to hers as I balance on my elbows. “You really want to do that? You really want to run away…” 

She squints her eyes. “More than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life…” She lifts her head, brushing her nose against mine just as she had done in the barn. I struggle to take a breath as she exhales against my lips, her eyes searching my face again. My entire body stiffens as she gently presses her lips to mine for just a second, her neck craned as her eyes close. She pulls away and covers her mouth, almost as if she didn’t mean to do it at all. She giggles but pulls her hand away from her mouth, instead gently brushing her fingers through my still-damp strands. 

I close the gap again, this time cupping her neck and pulling her body into me. My entire mind is full of fireworks, bright white lights as I feel every single one of my nerve-endings ignite with fire. She feels so perfect, so good underneath me as her lips part just a little, letting me inside. 

I gently brush my tongue into her mouth, tasting her for the very first time. Like fresh spring honeysuckles and the burn of a good whiskey, she kisses me back, the sound of her light cries almost making me come undone as our bodies lurch together, begging to be touched. Her kiss has already weakened me completely, and if we weren’t already lying down, I’d gently lie her back anyway, letting myself take a bit of control as her hands tighten their grip in my hair. Both of our breathing is labored, and neither of us have hardly moved from our places on the dock. She’s blinding me, in every sense of the word. I can hear the tree frogs and feel the breeze around us, but all that exists in my mind is her, and the way she feels as she’s connected to me, the way she tastes on my tongue. I find myself wondering what the rest of her tastes like, and if she would shy away from my efforts to taste her further…

My hand tightens on her neck as my tongue delves a little deeper, eliciting another whisper of a cry from her throat as our lips fight against one another. I can feel the heavy silver chain and charm that stays around my neck falling to rest on her chest. 

We continue this way for a minute, maybe two, just letting ourselves enjoy this new company. Her body writhes under mine as I lean over onto her, and I can feel her breasts pressed up against my chest. My head is spinning and I can hardly form a thought. I let my other hand travel, sneaking it slowly down her arm and along her side, making her shudder beneath me. Her reactions let me know that I’m doing everything right. My hand travels again, pulling her undergarment up just a bit so that my hand can roam over her skin. 

It’s perfectly soft and supple, goosebumps covering the places that I let my fingertips glide. Her kiss is intense, pulling me back in and making my yearning for her all the more heavy. I feel myself tightening in my underwear, and I’m sure she can, too, but she continues her movements. This is a horrible idea, but I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to. She’s already making herself addictive. Just as my hand glides along her stomach, and I’ve decided to test the waters with a light touch of her breast, she hops back in discomfort, making me stop altogether. 

“What’s wrong, are you alright?” I ask, lifting my hand and looking at the place I’d just touched. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, fine, it just–”

There on her skin, right under her breast is a red rash that looks a bit painful. “What’s this?” I ask. 

“I–it’s probably poison oak, or something… I have been outside a lot lately. Don’t worry about it,” she argues, brushing it off. 

“That looks like it hurts, Y/N, and that isn’t poison oak…” I say, knowing the look of that rash like the back of my hand. “Does it burn?”

“It’s fine, Jacob…” she says as I pull up more of her garment, seeing more and more of the same rash all over her torso. 

“Y/N, what is this?”

Suddenly, though, we’re harshly interrupted. 

“Y/N! Y/N, are you out there?” I pull off of her quickly, realizing that dusk had begun to fall. 

“Shoot,” she says. “It’s my father.” We both stand and quickly begin to grab our clothing and redress. I’m panicking, wondering if he is traipsing through the woods towards us as we speak. I help her lace her corset closure, saddened at the fact that I didn’t even get to help her remove it initially.

I’m grabbing my own shirt as I hear another voice, and it causes me to go stiff on my feet. “Y/N! Sweetheart! Are you there?!” I drop my hands as they hold my shirt and my eyes meet hers with fury. 

“Is that him?” I ask, a fire beginning to burn within me.

“Yes, that’s him, now hush,” she demands. We finish dressing and she makes her way to untie Silas from his place at the tree. 

“Yes, father!” she yells through the trees. “Just brought Silas out for a run! I’m on my way back!” 

I step into my boots and quickly walk back up the incline, feeling flushed and confused and mad all at the same time. I don’t know why I’m mad, the overload of emotions really decided to hit me. Just before she jumps back on to her horse, she quickly paces back over to me, placing her hand harshly on my cheek as she pulls me in for another deep, heated kiss. Fuck, what is she doing to me…

“I meant what I said. If you really want to run away with me…”

“I–I’ve got to finish this job for your father, I’ve got to make this pay…” I say, knowing that if we were really going to do this, I needed to have some jingle in my pocket to at least get us to the next city.

