#rosewood chapter one

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 12: My Heart Is Beating For You Constantly

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twelve of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 9.1K (I got really carried away)

Warnings: I'm going to label this one 18+ just in case. References to sex, Implied Sex, Heavy Making Out (not really explicit, but also not real un-detailed…), Cursing, Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Soft Soldier Boy, Angst, Fluff.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

A/N: The song they dance to is "You Call It Madness, But I Call It Love" by Russ Columbo.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

1984

You take a sip of wine, leaning over your coffee table to pull another photo from the Rosewood box perched on the edge. It's your birthday, your 65th birthday to be exact, of course one look in the mirror revealed that you barely looked over 30. To some women that might be a welcome thought, but given your current situation it wasn't.

It marked the fourth year since you told Ben that you were unhappy on Payback and as a supe, told him that you wanted a normal life, and four years after you'd let him talk you into staying. But this was the year. You were going to tell him that you were done, that you were moving on and getting out.

Unfortunately the only person you had to convince about letting go was yourself, because leaving meant giving up Ben. And you weren't sure that was something you could do.  You were having a hard time convincing your heart to let go of him or rather the old version of him, that only made it's appearance when it was the two of you. The memories that tied you to Ben were tight and difficult to unravel. You couldn't imagine your life without him, couldn’t see past this moment in your life.

But that's why you had to go. You knew you were in too deep. Fantasizing about a  relationship with someone who would never love you the same way you loved them, hoping in something that would never happen. And you needed to let him go, whether it be the new version of him or the boy you used to know, you needed to let Ben go.

The Rosewood box was filled with photos, old doodles, memories, and objects from your past. Usually it was stored under your bed, but tonight you had dragged it out into the living room to reminisce on your birthday. It was a tradition you started a few years ago as a way of remembering the past. Sometimes it was a welcome distraction from the way things were now and tonight you were letting it be a last supper of sorts, to indulge in the memories Ben and you had shared over the years before you told him that you were leaving.

You had no idea where you were going, but the thought excited you a little bit. Finally striking out on your own for the first time, doing something for yourself for once, it felt right.

Leaving Ben was the only thing that felt wrong. You wanted him to come with you, for him to choose you the way that you chose him that night, but you knew he wouldn't. He liked this life too much to let it go, he thrived in the spotlight, embraced everything about being a supe that you hated, and so you would let him go.

You look down at the strip of paper in your hand. It was a collection of photos from a photo booth, yellowed with age, but lined up one by one from the first baseball game Ben ever took you to, one of your favorite memories from your childhood. You were wearing the ridiculous pinstriped hat and Ben looked as handsome as he always did, smiling wide with his dark hair hanging in his face. It was hard to look at it now, hard to look at Ben and you when you were so young, and you didn't know where your lives were going to go.

Your eyes drift to the velvet case pressed into the corner of the wooden box. You had kept the ring that Howard got you, well, technically you had tried to give it back but he refused, begging you to reconsider.

Sometimes you thought about throwing it away. It was ugly, but it was a reminder. Not a reminder of Howard, you could barely remember what he looked like, but it was a reminder of the night Ben asked you to come with him. You could remember the earnest look in his eyes, how he cupped your face, and the promise he made to you. The future he promised had been filled with so much possibility, but you weren’t sure anymore. You think about the years you'd spent together and how leaving felt like the end of an era.

But it was necessary, breaking away from all of this would be good. Yes you would miss Ben, but you needed to move on. You knew that deep down. Because you wanted something more than all of this, and the night Ben asked you to come with him you thought he could give it to you, but after all these years you understood that he couldn’t and that he didn’t want to.

Someone knocks loudly on your door.

“One second.” You take the last sip of wine before standing and crossing the room to open the door. “Hey what are you doing here?”

Ben is standing in the hallway outside your apartment, looking handsome as always. He's wearing a tailored dark suit with a black tie, his hair is combed back from his face, dark stubble graces his rugged jaw and a wide smile pulls up at the ends of his lips that makes it very hard to focus on anything else. “Happy Birthday Sweetheart.” 

“I’ve had too many birthdays.” You laugh and wave a hand to brush it off. “What are you doing here, I thought you had an interview about the premiere tomorrow?”

Tomorrow night was the premiere of the third and final installment of Anti-Communist films that Ben was currently staring in. The first two had been utterly ridiculous and you knew that the one tomorrow would be just as pointless. Which you knew for a fact, because one day Ben asked you to meet him on set and you saw a scene he was filming, not to mention one time he tried to get you to run lines with him and you told him you'd rather drop dead than read Countess' lines, who took the co-star role when you refused. Ben’s offer of the co-starring role to you had been his way of appeasing you after you told him you were unhappy. When you refused, Countess had been more than willing to slide into it.  Who was still trying her upmost to get into Ben's pants, but he still completely ignored her, which gave you an unmeasurable amount of joy.

“I told them that I couldn’t miss my girl's birthday.” Ben smiles wider. “Plus I’d much rather spend tonight with you than those fucking vultures and I’ve never missed your birthday.”

Instead of the words "my girl" filling you with happiness as they had the first night Ben said it in the dancehall, they only make you frustrated. He had called you that several times over the years you'd been friends and each time it made you more and more angry. You were tired of it. Tired of Ben acting like Ben only when it was the two of you. Tired of Ben acting like he cared and like he wanted to be more than friends only to crush you the next day. Tired that he called you “my girl” and then did nothing that meant more than friends.  You loved him more than you’d loved anyone ever, took care of him, did everything you could for him, and each time when he didn’t acknowledge it, you felt like you weren’t enough. It made you feel like a kid again when you tried your upmost to please your mother only to have her be disappointed in you each time.

“That’s sweet.” Anger and frustration burns in the back of your throat, but you push it down with a tight lipped smile.

“And I got us reservations, so go get dressed.”

"What?"

"I got reservations. Come on." Ben makes a gesture with his hand.

“Oh I’m okay, I was just going to-“ You motion back at the bottle of wine, the couch, and the box of photos.

“No. I’m not going to let you sit here on your birthday. Come on. Let’s go.” Ben takes your arm and turns you around gently pushing you towards the small hallway that leads back to your bedroom with his hand on the small of your back.

You brace yourself for the warmth that follows with the brush of his fingers against you, but each time you're unprepared for how it makes you feel when he touches you.

“But I don’t have anything to wear! And if you do have a reservation, how much time do I have?” You argue, trying to come up with an excuse to avoid dinner.

As much as you wanted to go, you didn't want to sit there and pretend to be happy. You were tired of doing that, but then you raise your head to look Ben in the eye.

He's smiling down at you the same way he always has, looking like the boy who climbed in your window after flunking out of boarding school to bring you paint and your resolve wavers. You hated saying no to him.

Damn it.

“By the time you stop making excuses it will be time to go. And as sexy as those pajamas are, you can’t wear them to a restaurant.” Ben teases, tugging on the bottom oversized paint-splattered shirt you were wearing

“Fine.” You grumble, cheeks flushing bright red as you snatch the shirt from his hand. “Give me ten minutes.”

"Shut up." Ben laughs from across the table at you. "Your mother loved me!"

His laughter is contagious, making your own release from your lips and ease the tension you are holding in your chest.

The Italian restaurant is small and filled with the soft lit of music from the band in the corner, the rich aromatic smell of food, and has the calming atmosphere of a intimate bar. When Ben parked out front, you were surprised. He usually liked the restaurants on page 6 where other heroes would be found eating and places where he could be photographed for the news, but this place was different, it was almost, special. And the way Ben was acting was unusual.

He'd walked around the car after he parked and took your hand in his, to lead you down the steps to the front door where a hostess had asked for his name. Ben had used his real name rather than Soldier Boy for a reservation and when you walked out of your bedroom wearing the dress you found at the back of your closet that you had for emergencies, you swore you saw his eyes darken as they trailed across your body making your breath catch in your chest. It was odd. Ben had taken you out for your birthday before, but tonight seemed to be filled with a palpable tension and electricity that you couldn’t place.

Then again, you were probably imagining it like always.

The restaurant was perfect, it made you forget about being a supe and the glamorous lifestyle that Ben indulged in and allowed you to pretend that you were normal. However, while you sat there together, you tried not to think about what you were going to have to tell him eventually, that you were leaving. He would ask for an answer why and you’d try to tell him the same thing you told him four years ago while avoiding screaming “because I love you, you fucking idiot” at the top of your lungs. 

But it was difficult to find a way to tell him, not when he had a soft smile on his face and every few minutes Ben would find some reason to touch you. So you allowed yourself to indulge in this, to have this last wonderful memory together before you have to tell him. And in doing so, you let yourself forget being a supe, forget everything else but Ben and you in this moment.

"Oh sure, you were her favorite." You snort into your wineglass. "She put a crucifix up over my window to keep you out. Every time you went to a new boarding school, she prayed in the living room with a rosary to God begging him to keep you far from me and she cried whenever you came back. Not to mention when you got me thrown out of boarding school she forbade me from seeing you-"

"But you couldn’t stay away." Ben sing-songs with a grin before taking a sip from his glass. "And your roommate was a fucking snitch."

"She was." You smile down at the table. "I also think she was a little jealous." You lean back in your chair, holding the wineglass in your right hand.

"Oh and why is that?" Ben's smirk widens.

"Don't make me say it-" Your eyes roll.

"Oh I want to hear you admit it." He leans towards you across the table, eyes shining with a mischievous glint that makes it suddenly hard to breathe.

“Not going to happen.”  You look around the room to distract yourself with the other couples.

All the tables around you were full of people sharing stories, holding hands, brushing feet under the table and for the first time you weren't jealous of their love. The couple next to you was practically breathing the same air, leaning towards each other with sappy looks in their eyes. You were happy for them, allowed yourself to be filled with compassion at their happiness. You remember what you said to Ben four years ago, about wanting to have someone to come home to, someone who loved you and then remember the night at the dancehall watching the elderly couple dance under the twinkling lights holding each other close and gazing deeply into one another's eyes.

You wanted someone to look at you like that, wanted someone to share you life with. You wanted that so badly, that in this moment you knew that you were making the right decision leaving because you would be closer to getting it, because the man across the table from you might be your best friend and have your heart, but he didn’t want to be more. And as much as it hurt to leave the only man you’d ever loved,  you knew it was the right thing.

Ben taps his index finger on your left hand where it rests on the table between you, drawing your eyes back to his. "Did I lose you Doll?"

"Hmm? No sorry. I was-" You smile at him. "Distracted. What were you asking?"

Ben's gaze shifts to the couple sitting to your right, the one you were watching a second ago, who are holding hands on top of the table. The man says something that makes his date laugh and lean towards him to grasp his other hand. The way he smiles at his date makes you smile. Ben's eyes slide back to yours and an odd look flashes through them that you can't identify.

"You know what I was asking." His index finger begins to brush over your knuckles in a smooth circular motion. Warmth trails with his touch, sending goosebumps dancing up your left arm.

Shock buzzes at the back of your mind, you didn't understand why he was doing that, Ben had barely had anything to drink tonight, in fact that was his first and only Whiskey. Not to mention when he showed up at your door he seemed more sober than usual. He didn't smell like reefer. So for him to touch you this much was unusual, especially when he wasn't drunk or high.

“Come on Sweetheart.” He smiles at you in a way that makes your heart ache.

"Fine. Pearl thought you were devilishly handsome and was upset that I danced with you when I had Howard-"

"Don't mention that pussy." Ben’s smirk drops into a frown and he stops moving his finger against the back of your hand.

"I don't understand why you were so jealous of him." You try not to think about how much you wish he would start moving his finger again.

"I was not jealous of that idiot." Ben rolls his eyes.

"Uh-huh. After all these years, you still can't admit it." You tease him taking another sip of wine. It was giving you a pleasant buzz that made you feel just a little bit warm and bold enough to make you brush your thumb against his where his hand sits only a few millimeters from yours.

If he was touching you, you thought that maybe it would be okay for you to touch him, maybe it was okay to pretend that he wanted to hold your hand as much as you wanted to hold his, like the couple next to you were.

"I will if you admit you were jealous of Missy Callahan." Ben's eyes trail down to your thumb before looking back up at you, waiting for your answer.

"I was not-"

Ben raises an eyebrow. “I can hear your heartbeat Doll.”

“Just as I can hear yours Darling.” You smile back at him.

“Y/n.” He chuckles.

You roll your eyes at his ridiculous smile. "Fine, I will admit that was a little jealous of her, but she was awful.  She was dumb as a rock and she was the most terrible gossip-"

"I knew it." Ben smirks.

You sit there in silence for a minute gazing at Ben, your eyebrow raised. "I'm waiting."

"Oh I'm not going to admit that I was jealous of Howard. I just wanted to hear you say the thing about Missy." Ben laughs, beginning to run his index finger against the back of your hand again. His eyes on yours, as if he's gauging your reaction.

"Bastard." You roll your eyes at him. "Did I tell you that I saw Howard?"

"What?" Ben looks surprised.

"Yeah, when I went to my brother's-" You clear your throat remembering when you saw Howard four years ago. You don’t know why he went to your brother’s funeral, but he was there, gray hair slicked back staring at you open mouthed. The last time you'd seen him was the day after he proposed, when you tried to give him back the ring and he refused, stating that he wanted you to keep it, to think about it. He never got over the break up, never dating anyone else, never married. It had been an awkward reunion, especially since he kept trying to corner you, but you evaded him expertly through the crowd. You weren't interested in making awkward small-talk about the past forty years.

Ben's hand finally slips into yours, intwining your fingers together because he understands what you’re about to say. "I'm sorry I didn't go with you, I should have."

It was weird that Ben wasn’t with you, but it was also weird because you tried to comfort your sister in law and her son and his family, but it felt forced. Ben was the only person who understood what it was like for everyone to age around you while you stayed the same. Standing there to celebrate the life of your brother while you, yourself couldn't die completely or even age felt awkward. You found yourself longing for Ben when you were away, wishing that he was there to hold your hand or try to deflect some of the awkward conversations, none of which were focused on your brother and were all about you being a supe. You hated how much you depended on him.

After the funeral you had stayed in Philadelphia an extra week to help your family and when Ben called to see how you were you broke down on the phone. Ben had showed up within the next hour at your hotel and sat with you while you cried. It was one of your favorite memories, because Ben held you gently against him, whispering "It's okay Sweetheart, I've got you" while you pressed your face into his shirt, letting the smell of whiskey and his cologne soak into your skin. It was so unlike him and it made you believe that Ben wanted more, but then he never acknowledged it, like always.

"Ben it's okay, you were there when it mattered. And you went to both of my parent's funerals. Surprising because my mother would have hated that you were there. Always said you were going to ruin my life." You meant for it to be a joke, but the look in Ben's eyes shifts to something more vulnerable for a millisecond before it hardens again.

"Did I?" He asks quietly. Ben looks down at where he was holding your hand, his thumb beginning to move over the smooth skin on the back.

The question catches you off guard. It was the very question that you had been considering the past few days before you finally decided to leave all of this and your best friend. But the truth was you didn't believe that Ben ruined your life, you blamed yourself, blamed yourself for loving your best friend, blamed yourself for loving someone who didn’t love you the same way.

And it wasn’t that you hated your life, it was different than what you would have planned for yourself, but you liked parts of it. Not to mention you would have hated it more if you had said no to Ben and married Howard. If anything, Ben had saved you and you were thankful for that.

Of course the way he's looking at you and holding your hand is making it difficult for you to consider leaving. It seemed like every time you tried, Ben would do something like this- take you out to dinner or act like he wanted you and only you, and then you would reconsider. Four years ago it had been him holding you after your brother’s funeral and now it was this.

"Ben." You sigh, squeezing his hand and putting as much love into your gaze as you can. "No. You didn't. If anything you freed me. I didn't want to be with Howard and I was too afraid to say it until you asked me to come with you.”

“He could have given you a life though. You said that’s what you wanted.” For a second you think you see Ben’s eyes flick to the couple on your right with his words.

Your mind stutters to a halt in surprise. He remembered what we talked about four years ago? After he almost killed Noir?

“Um-" You clear your throat to recover. "And if you remember that conversation, you should also remember I said I didn’t want that life with Howard.”

“Yes, but you said you wanted to marry someone.” The ends of his lip twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “Still waiting on that wedding invite.” His thumb is stroking long smooth patterns on the back of your hand, making your throat tight and making it impossible to think.

“I’m sure you’ll get it any day now. Legend is happy that I finally said yes.”

“I should have known. Y’all looked pretty cozy at that party two weeks ago.” Ben laughs. “So if you’re engaged to him, does that mean you don’t want your birthday present?”

“I’ve said it once and I’ve said it again, I’m too old for birthdays.”

“Then why did you come out with me?”

“Oh I’m just going to write this off as old friends having dinner. That or a kidnapping. You practically dragged me to the car.”

“Be thankful I let you change.” Ben replies.

“I don’t know, I think I would have really made a statement with my paint splattered shirt and sweatpants."

You’d chosen the dress you were wearing at random. It was a dark green, the same color as Ben’s supe suit, off your right shoulder cinched around your waist and fell elegantly to your ankles. It was one of your favorites, something you believed accentuated your body effortlessly.

"They were something. Though I think that you-" Ben pauses, dropping his eyes to where he's still holding your hand, before looking back up at you. "Um-"

"What?" You smile.

He clears his throat, a soft smile on his face. "I think you look beautiful now too."

Your next words dry up in your mouth, there's not a shred of joking or teasing in Ben's eyes. Ben had said it before, but with a mischievous glint in his eyes, but now there is only sincerity. And it makes your heart jolt out of rhythm.

He said too. That means that he thought I looked beautiful before when I was-

"Thank you." You flush red and squeeze his hand. "I don't think you look too bad yourself, you know, for a old man." You add that last part because you don’t know what to say when he's looking at you like that.

Ben's smile slips into a frown. "You should be nicer to me, I got you a birthday present."

“See, you keep saying that, but I haven’t seen it.”

“I thought you didn’t want it.” The mischievous glint is back in his eye.

“I could be persuaded.” You smirk.

Ben releases your hand and reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a long navy blue velvet box wrapped in a thick silver bow before sliding it across the white tablecloth.

“You get me another paintbrush?” You smirk running a fingertip over the velvet top to examine it while acutely missing the feeling of his hand grasped in yours.

“Something like that.”

“Did you steal it?” You pick up the box and wave it for emphasis, remembering all the times Ben stole little things from the stores that lined Downtown Philadelphia and the box he had hidden under his bed filled with random trinkets.

You never understood why he did that. Ben's family was almost as wealthy as yours and although his father didn't approve of anything Ben was doing, he never cut him off.

“Maybe.” He shrugs and leans on the table towards you, his eyes filled with excitement.

“With how much money they pay you for those ridiculous films you shouldn’t be stealing anything.”

“I’m sure if you sold your artwork instead of shoving it in the closet you’d be just as wealthy as me.”

“Yes, but my grand plan is to have you pay for everything so I can continue to use you and I can’t do that if I’m rich."

“You can use me anytime sweetheart.” Ben winks.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at him, but can't stop the blush that stains your cheeks at his insinuation.

Everything about tonight felt just like old times, the way he joked with you and the way you couldn't stop smiling, but at the same time, something else nagged at the back of your mind. The handholding was new, as were the compliments and deeper conversation, especially because Ben wasn't drunk or high, and yet he was being gentler than usual, almost soft. And that was something Ben never was, at least not in public.

You tried not to be frustrated with the turn of events and just enjoy the moment, but deep down you wanted to know.

Was Ben doing this because he cared? Or was he doing this because he sensed I was unhappy and that I was leaving and he thought this was the only way to keep me around?

“Come on, open it.”

“Fine.” You smile down at the box and slowly slide off the bow. “Please tell me you have photos of you trying to tie this bow. Preferably while you were wearing your supe suit.”

“I already destroyed the evidence.”

 “Figures.” You sigh. “Would have been a nice birthday present.”

“I think this is better, but given the pace you’re going at I’ll still be sitting here waiting for you to open it at your next birthday.” Ben takes a drink from his glass.

“Which I won’t be celebrating.”

"Oh you're going to. I’ll make sure.” 

You roll your eyes at him, before finally opening the velvet box and your next joke is forgotten as you struggle to catch your breath. You were expecting something art related. Ben always got you brushes, paints, colored pencils, and any other art supply-like gift, because he knew that you liked those things but not tonight. Because for your 65th birthday Ben decided to get you something that took your breath away.

Nestled in black velvet is a pearl necklace, elegant, beautiful, catching in the fluttering warm light of the restaurant as the band in the corner continues to play a jazzy tune that makes you remember the records your father would listen to while he smoked before bedtime.

“Ben-“ You begin to say, but you can’t finish your sentence, you're too surprised to say anything else.

Not once in all the years you’d been friends had Ben bought you jewelry. Shopping for his birthday was harder, his last one you had gotten him a pair of silver cufflinks that he was currently wearing, but each time you bought him something like that it didn't feel like you were revealing too much about how you felt and it never felt like a gift you would give someone who was more than your friend. But now, staring down at the necklace that Ben bought you feels, intimate almost romantic.

“I remembered how upset you were when you lost the one your dad got you.” Ben says slowly, his eyes on you. “I know it’s not the same one, but the lady in the store said it was the most like the ones they made when we were younger and I thought-“ He rubs the back of his neck. “Um- I thought you’d like it.”

You smile, still unable to speak, fighting the happy tears that build behind your eyes. You had lost the necklace your father got you a few months ago and you tore your entire apartment apart to find it. Ben had walked right into the middle of the chaos and found you a sobbing mess.