“Alright,” she agrees in a rush, her hand still lingering on my cheek. “But after then, we’ll go…”

“Will you be married by then, Y/N?” I ask, the thought sending daggers through my heart. 

“I’ll do everything in my power to stop that from happening,” she whispers. Just then she takes the cream colored satin ribbon that’s tied in her hair and wraps it around my wrist, fastening it in a loose bow. “Don’t forget about me, Jacob…”

“Impossible, Y/N,” I say through the first genuine smile that’s graced my lips in weeks. I watch as she mounts Silas, offering me a small wave of goodbye as she turns and makes her way back through the heavy trees, leaving me in a pile of whimsical confusion there, in the near darkness. 

—

It’s been two weeks since that day at the pond, without a word or sight of Y/N. I find myself thinking of her often, keeping the ribbon she gave me in the pocket of my trousers. I figure the foal must be getting on well if the coachmen hadn’t come to collect me in this many days. I feel a sense of pride at the fact that it must be flourishing and healthy after a little bit of help. 

Each day I look for her, waiting around to see if her or her father would show up at the job site. The job is nearly complete now, and I know my chances of seeing her are growing slimmer each and every day. I would move on to the next job and she would be but a distant memory, a fleeting thought that will pass through my mind when I least expect it to. It’s unusual that her father had not come to check the progress of the building, though, seeing as how he had been here most days since the start of the project.

An uneasy feeling fills my stomach at his absence, and even more, hers. Unable to stand it any longer I decide that after quittin’ time I would go to their estate. I need to see her. I know my presence will raise suspicion from her father, but I have a plan. 

It isn’t a great distance to walk and luckily the air has cooled some now that summer is drawing to a close. By the time I see the estate in the distance, my sweat soaked shirt has dried and the sun is beginning to set. It really is a beautiful property, riddled with pecan trees and oak trees dotted with spanish moss. The crickets have begun to chirp in the tall grass and I can hear the gentle whinnying of the horses in the stable. Part of me wants to go check on the foal first, but I know I need to announce my presence before someone suspects me of thieving.

As I ascend the long path to the front doors I see several carriages tied up to the horse posts. There are several that I have never seen before and a sick feeling begins to swirl in my chest. The lanterns aren’t burning on the porch, and it seems unsettlingly quiet inside the home. I swallow nervously as I reach for the metal door knocker, hearing it echo through the home. I step back from the door and shove my hand in my pocket, feeling the silky ribbon against my rough fingers. My heart rate has quickened and I can hear it beating in my ears as I wait for someone to answer. 

I stand there for several minutes until suddenly the door rushes open. A woman answers, a look of distress on her face as her eyes search me trying to figure out who I am and what I am doing here. 

“Hello ma’am,” I say, “Could I please speak to Ms. Y/N?”

Her face drops and her lips part as she turns to look behind her. She turns back to me and shakes her head, unable to find the words she is looking for.  “I–I’m sorry sir, I can’t take you to her.”

“I’ve come all this way, is there any way I–”

“Griselda!” I hear a man shout. I believe it’s her father and his voice sounds angry. “Who goes there?”

“My name’s Jacob, I am his carpenter,” I say quickly. 

“His name is Jacob, sir. Says he is your carpenter,” she answers him as he opens the door further. 

“What do you need, boy?” he growls. 

I suddenly feel like I am lost for words. Do I tell him the truth or do I lie?

“I need to speak with your daughter, sir.” 

“My daughter? Y/N?” he scoffs, “There will be no such thing!”

“Sir, if I may–”

“You may not!” he shouts, interrupting my plea. “You have no business with her, and she is unwell. You need to leave my property.”

“She is ill?” I question, my mind immediately remembering her rash and my previous suspicion. “Her rash…”

“How do you know about that, boy?” he seethes. 

I quickly realize I have said too much. “She– she told me about it while I helped tend to the horses. She was in pain.”

His eyes study me, as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth. 

“She has the fever,” he swallows. “Scarlet fever, and she is very unwell.”

I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces as I wrap the ribbon so tightly around my finger that it cuts off my circulation. “If I could please just speak to her for a moment…” I beg. 

“I’m sorry son, but I cannot allow it,” he says finally, shutting the door abruptly. 

I stand there dumbfounded for a few beats, trying to come to terms with the fact I won’t be speaking to her any time soon. I slowly back away from the door, making my way back down the porch steps as I stare up at the home. A window is open on the far right of the house, a sheer white curtain catching the breeze. I decide to try my luck calling out to her, hoping maybe she will be on the other side of the window. 

“Y/N!” I shout, being met with deafening silence. 

“Y/N, it’s me!” I try again, but this time I see someone at the window. It slams shut and the curtains close which tells me my suspicions were correct and she is just beyond the glass. 

I force my feet to carry me down the walking path, stopping to sit on a wooden bench. I drop my head into my hands, suddenly feeling like I failed her. I saw the rash and I knew what it was. I shouldn’t have let it be. I should have made her see the physician. Now I don’t know if or when I will see her again. Guilt fills my soul. I briefly wonder if this is my penance for Lizzy. 

I don’t know how much time has passed as I sit here, but off in the distance I hear the front doors of the home closing and what looks to be a physician walking to his carriage. Before I can convince myself of it I am running towards him, knowing that my only chance of answers will come from him. 

“Sir!” I shout, “Excuse me, sir!”

His head whips around to look at me, his eyes having trouble focusing in the darkness of the evening. 

“Yessir?” he stops, his medical bag in hand. 

I am panting as I stop in front of him, doing my best to catch my breath. “The girl, inside,” I pant. “She has– she has Scarlet fever?” 

“I’m sorry son, it was too late. There was nothing I could do for her.”

“Too late?” I gasp, lightheadedness filling my mind.

“She went without pain, that I can assure you. I am very sorry for your loss, she seemed like a fine lady.”

“She’s– She’s gone?” I breathe. “No– she…”

“I’m sorry son. I must be on my way. Have a good evening,” he says, stepping into his carriage. 

My head whips up to look at the house, the window still closed in the room she was in. There’s a faint glow of a candle burning in the room, and I wonder if her father is with her, if he is with her… holding her hand as they say their silent goodbyes. 

I can hardly wrap my mind around the fact that she’s gone. She can’t be. She was just with me at the pond. In the stables. I still have her ribbon in my pocket… 

“No…” I breathe as my hand flies up to cover my mouth, the sting of tears threatening to fall.

I barely hear the sound of his carriage pulling away. I can’t even feel the rocks and dirt as they hit my skin. All I can feel is my heart shattering and the hope I previously held for the future completely gone. 

—

I don’t know how, but my feet managed to carry me back into town. It felt as if the world had gone silent around me, as if it too was mourning the loss of her. There isn't a soul in sight as I make my way further into the center of town in search of something that can help numb this pain in my chest. I knew her for such a short time but everything in me knew that our meeting wasn’t happenstance. She was everything I never knew I wanted to find. And the only thing that managed to fill my mind anymore. I’d grown so fond of her, but I dare not say just how much.

I push open the door to the barroom, silently scolding myself for returning to this place. I haven’t been here since that night with Joshua. I vowed never to return, refusing to sit in the place that was the catalyst of this damned curse. 

I would now live the rest of my days knowing what I lost with Y/N. Thinking of what could have been. Maybe hell isn’t a place, maybe hell is a state of mind. Damned to an eternity of never knowing what could have been and reliving the memories of what I had. A self inflicted mental imprisonment where fear and guilt is the warden, and the sentence is life. Hell isn't a place you go to atone for your sins, hell is a place you create for yourself to live in endless emotional agony of “what if”.

As I step up to the bartop, the attendant eyes me, clearly recognizing me from the scuffle a few weeks ago. 

“You ain’t gonna cause no trouble here, now are you?” he asks, drying a mug with a dish rag. 

“No sir, just here for a drink,” I answer, my voice gravelly from hours of held back tears. 

He nods his head, “We got a Porter and Lager tonight.”

“Do you have anything stronger?” I ask. 

He looks around at the patrons behind me, then back to me. “I got Whisky, but I ain’t got much.”

“I’ll take what you have,” I answer, feeling thankful that soon my mind would be a blur.

“It’s the real stuff kid, ain’t no foolin’,” he warns.

“I need it,” I answer, tossing all the change in my pockets onto the bartop. Her ribbon falls onto the wooden surface and my breath catches before I snatch it back into my grip, working quickly to tie it around my wrist. His eyes look me over again, his lips pursing as if he wants to say something. He pours a small glass full of brown liquid, sliding it my way as he bites his tongue. 

“Thank you,” I say with a nod, and before I walk away he stops me. 

“Hey kid…”

“Yessir,” I turn to him. 

“I hope whatevers’ ailin’ ya, eases up soon.”

I nod to him and walk away with the drink. The lump in my throat grows as I think of her. I decide right then and there that I would give anything for one more day with her. I would pay any price. If I was cursed to live forever there wasn’t a day that I wanted to spend without her by my side. 

I take a long drink of the spicy liquid feeling like I could breathe fire. He wasn’t lying about the Whisky. I let my mind slowly drift off, thinking of every choice I’ve ever made and how I have found myself here today. I think about my future, or lack thereof. I can’t stay here, not anymore. People will begin to notice when I don’t wrinkle and my hair doesn’t thin. I will live my life on the run, now. Thanks to this curse. Thanks to Josh. My own flesh and blood, the–

The curse. 