Your father had bought it for you on your 23rd birthday. It was your first birthday as a supe and your first one away from home. Your father had it delivered to you with a vase of fresh cut lavender, because you couldn’t go home and he couldn’t get away.  It was one of the last things you had from him, besides the antique watch perched on your wrist.

“I can’t believe you remembered that.” You swallow the ball of emotion lodged in your throat.

“I do listen to you.”

You look up and raise an eyebrow.

“Sometimes.” His soft smile makes you feel light headed and makes you wish all over again that you had the courage to tell Ben the three little words that you'd always wanted to.

“I don’t know what to say-“

“Too much? Because I can take it back and buy you a paintbrush-“ Ben starts to reach for the box, but you catch his hand against the table tangling your fingertips together.

“No. It's perfect. Thank you Ben.”

He looks relieved by your answer. “You’re welcome.”

The soft sounds of conversation swell around you mixing with the tinkling of utensils against plates and the music that pours from the band in the corner where a singer dressed in a long red sequined gown sings a familiar song. But you can't stop admiring the necklace nestled in the fabric, your hand still clasped in Ben's on top of the table.

Ben finally breaks the silence. “Do you want me to help you put it on?”

You blink for a minute to comprehend what he was asking, raising your eyes to his genuine smile. "Please.”

Ben stands from his chair and comes around behind you as you gently twist your hair out of the way, so he has access to your neck. His rough fingertips brush against the smooth skin of your neck sending a shiver down your spine that you hope Ben misses because how would you explain that? When he secures it at the back of your neck you look down at the pearls, holding them between your thumb and forefinger.

"They're beautiful." You whisper, before looking back up at him.

"Yes, beautiful." He responds, but Ben isn't looking at your necklace, his eyes are locked on your face.

What is going on?

"Ben-" You begin to say, attempting for the first time to ask him why he does this, acts different around you, gives you hope and then takes it all away, but he interrupts you.

"Come on." His hand falls on yours and he pulls you up out of your chair, weaving through the other tables to stand in front of the band in the corner. His right hand finds the small of your back, while his left gently holds your right in the air.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

"Isn't it obvious?" Ben smiles. "We're dancing."

"No one else is dancing." You look around the room at the couples sitting quietly together enjoying their meals, who have begun to watch Ben and you sway to the music.

He leans forward to whisper into the curve of your ear. "Then let's show them how it's done Sweetheart."

You can't help but laugh at him, enjoying the way that he feels pressed against you, how it makes you feel alive in the best way, how you feel safe in his arms. Being here, swaying to the last few notes of the song with him made you reconsider leaving again. Ben was the only person who knew you completely, inside and out, the only person who seemed to understand you. Choosing to leave him would be like choosing to leave home, because after everything you'd been through, Ben was home.

As soon as the song ends, the one that follows is familiar, a tune that sparks a memory at the back of your mind. You raise your eyes to Ben's. His are crinkled with his smile, a mischievous glint behind them.

"Ben, did you tell them to play-"

"Yeah. I told them to play our song." He whispers, holding you tighter against him.

The memory of the night you first danced warms against your skin. You remembered it well. It was the night that you almost told him you loved him, the same thing you were considering right now. You couldn't believe that he remembered the song you danced to. You smile at the memory of that night, when Ben punched Howard in the face and it gave you a sickening amount of joy.

“What are you smiling at?” Ben asks you.

“I still can’t believe you hit him.” You shake your head with a laugh.

"He hurt you. And I didn't like that he made me stop dancing with my girl."

You sigh before you can stop yourself the phrase immediately making the laughter dissipate and making the warm feeling at his touch fade. Tonight Ben was again making you think that he wanted to be more, and worst of all it was making it harder to leave. Because what if this was him trying to tell you the only way he knew how? What if this was him finally admitting that he loved you and you just left?

"What?” He frowns down at you.

“I don’t know why you keep calling me that.”

"What?"

"Your 'girl'." You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the frustration from making you say more.

 “You don't think you are?"

“What do you think it means? To me it means being in a relationship with someone. We have been friends for over fifty years and you have never once said that you wanted to be more-"

"I did try to propose.” Ben jokes, not understanding that you’re upset.

"Really? That was your proposal?" You scoff rolling your eyes. "A joke while you were sitting on my shitty couch drunk off your ass while trying to apologize for almost killing Noir and telling me that you hate when I get in your way?  Forgive me for imagining some big gesture and for not swooning."

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Oh please-“

“I’m fucking serious.” He shrugs.

“What?” You look him in the eye to look for the teasing glint, but it's not there, Ben looks serious.

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” Ben’s eyes lock with yours. “I also didn’t apologize for almost killing him. And I do hate when you get in my way." 

"Yes, I figured that given how angry you looked." You roll your eyes, glancing to look at the couples around you again, but this time the happiness you felt for them is gone. The jealousy is back coupled with the frustration of Ben acting like Ben and then pulling a complete 180 the next day and making you question everything. Because you wanted to exist in the moments that he was still Ben and you didn’t want to leave him, but you did want to leave Soldier Boy. The problem was right now all you saw was Ben and you hated that you couldn’t enjoy it because you knew it would end. Someone would piss him off or he’d get drunk or high or go down the rabbit hole with some other woman and Ben would be gone.

You didn’t understand how he could go from hot to cold so quickly.

“But I didn’t lie when I said I’d never hurt you.” Ben's voice rumbles up through where his chest is pressed against yours.

You want to say that you believe him, but after the past forty years you weren’t sure anymore. And that thought hurt more than anything else. You didn’t know your best friend anymore, and it scared you.

Your eyes are leveled on Ben’s chest, by now he’s stopped swaying you to the music. You know what will happen when you look up into his eyes, he'll make a joke or say something like the last forty years never happened and you'll crumble like always. You can feel his breath against your face, the warmth of his body transferring through his chest and soaking into yours.

“Y/n, please look at me.” He releases your hand and cups your cheek to tilt you head upwards to him. The one still planted on your back slides down to your waist, tightening around you as you lock eyes with him. “You know that I’d never hurt you. Right?”

Ben's eyes lock on yours, the love and care reflected in the irises makes your body burn. He's never looked at you like that, looked at you like you were the only woman in the world and deep down it makes you want to pull him close and whisper the three little words you've wanted to say for fifty seven years.

You focus on Ben's words to shake it off, it was the same thing he’d said four years ago, but this time the air between you is charged with electricity.

And you can’t take it anymore.

“Why?” You whisper.

It catches him off guard. “What?”

“Why are you different with me? When the cameras stop rolling, when the team goes home, when it’s just the two of us, you’re different." You stop to catch your breath.  "Ben, I’ve known you for fifty seven years. And in the last forty you’ve changed. But not around me, not when it’s just the two of us. You show up at my apartment in the middle of the night, we talk, we laugh about the past, you sleep in my bed, you call me 'your girl'-”

“You’ve known me longer than anyone else-” His hand is still cupping your cheek now, thumb gently brushing against the smooth skin making your throat tight.

“But even before all this, when we were still in Philadelphia. You were always around me, showing up, taking me out to do things in the city. Ben, we both know how you are. I watched you chase after whatever caught your eye and even now-“ You shake your head frustrated. “But you never act that way with me.”

Ben is quiet for a minute, his eyes searching yours, soft green in the fluttering lights above your heads. “Because you’re different y/n. You’ve always been different.”

“But that doesn’t tell me why Ben. We’ve been doing this for so long and I want-“ You sigh frustrated with yourself because you can’t say it, can’t say that you want him. “I mean I’m not sure if I can-“ You were going to say that you weren’t sure you could do this anymore, that you wished he would let you go, wished that you could walk away, and wished that he would stop giving you hope that the two of you could be something more because you couldn’t do it.

But the words are stopped when his lips meet yours.

You inhale sharply in surprise, before your entire body melts against his, deepening the kiss as you drag your hands up into his dark hair, while your mind goes blissfully blank. Ben’s mouth is firm but tender against yours, moving in a slow dance that makes warm tingles trail down your spine. The hand that was on your cheek, joins the other on your waist. His hand tightens on your hip as your song continues to play while the other presses against the small of your back to secure you against him. The solidness of his chest is familiar, molding against your curves in the best way as if he was made for you and you were made for him. You feel his thumb begin to circle slowly against the fabric on your hipbone and suddenly you remember the night he helped you loosen your corset and all you wanted was him. You never thought it would feel like this.

When you finally pull away for air, Ben doesn’t let you go far, he leans his forehead against yours, the look in his eyes is surprisingly vulnerable, as if he thinks you’re going to push him away.

“I-“ He begins, his green eyes are wide almost afraid.

Why?

You raise your hands to gently cup his strong jaw, searching his eyes with a smile to confirm you aren't going anywhere, before pulling him back to you for another kiss that makes your toes curl in the tight shoes you forced them into an hour ago. Ben sighs into your mouth, a soft sound that surprises you. You had seen him kiss other people before. Ben was anything but gentle, but now you believed that he reserved that gentleness just for you and it made you feel like you were going to melt into a puddle.

When you pull back again, Ben’s forehead is still against yours, his eyes bright and unmoving from your face. For a moment neither of you speaks, too afraid to break the silence.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours Sweetheart?” Ben asks, the deep rumble of his voice working up through where your chest is pressed against his. His expression is gentle, and he brings up one of the hands that was on your waist to trace the pillow of your lips with his thumb.

And before you lose your nerve your smile curves into a smirk.  “Took you long enough Benjamin.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes at you.

“Make me.” You mutter against his thumb.

And then he’s kissing you again, moving his lips in tandem with yours while your heart flutters and dances. And you never want it to end, because he's kissing you like he never wants to let you go and you're kissing him like you don't want him to.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Ben mutters against your lips with a smile, his deep eyes catching yours. "Don't be jealous of Missy Callahan. She's nothing compared to you, never has been, never will be."

Your heart warms, cheeks blushing with his words, because even after all these years, Ben still knew exactly what to say. You hold his face reverently, admiring the familiar dips and curves, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "Don't be jealous of Howard. He meant nothing to me. No one means as much to me as you do Ben."  You whisper back before you kiss him and allow yourself to fall again, hoping that this time he’ll catch you.

“Did you want something to drink?” You ask Ben, gesturing with your free hand towards the kitchen.

Standing in your apartment feels different post kiss. It feels like this all represents something bigger now. The apartment, him coming upstairs even though he has spent most of the nights here since you bought it and of course the way he’s looking at you, how he’s been unable to stop looking at you since he kissed you.

“Are you going to get it for me?” Ben is still holding your hand, had held it the entire car ride, only releasing it when he got out to open the door for you and then took it again as you walked up to your apartment. His thumb is moving across the back in a soothing motion that makes you want to curl up in the warmth that trails behind like a cat in the sun.

“I’m sure you remember where it is”

“Mhmm.” Ben is eyeing you again, the green in his eyes darkening in a way that makes your throat tight.

You’re not sure who moves first, all you know is that someone closes the distance between you, and you lose yourself in him. Your curves melt against the hard muscles of Ben’s chest and arms as he pulls you into him, his hands  gripping your waist so tight that you know there might be bruises but you don’t care.

Your hands trail up his muscular chest to tangle in his hair, pulling at the darkened strands and forcing his mouth harder against yours.

He tastes like whiskey and smoke, night and day, and all those bittersweet moments you’ve shared over the years you’ve known him. There is no semblance of Soldier Boy left behind, it’s just Ben and you and it's everything you wanted for so long. The kiss is charged with so much emotion and tension you feel something inside you snap and warmth floods your body in its wake. Ben moans into your mouth, his hands coming down to sweep low over your curves and ignites a fire in the pit of your stomach that you’ve never felt before.

There had been others try to do exactly this. Other heroes you politely declined because you didn’t feel anything for them. You remember the kisses with Howard, passionless, boring, but being here with Ben was like nothing you’d ever imagined. The subtle scratch of his scruff against your cheeks makes you lose all feeling in your legs, his strong embrace makes goosebumps burn against your skin, and the sounds he’s making against your lips makes your heart seize in your chest.

He backs you up and you both fall on the couch in a tangle of limbs, his body caging you beneath him while his fingertips boldly trail against your body, finding places that make you moan into his mouth.

You can feel his smirk against your lips and you’ve never felt more sexy in your life. Ben’s moans against every piece of skin he can get his lips against make you blush crimson and echo his cries with soft sounds that make him grip you tighter. His hands are everywhere, coaxing along your curves, discovering places that you didn’t know could be sensitive and that make you gasp and arch against him as he continues to kiss you.

Everything about this feels right, feels perfect, as if you were both made for this exact moment. The subtle drag of his hands against you, the firm assertive way he holds you beneath him, how your body responds to his touch, and the way your heart continues to swell in your chest, frantically beating as if it wishes to break free. You forget about all the other women he's ever been with, all the others he's probably held close, nothing else exists at this moment, nothing else exists except him and you here on this couch. His lips ghost to your neck as he sucks a mark into the column of your throat and you realize he's saying your name over and over the way that no one ever has.

There’s a loud ripping noise and you understand that Ben ripped off the bottom half of your dress, the tattered remains just barely brushing against your thighs. But you can’t be angry with him for that, not when everything he’s doing feels perfect.

Ben’s hands slowly begin to push up the bottom of your now ruined dress and you come back down from your high, feeling the gentle press of his fingers against your thigh as they begin to move upwards.

“Ben-" You breathe.

You hate how breathy your voice sounds, but the new sensations running through your body are almost too overwhelming for you to gain control of. If you weren't both as indestructible as you were you would be afraid of the possibility of killing Ben.

He moans into your neck, working his hand up further to a place that makes your grip his shoulders tight and you leave bruises of your own, because you’re the only person strong enough to bruise him, to leave marks against his almost invulnerable skin. And it makes a shudder go down his spine.

"Ben wait-"

He stops, looking down at you with wide eyes, pupils dilated in a way that almost sends you back into a frenzy with him. "What's wrong?" He is also out of breath, chest rising and falling fast. You can hear his heart beat thundering in his chest, beating in tandem with yours.

“Before we do this I just want to tell you that I’ve never-" You bite your lip nervously. "I've never done this before.”

“This?” He looks confused, withdrawing his hand from under your ruined dress.

“Well- you know." You gesture between the two of you. "This.”

"You've never had sex with anyone before?"

"No." You flush bright red wondering if that's a deal breaker for him. If he wanted someone more experienced. "I’m sorry."

He sits there for a minute, staring down at you. "Why are you apologizing?” Ben’s hand brushes your hair away from your face in a gentle gesture, so different than the heavy caresses of his hands against your curves he did earlier.

“I don’t know.” You whisper embarrassed. “I just- everyone else has and I’m pretty sure you have with millions of people.”

“Well not millions.”

“But still.” You suddenly think that this was a giant mistake, that you should just go to your room in shame. You drop your eyes to his chest embarrassed.

His hands are stroking along your waist, toying with the frayed edges of your dress. “Y/n.” He whispers.

“What?” You mumble.

Ben raises his hand to cup your cheek, turning your gaze back on him. The way he’s looking at you causes a hot jolt of energy to race down your spine and makes you wish that you were more confident or knew what you were doing.

 He’d been with hundreds of women all kinds of women and what had I been doing all these years? Nothing and no one. I’m not really sure if I understood the mechanics OF sex- but oh how I wished. My head was just getting in the way of everything else as usual.

“I will admit that I have slept with a lot of women.” Ben sighs. “But it’s okay. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to-“

“I want to.”

 “Are you sure? I don’t know if I’m the best person for this-“ And for a moment you think he looks almost worried.

Why would he think that?

“I’m sure. I want it to be you. I’ve always wanted it to be you.” You breathe, running your hands through his hair, your cheeks flushing bright red with your confession, afraid that you’re saying too much, giving too much away as to how much he means to you.

“Really?” Ben smiles in a way that makes your breath catch.

You nod.

“I can’t promise it won’t hurt.” The darkness in his eyes shifts to something else and for a moment it’s difficult for you to form a sentence. He leans his forehead against yours, searching your eyes.  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Ben whispers it like a secret.

“You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you Ben.” You whisper, knotting you hands in his hair.

“You do?”

You nod your head. “And I’m pretty sure that I’m just as capable of hurting you-“

“Maybe.” The look in his eyes is back, blazing through his green irises in a way that makes your throat swell closed. He bends over to whisper against the curve of your ear. “Then again, I kinda like that Sweetheart.” His lips brush just behind your right ear, making a shiver go down your spine. Ben smiles at your reaction before he dips down to kiss you, but it’s different, the kiss is soft, trusting, and not the previous manic haze of desire it was previously. “ I know you think it’s a big deal, but I like that I’m your first. Because it means that no other man has touched you, made you feel any of the things that I’m going to do to you, and that I’ll never have to share you with anyone else.” His grip on your waist tightens possessively. “That you’ll be completely and utterly mine and no one else can do a damn thing.”

You inhale and try not to faint from the darkened look in his eyes. “Well when you put it that way-“

“Come on.” Ben stands from the couch.

Before you can get up to follow he picks you up like you weigh nothing causing you to automatically wrap your thighs around his waist as he kisses you feverishly again, wiping your mind of anything and everything but him.

“What are you doing?” You breathe, entangling your hands at the nape of his neck to secure yourself.

“I’m not going to let your first time be on some shitty couch.” He mutters against your lips while adjusting his grip under your legs

And with that he takes you down the hall and kicks your bedroom door closed behind you.

A/N: Well it finally happened. Unfortunately this is also when all hell breaks loose…

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts

@onlyangel-444 @lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan

[writerofsorts]

Moment of Suspicion

(image creds: to the owner)

pairing: jason dilaurentis x female reader.

summary: 2x03 "my name is trouble" episode imagine/rewrite.

warnings: none.

*read previous part here!

—————

A week later, [Y/N] came to an empty home from school. After grabbing a snack, she decided to do some reading before starting her homework.

Just as she finished up a chapter, her phone rang from next to her on her bed. When she saw the caller was Spencer, she frowned in worry. Placing the bookmark on the recent page, she closed the book before answering her phone.

"Hey, Spence," she greeted, placing her book on the nightstand before sitting up on the bed again. "Everything okay?"

"Hey, [y/n/n]. Yeah, everything's fine!" Spencer answered rather enthusiastically, which made [Y/N]'s brows furrow.

"Alright, Spence, spill," she said in a playful stern voice and heard Spencer sigh on the other end.

"I may have called you to ask a favor," the brunette answered slowly.

"Sure, what is it?" asked [Y/N].

"Toby's working for Jason and I'm really worried," Spencer explained. "Can you check on him for me, please?"

"Wait, since when did Toby start working for Jason?" [Y/N] questioned, surprised.

"Since this afternoon," Spencer replied.

"You don't sound too happy about it," [Y/N] said.

"How can I be?" Spencer sighed. "For all we know, Jason could be hiding Ian, protecting him, in that creepy house."

"Spence," [Y/N] sighed this time. "I still don't think Jason would want to help his sister's murderer."

"Then, how do you explain the shadow I saw in his house yesterday?" Spencer challenged. "[y/n/n], I was right outside talking to him when I saw someone move upstairs. And, he told me he lived alone. He was clearly lying."

[Y/N] remained silent, processing Spencer's words. She still didn't believe Jason could be helping Ian hide.

However, she did find Jason's sudden return to Rosewood pretty strange. It was true that he didn't owe anyone explanation; yet, his cold demeanor towards her friends confused her because she had thought he had changed after working on Ali's memorial with them.

"Hello? Earth to [y/n/n]?" Spencer interrupted her from her thoughts.

"Sorry, I'm here," [Y/N] replied, shaking her head, hoping to remove her suspicious thoughts regarding Jason. "But, yeah, I'll go check on him."

"Thanks so much, [y/n/n], I owe you one," Spencer breathed out.

"No problem," smiled [Y/N]. "But, I have to ask you something."

"Sure," Spencer replied.

"You literally live right next door to Jason," [Y/N] spoke. "Why not just peak and make sure Toby's okay?"

"I tried," Spencer sighed out. "But, I couldn't see anything."

"It's okay," [Y/N] chuckled. "Alright, I'll check on your defenseless boyfriend and update you soon."

"You're very funny, you know that?" Spencer deadpanned.

"Sorry, I just had to," [Y/N] giggled. "Don't worry too much, alright? I'm sure Toby's okay."

"I'll try," Spencer replied. "Thanks again, [y/n/n]."

"Of course, talk to you later," [Y/N] answered and the two said their goodbyes before hanging up.

…

Once [Y/N] got near the DiLaurentis house, she noticed a shirtless and sweaty Toby first, who seemed to be hard at work with a shovel in his hands. With another few steps, she noticed Jason who was dressed in a tight blue t-shirt and faded denim jeans as he placed some heavy bags in a wheelbarrow.

She took a deep breath in to calm her racing heart as she walked closer to the two men. Her steps must've been quiet because neither Toby nor Jason took notice of her, lost in their work.

"Hello," she greeted, causing the two men to look up at her in surprise.

"Hello, [Y/N]," Jason greeted her back with a smile, standing straight as Toby did the same.

"Hey, [y/n/n], what are you doing here?" Toby asked, resting his hands on top of the shovel.

"A little birdie told me that you got a job so I figured I'd stop by and say congratulations," she replied, hoping her breathy voice didn't give away how nervous she was -- especially with Jason's gaze on her.

"Is that little birdie's name Spencer?" Toby asked, smiling mischievously.

"Of course, not," [Y/N] said, a little too fast for her liking. "Haven't you heard? My friends and I are spending some time apart. Doctor's orders."

"I just saw you guys together recently," Jason replied before Toby could and [Y/N] looked at him. She knew he was talking about the time he caught the girls sneaking out at night a couple of days ago.

[Y/N] looked back at Toby, who had a Cheshire cat grin on his face.

"I wonder if that was before or after the doctor's orders," he commented.