My blood runs cold as Seraphine’s incantation swirls through my mind once more. Chills run the length of my body as I feel her power drift through me. I quickly swallow down the rest of the Whisky in the glass, slamming it down onto the table so hard it burns out the lantern. 

“I have to find her. She can fix this,” I mumble, my heart suddenly racing with the idea that she could bring her back. If she can curse me to eternal life, surely she can raise the dead. I push up from my chair and rush towards the bar attendant with a new fire in my chest. 

“I’m looking for someone,” I rush out. “She– she’s a witch. A voodoo lady. She does magic and curses,” I whisper loudly, looking around at the patrons beside me.

The attendant blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t know anyone like that, and you’ll be hard pressed to find someone who does and will admit it.”

“There has to be someone!” I shout, slamming my fist on the bar top. “Please…”

“Listen,” he growls. “Old Mr. Friar may know who you speak of, but he doesn’t say much these days. Hardly speaks to me but to ask for his drink.” He nods to the older man sitting in the corner of the room. He’s dark complected and has a blue glassy eye. He stares off into the distance, his light white hair glowing in the lantern light. 

“He will know?” I ask.

“He may, he got into some trouble back in the day. He is your best bet around here.”

“Thank you sir,” I plead, walking over to the man I now know is Mr. Friar.

I pull out a chair in front of him, hoping he is welcoming to my intrusion of his night. 

“Hello sir, my name is Jacob,” I speak softly, doing my best to hide my nerves. 

He says nothing, continuing to stare out into the barroom.

“Sir, I was told you may know where to find someone. She– she’s a witch or somethin’. Does that black magic. I only know her as Seraphine.”

That seems to catch his attention, his head snapping over to look at me. “What business do you have with her?”

“I– It’s a long story sir, but I need her help. I need to find her. Where can I find her?” I beg. 

“Shouldn’t toy with magic son,” he grunts, pulling his mustached lips into his mouth.

“I need her help to reverse something, and I think only she can do it,” I continue, “Please, anything you can tell me sir, I have money, anything.”

“Keep your money, child,” he pauses, leaning over the table onto his elbows. “To find Seraphine you will need a boat. Head North up the Delta a few miles, and you’ll see a red shack on your right, has a blue roof and looks abandoned. You’ll find her there. You’ll know you’ve found the place when the air grows silent. No creature dead or living dares to be in her presence. You don’t tell her how you found her, now, y’hear?”

Relief overtakes me as I commit his directions to memory. “Thank you sir, thank you so much.”

I push up from the table and storm out the door in search of a boat, and thankfully I know just where to find one. 

—

I trudge along in the darkness, my mind still a bit fuzzy from the spirits, but I think my body would know this route even if I was unconscious, at this point. The half-hour ride in the carriage seems like nothing as I traverse on foot to the St. Lemire’s homestead. Finally, I see the dim lighting of the stables just up the dirt road, and I know that I have a long night ahead of me.

I quietly lurk in the shadows around the side of the stables, just in case any of the hands have decided to have a late night, after learning of the passing of Ms. St. Lemire. When I’m sure I’m alone, I allow the moonlight to guide me in the right direction, and I find the old boat leaned up against the outside wall. I unravel the thick rope that I had brought along with me, gently slipping it through the front handle and tying a tight few knots. 

Again I glance around, hearing nothing but the horses rustling in their stalls. My mind tells me to go in and check on the foal, but truly, I don’t have much time to worry about him. Plus, seeing the baby and the mare without the glowing presence of Y/N beside me might send me into a fit of sadness that I can’t deal with right now. 

I grip the rope and wrap it a few times around my hand before I gently yank it free from its position, letting it fall onto its belly and into the grass. I pray there are no snakes living beneath it as I take hold of the paddles that were propped against the wall. I give the rope some slack and begin to pull it toward the woods, ready to make my journey to the swamp water’s edge and find a place to hide my newly commandeered vessel. I do feel badly for stealing it, but I convince myself I am only “borrowing” it, and plan to return it back to its home in a timely manner. Truly, it looks like it has lived leaned against the side of the barns for some time now, anyway.

I drag the heavy boat through the thick woods, trying not to make too much of a ruckus as the rocks and sticks brush its underside. I go slowly, and blink often, letting my eyes adjust to the half-moonlight. I’m glad I have the paddles to double as walking sticks, feeling out the land before me as I walk. I wish that I had some inkling of how far Seraphine’s home is from the water’s edge, but I suppose I will just have to learn that on my own. 

I know that there is no way that I will be able to make this journey in the darkness, as I did not bring a lantern of any kind along with me. I will hide it in the thick weeds and return home for some sleep, and return at daybreak to make the trip to Seraphine’s.

As I walk, I look to the starred-sky, taking in its wonder and beauty and how I hope that Y/N is somewhere, in another universe or heaven itself, looking at the same sky, too. I miss her, damn do I miss her, already. I hardly even knew her. But still her presence alone was enough to ignite a fire within me that had long been burned out, smoldering bricks of ash that were just waiting to be lit again. And she’d done that. So quickly that it almost scared me. Running away with her sounded like the dumbest, most juvenile decision I could make as a grown man, but I didn’t care. My mind had been made up. If we only had a little more time… if only I had tried to warn her of the fever than I was positive that she had. 

It feels like hours that I walk, catching thorns and bristles in my arms as I sneak through the trees, a thief of my own doing as I pull the boat behind. Thankfully it isn’t too heavy, but the exertion is sobering me up, a bit. Finally I hear the croaks of the frogs and the wildlife that inhabit the swamp, and I know that I am close.

I find a clearing in the thick grasses that shows no signs of footprints or bait traps, and I pull the boat into the water, pushing it behind a thick clump of weeds to hide it as it floats freely. I tie the rope off to a nearby tree before I check my work, and make my way back home to sleep off the rest of that damned Whisky. Tomorrow I will find Seraphine. Tomorrow I will beg for her to bring my Y/N back to me. 

—

The sun is just starting to rise as I paddle towards the shack in the woods. For a long while, I followed the man's directions, and sure enough I spotted the old place without issue. Faded red with a blue roof, just as he said. The bushes and foliage are so overgrown I could have missed it had I not been searching for it. I figure that is probably why it's like that. She doesn’t want to be found. I briefly wonder how Joshua found her but cast that aside as I quietly paddle the boat up to the dilapidated dock. I tie the rope to the rotten wood post and carefully step out of the boat, tossing the paddles inside. 

Just as the man had said, I hear the sound of no wind, no crickets, no birds… everything is still as no living thing dares to be in her presence. 

My blood starts to pump a little harder as I make my way to her door, a thousand thoughts running through my mind. I know this won’t be easy and she may refuse me, but I am here and I won’t leave without my girl. If she can curse me, she can bring my Y/N back. 

I pound my fist against her wooden door, covered in algae and moss from her proximity to the water. It leaves a brown smudge on my fist that I quickly wipe onto my trousers. My heart is beating hard as I wait for her answer, telling myself I am not above barging in. This was a courtesy to her. 

Seconds later the door flies open, revealing to me the woman I remember. The woman that did this to me. 

“Why are you here, boy?” she snaps, cutting her dark eyes at me as if I am the one that did her wrong. 

 “You’re gonna bring her back,” I demand, pushing her door open and stepping inside. She seems surprised by my forwardness but I am not here for games.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she growls, turning away from me.

“You will. You’ve done this to me and you will bring her back. I know you can, and I’m not leaving here until you do.”

“Of who do you speak?” she asks, settling herself in a chair. 

“My girl. My Y/N,” I answer, “She was stolen away from me. I didn’t even get to say goodbye before she was pulled away from this world. You must do something. You must bring her back.”

“Why would I do anything for you? You show up here and demand me to help you?” she questions, raising a brow to me. 

“Because you have cursed me, against my will! I will not spend the next thousand years without telling her goodbye! I didn’t deserve any of this!” I shout, my emotions crawling up my throat. 

She shakes her head, “I cannot help you.”

I raise my voice in panic, “No! You have to! I know you can! I know there is something you can do to bring her back!”

She stares at me for a moment before releasing a breath, “Sit boy.”

I cross my arms across my chest, breathing heavily as I try to calm myself. She eyes me up and down, and it’s clear that she is placing her memory of me. 

“Tell me of this girl,” she says, gesturing to an empty chair.

I begrudgingly sit, resting my elbows on her table with a sigh. “Her name was Y/N. I was working for her father, building a boarding house. She came to the job site one afternoon and I was instantly taken with her. I found myself seeing her several times over the next several days and we planned to run away together. She was being forced into a marriage to a man who didn’t love her. A man that would never love her. Not like I could. We were to go away together. Start a new life. I planned to go to her after the job finished and I got my payout. I hadn’t seen her in several days, and as I went to the estate to check on her, I found she had passed of Scarlet Fever.”

“And why should I help you?” she questions again, nodding her head. Her eyes are illuminated by the few candles burning around the home. 