"It- it was before," [Y/N] replied slowly and shifted to look at Jason when she noticed Toby didn't believe her words.

"It's alright, I won't tell anyone," Jason chuckled, holding up his hands. A few moments later, he cleared his throat before asking, "I'm gonna grab a drink. Do you guys want something?"

"I'm okay," Toby replied just as [Y/N] said, "No, thank you."

Jason gave her a smile in return before turning to walk inside the house.

"Alright, [y/n/n], what are you really doing here?" Toby asked quietly once Jason had disappeared inside the house.

[Y/N] sighed and walked closer to Toby, glancing at the closed door of the DiLaurentis house once.

"Spencer sent me," she admitted, making sure to keep her voice as quiet as Toby.

"I had a feeling," Toby sighed.

"She's really worried," [Y/N] said.

"Why is she so scared about me working for Jason?" Toby asked in genuine confusion. "I mean, he's been nothing but nice to me so far."

"She thinks he's hiding Ian," [Y/N] whispered, taking another glance at the shut door.

"That's insane!" Toby said a little loudly when [Y/N] shushed him.

"I don't know what goes through your girlfriend's brain," [Y/N] shrugged playfully.

"What do you think?" Toby asked her suddenly.

"Sorry?" [Y/N] frowned.

"Do you think Jason's suspicious too?" Toby questioned her and [Y/N] dropped her gaze from his for a moment.

"He hasn't really given me a reason to be suspicious about him so far," she finally said, looking up at Toby, who nodded at her in understanding.

Before Toby could reply to her, Jason walked out of the house, carrying out a trash bag with him.

"I would invite you guys in but the place is kind of crazy," he said once he was closer to Toby and [Y/N].

He threw the bag to the side when it opened and several bloodied gauze fell out of it.

[Y/N] stiffened in her spot and her eyes widened at the sight. She looked at Toby, who looked at her, concerned. She had a feeling Toby might've been reconsidering their conversation and to be honest, so was she.

"Uh, I cut myself," Jason explained with an awkward chuckle, rubbing his palms in his jeans.

"Hope you're okay now," [Y/N] said meekly once she was able to get some words out.

"Yeah, it was just a small cut," Jason replied and [Y/N] nodded.

"Well, I should get going now," she said, slowly backing out of the DiLaurentis yard. "It was nice seeing you two. Good night."

"Good night, [Y/N]," Jason answered.

"Thanks for stopping by, [y/n/n]," Toby told her with a smile. "Text me when you get home, okay?"

"Will do," [Y/N] smiled back at him and gave one last wave to Jason before turning around and making her way towards her home.

While walking, she sent a quick text to Spencer, letting the latter know that Toby was okay. She decided to keep the suspicious-bloodied-gauze from Jason's trash to herself as she knew sharing this with Spencer would make her friend go on a dangerous hunt to know what was up with Jason.

—————

[spiritedstars]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXXIV

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Author’s Note:  Thank you for reading <3 I hope you enjoy this next chapter and where the story is going :)

thank you @riorsonxaden for always being my beta <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @positivewitch / @animezinglife / @zenkindoflove / @rosewood-cafe / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @carolynmezzosoprano / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @lalaluch /

Find it all here.

The morning had arrived in a blink and proceeded to be a whirlwind. 

The Forest House was fueled in chaos as final preparations for the Autumnal Equinox ball took place, and the house staff and sentries were coming and going to make everything perfect. 

Eris had never been this on edge in his whole life, and he had survived Under the Mountain. A mix of dread and restrained panic pumped through his veins, but the leash he had on himself was held tight. He and his brothers had one moment this morning—they shared one glance across the room to ensure everything was going accordingly, that Mikel's signal ensured Theo, Cosette, and Helene were fine, and then dispersed to go about getting ready. 

Now, Eris stood in his bedroom, fixing his cufflinks as he glanced at himself in the mirror then smoothed his hair on the side and adjusted his crown. He looked every bit of the favored Prince of the Autumn Court in a fitted dark maroon suit, golden embroidery decorating the sides of his coat. A suit he wore like armor, that told the people of his court that he may follow his father’s every word but he was power. His suit, the crown, and the devilish smile he wore like a mask – one he wore so well to hide the true purpose of this night. A purpose he’d prepared for in three different ways: a bandolier under his jacket, the Made dagger given to him long ago by the Night Court sheathed at his side, and his magic. Did he truly believe he needed weapons when his magic thrummed so violently beneath his skin, itching to be released? No. But when it came to taking down Beron Vanserra every moment, every measure counted.

He made himself take a deep breath. He would dress to impress, regardless of how many people he’d run his blade into tonight. 

“Help me with my dress?”

Eris turned and at the sight of his wife, his head emptied. 

His beautiful, beautiful wife. 

She knocked the wind out of him on any given day but gods fucken damn it, did she look magnificent dressed up. 

Iris stood before him in a beautiful maroon A-line dress. It was lace covered in a mix of sequins and beading with full sheer sleeves and if the cinched waist didn’t do him in, the modest sweetheart neckline giving him a teasing glance at her cleavage certainly would. She smiled at his reaction and Eris took another moment to admire the light makeup dusting her face and the styling of her hair. Her eyes were lined with light kohl, her blush giving her a lovely glow, and the terracotta shade coloring her lips made him want to desperately ruin it. His eyes zeroed in on the delicate necklace of olive branches he had left as a suggestion with her dress and his wretched heart swelled that she had actually worn it. 

Eris was certainly particular about his appearance and his wife matched his vision exactly. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you with your hair up,” he commented quietly. 

“Do you like it?” she asked shyly and Eris’s smile was soft in a way it only was with her, especially when his eyes locked on the tiara he had chosen specifically for her to wear. 

“Oh, I love it,” he replied, his soft smile blooming into his signature smirk. “Dare I say, you look absolutely delicious.”

Iris flushed prettily, lifting her nose in the air. “Only delicious?”

Eris chuckled, a hand reaching out to gently touch a curl framing her face. “You look like a goddess of autumn,” he murmured, his smirk softening again. “And I am but your humble devotee.”  

Iris couldn’t help the rapid beating of her heart at his compliment, her flush deepening. “If you keep being nice to me, I’ll be forced to be polite to you.”

“Heaven forbid you be polite to your mate. How dare I,” he said with a snort and Iris flipped him off, earning her a chuckle. He gestured for her to turn, regretting it almost immediately at the scooped neckline of the back as well, more of her skin on display. Before he could stop himself, Eris traced a hand down the bareness of her back and Iris shuddered beneath his touch, glancing at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing playfully.

“Don’t you start touching. We won’t be able to stop,” she warned and Eris’s grin was full of male smugness.

They had spent last night all over each other and this morning, Eris had awoken to Iris’s hand sliding down his body and they lost another hour exploring each other. 

It had been very hard for them to stop.

And now, like any respectable husband, he couldn’t help but leave a featherlike kiss on her exposed skin before calmly zipping up her dress. 

When she turned back to him, the two stood face to face, taking each other in quietly, and the longer he looked at her, the harder he had to fight the anxious dread wrapping around his chest like barbed wire. Gods, he had so much to lose. 

This day may have been a long time coming for Eris but he had never thought he’d have someone by his side through it all. Someone who was all his. His Iris, who watched him with that knowing look, read into his emotions better than anyone else. 

He never thought he’d be understood. And yet, as Iris stood before him, despite all that would happen today, the tentative smile she gave him soothed his jagged soul. He felt a fluttering of peace in his chest. He felt her. 

This was the closest to heaven Eris knew he’d ever be. 

“You really do look beautiful,” he said softly and the smile bloomed further on her face. “A crown suits you.”

“Thank you. My husband has a good eye,” she said, taking in his suit and how it lined his body so well. She couldn’t help but reach a hand and run it down his arm and somehow, Eris felt his body relax. “You look…”

“Handsome? Dashing?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “If you’d give me a second to compliment you, you’d know,” she said and swatted his chest gently. His answering grin was so boyish, she wanted to kiss him senseless. “But you do look very handsome.”

“And dashing?”

“Very dashing,” she confirmed and let her gaze slide over his body again. “You look so very royal.” 

“I am a Prince, you know,” he said and Iris snorted.

“A prince of being a pain in the ass.” she muttered and his answering smirk made her blood heat.

“Well, we haven’t really had a chance to explore –”

“Do not finish that sentence.” 

Eris couldn’t help his wicked chuckle and Iris shook her head, fighting back a smile. 

The words that had sat on the tip of her tongue for weeks now threatened to burst out of her but Iris held, even as her cheeks flushed lightly. She wasn’t foolish. She’d read stories upon stories of what love felt like. She’d yearned for years. Never truly believing love would find her or something she would experience. 

Yet, Iris knew exactly where her heart stood and despite how their story may have begun, she knew there was no doubt in her mind of what she felt for her husband. Her husband who would be walking into a battlefield at this ball, who could use a moment of peace – a little distraction. 

Eris’s brows furrowed as he looked at her but Iris only leaned up to give him a chaste kiss before pulling away. She couldn’t stop herself from running a hand down his suit again before clearing her throat and giving him a small, shy smile. “I have a gift for you.” 

He blinked in surprise. “A gift?”

“Yes,” she said with a chuckle and turned to walk over to their vanity, pulling out a small box from the top drawer. “It is the Autumn Equinox and regardless of what is happening today, it is a day to celebrate so I wanted you to have a little something.” 

She turned to find his expression carefully blank as color spread across his face and Eris cleared his throat before quietly saying, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know.” she replied then licked her lips before continuing, “But you…you give me so much. I wanted to give you something from me.”

Eris felt his heart nearly crumble. He didn’t know what to do with himself. What to do with his hands. In the middle of all this chaos…she had thought of getting him a gift. Eris had certainly gotten her a gift but hadn’t expected anything from her in return. His windpipes threatened to crash on him.

He glanced at the rectangular box and said so quietly, “I can’t remember the last time I received a gift.”

Her expression softened. “Well, I hope you’ll like this one then,” she said and Eris slowly took the box from her, his eyes never leaving the gift. “I had it custom-made from your mother’s favorite jeweler.” She waved her hand excitedly. “Open it!”

At her tone, he finally looked up from the box she’d given him to catch her wide smile and Eris felt his heart spasm at how beautiful she truly was. Gods…he had to be so pathetically obsessed to feel a little breathless at how her face seemed to brighten when she looked at him. How she kept smiling at him. At him, of all people.

He couldn’t stop his mouth from curling upward as she watched him and Eris took a breath as he slowly, almost reverently, opened his gift and then blinked rapidly before glancing up at his wife.

Iris’s smile turned sheepish. “I know you usually wear your insignia on your armor but I wanted to give you something a little more…subtle to wear for nights like these,” Iris explained, blushing slightly. “A way to keep the pups with you.”

Eris felt the tips of his ears heat as he glanced down at the gold chain lapel brooch. The two pins were adorned with leaves, one engraved with his initials and the other had his insignia of two baying hounds. “Iris…”

She shrugged, her blush deepening. “It’s not easy to get a gift for someone who pretty much has everything but I hope you find it worthy of your fashion sense,” she said and let out a little chuckle but Eris had to swallow hard, emotions bubbling in his chest. 

He was going to vomit.

“Thank you,” he whispered and Iris felt her chest ache.

“You're welcome,” she said with a smile. “Consider it a good luck charm.”

Her tone was as quiet as his own and Eris felt himself drowning. He had woken up overwhelmed – his head had barely been above the water for weeks. The night had barely begun and this unexpected gesture was the one threatening to send him over the edge. 

“I think…” he began then paused. Eris felt his face heating and he had to clear his throat as the words he never thought he’d live long enough to confess to anyone slowly formed in his mouth, “Marrying you seems to be all the good luck I need.” 

Color stained her cheeks as Iris’s heart beat to an erratic rhythm that seemed to match his own. She had been nothing important to anyone. She had lived her whole life as a ghost, alone. 

And now she was supposedly a prince’s good luck. She was the wife and mate of a future High Lord. Iris couldn’t put into words just how much this meant. How it made her swell with pride to be held in such high regard to him. So she gave him a half smile and said, “Even with the constant stabbing threats?” 

His chuckle was breathless, his throat tight. “I think you’ll find I don’t mind a little knife play.” 

“Kinky.” she whispered and the corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile.

He held up his box. “Will you do me the honor of putting it on for me?”  

Iris grinned, taking the box from his hand, and gently started pinning it in place. Eris stood still beneath her touch and tried not to be too obvious as he breathed in her scent. Tried to keep his stupid hands from shaking as she focused on pinning the brooch into his lapel. 

It didn’t help that he scented himself all over her. To know how their scents mingled in the one place he didn’t have to glamour them.

He had to breathe deeply to calm his raging heart, to resist the urge to wrap himself around her and not let go. All that was to come…there were so many things that could go wrong. So many ways she could get hurt –

“There. All set.” Iris ran a hand over his jacket and stepped back with a knowing smile.

Eris watched her for a moment and he couldn’t help the heat rising through him, his blood set aflame at her smile. At her thoughtfulness, knowing today would be hard enough as it is. And though she was barely a step away from him, he gestured with a finger for her to come closer, “Come here.” he murmured and the blush in her cheeks deepened as instead, she took a step back.

“I don’t trust that tone.” she said, her eyes narrowed in suspicion and he huffed out a dark chuckle, his gaze turning molten. 

“You don’t trust your husband?” he teased in a low tone that made her pulse race.

“Not when he’s talking to me in a tone that suggests whatever he’s going to do will ruin my hair or makeup.”  

At that, Eris couldn’t help his quiet laugh, making Iris’s lips twitch and it never ceased to amaze him how she could ease him in moments like this; the way she always knew what he needed to calm his raging head and heart. “What if I promise not to ruin either of them?” he asked, his small smirk sending a thrill down her spine.

“You are saying words but the tone of that promise suggests the opposite,” she said and narrowed her eyes again, pointing at him. “You have your lying face on.”

He snorted in disbelief. “My lying face?”

“Yes. It’s when you smirk and look like a posh princess. You’re lying.” she said matter-of-factly. “You will ruin my hair and makeup and I will not stand for it.”

His smirk widened and Iris’s toes curled at the sheer arrogance in his gaze. “Fine,” he said and Eris took that little step closer to her until they shared a breath and Iris had to tilt her head to meet his eyes, her lips twitching. “I will keep my hands and mouth to myself and you can kiss me.”

“Oh? Is that all you were going to do?” she asked a tad breathlessly and the slight roguish smile was like a branding on her skin. Gods, she wanted to tackle him. 

“Of course,” he said and his tone was so sincere, Iris’s lips twitched again. “I only want a kiss for good luck.” 

Iris pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at the devilish look on his face, heat pooling low in her stomach. “Well, how am I supposed to deny you that?”

“The idea here is that you won’t.” 

“Ah, but what if I did – to make you pant a little?” she teased and he made a displeased noise.

“But what if you don’t, and in return I give you the gift I have for you?”

Iris blinked then flushed happily. “You have a gift for me?” she asked in a hushed tone and her fingers went to the necklace at her throat. “I thought the necklace was a gift!”

He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible and without his eyes leaving hers, slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a square velvet box. “Our first Autumn Equinox together and you think I didn’t prepare a gift for you?” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not one to spit on traditions. You just stole my thunder, little gazelle.”

Iris sucked in a breath, her eyes widening, glancing at the box and then back at him. Another beat of silence passed before she whispered, “And what might that be?”

Eris felt the tip of his ears heat again as he swallowed. “You made a comment a few weeks ago about how I never proposed to you,” he said and the corner of his mouth curled up as color stained her cheeks. “Many things about how this marriage began were stolen from us but…I don’t want this to be one of them.” 

And Iris felt herself softening all over again. “Eris…”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You and I have the basic traditional bands but I wanted you to have a ring worthy of your healer hands,” he said and Eris had to work his throat before continuing, “I daresay I think it’ll sparkle nicely as you play the piano too.”

A choked laugh slipped from her lips and she shook her head in disbelief. He hadn’t even opened the box and Iris already knew she’d love whatever kind of ring was in there. 

“We could’ve waited on that,” she said but Eris only hummed. 

He didn’t want to ruin the moment by explaining that he had also wanted to wait on it. His original plan was to propose to her after he became High Lord, starting that new chapter of his life with her the right way. In a way she deserved.

But nothing was guaranteed. And Eris didn’t want to have any regrets when it came to her. 

“Why wait when we already know your answer?” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as Iris huffed out a laugh.

“That is not a proposal.”

He lifted a brow. “And how is this not up to your standard?”

“You holding out the box and telling me you already know the answer is not a proposal, Eris.” she said with a choked laugh. 

“Are you really going to say no?”

“Well, I might now.”

Eris couldn’t help his eye roll despite the twitch of his lips. “Your resistance is pointless. We both know you can’t live without me.”

“Wow,” she said with a hum. “There you go projecting your delusions again.”

Eris was fighting back every instinct in him not to laugh as he cooled his expression, grateful — always grateful for these moments with her. Moments when he could laugh. “If that’s your answer, the ball will be filled with quite a few potential brides I could —”

Her hand flew out to yank him by his lapel and his answering smirk was filled with male satisfaction. “Don’t you dare finish that thought,” she warned. “Continue with your botched proposal before I pull out my knife and stick it somewhere you won’t like.” 

Eris’s eyes lit with delight. “I think I like this color on you, wife.”

Iris shook her head, the beat of her heart as wild as his own and as she shared a breath with her very annoying husband, it struck her that this was exactly the kind of proposal they would have. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be down on one knee?” she asked with a raised brow and Eris’s gaze turned molten.

“You’d like me on my knees, wouldn’t you?”

“Just as I think you like to be there.” 

Eris had to restrain himself from leaping at her for the way she knew exactly how to tease him, how to distract him. Gods, he really was in love with her. 

And so he did something he’d never really imagined himself doing at any point in his life.

Without breaking her gaze, Eris slowly slid to one knee and held up the box. His hand was somehow steady as he opened the lid and relished in Iris’s small gasp. 

“Oh. Oh, wow.” 

The ring was exactly what he had imagined for Iris. It had been custom-made and Eris had nearly sent the jeweler into cardiac arrest with how picky he had been. Given how his wife was staring at it in delight, he knew it had been worth it. 

He wouldn’t have settled for anything less. 

Iris couldn’t help but feel her emotions bubbling inside as she stared at the ring. All at once, she was equal parts thrilled and pained, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to escape. All because this male – this male who she was once so terrified of being in the same room as, had somehow by the fate of the cauldron, become much more. Had remembered a throwaway comment of hers and hadn't hesitated to make it a reality. 

For most of Iris's life, she had been neglected. Never taken seriously, never worth anyone's time, barely thought of. Until Eris. Until this time with him. 

She would never take a moment of this for granted. 

“Well?” he asked her and the look he gave her made Iris’s heart unfurl in a type of joy she had always yearned for. Today would be hard and what came after was unknown. But this, here with him? This would be the constant. Now and forever. 

“I thought you knew my answer.” she said with a small smile that he returned. 

“All that complaining and yet you still won’t actually say yes.” he teased quietly and Iris couldn’t help her soft laugh, brushing her thumb to his cheek. 

“How could I say anything but yes with such a handsome male on his knees for me?”

Eris’s gaze was smoldering as he stood and again, the heat pooling in Iris’s stomach tightened.  They watched each other quietly and despite the feverous energy between them, it always did soften in the silence. Eris could read all the emotions crossing her face and knew his wife’s internal struggle matched his own; it was all too much. There was too much at stake. Too much on the line but this ring…he wanted her to know just how much of a choice she was. And that bridge between them – it had held strong despite how long it had taken them both to find each other. 

It held as they chose each other over and over again. 

Iris held out her hand and slowly, Eris slid the lovely ring on her finger.

Their mating bond seemed to vibrate at their shared smile and Iris couldn’t stop herself from finally leaning in and kissing him quickly, a hand touching his face.

And as it fell silent between them again, her thumb continued caressing his cheek, the words – those feelings that had been haunting Eris for weeks, clogged his throat. He took in her beautiful face and as desperately as he wanted her to know, he wanted to savor it a little longer. For a moment better than this.

But he could hear it in the silence between them. He knew she could too.

Eris glanced down at his hand in hers, the ring gleaming, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “I told you it would suit you,” he said quietly then looked up. “Do you like it?”

“It’s stunning, Eris,” she replied and squeezed his hand. “In fact, it’s almost too nice for me.”

His brows flattened. “And why would you think that?”

“Daughter of a fiend, remember?” she said with a weak chuckle and Eris’s gaze narrowed. 

“You have nothing to do with that fucker anymore,” he said firmly. “You’re my wife. You are mine. And once a Vanserra, always a Vanserra.” 

Iris couldn’t take her eyes off him, his expression so serious and gods, her heart wanted to leap out of her chest at how he claimed her. Someone who cared for her this deeply was all she ever craved, all Iris had ever wanted. And he was standing right in front of her. 

She knew what this gesture meant to him – those words  — that no matter how this night ended, she was his and he would be hers. In actions, in words, and with a bond that wrapped around them as lovingly as the ring on her finger.

“Once a Vanserra, always a Vanserra,” she repeated softly then took a breath, straightening her shoulders. “And as a Vanserra, am I as demure as usual or do we get to be ourselves?”

Eris watched her carefully for a moment then squeezed her hand in his. “If by being yourself you mean tossing a chair at someone, I’d ask you to refrain from that,” he said and Iris swatted his chest gently. Despite the heaviness of what was to come slowly tightening his chest again, he focused on his mate. “But if you mean, we try to enjoy being dressed up and dancing as we execute a murder, then yes – let’s do that.”

Her lips twitched. “So no cowering wife today?”