I furrow my brows at her, “You cursed me. Wrongfully. While I was nearly dead, unconscious and not comprehending what you were doing. I– I never deserved the curse you gave me. Though I have accepted my fate now, I believe it fair that you help me in return. You bring back Y/N and you never have to see me again.”

“Your friend,” she pauses, “He offered me a pretty penny for my work.”

I scoff, “Friend,” I mutter under my breath. 

“This girl, you love her?” she asks and I nod. 

“I can feel that your heart is in your wishes boy,” she pauses. “How do I know you will love her and no other? That you will not long for another?”

The words fall from my lips quicker than I can think of them, “I would chase her through time and space just to see her again. I would go to the ends of the Earth to feel her touch. I would do anything. Give anything. You’ve got to believe me.”

She looks at me for a few long minutes, the silence broken by the thumping of my heart. She puffs the smoke from a pipe that I hadn’t seen before, slowly releasing it from her lips as it floats into the air above her.

“I want to help you, Jacob. But it will come at a cost.”

“I will pay any price,” I blurt. 

“Not that kind of cost, my boy.”

My face twists up in confusion as I listen to her speak. “This is what I can offer you. Though I cannot bring her back to this Earthly plain, I may be able to take you to her.”

“I thought I– How could you do that if I cannot die?” I ask. 

“There is a way my boy, though it too has its consequences,” she starts. 

“I don’t understand.”

“We all exist in more than one place. In more than one dimension. There are hundreds of you, living in different places, at different times. Though our bodies are made from the dirt of the Earth, our souls cannot be destroyed, so they live alongside themselves, existing amongst each other in ways that you cannot even fathom. Though she may be gone from this here existence, she is alive and well in every other,” she explains. “What I can offer you, is a way to get to her.”

“How?” I ask, leaning closer to her in anticipation. 

“It would be a new spell. A new curse placed upon you,” she answers nonchalantly. 

“Do it,” I say, unwilling to let her finish. 

“You must know the implications, Jacob. You must know what you’re asking me for.”

I sit back in my chair letting her continue. 

“Though you will undoubtedly find her, it will not be the same girl you know. It will look like her, talk like her, act like her, but it will not be her. She will not know you, or have any memory of this life. You will be a stranger to her. But, humans alone cannot change fate, and if she is the woman you are destined to love, she will love you in every lifetime just as she did in this one. In every dimension you will be together in one way or another.”

“So it will be her, but not the girl I knew…” I confirm. 

“Preciscely, Jacob. You will have to start from the beginning with her, every time.”

“Every time? As in…”

“As in every time you find her,” she answers. 

“I don’t understand,” I groan. 

“You will only have a set amount of time with her. You will know when your time is running out. When it is time to move on.”

“Then I will start over,” I breathe, finally understanding. “How long will I have with her?”

“Every jump will be different, my child. You will know when time is running out. You will feel it, even see it. You will begin to anticipate it. All the signs will be there and eventually you will know before it happens.”

“So I will do this forever?” I ask, realizing what my future will hold. 

“No my boy, not forever. There will come a time when it is all over,” she pauses, puffing her pipe again, “When I will collect.”

I rub my hand over my mouth, taking in the weight of what will be the rest of my days. “All of this because my twin hates me. Because he refuses to hear the truth and accept it for what it is. I did everything I could, you must understand.” I’m near tears.

“What did you say, child?” she snaps.

“What?”

“Did you say your twin?” she asks, quickly standing from her chair. 

“Yes, I– Joshua is my identical twin brother. He brought me here that night and had you place the curse because–”

“Silence!” She screams, throwing a glass dish at the old wooden walls. It shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces as the air grows frigid around me. 

“This changes everything!” She shouts, “It’s worse than I believed!”

“What? Changes what?” I ask, standing from my chair. 

“He didn’t tell me you were twins!” She seethes. 

“Yes, yes, identical twins. He is older than me by a few minutes,” I explain, my hands starting to shake. 

“He only said you were brothers! Do you know what this means, child?!” she yells. 

I shake my head, beginning to breathe heavily as the candle flames blow out, the crow hanging in the cage above us cawing loudly at her outburst. 

“You share the same blood. Your blood is his blood. His blood is your blood,” she pauses. “He didn’t only curse you, child. He cursed himself as well. The curse was sealed with your blood. The blood that you share!”

“So he–”

“Yes. He suffers the same fate as you,” she answers, her fist clenching around her pipe. “Anything I do to you will also be imposed upon him. You two will share the same fate, always.”

A pit settles in my stomach, I know he doesn’t know what he has done and because of that I refuse to give him any of my pity. He shouldn’t have acted so brashly. It is clear he never thought of the consequences. We came into this world together, and we will exist in it together until the end of time, whether he knows it or not.