“Never again,” he promised solemnly. “Today…we ignite.” 

And as they watched each other once more, the silence between them slowly shifted, sobering, as the minutes ticked by. Iris’s expression dimmed and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

She squeezed his hand and Eris glanced down at the ring shining on her finger, working his jaw as he held her hand tightly. “Whatever happens tonight, we will be alright.”

Eris couldn’t help how his expression tightened and without words, Iris knew he was thinking of the exact opposite outcome; it was almost as if he couldn’t help but expect the absolute worst and Iris couldn’t exactly blame him with so much on the line.  

She opened her mouth to ease the tension, to bring back a little of that earlier distraction but Eris rolled his shoulders back, shifting gears.

“Your dagger is with you.”

“Yes.”

“Should anything happen, you use it. This night will be full of snakes. You will not be afraid and you will not hesitate,” he said, his expression darkening. “You will not worry about anybody else. Make anyone in your way bleed and run. I will find you.”

“But –”

“I will find you,” he repeated firmly, and then his tone softened. “I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I need you to take care of yourself too,” she whispered. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll do whatever you can to stay safe.” She gripped his arm, the sight of her pleading gaze a punch to his gut. “Please, Eris.”

His mouth went into a thin line before he sighed, knowing if she hadn’t been holding him, his hands would be trembling. “You know what we’re up against…but I will do my best,” he said quietly and though the answer made her chest feel tight, she nodded.

“That’s all I can ask.”

[seravphs]

drabbles:

✧ modern intimacy | 200 fluff

Gojo watches you get ready for your anniversary date.

✧ all roads lead home | 600 fluff

Gojo “my girl is mad at me I hope I die” Satoru, companion piece to modern intimacy

✧ all the rumors are true | 450 fluff

He’s an idol. You’re a hairstylist.

short/long fic:

✧ dinner plans | 1k fluff

Gojo's a brat.

✧ spoil | 1k fluff

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 

✧ sweetheart, psychopathic crush | 1.5k fluff and mild angst 

“What I want from the river is what I always want: / to be held by a stronger thing that, in the end, chooses mercy.” - Advantages of Being Evergreen by Oliver Baez Bendorf

✧ starboy | 1.6k fluff

Your job description entails taking care of one (1) astronaut on his way to Mars. It doesn’t say anything about falling in love with him. 

✧ arrive through obliteration | 3.5k smut

Gojo deserves a trophy for winning his fight against Sukuna. You’re happy to deliver.

✧ you get me closer to god | 3.7k fluff

Kneeling by your bed, rosary wrapped around your knuckles, lips pressed to the burnished rosewood, you pray. God, please send me another guardian angel. A blast of static from the TV behind you. The one you sent me- “Hey, how does the thing work?” Gojo says, accompanied by loud thumps. You cringe in silence. He’s strange.

✧ graveyard shift | 4.5k fluff | (not really a) mafia au

When you took the job, you knew working the night shift at your local convenience store would be boring. That’s fine; you’re here to make enough to pay rent, not to smile for strangers who don’t care anyways.The appearance of a stranger who seems to have a lot to hide is tantalizing bait to your boredom, but you can’t give in. That is, if you have a choice at all.

✧ the commutative property of relationships | 4.5k smut

Gojo and you have little to nothing in common besides a friend group and a shared crush on Nanami Kento. However, as befitting the sorcerer to end all sorcerers, of course Gojo has one up on you - he’s actually made a move on Nanami. If he offers to give you a taste through him, who are you to turn down such a golden opportunity?

✧ star power | 6.8k fluff

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

universes: 

✧ cruel summer 

✧ teen dad gojo 

series:

✧ let your hand become a blade so I may take it | royal au | 1/7 chapters

Updated knight! gojo x princess! reader

✧ the hand which holds the knife | royal au | 2 chapters 

OLD DRAFT of knight! gojo x princess! reader

✧ spring in hell and everything’s blooming | 2/5 chapters | estimated 12k 

There is before-Getou and after-Getou. In both spaces, Gojo exists.

✧ beating hearts promised to bared teeth | 1/2 chapters | estimated 20k

When a kind stranger offers you his home because your gambling addict of a father can’t pay rent, you’re left in charge of a shrine - with a catch. Once you arrive at your new home, you learn a crucial fact that he conveniently left out. You’re the new god in charge, and his familiar, who now belongs to you, does not like you. What’s a new god to do, especially when she finds herself slowly falling for the fox spirit?

[neonacity]

Limerence | Haechan x Reader (A Lucid Special Chapter)

Limerence (n) - a feeling of all-consuming longing or desire for someone.

Summary: After years of longing, can strangers find it upon each other to forgive and remember again?

Warnings: Note: This story will NOT make sense if you have not read Lucid. Haechan is aged-up and in his early thirties. There are mentions of torture, abuse, and kidnapping. Haechan and the rest used to be really toxic.

Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction. I do not claim any likenesses between the characters here and their real-life counterparts. I reserve all rights to this work and I post nowhere else but Tumblr.

Read here for: LUCID SERIES | JENO’s VERSION | JAEMIN’s VERSION | RENJUN's VERSION

And with this, the story finally comes to a close.

"TO BE LOVED IS TO BE REMEMBERED."

“This room has more smog than a city center. How many packets have you smoked?”

A sigh from somewhere made Mark blindly turn towards the only lit part of the space. Peeking in between wisps of heavy scented smoke, a bronze plate with several burning sticks stood against the light of a yellow lamp. The apparatus was resting on a handsome oak table, puttering away silently to screen the figure of a dark-haired man sitting beyond it. Mark smiled wryly to himself before taking deeper steps inside the room. 

“It’s called incense, my uncultured big brother. It’s supposed to make you feel relaxed and inspired,” came the low but lazy drawl of someone. Mark stopped just a foot away from the desk, his hands buried in his pockets.

“Let me guess, Renjun gave them?”

The other shrugged before slightly frowning at the paper in front of him. It’s obvious that he is not much up for a conversation right now, but Mark didn’t fly 15 hours to Seoul just to be snubbed by his little brother. Slowly, his eyes dropped on the pages laid out on the table, noting the scribbles and crossed-out words there. 

“Let me make another guess. The smoke isn’t really cutting it for the ‘inspiration’ part?”

At that, brown eyes snapped up to glare at him, hidden behind the slight reflection of black-rimmed glasses. The next second, he had a balled piece of paper thrown straight at his face, one he easily caught with a light laugh. 

“Did you just come here to be stabbed by me?”

“Well that’s better than being ignored by you after a long flight. Jisung asked me to make sure to check on you before I go to South East Asia. He said you haven’t been answering any of their calls.” 

The other scoffed. “Since when have we been on daily calling terms?” 

“And since when have you been so against it? Or is the great best-selling author Lee Donghyuck too popular for his brothers now?”

Another piercing glare, then followed by a roll of the eyes. Mark laughed again, noting how the shoulders of the other just ever so slightly softened.

“Well… how are you, Haechan?”

*******

Haechan placed the steaming pot of tea on the table without even bothering to pour one for his guest. To be honest, a visit from Mark was something that he wasn’t expecting tonight, and he would have for sure bolted if not for nosy Jisung making sure he didn’t have any idea about it until the last minute. Now he is cornered and has to deal with something worse than a creative block—a brotherly talk. 

“How’s the book going?”

He waved a hand towards the littered surface of his table before taking a sip of his once scalding coffee.

“It’s going swimmingly, as you can clearly see.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Mark’s lips slightly tighten into a line. It was an expression he knew far too well, especially with him in the context. With an internal groan, he took another drink from his cup in an effort to hide his wince. 

“I don’t think being back in this place is helping you at all. This manor, of all places… I still don’t understand why you think being here will help you finish your book.”

“Would you rather have me camp out in Rosewood then? Because I would have. If only it hadn’t been burned down.” 

Great. The words were out before he could even realize what he was saying. With a frustrated sigh, he finally looked up to see his older brother with a stoic expression, one that only clouds his usually accommodating features every time their past was mentioned. Haechan looked away guiltily, but kept his silence. 

Ten years. A long time, but a short one all the same. Even now, mentions of their old home still feel like a strike of burning metal against their insides, a proof that sometimes, your ghosts can still catch up with you at the mere mention of a word or a slip of memory. He could see it on his brother’s face now, and there is no doubt the other sees the same on him. They were older now, but under the dim lighting of the room, they looked like the same boys who ran away from the nightmare that shaped up their younger years.

So much has changed… and yet so much has remained the same. 

Mark moved on to be the official heir of the Rosewood wealth, working hard to bring back public trust on their family after they were officially cleared of suspicions of kidnapping. He rarely visited Seoul, opting to jump from one country to another to make sure their ‘businesses’ run smoothly. 

Renjun moved to Paris to start an orphanage, which also doubled as a school for children who were abused or shunned by their family. It’s where he also continued his career in art, though he opted to keep his works anonymous and mostly hidden away from the public eye. 

Jaemin is a father now to a daughter—a chatty adorable girl that he met on a visit to Renjun’s school. Both relocated to London where he had built a career as a photographer under a different name and identity.

Jeno… None of them really knows where Jeno is, only getting letters from him every now and then from different addresses. He makes sure never to miss their birthdays though, sometimes even sending some trinkets that could only give the slightest hints of where he could be living his quiet life.

Jisung and Chenle both decided to settle in China, the latter having had the need to trace down his real family before he was taken to Korea. He found nothing but a sister who accepted him back to the fold and he had been in close relations with ever since. Finally, there's their youngest Jisung who also found family there but in a different way, now a happily married man—and a father soon.

As for him? Oh he had moved on too for sure, if you could call being an author hiding under a pseudonym that, at least.

Haechan tried his best. He really did. On his good days, he would wake up and feel like the wounds have finally closed and turned to scars. Writing helped him cope for the most part, because it was a way for him to escape reality and repent for things he could never grovel for in the flesh. It kept him sane. Grounded. But more than that, it made him still feel connected… 

To you.

Of course, he knew better now to even consider himself worthy of even remembering you. He hurt you badly, stole you away from the world, and left you wounded in ways that he’ll probably spend a hundred more lifetimes to repent. Yet in those dark days when he thought what he was doing was out of love, there were also moments when you two connected from the stories you both loved. In those slivers of time, he thought—hoped—that maybe, you wanted to be with him too. 

“You didn’t have to come back here. There’s nothing to come back to anymore.”

Mark’s voice was what he needed to pull him from his spiraling thoughts again. Hand stiffening, he kept quiet, because he knew his brother was telling the truth. 

Being in the same house in the middle of the woods where he shared the days with you is not going to heal him of anything. It was not going to give him forgiveness. 

Nor was it going to give you back to him. 

The slight sound of rustling made him look up just in time to see Mark pushing a long slip of paper towards him from across the table. He picked it up and frowned at the print there. 

“Come to Hong Kong with me. You can stay there for a few months, or weeks, I don’t care. You can try and finish your book there and decide what you want to do after. You can go anywhere, except here.” 

Haechan’s gaze didn’t leave the plane ticket. He was barely touching it, and yet it felt like it was burning the pads of his fingers. From across him, he heard the sound of a chair pulled back across the floor, followed by his brother’s voice before he closed the door. 

“I leave in two days. Think about it. I hope to see you in the airport, Haechan. I know it's hard... but it’s time to finally let her go."

*******

“What are we going to say if they ask you for updates about your book? We don’t even have a publish date yet!” 

Haechan tried his best not to bash his head against the brick wall he is leaning on. He was currently on his third stick of cigarette, and yet the nagging of his publisher was doing more to his blood than the nicotine pumping in his veins. With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose at the hopes of staving off an oncoming migraine.

Why the fuck did he even agree to do a book signing in the first place? And is it too late to bolt from here?

“Xiaojun, if you don’t shut up, I will walk away and not do this at all. Stop worrying too much.” 

The poor man pacing in front of him stopped and looked at him with eyes as big as saucers. If he wasn’t so irritated, he would have laughed at his reaction.

“What?! You can’t do that! There are already people waiting for you outside!” 

“Yeah? Well those people only know Lee Donghyuck, not my face. I can easily walk out the door without them recognizing me.” 

The threat holds true though. In his career, he had only held a few exclusive book signings that all required guests to turn over their phones and cameras. It was the only way he agreed to do them after Xiaojun finally cracked him down with his incessant pestering. Surprisingly, the man loved the idea, saying that his mysterious persona will add on to his popularity.

“Okay, okay fine. I’m going to stop and go back inside. But please, can you have that as your last stick? We’re about to start in five minutes.” The same man blurted out now, face pale. “You can’t ditch this. This is your first ever book signing in Seoul!” 

And probably the last, came his silent, sour thought.

“Just get in. I’ll be there on time. Make sure nobody takes pictures,” he said as he shooed the other one last time. With one last suspicious look thrown at him, he finally heard the clicking of the door. He sighed and took one last hit of his cigarette before crushing it on the bin beside him.

“Stupid Mark. This is all because of him.” 

*******

“I love your book so much. I’ve been such a fan since the first one!” 

Haechan gave the woman a smile as he started scribbling on the copy of his book. He had lost count of how many people had said the same thing to him since the line started moving, but he accepted each one with practiced grace anyway. He might have lived as a hermit for the past few years, but that doesn’t mean he had lost his flair for charm for necessary situations like this. At least that’s what he can say from the way the guests, especially the women, seem to blush and look just a little disoriented when speaking to him.

“Thank you so much. Who is your favorite character?”

“Oh I love IL Bagatto! The Magician! I think he is so different from the rest.” 

He gave a slight laugh as he flicked his wrist to finish writing his signature. “Good choice. He is my favorite too. Thank you so much for supporting my work.” 

“Only five more,” Xiaojun mumbled quietly behind him as the man placed the final fresh batch of books on the table. As he waited for the next person to come, Haechan took the chance to reach out for his glass of water to take a sip. 

“Thankfully. I need a new pen. This one’s out of ink,” he grumbled back.

He had just uncapped the new marker he was handed when a shadow fell over his table. Like auto-pilot, he reached out for the top book from his pile when a soft voice stopped him.

“Oh. I’m so sorry… But would it be alright if I have my old copy signed instead?” 

It felt like the floor dropped under him with the way his lungs stopped breathing. Like the flip of a switch, everything around him fell silent, except for a heavy thudding that banged against his ears. It almost seemed like an out of body experience as he slowly looked up to meet a pair of eyes he had begged all that is holy to never let him see again in his living days.

You smiled at him, and all of a sudden there was a God that cared for the heavens again. 

“Yah… Hyuck… there are people waiting.”

He barely felt the slight nudge that Xiaojun gave him as he continued staring at you like you were a ghost. The world could be burning around him right now for all he cared. It was only when your smile slightly wavered did he snap out of his trance, your gaze hesitantly moving to the book that you have placed on the table.

“A-ah… it’s fine if I get a new copy. I don’t want to hold you back,” you said in the same voice that he remembered even after all those years that passed. Haechan felt his heart constrict as he tried to search for something else in your face. 

You… Do you remember…?

“Your name. What’s your name?” 

You looked a little worried yourself as you heard him croak a reply. Quietly, you answered as he blindly pulled the book towards him. It was only then that he realized it was not the same one as the title he is signing for today, but his very first story.

The Girl By The Window. 

The same book he was drafting when he last saw you in the hostel by the woods. The one whose pages you picked up and read under the dying light of the sun before he lost you again.

“I know this is just the start, but the way you wrote her makes me feel like you love her deeply as an author.” 

It took him his last strand of self-control as he heard your voice utter your name. Fingers shaking, he turned the battered cover of the book and flipped to the first page where his author dedication was. The copy was a soft cover version, and he noticed how well-loved it was from the yellowing paper and the earmarked pages. Shakily, he started writing there, barely aware of the words he scrawled. 

“That’s my favorite page. That dedication,” you said with a breathy laugh as you watched him sign. “To be loved is to be remembered. I think it’s a very beautiful quote.” 

Haechan looked up and felt himself drowning in your eyes. It only lasted for a few more seconds, but the way you held each other’s gaze felt as if every single day you spent apart came together as a singular unit in that moment. When he handed you back your book, he knew he had once again crossed a boundary he promised himself he would never tread again. 

“Can you wait for me to finish the signing? I want to talk to you… About this book.” 

He watched as your eyes rounded in slight surprise, before giving a slight nod to hide away what he just whispered from a curious Xiaojun over his shoulder. Without another word, you walked on, clutching the still warm book against your chest. 

*******

He found you at the end of the classics aisle, silently reading a book opened on your right palm. The bookstore is mostly empty now, except for a handful who mostly stayed at the front of the shop where the new releases are. The aisle where you are is a long one, and he simply stood at the end of it in silence, giving himself a few seconds to admire you from afar.

You looked so beautiful that he almost wished he could spend longer to just stare at you from a distance. The vision of you standing there, content in your silence and peace sent a painful throb through his chest. You looked so… safe with yourself. So free. All of the things he had only seen in his dreams, none of which consisted of him. In that moment, Haechan realized what he was about to start the moment he takes another step closer to you. This couldn’t be right… It has been ten years. He can’t throw that all away and mess it all up for you again. 

He took a step back to walk away… 

But then you looked up and said the words that turned his world upside down again.

“Haechan.” 

It felt like he had swallowed fire at that moment. Every part of him was burning—his hands that want to reach out to you, to his heart that seemed ready to burst out of his chest. He walked towards you slowly, as if afraid the image of you would disappear like an illusion if he approached you too fast. But you stayed there, resolved and unafraid. 

“You waited…” he whispered, breathless. You turned your body to him fully now, closing the book you were reading.

“You asked me to…” 

His eyes fell on the cover that you were holding and he felt his breath silently catch in his throat again. Shining in gold letters etched against the cover were two words. 

Wuthering Heights. 

“What do you want to talk to me about?” Your voice shook him back from his trance. You were looking at him so openly and yet he can’t read a single thing from you. Do you remember? Are you here to punish him? Or do you still not know him?

“How do you know my name?” It was not how he intended to ask the question, but it was the only thing he managed to push out now. You stared at him for a few heartbeats before finally giving a small smile and showing him the other book on your hand.

“You wrote it in the dedication you signed for me… Here,” blankly, he blinked at the page he just wrote on earlier, the black ink still fresh there. He didn’t even realize that’s how he signed.

“Oh…”

Silence fell on both of you then. You patiently waited for him to say more, while he was right there, combusting and putting himself together again and again internally. He didn’t plan ahead of this. How could he? He was never even meant to see you again.

“I was just—I was surprised when you brought my first book out. It has been so long since I…” he fumbled now, at a loss of what to say. It’s not too late yet, a voice inside him said. She doesn't remember. You can still walk away.

“I wanted to know why you like it.”

No. No, I don't. 

“Ah…You must be curious as its author,” you said kindly as you looked at the copy fondly. “It just felt so raw and real. To be honest, I stumbled upon it at a low point in my life and it helped me a lot. I can see how much you felt for her… the character you wrote.” 

His throat felt dry. He didn’t know what to say to that. 

“May I ask a question?" you asked again when it seemed like he has lost his tongue.

Do you still feel the same?” 

His gaze snapped back to you. The way you stared at him was still unreadable, but there was something in the light of your eyes that made the chaos in him slowly quiet down. It was as if you took hold of a thread inside of him and slowly pulled at it to unravel him slowly. 

“Feel what…?” 

“Love her. Do you still love her, Haechan?” 

That was all it took for the rest of the world to fall away around him. Fear was replaced with something else. No, that's wrong. He is still afraid, but he is willing. 

“I do. It never changed,” he said softly as he took another step towards you. You didn’t move back, even when he slowly raised his hand to cup your face.

“And you? Do you still like the way I loved her?” 

“I do. And do not at the same time,” you paused, and for a moment he could see it. All the answers he was looking for as he gazed down on your face.

“You hurt her.”

“I know.”

“You abandoned her. All of you did.” 

“We did…”

“You didn’t come back after taking everything from her.” 

“We didn’t think we deserved to come back. None of us did.” 

“And now? What do you think of it now?” 

Haechan paused, allowing himself to review every right reason why he is wrong for you. Yet, for every mistake and every risk, he found an excuse to never let you go again.

“I’ll stay. Even if I spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you… If you let me.” 

You watched him, thoughtful and doubting. He was ready to grovel to your feet at your denial. He'll beg you if you want him to, like the lost man he is.

But then you smiled.

“Even if I make you suffer for every wrong thing you did?” 

He stilled, surprised, before a soft laugh broke his silence. Gently, he lifted his other hand to cradle your face and tip it back. With a sigh, he leaned over to press his forehead against you.

“You can torture me every day of our life and I’ll still thank you at the end of it, noona."

This time, it was your turn to chuckle. You waited as he slowly dipped his face to yours, but stopped him just before your lips met.

“Haechan?” 

“Hmm?”

“What’s your favorite story?” 

He smiled before finally meeting your lips together.

“You. Forever you."

-------

Taglist: I only added those who were part of my taglist for Lucid previously (those who still haven't deactivated, at least!) @marijmin, @cabaretyun, @jhornytrash, @pukupukupawpau, @vsszn, @grandmasterslickfox @haoshitt , @furryllamas , @mindofthescattered @bettyschwallocksyee , @strawbunnyjaem , @huangberryyy

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 17:  Feelings Revealed

PART 3 - THE GRAND GESTURE

Summary: Arthur leaves camp in search of something to repair your relationship. But meanwhile, you are getting closer to leaving altogether.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 

*I’ve seen this image in a few different places, but not sure who owns it. I downloaded it from wallpaperflare.com. If anyone knows who specifically owns it, let me know so I can give photo credit.