“It changes nothing,” I demand. “I must find her. I must be with her.”

“He too, will go where you go,” she warns. “Always.”

“Be it as it may.”

Seraphine limps toward me, forcefully blowing her smoke around my face, the smell of it taking me back to the night Joshua cursed me. “You must be sure, child. There is no going back...” Her eyes delve deeply into mine as she studies me, reading the aura that I must be projecting.

“Please, let me go to her,” I beg, my anger feeling like it has subsided into something more subservient, an emotion of willingness that I was devoid of when I crossed her threshold. The smell of her smoke is making me dizzy, my emotions of sadness crawling back into my bones though I try and fight them. 

“You must know you are no better than your brother for imposing this upon him, much in the same way he placed the curse upon you,” she says. 

“Please, don’t think it is my fault that my brother didn’t tell you. Tell me that this new curse will benefit me…” I plead with Seraphine, straightening my shoulders a bit as to show her I am unafraid of her.

“It will benefit you, boy, as long as fate decides to be on your side. I may collect the roots of the earth and I may stir them into elixirs to alter the state of your being, but it’s the magic itself that will decide your fate. It will read your soul more delicately than I could ever even begin to…” she drawls, her accent so heavy it almost escapes me. 

Suddenly she is close in front of my face again as I fall backward into the chair that Josh had tied me to when I was cursed the first time. Seraphine’s long hair and braids fall onto my lap as her face is within inches of mine, and I can smell the scent of charred incense and tobacco burned into her very being. 

“You may only jump a limited amount of times through time and space, the count is unbeknownst to me, and unbeknownst to you, but you will be offered clues as to when you are running out,” she sings, her neck contorting her head into jerked twists as she speaks to me from somewhere that is not her own mouth. “You mustn’t toy with the fabric of Mother Nature, you mustn't make yourself a known person of public interest, and most importantly, you mustn’t ever take the life of another human being,” she explains, the sound of her voice changing with each word. “Do you understand?” she asks. 

I nod against her, her hands now pressing down hard on my wrists as her dark eyes bore into mine. “Yes, yes I understand,” I agree, committing every word to memory. I quickly glance down to my wrist, finding Y/N’s ribbon sitting underneath the old, bony hand of Seraphine.

“Every move you make will be for her, every ounce of effort you desire to perform will be in her favor, and you must never lose sight of that, you must never long to find the love of someone that isn’t her, or else this will have all been for nothing,” she bellows, the wind flashing across our faces. I nod in understanding. 

Finally, Seraphine steps back, glaring at me. Her hand extends, and a small object forms in the palm of it. I can’t tell what it is until she takes it, opening it up. It’s a hand mirror, scratched and cracked on the surface, but still catching the light of reflection. 

“This, and this alone will be your amulet for advancement through dimensions. Mirrors, child, and seeing yourself in them will be your means of travel. Stand and see yourself as you are, while you recite,”

“Echoed glass, reveal the way, through the veil of night or day. Turn the key, unlock the door, let me walk through time once more.”

I repeat the incantation over and over with her as I memorize it, and somehow, I am able to correctly and precisely say each and every word as if I have memorized them like a prayer. The fabric of the words sewn into my mind like a perfectly cut quilt.

I take the hand mirror from her as she continues speaking, the wind carrying a strong aroma as it blows against the walls. 

“Wherever you land, find a tree with three mother trunks, and a deep hole at its center. There, inside, will be everything you will need to survive in the place and time you find yourself. You’re to blend in with the people there, and never question anything. Remember your sole mission is to find her, and show her time and time again that she is the reason for everything you do.”

“Will I age? After I jump, Seraphine?” I ask.

“No. That part of the curse is irreversible. Even as you travel through the continuum, you shall still stay this age, forever. As will your brother.” 

“Will he know? When he’s thrust into the next world with me, will he know what is happening?” I ask again.

Again, she shakes her head. “No. That’s his punishment for not disclosing every detail of our last arrangement. He will wake up in time with you, though he may be in a different place altogether.” 

So, as I search for my Y/N, I will also spend my time escaping my brother. Just as I am now, I suppose.

“What’s in this for you?” I ask her, suddenly aware of the fact that she gains nothing from this arrangement. “You’re helping me so willingly…”

Seraphine licks her dark lips, her eyes flashing a bright gold before falling into a dark black, again. “After so many jumps, I will lay claim to your soul.”

Claim? “So, I will die?”

“Your mortality is not up to me to decide. I didn’t create this malediction, I am only the vessel of it. Like I said before, the conjury is mine, the magic is not,” she explains. 

“Fine, fine, just do it. I do not care for the rest of my future if she is not with me in it, I’ve got nothing left to lose…” I plead as I feel an energy coursing through my body.

“Give me your hand, Jacob,” she orders, and I place my open palm into hers, the same one that Josh cut with his knife so as to secure his curse upon me the first time. “Do you have any markings, child? Birthmarks, scars…”

“Yes,” I reply, a euphoric feeling entering my bones as I breathe in the heavy herbal fumes surrounding me. “A burn scar, here,” I motion to my side and pull up my shirt. 

“Mm, very well,” she says, laying her hand overtop of it as words that I do not recognize escape her lips. “And something of hers… the one you wish to follow across time…” she asks. 

Immediately I pull the ribbon from around my wrist, reluctantly handing it off to her. She takes it with force, placing it on the table beside us. 

“Finally, something that never leaves you. A constant, something that is unchanging…” she holds her hand out again moving her fingers as if I’m going to hand her something. I wrack my brain, but her hand touches my chest. My silver necklace and charm. “Do you wear this always? Do you ever remove it?” she asks. 

“I never remove it,” I reply. 

“Good. It will be your talisman of continuance. Keep it always, never let it leave your person. It will be what keeps you tied to this curse, it will keep you within the realm of what we are bounding today. Without it, you cannot jump,” she explains, and I take note again. Just as her hand squeezes across my necklace, I feel a sharp blade cross the palm of my hand again as I become increasingly lightheaded. 

The sound of the wind whooshes by my head, the smell of spices and herbs fills my nose, and the feeling of my body being completely torn from my own control overtakes my entire being. I’m dizzy, feeling as though I am spinning out of control. 

“Look at the book, child…” I hear Seraphine’s voice, muffled and distorted as she begins reciting a different version of the same incantation she had taught me earlier. I feel blood oozing from my hand and a burning feeling comes across the scar on my side. Look at the book. Look at the book.

“Winds of time, both swift and slow, through the mists, let moments flow. Past and future, intertwine, guide his path through space and time.”

“Stars that mark the cosmic thread, guide him where the hours spread. Through the veil of ages cast, let him journey to the past.”

“Echoes of the ancient day, and whispers of the dawn’s first ray, open now the temporal gate, to reveal his destined fate.”

“By the moon’s eternal gleam, and the night’s unending dream, shift the currents, bend the line, let the ages now align. In the shadows, through the light, lead him through both day and night.”

“As I speak, so let it be, through the echoes, set him free.”

I blink my eyes as my mouth begins reciting along with her, and suddenly the mirror is in front of my face. My voice grows louder, and the wind grows more intense, but my body has never felt stronger than it does, right now. I’m watching my own reflection in the mirror as I feel as though I am going to disintegrate, waves of pleasure and pain switching back and forth with dizziness. I’m confused, but I’ve never been more sure. 

The last thing I hear is Seraphine’s voice mixed with my own before all I can see is black. I don’t breathe, and I don’t move. I don’t even think my heart beats. I’m suspended in between two moments that don’t even exist, one coinciding with the other as they float and dance along a timeline so vast and elusive that the Creator himself couldn’t even control them if he wanted to. But I, now the holder of a skill so rare, can.

I am face down on the floor, my body feeling as if I have just traveled a thousand miles. I peek my eyes open to see that I am in my own home, on the floor of my bedroom. I sit and shake my head, trying to get my wits as my memory floods with the happenings of the past hour. Did I jump?

The scar on my side is burning with a fire so intense that I have to grab it to make sure I’m not actually on fire, again. And when I glance beside me, I see a book. The book. I pick it up, holding the small brown leather bound pages in my hands as I notice something stuck between the cover and the first paper page. It’s Y/N’s ribbon. 

I pull the book open, seeing her ribbon holding the page, perfectly untouched. And there, written in fresh black ink, is a place of which I have seldom heard, and a time of which does not yet exist. I stand, walking to sit on the side of my bed as I look around the room, feeling no emotional attachment to it at all, nor a want to exist in this place for another second without her. My heart won’t beat unless for her, my breaths won’t give me life if not to live for her. I’m positive of my decision.

I pull the compact mirror from my pocket, taking a deep breath as I open it. I see my reflection, disheveled and exhausted, but a glisten in my eye that feels unfamiliar. My mouth begins saying the words again as I hold the mirror in one hand, and the book in the other.  

“Echoed glass, reveal the way, through the veil of night or day. Turn the key, unlock the door, let me walk through time once more.”

I feel my body begin to lurch and thrash, but nothing could ever make me feel more perfect than I do, right now. A flight through the clouds could never compare to this euphoria, an ecstasy I’ve never encountered weighing so heavily upon me as I feel my body ascending. The last thing I see before I slip back into nothingness, is the ink dancing across the page. 

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