Tag List:  @rivetingrosie4​ @bimbo-dollz​ @pine4pple-b0i​ @redwritr​ @kuri-chans-blog​ @queer-sadie-adler​ @joelmillerswifey​ @gimmethosedaddymilkers​ @pcotarelo​ @delilah-grimes​ @maemortem​ @wistfulwisteriawitch​ @lilacxxdreams​ @mentallyillfrogs​ @absolutegeek​ @spurz​ @sophiaj650​ @uniqueclodzinevoid​ @lookingformaurice​ @pawoui​ @randomidk-123​ @yyiikes​ @eddiemetalheadmunson​ @twola​ @kmartkiddieisle​ @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic​  @rhehr241​  @earwen-x​ @akariver75​ @djennty​ @nervousmumbling​ @xliliths​ @unbotheredbeeeee​ @onnetonprinsessa​ @kittiowolf210​ @ezrynn​ @suhsis @arthurmargon​​ @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler​​ @alice-vanderlinde​​ @sweetandstoned21​​ @j4llyf7sh @spooky631​​ @m0r4xr @ilovrxats​​ @i-69-urmom​​ @ddbluesie @ivuravix​​

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

Arthur fidgets slightly in the worn saddle as Buck’s hooves clop in the mud below. The sloppy, wet sound creates a white-noise in the back of Arthur’s mind as he nears the town of Rosewood. He can see the edge of the town with its filthy white-washed buildings quickly approaching on the horizon line. The sun’s rays cause the image of the structures in the distance to waver and blur in the heat waves, causing the town to look even more depressing than it is. He’s never been to Rosewood and all he knows of it is what he’s heard from you. And based on that, Arthur already hates it. An irritable sigh involuntarily escapes his ribcage. He has half a mind to burn it all to the ground out of spite, just for you.

He spurs his horse on as he swallows the hateful bile in his throat and heads into the town. It is a makeshift traveling town for the railroad; a greasy little industrial thing. It’s dirty and smells of iron, oil and other disagreeable things. There seems to be nothing happy or pleasant about this place as he watches the people shuffling about. The people seem to move both with purpose and without motivation at the same time, like shadows that are tethered to a person and pulled against their will. Upon quick examination, it seems to be made up of a lot of cheap labor, probable criminals, and those who just simply want to disappear.

Arthur has a hard time picturing you here in a town like this. You must have been like a flower trying to grow out of the dry and barren earth, desperate for sunlight and refreshing rains to grow and flourish. It’s no wonder you fit in so well with his gang now. It makes Arthur angry to know you had to work in these conditions. His hands clench in and out of fists as his mind goes back to when he found you. The bastards that chased and beat you were from this damn town. They killed your father and were in the middle of assaulting you when Arthur put a bullet into each and every one of them.

His lips curl in disgust at the memory of it. His mind’s eye sees you curled up on the ground, face beaten and terrified, yet still trying to defend yourself like a wounded animal. The thought of it makes his stomach turn now just as much as it did then. It seems like a lifetime ago now. So much has changed since that day, and he hopes for the better for your sake. He’s still not 100% sure what he’s looking for here, but he hopes to find it quickly and get the hell out of here.

Now that he’s here, Arthur figures the best place to start is the hospital where you worked. Since that’s where you and your father spent the majority of your time while here, there’s a good chance he’ll find someone there who knows you. But first, he looks around, surveying the area from where he sits high on his massive horse to get an idea of what’s going on here. He always needs to know his “mark” and his “exit”. It's instinct to know your surroundings.

“This ain’t no damn job, you idiot.” He shakes his head at himself and his ever-paranoid ways. “Although, I suppose it kinda is,” he murmurs, looking about.

Arthur takes a calming breath as he thinks over his plan again. He’s hoping that he can find someone still here that knows you or your father and can offer something to bring home to you. Any token, any object, anything at all that may be a tie to your past or family. He’s broken your heart already, so maybe this would be the thing to mend it, as the memory of your father is your most treasured possession. Arthur is filled with both excitement and trepidation, causing his heart to sputter a bit in a reaction to both. If this works, you and Arthur will be on good terms again, maybe even more. He can’t screw this up.

With determination on his side, Arthur begins to walk Buck down the dirt street that runs the middle of the town. He tries his best to ignore the suspicious stares he’s getting from the townspeople. Like a reflex, his fingers reach up to pull his worn leather gambler's hat down over his tired eyes. His hand drops to his muscular thigh, inches from the revolver on his hip. Just in case.

Getting impatient from wandering aimlessly through the town, Arthur pulls Buck to a stop in front of a woman who is sweeping the front porch of, what appears to be, a feed store. Her hair is pulled back away from the harsh features of her face into a tight bun that makes her appear to be older than she really is. This is in no way helped by the unflattering gray frock that she wears. He nods in her direction, leaning over slightly in his saddle. “Excuse me-”

“Employment office is down the street, third building on the right.” The woman barks the statement at him, only giving him the slightest of glances before returning to her sweeping, her arms moving aggressively to remove the stubborn dirt on the worn floorboards.

“Uh, no. I’m looking for the hospital here.” Arthur’s eyebrow furrow, his frowning lips pressed together slightly at the rebuke.

“End of the corridor, turn left.” The woman’s response is just as quick and dismissive as the first.

“Thank you,” Arthur grumbles with an eyeroll and is quick to nudge Buck on further with no desire to overstay his welcome. But, now that he has a direction to follow, his spirits begin to pick up a bit.

As Arthur gets to the end of the mud-caked street, a largish building comes into view. It’s haphazard at best. It’s more of a barn than anything. It was probably a quick assembly job to get the building erected with the town growing so fast and the traveling citizens constantly pouring in and out. It’s bare wood, no paint anywhere. The windows sorely need to be cleaned, in fact one is broken out and boarded-over.

But, amid all of this depressing atmosphere, Arthur notices a small barrel by the main door. Turned over, it has been made into a planter with some deep violet wildflowers growing in it along with some bright green ivy-like vines cascading down the side. The vibrant pop of color catches his eye in this otherwise dreary place. Arthur smiles a bit at the sight of it, wondering if it was you who put it there. Seems like something you’d do.

After tying Buck to the hitching post out front, Arthur walks through the doors of the hospital. It is one large open room lined with beds, many already filled with patients; a sort of “post-op”, general-care common area. There is a large desk that is cluttered with papers in the immediate corner to his left, flanked by bookshelves, and towards the far back wall, he can see a hallway that probably leads to more private rooms for seeing patients. The room is fairly well lit with sunlight, considering the grime that coats the windows. The air smells of a nauseating mixture of bitter iodine and sweet chloroform, as well as soap and chlorine solutions. Arthur has to resist the need to cover his nose with his hand.  

His eyes scan the room and among the patients, Arthur sees a young woman about the same age as you, maybe younger, flitting about. With multiple things in hand, she tends to every person she passes. A nurse of some sorts, she works diligently as she hands a pillow to an older man in one bed, and checks foreheads and fixes blankets as she passes multiple others. She even pulls a small toy out of her apron pocket and gives it to a poor child who is laid up with a broken arm.

She multi-tasks around the occupants with purpose and determination; a seasoned veteran at this hard job. The woman reminds Arthur of a young Susan Grimshaw in that way. She has dark auburn hair, with long curls that are semi-contained with a ribbon behind her neck and vivid jade eyes that dart around, taking in every detail of her patients around her. The young nurse moves about the hospital ward as if she owns it. Intrigued, Arthur feels someone as important-looking as this must know something of you.

“Excuse me!” Arthur’s voice carries across the humming noise of chatter of the room full of patients as he lifts his hand in a slight wave to try to get her attention.

The nurse gives Arthur a quick glance, annoyed at being interrupted. “If you’re not bleeding, wait over there.” She gives a dismissive wave where chairs line the far wall behind him. “If you are bleeding, tell me how bad and then I’ll tell you where to go. Although it can’t be that bad if you’re upright.”

Arthur shuffles his feet slightly. “No, I ain’t hurt or nuthin’-”

“Then what do you want? I’m kinda busy here.” She motions to the beds surrounding her as she makes her way over to him, blowing a strand of hair out of her eye before her hands land impatiently on her round hips.

Seeing the nurse standing still for more than a minute, an older woman in one of the beds off to the side calls over with a faint and brittle voice. “Miss Darcy? Can I get a drink of water, please?”

The nurse turns at the brief distraction and gives the poor woman a kind and sympathetic smile. “Yes, Florence, of course. Just a minute, hon.” She then turns back to Arthur, flipping back to that same air of impatience again. “See? Things to do and people to take care of, probably more in need than you. Now out with it.” She waves her hand to encourage him to speak quickly.

Even though she is quick, Arthur can tell that this woman means no real harm or insult, but rather takes her job very seriously and doesn’t put up with any bullshit - something he can relate to.

“Did you know Dr. (Y/L/N)? Maybe his daughter (Y/N)?” Arthur asks carefully.

Arthur notices how Darcy instantly stiffens to his question, eyes going hard and giving him a distrustful side-eye glance as she sizes him up. “Who wants to know?” She bites back suddenly, almost protectively. “Who the hell are you and what do you want with them?”

“I’m…uh…a friend of (Y/N)’s,” he stammers, taking off his hat, running his fingers through his disheveled hair before fiddling with the brim and replacing it upon his head..

“Yeah, I bet,” Darcy says, scanning him up and down cautiously. “(Y/N)’s not here, don’t know where she is so you best move on.” She turns to walk away, quick to go back about her business.

“No, no, I’m not here for her,” Arthur adds quickly, reaching his gloved fingers to her arm before he loses her to the crowd of sick and infirmed. “I mean, I am here for her, but not to see her.” He’s flustered, panicking that he may lose his one opportunity to make this work. “What I mean is, I already know where (Y/N) is and-”

Darcy stops dead in her tracks, spinning back on him. “What the hell are you babbling on about?” she interrupts, holding her hand up to cut him off. Her expression quickly changes from one of annoyance to concern. “What do you mean you know where (Y/N) is? Where is she?!”

Arthur hesitates at Darcy’s intense scrutiny, not sure how to answer that. His face goes hard as stone, not sure how much he should tell this woman.

Darcy takes a few steps towards Arthur, her jaw clenching slightly and her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red with her impatience. “Look, mister,” her voice is serious and threatening. “She's my friend. Her father was killed by a bunch of assholes and then those same assholes were found dead. I need to know if she’s OK.”

“She’s fine. She’s with friends,” Arthur replies evasively.

“Friends, huh?” Darcy looks him up and down with a skeptic eye again. He’s been riding for two days and sleeping in the woods. He must look like quite the sight. It's no wonder Darcy doesn’t trust him.

“Yeah, friends.” Arthur regains some of his composure, remembering his purpose and locking eyes with the woman. God, she really must be a friend of yours, as she’s just as fiery and obstinate as you.

Darcy crosses her arms over her chest in defiance. “How do I know you even know her? You could be making this whole thing up.” She waves her hand at him.  “If (Y/N) is alive and well, how do you know her, then?”

Arthur gives a long-winded sigh bordering on a groan, thinking for a moment.

"She's got a way about her, can't quite describe it,” he begins, his eyebrows crease as he tries to find the words to explain himself. “It's like…she's a mix of both hard and soft; both hellfire and holy water at the same time. Eyes are beautiful, like you can see right into her soul, ya know? And she's got a mouth on her that won't quit, too," he chuckles softly with a shake of his head. “She don’t care who thinks what. And yet, she's still real gentle-like and caring.”

He pauses as he reflects deeper on you, his gaze relaxing and focusing on nothing as he retreats further into his own reverie.

“(Y/N) takes good care of our people, the whole lot of us. She keeps us patched up and looked after. Oh, and she's got the voice of an angel, too,” he adds, pointing his finger at Darcy as he just remembered yet another thing he loves about you. “She’s always singing and humming some tune or another.” Arthur continues to gush on and on like a love-sick teenager as this is really the first time he’s allowed himself to talk fondly about you out loud to anyone.

“We got a kid with us, a young boy. (Y/N) likes to play with him like she’s a little kid herself, don’t care how foolish she looks..." Arthur's voice trails off as images of you continue to jump and scatter about in his mind, flashing so fast that it’s hard for him to focus on one thing at a time.

He misses you so damn much right now. Not just physically being apart from you, but it’s the emotional distance between the two of you lately that’s taking its toll. He hates being at odds with you. This fight, this tension between you, is just too much. And he didn't realize just how bad until now. Arthur has come to rely on you for his very sanity, to help him start to make sense of the tumultuous world around him. Just walking beside you makes him a better man.

Arthur can’t wait to finish this quest of his, as he wants nothing more than to rush back home to talk to you immediately. It's odd how you can meet someone today that makes you forget all about yesterday and also have hope for tomorrow. It’s been a long time since he’s experienced that. His hand slowly comes up to rub along the back of his neck as he gets lost in his own head.

Eventually, he remembers where he is and refocuses, looking over at Darcy. Darcy watches Arthur as he goes on and on, reassessing the gruff-looking man standing in front of her, trying to figure out if she should trust him or not.

"Yeah, that sounds like her alright," she finally concedes as she softens and lets her guard down just a bit.

A blush dusts slightly across Arthur’s cheeks, as he clears his throat, and quickly changes the subject. "Look, you gonna help me or not?" he huffs out.

"Depends.” Darcy crosses her arms.  “What are you doing here?"

"I don’t really know," Arthur admits looking about, like he'll find the answer sitting in one of these beds. “I was hoping to find something of (Y/N)’s or even her father's, maybe? Something I could bring back for her." His voice drops to a soft yet hopeful sound, one that Darcy reluctantly finds endearing.

“Bring back to her where, exactly?” Darcy asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “What happened after she left here?”

“That’s another story for another day, I’m afraid,” Arthur sighs rather sheepishly, hoping to God she doesn’t get frustrated and just walk away from him altogether.

Darcy thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I think I have just the thing for you. I have to finish what I’m doing here, though. Meet me at the square in about an hour.”

Arthur can’t believe his luck!

“Alright, then.” He gives her a quick nod of thanks, a huge grin sparkling upon his face, before turning to head back out the door to leave her to her work.

Arthur walks out the hospital doors, and takes a moment as he stands next to his horse, looking about the town. An hour? What the hell is he going to do in this shithole for an hour? An hour seems like an eternity right now. A slow exhale pushes out of his nose as his lips draw inward impatiently. He tries not to be too disappointed, though, as he is one step closer to his goal.

Arthur decides to clean himself up a bit and grabs a bite to eat to kill time, trying not to think about the delay. And eventually, he makes his way to the main square to wait for your friend. Looking about, he figures she’s smart, meeting a stranger in a public place like this. Honestly, he’s surprised that she’s even agreed to help him. But truth be told, Darcy is more interested in helping you than Arthur. He just happens to be in the middle.

Eventually Arthur scans the crowds and sees Darcy walking down the street with something tucked under her arm.

“Still here, eh Mister?” She calls to him as she approaches, giving him a wry smile. Arthur only spreads his arms out wide in an exaggerated gesture.

“I never did catch your name, by the way,” Darcy mentions casually. “Suppose you could at least tell me that much?”

“Arthur”, he replies simply with a raised eyebrow.

“Arthur,” she parrots back with a grin and a nod of acceptance. “Well, nice to meet you, Arthur.”

After a brief moment, Darcy proceeds to pull the item from under her arm to hold it in front of her. It is a wooden box, sanded and varnished, and about the size of a shoe box. She looks down at it, placing one of her hands upon the top, one last hesitation as to whether she should trust this large, intimidating man whom she doesn’t know.  

“Here,” says Darcy with another grin as she hands the box over to Arthur. “I think this is what you are looking for.”

Arthur carefully accepts the item from her dry and cracked hands that are weathered from her work. He gingerly holds it, tilting it slightly as he looks it over. There are initials carved into the top, which appear to be your father’s. Arthur looks back to Darcy with a quizzical look.

“If you know (Y/N), and you’re here of all places, then I’m assuming you know what happened here in Rosewood.” Darcy gazes at the box as memories flood back to her. “I knew Dr. (Y/L/N). He was a good man.” She nods with conviction towards the box.

“When all that shit went down, it was chaos around here. The town’s people ransacked their little house, tore through the hospital here…” she shakes her head in disgust at the memory of it.

“Anyway,” she sighs, “I ran to his office and grabbed this from his desk. Kept it safe just in case they ever came back.” Darcy lifts her chin, gesturing towards the box. “Open it.”

Arthur lifts the lid with care and a small huff of a laugh pushes out of his nose, stunned at the contents. He finds several items carefully nestled inside the keepsake box, including a small silver locket on a thin elegant chain, your father's pocket watch, a family photograph, and your father's personal medical journal.

Arthur carefully picks up the locket charm, tiny in his massive fingers, and pops it open. Apparently this had belonged to your mother as an image of her and your father are secreted within.

Arthur replaces the locket in the box and takes the photo out next, gently holding it in his hand as if he is holding the very souls of the people in the image. He recognizes Dr. (Y/L/N) of course, as he helped you bury him after you fled Rosewood. But seeing him alive and young in the photograph makes Arthur wish he had known him.

Your mother is beautiful. Soft curls and large beautiful eyes that sparkle and draw you in, even through a photograph. There’s a delicateness to her that reminds him so much of you today. He doesn't know how, but Arthur can tell that you take after her. A warm feeling spreads across his cheeks, as if he is being introduced to the parents of the girl he's courting.

And of course, there is you in the photograph, very young, about 7 or 8 years old. You look like a sprite or fairy. Bright eyes, mischievous smile, and small for your age.

This is exactly what Arthur had hoped to find. And he is elated that this plan of his is going so well.

“Thank you, Miss Darcy, thank you kindly,” Arthur’s voice pregnant with overwhelming gratitude, as the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkle with his growing smile. “(Y/N) will be right pleased to see these.”

Darcy looks at him with a knowing smirk on her face. "You’re sweet on her, aren’t you?” Arthur’s eyes shoot up from the box to meet her suspecting gaze. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Arthur opens his mouth to speak but Darcy holds her hand up to shush him. “Of course you are," she declares before he can even deny it. "(Y/N) has that effect on people." She folds her arms over her chest in approval.

Arthur says nothing, only draws his lips inward and nods, as if being caught red-handed.

“Well, I hope she’s OK. And, I hope she’s happy, wherever she is. Lord knows this place wasn’t going to do it.” She waves her hand at the town around them. “I hope that you can make her happy, Arthur,” Darcy emphasizes.

“I will do my damnedest. I promise you that.” Arthur gives her an adamant nod.

“You better. Or I will hunt you down,” Darcy teases as she gives his shoulder a playful punch. “Tell (Y/N) I miss her.”

“I will.”

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

“(Y/N), I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You lift your head to see Hosea striding towards you with purpose in his step to where you are working in your med-tent.  You give him a small, tired smile as he approaches, brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face. “I have the medical supplies almost completely restocked-”

“Yeah, fine, fine, but I don’t want to talk about that,” he waves at you impatiently as he finally comes to a stop, his hands leaning onto the workbench. “I want to talk to you about Arthur.”

The mention of his name makes you freeze. Your jaw clenches to the point that your teeth ache. Your fingers drop the bundle of dried herbs that you are cutting and they slowly curl into the palm of your hand, causing your nails to cut into the skin there.

“No.”

Your firm response causes Hosea to halt dead in his tracks, not expecting you to flat-out refuse his request. His silver eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Excuse me? No?”

Your eyes suddenly turn dark as the corners of your mouth drop into a hard frown. You pull a long, deep inhale through your nose in an effort to remain calm. 

“I don’t want to talk about Arthur, Hosea. Not with the girls, not with Charles, and not with you.”

“Good,” he retorts sharply. “Then I’ll do the talkin’ and you just be quiet and listen.” Hosea’s voice carries that stern fatherly tone that instantly puts you back into your place. Like a child, you pout slightly as you turn your face away to avoid his disapproving gaze.

“Look, I know he’s as hard as a rock and stubborn as a mule, but Arthur cares for you, (Y/N).”

“You think I don’t know that?” you snap, your face turning again to meet Hosea’s.

“Then why in the hell you givin’ him such a hard time?” he shoots back.

Your palm slams onto your table as your patience breaks. “Because he can’t have it both ways, Hosea! I am not a some-time lover. Arthur can’t act like I’m his ‘special sweetheart’ and then go on to ignore me for days on end. He can’t repeatedly act like there’s hope for us to be together and then keep telling me it's never going to happen.”

Your eyes burn intensely, causing Hosea to back-peddle to a gentler countenance now, realizing that he’s just sparked a volatile powder-keg.

“You just need to be patient and give him a chance, (Y/N),” Hosea implores you, holding up his hands in surrender as if trying to calm a spooked horse.

Your chest tightens as if a vice grip is strangling it and you can feel the anger radiating off of your ruby-flushed cheeks. “I’ve given him many, many chances, Hosea, and he’s done nothing. Besides, don’t you think you should’ve had this conversation with someone else awhile ago?”

“Now look, girl, you know what we do here and why this isn’t easy for him,” Hosea points his finger accusingly at you in warning. “How can you be so harsh?”

“Harsh?!” The word huffs out of your mouth as if you’ve just eaten a bitter piece of fruit. The mere suggestion of such a thing is so ludicrous to you. “Ha!” Your eyes roll so hard to the sky, it’s amazing that they don’t fly right out of your head.

You give Hosea a sarcastic smirk. “You know, I’ve been with you all for awhile now, Hosea, and I’ve done my part around here as best I could. So I’m a little offended that you think so little of me. I know what you all are and I know what you all do. But I also know who you are.”

You stand taller now and pull your shoulders back, lifting your chin a bit in defiance, as your arms fold defensively over your chest in agitation.

“Are you and Dutch some evil masterminds or just two men trying to live wild and free in the world? Hmm?” Your eyes flash in challenge at him and Hosea tries to get a word in, but you just ramble right over him and he quickly hushes in submission.

“Is John some feral man, or some sad soul trying to overcome the hand he’s been dealt in his life? And Arthur…” You choke for a brief moment as his name crosses your trembling lips, your eyes wide and flashing. “He’s not the monster everyone makes him to be.”

You shake your head, taking a deep breath to draw the cooler air into your lungs to try to recollect yourself. You pause in your rant and Hosea mercifully does not say a word, waiting for you to finish.

“But it doesn't matter now.”

Hosea shakes his head incredulously. “Do you know where Arthur is right now, (Y/N)? Do you have any idea what he’s doing for y-?”

“I don’t care, Hosea!” you snap sharply again, holding your hand up to keep him from saying another word, as you are dangerously close to the edge of your sanity. “I don’t care where he is, or what he’s doing. Because I’m done with it! You hear me?” Your eyes sting, but at this point you have cried yourself out and have no more tears left to shed over this. “I’m done, Hosea. So just stop. Please.” Your voice becomes dejected and hopeless as your shoulders droop in defeat with that last syllable.

“Now if you excuse me, I have work to do.” Your hand involuntarily comes to cover your mouth as you push past him.

“(Y/N), C’mon now…” Hosea calls after you, disappointment clearly written all over his features.

As you hurry off, Hosea rolls his eyes to the pristine-white clouds floating innocently in the sky above and shakes his head, planting his old, weathered hands on his hips before lowering his gaze back to watch you walk over to Ms. Grimshaw. “Whatever the hell you’re doin’, my boy, your ass had better hurry up.”

You hate being cross with Hosea. You’d rather cut out your own tongue than to speak harshly to him like that. But you just can’t take this anymore. It’s hard enough trying to navigate around Arthur, but now you have to deal with everyone else as well. You had hoped that the old man would be your buffer to this fiasco. But of course, he’s going to take Arthur’s side. And by rights, he should, you suppose. He’s Arthur’s “father”, not yours.

With your face flush and hands flexing at your sides, you stalk over to Ms. Grimshaw, desperately seeking yet another distraction. That is one habit that you have definitely picked up from Arthur while you’ve been here:  when frustrated, you relentlessly throw yourself into work.

The matriarch is standing outside of her tent, looking over a recent newspaper in her hands when you call out to her.

“Ms. Grimshaw, do you have anything that you need me to do around here?”

The woman looks up at the sound of her name being called and gives you a scowl of impatience. “Oh, for the love of…Come here, girl. Sit down,” she orders, pointing at the chair outside of her tent.

Surprised by her annoyance, you meekly sit as you’re told to do, looking at her expectantly.

“Now, I appreciate your help as much as anyone,” Ms. Grimshaw says, trying her best to remain calm, briefly bringing her fingers to clasp the bridge of her nose in frustration. “But you’ve been in my face and up my ass for weeks now. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“What do you mean?” Scoffing, you blink back at her.

“Don’t play innocent with me, Miss (Y/L/N).” With a reproachable glare, she pokes herself in the chest with her thumb. “I invented that game.”

After a moment, Ms. Grimshaw finally caves and gives you a resigned sigh. “Women get a raw deal in this day and age. I get it. You’re supposed to sit pretty and smile, and yet spread your legs and still be an angel.”

Her bluntness makes you blush a bit and avert your gaze. You’ve never had such a personal conversation with the woman.

She pauses before she continues, trying to be more tactful as she stands towering over you. “I know what you went through in Rosewood, what they did to you.”

The mention of your assault makes your cheeks burn red and you avert your gaze down again.

“Well, I suppose I had to toughen up pretty quick after that,” you respond matter-of-factly, not wanting to talk about that subject. Yet your voice carries just a hint of a quiver that is not lost on the woman. “A camp of wanted outlaws is no place for wallowing in self pity.”

“Yes, well, strong women like us don’t do well as the victim, can’t afford that luxury,” she agrees. “We stand up straight and deal with this world, and all its shit, don’t we?”

Her statement takes you aback a bit. ‘Like us?’ Is she actually looking at you as her equal? You had always thought this woman didn’t like you. At best, you always figured she simply tolerated your existence.

“Now, you listen to me.” Grimshaw pulls another chair up to sit directly in front of you, lowering her voice as she continues. “Don’t hang all of your hopes and dreams on a man, my dear. Look at Abigail. Hangin’ on any scrap of attention that John is willing to give her. And she’ll be hard pressed to find a husband elsewhere at this point when she’s already saddled with a child. Not that Jack is bad, mind you. (Grimshaw is quick to stress that point.) That boy is the best thing to come out of that relationship, if you ask me.”

Ms. Grimshaw leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest, taking a deep breath before she continues her motherly lecture. “Arthur is a good man and all, and we’d all be lost without him, for sure. But he’s still a man. And a dense one at that when it comes to women.”

Your face twists in painful recognition as you look down at your hands sitting limply in your lap. You wish it were different between you and Arthur, but that’s what is so hard about this whole thing. Neither of you can deny the connection that is so rare to find in another soul, yet still knowing you won’t ever be together. You can’t force that spark with someone where it doesn't exist, just like you can’t deny it when it does.

You love Arthur to the depth of which you’ve never known possible, even though you probably shouldn’t, and for reasons that you can’t quite explain. You understand that Arthur thinks that he doesn’t deserve your affection, either. But that isn’t going to stop it from overtaking your heart, now is it? You can’t change how you feel just like you can’t stop the rain from pouring down, or the sun from shining afterwards.

Ms. Grimshaw takes a moment to look you over, watching as your eyes dart around in spastic thought. She notes how your chest rises and falls raggedly as you quietly try to keep yourself from crying all over again. God, you are so exhausted from crying. And you are at the point now of being sick and tired of being ‘sick and tired’ of everything. Her heart goes out to you as she knows what you’re going through. Because she’s been there herself.

“You know,” Ms. Grimshaw says softly, hesitating slightly before continuing. “I used to have a thing with Dutch.”

Your red-rimmed eyes shoot back up to Ms Grimshaw’s face and widen a bit at her revelation.  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“MmmHmm. Cast me aside for the young and pretty, he did.” She turns a glance towards Dutch’s tent where he sits reading, a cigar sitting confidently between his teeth, while Molly perches upon their cot, fixing her hair in the mirror.

Turning her attention back to you, Ms. Grimshaw quickly refocuses on the purpose of her lecture. “If you want to stay here with us, (Y/N), no one will be happier than me to have you.” This admission rather stuns you as her voice takes on a softer, more nurturing sound. “But don’t you let this gang take you down.” She points her finger sternly at you. “You do what’s right by you. ‘Cause you’re the only one who has to live with your decisions.”

Ms. Grimshaw holds your gaze a moment to make sure you understand what she’s telling you. When you finally give her an appreciative smile and a nod, she places her hand overtop of yours, patting it in reassurance.

From somewhere over in the distance of the camp, there is a ruckus and you both look over at the interruption to see Rev. Swanson drunk and stumbling over people before falling down altogether. Ms. Grimshaw huffs sharply in annoyance, hands on her knees, as she pushes herself up from her chair. “I swear, it’s always something around here.”

And just like that, the camp mother is off to settle yet another issue in her camp. You watch her as she marches over to the man, shooing away the others who have gathered around. She gives Rev. Swanson a few words before bending down to heave him up by the arm. For whatever reason, the woman has a soft spot for the disgraced man of the cloth. And now, apparently, for you as well.

A slight breeze picks up and the cooling air settles your nerves a bit as it dances across your cheeks, lifting the fine wisps of hair along your face. You sit in contemplation, thinking about what Ms. Grimshaw has said to you. She has a point. She may come across as a hardened shrew, but she definitely knows what she’s talking about, as she speaks from personal experience. You’ve been debating about leaving the Van Der Linde gang for awhile, and now, maybe you have the voice of reason to actually do it. Absentmindedly chewing on the back of your thumbnail while in thought, you try to figure out what your next move is going to be.

It's taken you awhile to come to terms with what happened in Rosewood. You had hoped to draw strength from your new family and finally find a place of belonging. You haven't even thought of a future with a man since what happened, finding the closest thing in Arthur’s simple and unassuming company.

Losing your father in such a cruel and abrupt way was devastating. But with the parental guidance of Hosea, and unknowingly of Ms. Grimshaw, you have begun to make your peace with it, despite the frequent melancholy that only comes with the death of family.

But you can’t handle this drama anymore. You had told Karen awhile ago that you couldn’t bear it if Arthur ever hated you. And seeing as every interaction between the two of you seems to be getting more toxic with each encounter, that seems to be the very path your relationship is heading. You really don’t think that you could ever be happy here if you didn’t have Arthur. The thought of it is a boulder dropping in your stomach.

Maybe you’ll go back to Silverton. The doctor there had offered you a job several months ago, and a place to stay at the boarding house, too. But how will you even get there? It’s not safe for a woman to travel on her own in these parts.

The time has come for you to decide:  Should you stay with the Van Der Linde gang? Or should you go?

Wrestling with which path you need to take, your thoughts are interrupted when you see Mr. Pearson prepping one of the wagons. His chubby face huffs and turns red as he mills about pulling straps and checking over the wagon.

You nibble your bottom lip as you watch him, anxiously wringing your hands together. “Mr. Pearson? Are you heading into town?” you suddenly blurt out with seemingly no self control.

He looks over his shoulder to give you a quick glance. “That’s right, Miss (Y/L/N).”

You swallow hard before you speak again. “Need some company?”

And before you realize what you are doing, you offer to go along. Your intent is to see who in town may be heading back south towards Silverton and maybe catch a ride. That doctor there seemed quite persistent in getting you to work with him. Maybe the job offer is still good. If not, at least you’ll be out of the Van Der Linde camp and can start to put this whole mess behind you once and for all.

—--------------------------------

It is late afternoon at this point and the copper sky has just begun to unfurl its bewitching colors for all to see. Arthur heads down the back-country path that will bring him back to camp. The familiar white wildflowers still bloom and line the path, offering him a welcoming sight as he gets closer to home. His hand rests protectively on the saddlebag to his left side where your father’s wooden box sits carefully tucked away.

As he gets closer to home, Arthur begins to rethink his plan a bit. Is it too selfish to expect you to just fall into his open arms because he gave you a few remembrances? He isn’t turning his back on his decision, nor the idea that he wants you. But he feels that maybe it isn’t fair to just expect it of you. That may be a little too presumptuous.

Out of respect for you, he resigns himself to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. But at the very least, Arthur wants to just stop fighting and to simply be able to speak civilly with you once more.

When Arthur arrives back at camp, he doesn’t see you anywhere, even though Blue is tethered at the hitching posts. He slips your horse some peppermints upon arrival, which he contently munches. 

“Where’s our girl, mister? Hmm?” he wonders out loud to Blue, reaching up to give the horse a good scratch behind his ears while he surveys the open area.

Arthur eagerly scans the camp and immediately seeks out Hosea to find out where you are. He’s already waited several days to get this task done and he’s eager to finish it.

“She went to town with Pearson,” Hosea informs him. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, I reckon.”

Arthur purses his lips and nods, thinking to himself as his gaze, of course, goes to the path heading into the camp, half expecting to find you there.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Hosea asks, eyebrows peaked with interest as he raises his cigarette to his mouth, eyes squinting in anticipation.

A grin slowly crawls across Arthur’s face. His eyes twinkle a bit in mischief when he turns back to Hosea. “Oh yeah. I found it.”

Hosea lets out a quick chuckle as he pats Arthur on the shoulder. “Good. I knew you would.”

Hosea decides not to say anything to Arthur about the conversation he had with you earlier today, fearing that your outburst may deter Arthur from going ahead with his intentions. It’s taken so long and so much to push Arthur to get to this point. Hosea doesn’t want his son to get discouraged now, not when he’s so close to a chance at being happy.

Since you are not here, Arthur decides to leave the box in your tent for you. He’s afraid that if he approaches you directly with it, you’ll end up in an argument before he can even give you the damn thing. He desperately needs for this to go well. He walks over and stands outside of your tent, hesitating before he goes in. But with a nod of reassurance to himself, he enters your personal space.

Arthur looks about for a moment, taking in the surroundings. Everywhere he looks in the modest space, there’s evidence of you. The faint scent of the lavender oil you use in your hair permeates the area. Arthur’s eyes roll back into his head as he deeply inhales the intoxicating flowery aroma. 

Along the side, your cot is neatly made up with a knit afghan laid across it. The spread is a beautiful green color, but the pattern and knot work are not quite so perfect. The knots are clumpy and lopsided and unevenly distributed. He chuckles as he remembers when you made it, trying your hand at the domestic task. ‘It’s not perfect, but at least I’ll be warmer at night,’ you said when you proudly showed him the efforts of your work.

There are a few books stacked on an overturned crate-turned-end table by your pillow, a few of which have multiple bookmarks and pieces of paper haphazardly sticking out, indicating that you are in the middle of reading multiple at a time. The small table in the corner has a bowl with women’s baubles such as combs and other simple jewelry, every one of which Arthur has seen on your person, the smallest details of your style committed to his memory.

And pinned to the wooden pole in the center of the tent is the flower crown that Jack had made for you, now delicately dried and preserved. Hanging in the center of the brittle greenery, Arthur notices a small piece of paper. He takes a few steps over to take a closer look at it and realizes it's the sketch he did for you. 

It’s a simple drawing of flowers in a meadow, with the sun shining down. He had drawn it while out on one of his jobs and gave it to you. ‘So you'll always have somethin’ pretty to look at, even when things are shit ‘round here’, he had told you. Arthur can’t believe you’ve kept it all this time. The idea that something so trivial and insignificant that he had done was so special to you makes his heart swell to the point of bursting. He lifts his hand, his dust-coated fingers affectionately catching the edge of the paper. He then looks down to the box in his hands.

“God, I hope this works,” he whispers. He steps over to your cot, bending down to gently set the box upon your blanket. He slowly stands and stares at it, taking a last moment to contemplate his decision. “Alright, then.” 

And with his habitual saying being muttered into the comfortable silence in finality, Arthur takes his leave of your tent and heads over to his own.

Meanwhile, you have headed over to the small town of Middleton with Mr. Pearson. The cook had needed to head in to the post office to mail a letter, and to see if he had received any in return. You casually excuse yourself from his company as the wagon rolls to a stop, explaining that you need a few things in the local general store. Pearson pays you no mind, but what you really need is to see if the local shopkeep knows of anyone traveling towards Silverton. Since this place of business has the most traffic of varied clientele, you figure if anyone knows the dealings of the town, this is where you’ll find out.

As fortune would have it, after chatting with the store owner, you find out that the local lumberyard is making a delivery to Howardsville in the next few days. It’s about 4 miles east of Silverton. You could walk that if you need to. (At this point, you’re not sure if you’ll be taking Blue with you. The horse was a gift to you from Arthur, so technically he does belong to you. But a horse is a highly-valued possession. It would be rather presumptuous to think that you could just take him with you if you left the gang. And the thought of leaving the beautiful animal behind, your beloved Blue, is yet another twist to the phantom knife in your heart. But you have to prepare yourself for any scenario.)

You quickly make your way over to the lumber office after that, and proceed to convince the owner to let you catch a ride with the next delivery heading out. You have a little money saved up and offer to pay your way, which is the only reason the man is allowing it. He is leaving at sunrise in two day’s time. You’ll have to be there at the office door by then, money in-hand, or he is leaving without you.

And so, you put things into place to make your exit from the Van Der Linde gang.

When you arrive back at the camp, Arthur is sitting by the fire and doesn’t say anything, but carefully watches you out of the corner of his eye as you help Mr. Pearson put away the wagon and secure the horse. Arthur notices that you are mindful to keep your head down and eyes averted from everyone. There is a touch of anxiousness to you that catches his attention, but he figures it's just the tension that has been growing around you for weeks now.

He takes a deep breath and pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it, striking the match on the bottom of his boot, and keeping the brim of his hat discreetly pulled down over his face.

Here it is, this is it. Arthur is not sure how you are going to react to his “grand gesture” as Mary-Beth called it, but he's hoping that this will at least open the door and allow him to speak to you again.

When you’re done securing the wagon, you head straight to your tent, avoiding everyone just as you have been doing of late. You draw back the corners of the canvas and push through the opening, quickly pulling it shut behind you. You still can’t believe that you’re leaving. And you really don’t want to risk talking to anyone about it right now, either, until you can fully wrap your head around the concept. God willing, you just need to avoid Arthur until then, for fear of losing your nerve and any strength you have left to go through with your plan.

You tiredly pull the strap of your small tan satchel off of your shoulder and set it on your little table. A long, exhausted sigh rattles your bones and your eyelids feel like stones as you run your hands over your hair before they link behind your neck, cradling the tense muscles there.

“Well, I guess this is it,” you mutter to yourself.  You’ve made your decision and set things into motion. You turn about and survey your belongings, noting that you’ll have to discreetly start to pack to avoid causing a scene. Fortunately, you don’t have much to begin with.

You don’t notice it at first. But then, you catch it out of the corner of your eye. Something sitting on your cot. You do a double-take as you instantly recognize the wooden box. Suddenly, it’s like seeing a ghost and having the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes go wide before arching in confusion. You gingerly walk towards your cot and slowly lower yourself to sit, eyes glued to the item as if afraid to touch it, lest it not be real at all. Eventually, your trembling hands reach out and set the box on your lap, hesitating before you open it. Your fingers hover over the woodgrain, gently tracing along the smooth surface. Slowly lifting the lid, you let out a small gasp, your hand springing up to cover your mouth, as tears begin to gather in the corners of your (y/e/c) eyes.

Fingers that continue to slightly shake trace over the contents inside the box, items that you remember with such fondness. It’s as if a hundred butterflies are swarming inside you right now, their gossamer wings fluttering against your sides to escape. 

The pads of your fingertips slowly rub over the polished surface of the pocket watch before you collect it into your fingertips. The silver is cool and comforting to the touch. A vision of your father’s hands with his long, slender fingers holding it instantly pops into your mind, as he used to absentmindedly fidget with it whenever his hands sat idle.

Setting the watch back down, you then move to pick up your mother’s locket and affectionately rub the silver charm between your thumb and fingers. The etching has worn over the years, as she never took the piece off, but the tiny emerald chip that is inset on the front still gleams like a new spring leaf.

But it’s the photo of your parents that puts you over the edge. You smile to yourself as you stifle a slight sob as you look upon the faces of your family, faces that you never thought you’d look upon again. Your heart is overwhelmed with both sadness and joy at the same time.

You simply sit and stare at the print in your hands, soaking in their images as if searing it into your brain once more. You pour over every detail of your parents’ faces, gazing at their features, silently saying hello to long-lost loved ones. You close your eyes as you gently cradle the image to your chest over your heart as a single tear breaks free from your lashes and gently rolls down your freckled cheek.

Suddenly, your eyes fly open as you realize that you have no idea how the box got here. Well, you have a suspicion. Damn him! This is the very shit that drives you insane. What in the hell are you supposed to make of this, now?

Sniffling back your emotions, you quickly put the contents back into the box, carefully setting it back down onto your pillow. With a fire in your stomach, you rush out of the tent and briskly walk to the center of camp where everyone is sitting.

“Where did that box in my tent come from?” Your eyes dart around the circle of gang members, waiting for someone to confess. Your slight frame just vibrates with energy right now, wound up like a hornet.

“What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” asks Abigail, looking up at you from her seat at the fire.

“The wooden box in my tent,” you clarify, tossing a finger back behind you towards your personal area. “Who brought it here?” Your eyes flash like fire as you scan the small crowd gathered around, demanding an answer. “Who?”

“I did,” admits Arthur quietly from where he’s sitting on one of the crates. He finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt to the ground as he stands. “I know you’ve been unhappy, missing your family and all. So I thought I’d see if I could find something of theirs for you.”

You stand silently, your eyes locked onto Arthur, not really sure what to say. What in the actual hell is happening right now?! Damn him. Yet another example of mixed signals and confusing cues. Your head spins and feels like it will explode from trying to figure this out, taking your heart along with it.

“That’s where you’ve been all this time?” asks Mary-Beth, looking at Arthur. “You rode all the way back to Rosewood?”

Arthur nods in confirmation, but when he takes note of your hard and intense gaze on him, he’s not sure what to make of it. Uncomfortable under your stare, he tilts his head down with the brim of his hat covering his face and eyes again.

“I can’t believe you did that,” says Abigail, shocked.

You have been quietly watching Arthur during this exchange, but he won’t look at you now. He can’t get a read on your reaction. You almost seem…angry? But truth be told, you kind of are. You have already made up your mind to go. It was an agonizing decision to make, but you have finally made it and already started the difficult mental process to sever your ties here. You have already put your plans in motion to leave the gang. And now this.

And then suddenly, your whole body relaxes in defeat. Your face twists into something almost akin to exhausted disappointment as you simply give in under a wave of emotion. Like you had said to Hosea earlier, you are done with the fighting.

A measured sigh escapes your lips. You slowly, but deliberately, begin to walk over towards Arthur. You don’t break stride, but silently walk right up to him. He looks up at you, flinching slightly as you get closer, as if he expects you to slap him. (You've been so angry at him lately, it wouldn’t surprise him if you did.)

Without hesitation, you firmly cup Arthur’s face with both of your hands, squeezing just a bit so that he can’t run away from you. And you pull him down to you and kiss him deeply in front of everyone in the camp.

You kiss him without warning or permission, and without premeditation, simply because you can’t fathom doing anything else at this very moment.

Time stops the moment your lips touch his. Everything goes silent and dark like the vast universe filled with its blanket of stars. The only thing that registers to you is the feeling of Arthur in your hands.

In the background, there are hoots and hollers, clapping and cheering. John leans into Uncle exclaiming “Told you!” and elbows the older man in the ribs, who reluctantly hands John $5 out of his pocket.

After several moments of your heated lips pressed against his, you release Arthur’s cheeks and tightly wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling him to you in a strong embrace, unwilling to let go of him just yet.

Arthur’s hands land softly at your waist as he hides his face into your neck. A tidal wave of relief washes over him, crashing down all in one fell swoop. You are not mad at him anymore. You are not leaving. And he has you in his arms where you belong. Finally.

Arthur slowly pulls back from you, searching for any misgivings. But to his relief, he is only met with the sunshine of your face. There are a million things that he wants to tell you, as the words he hasn’t said all this time are the very ones you need to hear. But it’s not the type of thing he wants an audience for, as he’s suddenly very aware of where the two of you are right now.

His hand lifts from your hip to wrap around your bicep, his thumb drawing over the muscle as he leans in closer to you. His gaze briefly sweeps over the small group of onlookers before coming back to you and whispers “Wanna get out of here and go someplace more private to talk?” His gravelly voice is soft and quiet for only you to hear as the lines around his eyes wrinkle delightfully with a smile.

“More than anything.” Your large doe-eyes shine up at him along with a smile that beams back brightly. Arthur grins, his hand now moving to caress your cheek, reassuring both you and himself that this is really happening.

“C’mon,” he encourages you with a slight head tilt. And with his hand at the small of your back, he gently nudges you away from everyone else.

You both abruptly turn away from the group of gawking eyes and giggling whispers to head towards the horses, walking shoulder to shoulder. You catch each other’s gaze shyly, a few giggles of your own erupting from your lips. When your hands casually brush against each other’s, you reach over and take Arthur’s large hand into yours, wrapping your delicate fingers around his. Arthur looks down at the sight of your hands entwined. He lifts your hands up to his lips and places an ever-so soft kiss along the backs of your fingers, making you catch your breath for just a moment over such a simple, yet affectionate gesture.

Buck is already saddled, and Arthur is too impatient to wait to saddle Blue, so he carefully lifts you up onto the back of his horse before he swings himself up as well. And the two of you head out of camp together.

As Buck quickly sets himself into a brisk canter, you wrap your arms around Arthur’s waist, pressing your torso against the warmth of his back. The bulk of him is just so comforting to you. Sure, you’ve ridden together like this before, but now there is a profound difference in the way your arms settle around him. Your face sets upon his back between his shoulder blades as you close your eyes and smile blissfully. Arthur hums contently in response, laying his own strong hand along yours as they link across his ribs in front of him.

Arthur decides to take you to your favorite hunting spot that the two of you like to use. It is nestled deep in a thicket of dense forest, about twenty minutes outside the camp, and there’s an old trapper-style, lean-to shelter there.

It’s quiet out as the sun starts to set, and the only sounds in the woods are the chattering of the squirrels and squawking of the birds as you reach your destination. Arthur pulls Buck to a halt at the edge of the trees, his watchful eyes quickly scanning the camp to make sure it’s safe before letting you down. He’s waited this long for this moment, he just wants everything to be perfect.

“Stay here a minute while I take a quick look around. Let’s make sure no one else is holed up here,” he says over his shoulder. Arthur dismounts, pulling his revolver from his holster as he walks about the small make-shift camp. You happily watch him move about, your cheeks dusting with color at how protective he is of you. Your bottom lip folds up between your teeth in quiet excitement, hardly able to contain yourself in anticipation of finally being alone together with all that previous nonsense now removed.

After he walks the perimeter and deems it safe for you, he waves you over. You flick your heels to nudge Buck forward a few paces until you are now in the middle of the camp. Arthur walks over, reaching his hands up to you to help you down from the back of the horse. His hands tenderly find your hips and your own hands find his broad shoulders as he lowers you down. Your eyes never leave his face, causing him to blush under your longing gaze.

He gives you an awkward grin and a brief chuckle as he walks Buck over to the side of the small clearing, tying him to a tree for the time being. You stand perfectly still in anticipation, watching his every move, until he walks back to you, rubbing his hands together nervously.

“So…” Arthur stands in front of you, taking off his hat and playing with the brim nervously, not really sure what to say or do now.

“So...” you grin at him with a little shrug. “Here we are. Finally.” You step closer to him, smiling coyly.

You stand there, staring into each other's eyes, knowing that this is the turning point. Whatever happens after this moment, move forward or walk away, it changes the relationship forever. There is no going back to what you were before. That’s not even an option anymore. One way or another, it's going to change for the two of you.

Arthur replaces his hat back upon his head, freeing his fingers which fidget nervously as they find their way to your hips again and slowly pull you in closer to him. Your palms come to rest softly on his chest as you look up adoringly into his crystal-blue eyes.

”Kiss me, Arthur.” Your angelic voice is a yearning whisper that dances in his ears, making his heart skip a beat.

He cups your face with his right hand, drawing his thumb along your check bone. The skin there is oh so smooth, like porcelain. His other hand wraps around your bicep as your own hands still sit upon his chest, resting right over his heart. Your fingers play gracefully with the fabric of his worn shirt, causing goosebumps to ripple across his skin underneath. He slowly dips his head down, his lips hovering close to yours before he presses them together.

The kiss is soft at first. And his lips are just as you imagined. Although slightly chapped, the skin is soft as flower petals, the muscles strong underneath, as his mouth encompasses your own.

The kiss isn't too long, just enough to indicate the romantic intent behind it. He pulls back from you and notices that your eyes are still shut, savoring the moment. Your lids are slow to flutter open and peer up into his vivid eyes, which are staring expectantly back at you and waiting for some sign of doubt or regret. But to his relief, he finds none.

When Arthur sees your smile rise up like a sunrise over the horizon, shining its light and warmth upon everything in its path, he rapidly pulls you in for another kiss. He’s desperate not to hurt or offend you, but when your mouth opens slightly, working over his own, and your tongue pushes across in search of his, sweeping across his plump bottom lip, he reciprocates, suddenly hungry and needy. His hand moves from your cheek to cradle the back of your head while his other arm snakes around your waist to pull you tighter against him.

He should feel ashamed at how he holds your hips to his own, but Arthur is feeling selfish right now, giving in to his own desires for once. Your own hands fist around the soft cotton of his shirt, greedily pulling him down to you. You push your hips into his, desperate to be as close to the man as you can get. The symphony of heaving breaths and the wet sound of lips rolling over each other fills the air. A soft whimper, a barely audible moan, delightfully escapes your chest like a bird freed from its cage.

Your heart leaps at how there is such a fine line created between love and madness with just a simple thing as a kiss. You are a bit of a hungry, hot mess inside, aching impatiently for him, waiting for his hands and lips to begin to roam your skin and curves. But yet, you also adore how focused those same hands and needing lips slowly knead and nip at your tender, soft flesh right now.

Arthur’s fingers clench slightly with restraint at the nape of your neck. When you both reluctantly pull away from each other to fill your lungs with air again, he leans his forehead to yours, eyes closed to regain composure. He exhales slowly, shuddering just slightly with measured breaths.

“I want you.” His voice, low and hungry, yet definitive, cuts through the warm air between you. He needs you to hear it, but more importantly, he needs you to know it.

A soft laugh of relief huffs quietly out of your nose at the statement. You smile slightly, so happy to finally hear him say the words out loud after all of this time.  

“I want you too, Arthur,” you breathlessly whisper. You lift your face away from his to look into his alluring eyes again. “So very much.”

He searches your features, digging deep, for any last minute hesitation. When he sees none, Arthur kisses you yet again, this time passionate, but not as desperate. His large hands find their way to your back as he pulls you into him even tighter than before, wrapping you up against him. You can feel his hand splay-out under your shoulders, while the other trails down towards the small of your back.

The feeling of his wide and strong body against yours makes your knees weak, and heat begins to build in your abdomen. Your arms rush to extend past his barrel-chest and over his shoulders to fold around his neck, matching the force Arthur is using to keep you close. Your arm curls up to cradle his head, fingers entwining in his hair, which feels like heaven to him. While your other arm moves to firmly wrap around his shoulders, your lips never part. Arthur notices how your knee bends slightly to scissor between his thighs.

The two of you stay like this for several heated moments, finally taking the time to feel one another, to experience what you have both been sorely longing for all this time.

The connection is massive and electric; it’s almost oppressive, making it hard for you to breathe. This feels different than it did previously. Before, it was a sweet longing, yet held back by the tethers of impropriety and notions of “never-to-be”. But now those ropes of restraint have been cast off, tossed to the wayside, allowing free-reign for you both to push the limits and boundaries. A herd of wild horses couldn’t pull the two of you apart right now. Arthur would sooner lose his hand than release his grasp of you. And you would rather be blinded than gaze at anything other than his handsome face at this moment.

When he pulls away again, you chase his lips with a pout, clearly not wanting the intimacy between you to stop. Arthur smiles down at you, gently moving a piece of your hair out of your eye with his fingertip.

“I’ll get a fire going. Why don’t you get the bedroll from my saddle and get comfortable, hmm?”

*I’ve seen this image posted in multiple places on Pintrest. I tried to track down the owner, but can’t locate him. If anyone knows @bushcraft_jack, let me know!

A/N: Sorry if this one does not have the spark that the previous 2 did. But, I think you all know what’s coming next. Stay tuned for Part 4.

[ssinnerplazahotel]

𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙚&𝙀

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter One*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC:5k

Warning: age gap, eventual smut, fluff

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Masterlist: Prologue

YOU WEREN’T YOURSELF WITHOUT YOUR MOTHER. You didn’t think you would be yourself ever again. You carried a piece of her with you—a silk scarf wrapped over your head and around your neck, patterned in a floral paisley print. The red matched the skirt you wore. You had purposely chosen a blue blouse that day, being that you were a true believer that the clothes you wore should reflect the way you felt on the inside. You, of course, couldn’t always abide by that rule. If you were to, you’d be wearing blue all the time. You carried your mother in the hairstyle that she had sent you to the nearest hairdresser to have done. She had the appointment and style picked before you even knew you were going to Memphis.

“If you look your best you feel your best,” She had said. As if three hours in a salon would make you feel any better or different about your situation. “You’re gonna look just like Donyale Luna!”

You may have looked your best the day you arrived at your aunt's house in Memphis, but you felt nothing short of miserable.

“You’ll sleep in Chris’ old room,” Dawn mused as she led you through the single-story house. You tried to look around to take in everything you saw but there wasn’t much to look at. Nothing special caught your eye in the plain, empty house. Apart from the old choral sofa in the living room and a few dull paintings on the walls, the house was minimal. “He stays on the road fixing houses most of the year. So it’ll just be us the majority of the time.”

You tried to smile as you walked over to the twin-sized bed in the middle of the room. It creaked under the weight of your single suitcase. You surveyed the room. Similar to what you saw of the house before it was very minimal. There was a tall rosewood dresser opposite the bed and a wardrobe in the corner. Above the bed was an old, washed-out painting of a dove soaring through the cloudless sky holding an olive branch between its beak. Your eyes lingered on it as Dawn rambled on behind you. Although it would never be your home, you could make the most of it if you genuinely wanted to.

“Thank you, Aunt Dawn, it’s really nice of you to let me stay.”

“You can stay as long as you like.” Dawn smiled at you. “Go ahead and get your things put away, we’re off to work when you’re done.”

“Work?” You asked. You were no stranger to work, not by a long shot. Being the youngest of two, you had been working from a young age. When you were still a small child, your father had taken your brother with him when he left. It wasn’t much of an anomaly, just another part of your life.

You were caught off guard by Dawn’s mention of a job. A job where the two of you would work together no less.

“You didn’t think you’d show up all pretty and get out of earning your keep, did you?”

She laughed. She was quite the comedian when she wanted to be. You usually enjoyed that about her. But right now, when all you wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry, you weren’t in the mood for her jokes.

“I didn’t know, that’s all.” You forced a laugh. “Is there anything I need or~”

“Oh no, everything we need is already there,” Dawn said. “I would leave that scarf, you wouldn’t want it to get dirty.”

“I’ll take it off in the car.” You examined your outfit and wondered if it was suitable for the job. You asked Dawn just what job it was.

“Housekeeping for the Presleys.” She straightened out the collar of your blouse.

“The Presleys?” You repeated—your mind registered the name slowly. It took you all of two seconds to realize who Dawn was referring to. “Elvis Presley?”

Your expression was so shocked it looked like dread.

“You heard of ‘im?” Dawn asked, crossing her arms with a prying smile. “The girls and the women run around here like chickens with they heads cut off since he come back from the service.”

“No.” You quickly changed your answer as you registered the question. “I mean, yes. Who hasn’t?”

“His songs play every day on the radio, especially here in Memphis.” There was an edge of distaste in her tone. “I’m lucky when I can find a station playing anything else.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I like the Elvis I know. I don’t know about that person everyone makes him out to be.”

Dawn always had some elaborate explanation for everything. You could always count on her to have some sort of mystery behind her words.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t change?” You asked, but the question was futile as you were already in the car headed to Graceland. “I feel overdressed.”

“You’re fine. The Presleys don't believe in being overdressed.” Dawn laughed as she took another right onto a long curving road that led right to the front of the house. You couldn’t deny the anxiety forming in the pit of your stomach as you eyed the house through the passenger window. You felt yourself starting to regret ever coming. Before you could say anything you were already climbing out of the car.

“Ms. Dawn.” A male voice called. Your head snapped immediately in its direction but you relaxed when you saw that it wasn’t him. Instead you saw a lanky guy with wavy blonde curls, the sides gelled away from his face. “I’ll take her off your hands a while.” He held his hand out with a smile.

“Don’t get lost pulling her around back again,” Dawn said pointedly—handing over the keys to her car. “I’ll know if you did.”

“You know everything.” He went to climb into the car, his eyes stopping on you before he waved his hand in a halfhearted hello. You barely returned the wave before he was climbing into the car and driving away.

“That’s Joel, the Klatten’s boy.” Dawn led the way inside as she spoke. “He likes to pull the car around. His dad’s a mechanic so he practices under the hood from time to time to try to impress him. They own the dealership in town. You wouldn’t know it.”

You nodded your head. It was hard not to focus on the anticipation building in your gut. You weren’t exactly a fan—you or your friends never bought any of his records and you hadn’t bothered seeing any of his films. Yet, you were absolutely trembling at the thought of meeting him. At the thought of seeing him with your own two eyes.

Once inside you braced yourself for the encounter. You didn’t want to be caught off guard by his sudden appearance. It wasn’t until you saw him barreling down the stairs with two other guys hot on his trail that you realized that nothing could have prepared you for seeing him for the first time. Even as he roughhoused with the other guys and shoved them the rest of the way down the stairs you felt his presence. You couldn’t look away. Even if you wanted to, you were too struck by his beauty. You didn’t want to miss a second of his smiling face as he reached the bottom of the stairs. His eyes met your Dawn’s, he offered a smile and a polite head nod. You almost thought he was going to completely ignore your existence. You would’ve been perfectly fine if he had. But he stopped short when he saw you—sending the others crashing into him.

“Let’s go, E. It starts in half an hour, we’ll never get there in time.”

“Hold on a minute.” Elvis held his hand up, his eyes somehow still on yours. He turned and headed towards you. “Ms. Dawn, how are you?”

He spoke in a deep southern accent as he stalked over. As they exchanged pleasantries you took a moment to quickly look him over. You forced yourself not to stare, it was nearly impossible when everything about him caught your eye. Everything from the forest green sweater he wore to the way he towered over you with his hands in his pockets. Something about his stature almost looked shy, but you quickly dismissed that thought. Elvis Presley was anything but shy—you didn’t need to be a fan to know that much.

“Who might this be, Dawny?” His voice said, ripping you from your thoughts before they went haywire. You met his eyes briefly—you couldn’t hold his gaze as your aunt introduced you.

“My niece,” She said, putting her arm over your shoulder. “ She’s gonna be staying with me for a while. I figured she could help us out around here.”

Elvis agreed—his eyes shifting to you again. “Can always use an extra pair of hands I s’pose. It’s nice to meet you, honey.”

“You too.” You felt as though your body was betraying you in the way it reacted to him. The hairs on your arms stood at attention, your palms were tacky, and there was an endless shiver running down your spine. You had never experienced such a fierce and immediate attraction.

“Pretty scarf.” He nodded at the piece of material still wrapped around your head.

“I meant to take it off.” You rushed to remove the scarf. He stopped you with a wave of his hand.

“Leave it.” His lips twitched into a smile. “It compliments you.”

You let your hand fall away from the scarf–staring up at him with the overwhelming urge to cower under his eyes. Not because you were afraid, but because every second his eyes were on you it felt like you would spontaneously combust.

“Let’s go, EP.”

Elvis’ smile widened and his eyes darted across your face once more. You couldn’t tell if he was aware of what he was doing to you, or if he was simply waiting for you to thank him for his compliment.

“I-I gotta get goin. Daddy’ll get all the paperwork and stuff figured out for your niece here. It shouldn’t be an issue havin her hired.” His eyes finally left yours. He and Dawn shared a few more words that sounded muffled to your ears before he finally made his exit. “Take care, Ms. Dawn.”

“Thank you, you too, Mr. Presley.” Your aunt responded as she headed further into the house, expecting you to follow.

“It was nice meeting you, honey,” He said again. You looked over your shoulder at him briefly before scurrying after Dawn. You found her in the kitchen tying an apron around her waist.

“Look at you, sweating like a sinner in church.”.

“Stop it. I’m not.”

“Mhm. Don’t you go getting any ideas. I work here, I don’t need you messing this up for me.”

“I don’t have any ideas.”

You tied the apron that she had handed you over your skirt. She reached under your chin to unravel your scarf and deflated a bit as she placed it in your hand.

“You just stay out of trouble and keep a low profile. You’ll blend right in.”

You tied the scarf around a loop on your apron, keeping it there as you followed Dawn’s directions. You did everything she said. You stayed out of trouble and kept your head down for the day. Even when supper came around and everyone gathered in the dining area, you didn’t meet Elvis’ eyes again. Although there were a few times that you swore you felt his on you. It must’ve been all in your head.

After a few unfamiliar glances from the other residents, you seemed to blend in perfectly just as Dawn had expected. As you were leaving that night the two of you ran into Elvis again. He was leaning against one of the pillars outside—alone.

Your aunt’s words rang through your head as you avoided eye contact, nodding politely when he wished the two of you a good night.

***

“There are more dishes up there than in the kitchen.” Dawn motioned for you to follow her to the kitchen. “I’d get the two confused if I didn’t know any better.”

You hummed in acknowledgment of her words but didn’t give a verbal response. You got to work putting the dishes in the sink. There was never much conversation between you and your aunt, not like there was when you were younger. You stayed out of her way as much as you stayed out of everyone else’s. She usually left you alone when she saw that you weren’t interested in conversation, which you were grateful for.

As you were busy polishing the last of the glasses you felt another presence enter the room, not your aunt or any of the other help. Despite your brief encounter months ago, you still recognized the musk of his cologne and the click of his shoes as he walked—his feet dragging the ground with every other step. You turned in time to watch him walk across the kitchen, his eyes meeting yours before you turned away.

“Excuse me,” You muttered. You dried your hands and made your exit. Or at least you attempted to.

“Don’t mind me, doll.” Elvis stopped you. “I’m just grabbin a glass.”

You hesitantly turned back to the sink. You stood there unmoving for a moment before coming back to your senses. Your heart rate increased rapidly as you forced yourself to continue shining the glass in your hands.

He said your name suddenly. “Right?” He wondered, pulling a glass from the cupboard. His voice startled you.

You saw him coming closer and felt the urge to move away. “Can I help you, Mr. Presley?”

“Elvis.”

“Can I help you, Elvis?”

He lowered his head and chuckled shortly. He walked over and stood beside you by the sink. He smiled as he turned the faucet. “Nah, baby, you just keep doin what you’re doin.”

You turned your attention back to the dishes. You felt his eyes boring into you but you didn’t meet them. You expected him to—or at the very least hoped he would—leave the kitchen after running water into his glass. He didn’t. He leaned against the sink with one arm folded in while he drank the water—making no move to leave.

“Tell me somethin,” He propositioned. He swirled the water in the glass, twirling it around a few times before stopping—sending the liquid spinning through the glass weightlessly. “Why is it that every time you see me you get all spooked and run away?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Pres~”

“Elvis is fine.”

You turned your head in his direction. You almost mistook his insistent tone for being upset, but you saw that he wasn’t when you met his sapphire gaze. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean, Elvis.”

“You just did it.” Elvis laughed. “Dropped everything you was doin and ran for the hills.”

“I wasn’t running,” You denied. He laughed at you. You felt yourself almost become flustered by the way he tipped his head back slightly to laugh at you. There was something infectious about his laughter. Even in your flustered state, you couldn’t be upset. “I wasn’t, I’m…trying to not get in your way.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, chuckling slightly as his laughter came to an end. “You scared of me?”

“No, it’s just not my job to be in your way.” You tried to remain professional, focusing on the glasses you were putting away instead of his influx of inquiries.

“What kind of accent is that?” Elvis asked, completely ignoring your response to his question.

“Wilmington.”

“You’re from North Carolina?”

You were shocked by how much that piqued his interest. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” He asked, his eyebrow quirking. “I know a lot of great spots in North Carolina.”

You didn’t engage in the conversation. You reached for the top shelf of the cupboard, having to stand as high as you could on your tiptoes.

“Do you want me to~”

“No,” You said quickly, abandoning the leftover glasses on the counter. “I’ll put them away later.”

“I don’t mind,” Elvis insisted, setting his glass down and stepping forward.

“Mr. Presley, my aunt thinks it’s best if I keep my distance a-and stay out of your way,” You blurted—stepping away from him.

“Keep your distance? From me?” He asked, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“N-Not only from you,” You said. “From everyone.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Dawn told you to keep your head down and stay out of trouble. She wasn’t solely talking about Elvis then.

“Why she tell you that?” Elvis asked with a troubled expression. “Dawn’s like family around here.”

You shrugged your shoulders, fidgeting with the front of your apron as you avoided his eyes.

“How old are you, birdie?” He asked suddenly. Birdie—he must’ve thought you were skittish and fragile.

“Seventeen.” You answered after a moment.

“Ohh.” Elvis drawled as if he’d figured it all out. “She thinks you’re just a baby.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Oh, I can tell. But you are to her.”

You looked away, you felt the warmth of the room suddenly. “Either way…I think it’s best if I do what she tells me. So I’ll stay out of your way.”

“What if I don’t want you to?” He stepped closer—drumming his fingers along the counter.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“If I want you out of the way I want it to be my decision. And I don’t think I do.”

You had to check if he was serious. He had a bit of a smirk on his face. His eyes flitted to where his fingers still traced the edge of the counter before settling on yours again.

“If you asked me to leave you be I’d try, of course,” He continued, moving impossibly close to you. Your breath hitched. “But I have to say, I haven’t got much practice at doin what I’m told.”

“Gotta start somewhere.” You didn’t mean it as a joke, but that didn’t stop him from releasing a deep chuckle. He reached out and took ahold of the scarf that was still tucked securely into your apron. Your mind short-circuited as you watched him finger the material. “I think I should listen to Dawn.”

He nodded, his eyes focused on the scarf as he ran his fingers over the patterned silk. You wanted to step back. You were too close. “Good girl,” He finally said. Officially knocking the wind from your lungs. For a moment you thought he was commenting on the fact that you had kept the scarf around. His next words, however, cleared that thought right up. “You should listen to your auntie.”

You didn’t take a breath until he walked away, watching dizzily as he grabbed his discarded glass and dumped the rest of the water out. He sighed heavily as he set the glass in the sink, staring down at it for a moment before turning on his heel and heading out of the kitchen.

“Don’t mind what I was sayin before.” He stopped short and faced you. “I was just messin. I don’t want you in any trouble with Dawn, she can be—y’know.”

“It’s okay.” Although he wasn’t apologizing something about his tone seemed apologetic. “Take care, Mr. Presley.”

“Thank you, honey, you too,” He said with a final smile before he was gone.

You released a tense breath and leaned against the counter. You removed your scarf from your apron with unsteady hands and stuffed it in your pocket. Pushing it down—all the way down. Along with everything you felt at that moment.

“Just push it down,” You told yourself. “Way, way down.”

***

“A live-in position?”

Your aunt had professed the news so excitedly when she first broke it. She smiled wildly and packed the house up in a hurry. She went on and on about how she would be able to save and buy a new house with the new position. Room and board and a steady paycheck weren’t things you would ever expect her to decline. Had it been offered by anyone but Elvis Presley.

“I might even save up enough to pay off the car.” Dawn beamed as she taped off another box. “You could work fewer hours, and start studying for the placement test at the school. Like we talked about before.”

You made yourself busy with helping her pack everything away. You tried to distract yourself from the thoughts that ran through your head as you got everything ready for storage. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but dread the change that was coming. You absolutely dreaded the thought of not leaving Graceland every night. You especially dreaded not having every other weekend away from the house completely. Especially now that Elvis, despite claiming that he didn’t want you in trouble with Dawn, had somehow made it a habit to coincidentally show up wherever you were in the house. Of course, you tried to write it off as all in your head, but you couldn’t make it up.

Despite this inner turmoil, you celebrated your aunt’s promotion gladly. You knew that it was something that would make a huge difference in her life and that was enough for you to push away your complaints. You had your personal things moved into one of the empty rooms of the house and from there the rest was history.

You continued with your daily chores, wrapping up around eight as usual. Instead of leaving, you enter your room on the second floor of the house. You were nervous that first night, Dawn’s room was on a completely different side of the house. You felt secluded from the only person you knew out of all the people living there. At times, you wished you could call up your mom and tell her all your worries, but you tried not to worry her with any bad news—only good. You wanted her to think you were happy here, even though you weren’t.

You gave up on sleeping after tossing and turning for a couple of hours. You got out of bed and wrapped yourself up in your coat, adjusting the scarf on your head before walking out of the room. You could hear a lot of commotion still happening around the house despite the early hour of the morning. A few people lingered downstairs, too many to pay you any mind as you slipped out the front door. You sighed at the silence you were met with. You walked a few steps, leaning against one of the pillars with your arms crossed. You were exhausted, but you knew that being in a new place would keep you up. That and the noise.

You were done fighting it.

The front door opened again as you were standing there, and you didn’t even have to turn your head to know who it would be. He didn’t say anything as he leaned against the opposite pillar, crossing his arms in a similar manner.

“Are you keeping tabs on me?” You asked after he didn’t break the silence himself—he usually did.

“Nah, I saw you slip out.” He shifted towards you. “The noise keepin you awake?”

“A little,” You answered honestly. “I’m not a huge fan of new places either.”

“New places?” Elvis asked incredulously, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been workin here for months.”

“It’s different now.” You found his eyes already watching you—they usually were. “I can’t get away from you as easily now that I live here.”

“Maybe you’d find out that I’m not so bad if you stuck around for more than a minute.” He seemed to be enjoying the light conversation. You figured it was because he wasn’t used to you saying more than a few words to him at a time.

“Everywhere I go, somehow, you’re right there,” You said. Maybe it was because you were delirious and sleep-deprived, but you found yourself not caring what your aunt might think as you bantered with Elvis. “Why is that?”

“I like watching you,” He admitted. “I’m tryna figure you out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at that—hiding the smile on your face. When you lifted your head you were met with an astonished smile.

“She laughs,” Elvis stated as if it was an anomaly that he wasn’t yet aware of.

“What?” You asked, though you heard his words clearly in the dead of the night.

“I’ve been watching and you hardly ever smile, you never laugh,” He stated, tilting his head. “I was starting to think you didn’t have it in you.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, you knew you couldn’t respond with the truth. You were already pushing the boundary you had so vehemently tried to uphold by carrying on with this conversation. You couldn’t possibly wreck everything by actually opening up to him about your mom and the move to Memphis that you still were acclimating to.

“A little girl like you should be laughing all the time.” He continued after your silence.

“I’m not a little girl,” You said after another beat of silence. “And what do you expect me to do? Laugh while I dust your end tables?”

“Aw, birdie, don’t get cross now,” He chuckled. There that nickname was again—birdie. “I just wanna know what goes on inside that pretty head of yours.”

“Nothing that concerns you.” Your walls came back up as quickly as you had let them down.

“I see you goin outta your way to take care of everyone and to make everyone comfortable,” He started again, you weren’t sure if the man had ever tried to catch a hint in his life. “Who’s takin care of you?”

“You’re being inappropriate.”

“You haven’t told me to go away.”

“Go away.”

“No.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, you hardly had any patience so it didn’t take much to wear it thin. “I’m starting to wonder what goes on inside your head, y’know?”

“I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.” He suddenly decided to move towards you.

“Really?” You asked, your tone mildly sarcastic. “Okay then, what do you think your friends inside would have to say if they saw you talking to me right now.”

“I don’t think they’d have anything to say,” He responded. “We’re not doing anything wrong here.”

“I don’t think you believe that.” You had to fight the urge to back away from him as he stepped closer.

“You think I give a shit about what they think?” Elvis asked, his cool eyes hardening under the dim lights outside. “Really?”

“I do,” You said matter-of-factly. It seemed like the air thinned with every step he took, and your legs became more unsteady beneath you. “Or at least I think you should.”

“I don’t care and I’m not gonna start.” He stood close enough now to place his hand beside your head on the pillar you were leaning against. He leaned down to meet your eyes. “Is that why you’re so nervous all the time? Because you’re afraid of what they think of you?”

“They don’t think of me, Elvis, that’s my point.” Your voice was hardly steady as you forced yourself to keep still. “The only time people like that, or people like you, think of someone like me is when a chore is left undone. Or when you make a mess and you need someone to clean it up. That’s why I don’t understand what you want with me.”

He spoke your name and you were genuinely shocked. He had rarely called you anything outside of ‘honey‘ or ‘birdie’ in the months that you knew him—you thought he’d forgotten it. You stiffened when you felt his cool fingers gently slip under your chin but you let him lift your head to meet his eyes. “W-When I think of you…baby, that’s not what I’m thinkin about. When I look at you that’s not all I see. I can’t help that I’m drawn to you—that I want you. I want to know who you are, I want to know what you think, and how you feel. Since I first laid eyes on you, you've been on my mind~ b-but not for any of those reasons.”

You were too overwhelmed. He was too close. His words sent the blood rushing from your head. There were tears in your eyes but you didn’t feel like crying, too much was happening all at once and you weren’t exactly sure how you got here when the two of you were joking a second ago. You stumbled away from him, trying to make a break for the door but failing as he steadied you with his hands on your waist.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” He said. He kept his hands around you until he was sure you wouldn’t sink to the ground. “I-I’m sorry, I-I-I shouldn’t’ve…I don’t know.”

You closed your eyes in an attempt to force away your tears, you were having a hard time processing his words. You didn’t understand where all his feelings were coming from or why he was feeling them at all. “It’s a lot…”

“I know,” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as if he was suddenly embarrassed after his spiel. “I just don’t want you thinking I see you any differently because you’re…”

“You can’t even say it?” You heaved incredulously.

“N-No, I’m t-trying not to say the wrong thing. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, birdie, that’s it, honest.” His leg started to shake restlessly. “Ask anybody who knows me, I-I believe that we’re all created equal. A-And if I cut you right now I know we’d bleed the same~”

“Oh please, Elvis, you don’t have to preach to me~”

“Then stop tryin so goddamn hard to make me out to be something I’m not.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“That’s what it feels like.”

You watched him kick at the ground with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “I don’t think you’re one of them. I just think you know too many of them to ever truly be my friend.”

“What they think shouldn’t reflect who I am,” He said without looking up from his shoes, his voice low. “If I could weed out every goddamn racist I knew or worked for I would, but I’d be left high and dry.”

You fell silent, each of you staring off in thought for what felt like forever before he finally spoke again.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, honey,” He said, turning his back to you. “Go on back in the house.”

“Now you’re telling me to go away?” You teased in an attempt to lessen the tension in the air before you went inside. You felt like you did something to upset him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the conversation that way. “I thought that was my job.”

He looked over his shoulder at you. His features softened when he saw the small smile playing on your lips. “And I thought you were a good girl who did what she was told,” He said. “I guess we were both wrong.”

You shrugged, walking back to your respective pillar and leaning against it. You leaned your head against the post.

“I meant everything I said before, y’know?"

"...I believe you."

***

[pxnsneverland]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 7)

(gif source: bin1es)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,724

warnings/notes:

Chapter 7: A Dance of Threads

As they entered the parlor, Mr. Pembroke's gloved hand rested on the ornate doorknob, holding it open for them. The room was filled with the scents of lavender and sandalwood, and luxurious silk drapes adorned the windows. A grand piano stood in one corner, its polished wood reflecting the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. On the plush velvet couch sat a petite woman with chestnut curls cascading down her back. Her eyes sparkled as she caught sight of Austin, and her rose-colored lips curved into a luminous smile. She gracefully stood up, giving a slight curtsy in greeting.

“Lord Butler,” she greeted.

Austin's tall frame bent at the waist in a fluid motion, releasing Violet's arm before taking Evie's delicate hand in his own. His lips touched her knuckles gently, a gesture of chivalry. "There's no need for such formality, Evie," he coaxed with a charming smile. He turned to Violet, his voice like smooth honey as he asked, "Would you judge me if I didn't adhere to strict etiquette?”

Violet's head shook with a nervous twitch, her lips curling into a slight smile. "No, no," she replied quickly, trying to hide her nerves. Her eyes flicked towards the elegant woman standing before her, dressed in impeccable fashion. This was Evelyn Rosewood, renowned modiste and one of her host's oldest friends. As Violet took in the intricate details of Evelyn's dress and perfectly coiffed hair, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and intimidation in the presence of such talent and grace. She instinctively straightened her posture and smoothed out the wrinkles in her own dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her appearance compared to Evelyn's.

As Violet approached, Evelyn's hand was extended towards her, a warm smile gracing her lips. Her teeth were impeccably straight and gleaming white, adding to her already stunning appearance. The sound of her voice was soft and gentle, like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze, immediately putting Violet at ease. "Miss Everly, it is an absolute pleasure to finally meet you," she said with a soothing cadence. "I have heard so much about you from Austin, and I must say, I am excited to help bring out your natural elegance.”

Violet's hand shook as she hesitated, her fingers hovering just above Evelyn's outstretched hand. She took a deep breath and finally made contact, feeling the gentle warmth of the older woman's palm against her own. "Thank you, Miss Rosewood," she murmured, barely audible. Her rough, calloused hands were not accustomed to such delicate touch and expensive jewelry. “I am not accustomed to such…finery.”

Evelyn's laughter rang out like the tinkling of tiny, silver bells, bringing a smile to Austin's face. She gestured towards a table covered in luxurious fabric swatches and elegant dress designs. "Let's find something that not only fits you, but truly celebrates you," she said.

As Austin watched, it seemed as though Violet was shedding her defensive barriers under Evelyn's gentle and skilled touch. Austin could see the transformation happening before his eyes, like witnessing a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

Evelyn's elegant fingers glided over the intricate patterns of the luxurious fabrics, each one more opulent than the next. She led Violet to a table overflowing with materials fit for a princess. Violet's breath caught as she ran her hand over a midnight blue velvet, its surface shimmering under the soft glow of the room's lighting. Evelyn smiled and nodded at Violet's unspoken question. "That color will accentuate your eyes perfectly," she murmured.

As Evelyn took Violet's measurements, she spoke in a soothing tone about the designs she had in mind. "We'll create a fitted bodice to emphasize your posture and draw attention to your slender figure," she explained, her fingers deftly marking out lines on the fabric.

Violet leaned in, her whole being focused on every word that escaped Evelyn's lips. The room was filled with the scent of freshly-cut roses and the soft glow of flickering candles. As Evelyn spoke, she gestured gracefully with her delicate hands, highlighting each design element with precision. Violet felt like a canvas being painted upon, her emotions shifting with every brushstroke of Evelyn's words.

Across the room, Austin observed silently, his intense gaze fixed on Violet. She could feel his eyes on her, like a comforting warmth spreading through her body. With each step he took, his powerful presence filled the room, commanding attention without saying a word. The sound of his shoes echoed against the marble floors as he moved closer.

"You wear it beautifully, even before it has been crafted," he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. His clothes fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and confident stance. The rich fabric whispered against his skin as he reached out to touch one of the pieces on display.

Violet couldn't help but blush under his intense gaze, feeling like a bird caught in a trance by a skilled predator. But as their eyes met, his smile was warm and reassuring, calming her nerves and making her heart flutter like a butterfly in flight. The air between them was charged with an electricity that neither of them could deny or ignore.

"Thank you, Lord Butler," she responded. She nervously smoothed out her dress, trying to maintain her composure under Lord Butler's intense gaze. His piercing blue eyes remained fixed on hers, unblinking and unwavering. As he took a small step towards her, the fabric of his silk coat rustled in the quiet room. The air seemed charged with electricity as they stood in silence, the tension between them almost palpable. Her heart raced and her palms grew clammy as she struggled to hold his gaze.

"Please, call me Austin.” As Violet stared into Austin's eyes, she noticed the sincerity in his gentle plea. He extended his hand towards her with an open palm, as if inviting her to get closer. She couldn't help but feel drawn to him, his name simple yet holding a hint of mystery that intrigued her.

With each syllable of his name falling from her lips, she felt a sense of familiarity and warmth fill her. "Austin," she repeated softly. A small smile tugged at his lips. A small smile tugged at the corners of Austin's lips as he returned her gaze with fondness

Evelyn crouched in front of Violet, her nimble fingers meticulously arranging the delicate lace and silk fabric around her form. Austin leaned against a nearby column, his intense gaze following every movement of Evelyn's skilled hands. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the grand windows, casting a warm glow on the soft folds of fabric that surrounded them. As Evelyn stepped out to retrieve a forgotten lace trim from her carriage, the room was suddenly filled with a hushed stillness. Austin and Violet were left alone, breathing the only sound in the otherwise silent space.

A hesitant silence hung between them, until finally Austin broke the stillness with a gentle voice. "You seem to be adjusting well," he observed, his words filled with both curiosity and concern.

Violet turned towards him, her heart still fluttering like a delicate butterfly in the aftermath of their quiet intimacy. The warmth of his hand lingered on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Her cheeks bloomed with a rosy blush as she shyly whispered, "Yes, thank you.” The midnight blue velvet cloak draped over her shoulders felt like a regal embrace, its soft fabric caressing her skin and instilling her with an odd sense of empowerment.

A glimmer of relief lit up Austin's tired eyes, softening them and revealing a hint of vulnerability. He released a small sigh, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders."I'm glad. I must admit, I was concerned about how you would find life here... after everything."

"I appreciate your concern, Lord—Austin." A soft, warm smile spread across his face as she corrected herself, addressing him by his proper title. She couldn't help but feel a flutter in her chest at the sight of that charming smile and the way his dimples appeared when he laughed.

"It is unusual," she said, the soft timbre of her voice betraying a hint of fear, “When whispers paint a different picture of you."

A look of deep contemplation washed over Austin's face, his hazel eyes drifting towards the grand piano situated in the corner of the room. Its smooth ebony surface gleamed under the soft glow of the chandelier, intricate carvings along its legs and fallboard hinting at its antiquity and value. With a graceful stride, he made his way towards the piano, his movements fluid and confident as if he had played on this very instrument countless times before. His long fingers gently ran over the keys, eliciting a series of delicate notes that filled the room with a melodic charm. "May I?" he asked, turning back to her with an earnestness that was impossible to resist.

Violet's eyes were fixated on his hands, moving with fluid grace over the piano keys, sending shivers down her spine. “Please.”

Austin gracefully lowered himself onto the piano bench, his fingers hovering over the ivory keys with a practiced ease. He ran his eyes over the black and white pattern just once before he began to play. The melody that poured forth from his fingertips was hauntingly beautiful, each note ringing out with a sense of deep longing and sadness, but also with a glimmer of hope. It seemed to tell a story, one of struggle and hidden dreams, and Violet couldn't help but feel drawn in by its emotive power. As the music swirled around her, she felt as though it were building a bridge between their hearts, connecting them in a way words never could. She was completely captivated.

As the last note faded into the night, Austin turned to face her, his features softened and unguarded. Violet's eyes met his, her own emotions reflecting the rawness in his deep blue gaze. "That was beautiful," she murmured, unable to tear her gaze away from him. A magnetic pull drew her towards him, a sensation she couldn't quite explain but one that felt inexplicably right.

Austin stood up and closed the distance between them. His deep voice was laced with both tenderness and intensity as he spoke."Violet, I never intended for you to be drawn into my world." He paused, his piercing gaze searching her eyes for a glimmer of understanding. "But now that you are here, I find myself hoping you might stay."

Before Violet could respond, the sound of the door clicking open interrupted the charged atmosphere. Evelyn stepped back into the room, her arms laden with spools of delicate lace and a contented smile on her face. She paused momentarily as she noticed the proximity between Austin and Violet, an expression of mild surprise flickering across her features before she swiftly masked it with her customary warm grin.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," Evelyn said, her voice laced with a hint of mirth as she moved towards a nearby table to lay down her materials. "I found just the right trim for your gown, Violet. It’s a vintage lace; very rare."

Austin stepped back from Violet, clearing his throat slightly as he composed himself. "Thank you, Evelyn," he replied, his tone casual but his eyes still holding a flicker of intensity from his earlier words.

Evelyn glanced between them, a knowing look in her eye, but chose to focus on her fabrics instead. "The lace is quite exquisite, really," she continued, unfolding the delicate material for Violet to see. It was beautifully intricate, threaded through with hints of silver that caught the light as it moved. "It'll complement the velvet wonderfully."

Violet was drawn to the lace, appreciative of its beauty but also grateful for a reason to steady her emotions. The cool threads felt comforting under her fingertips. "It’s beautiful, Evelyn. Thank you.”

"Of course, my dear," Evelyn replied, her voice soft and soothing. "It’s my pleasure to assist in adorning such a willing canvas."

As Evelyn continued to discuss her design ideas with Violet, Austin quietly exited the room.

***************************

Days later, Violet found herself aimlessly strolling through the dimly lit hallways of the manor, her mind consumed with thoughts of Austin. The gentle touch of his hand on hers earlier in the evening had sparked a whirlwind of emotions that she couldn't quite grasp. The manor was silent except for the soft breeze brushing against the ancient stone walls, and she moved almost unconsciously, drawn deeper into its depths.

As she passed by a partially open door, a tense and sharp voice stopped her in her tracks. It was Mr. Pembroke's voice, filled with both worry and accusation, in a stern tone that Violet had never heard before.

"You should never have brought her here, Austin," Mr. Pembroke stated firmly, his tone both worried and accusatory. "She is too... tempting for you. This proximity— it’s dangerous."

There was a heavy silence, and then Austin's voice replied, low and strained. "I know what I am doing, Pembroke.”

“Do you? I have seen the way you look her, how delicately you treat her. What happens when the hunger becomes too strong? When you can’t resist the smell of her—”

“Enough!” Austin slammed his hands down on the desk in front of him. “I would never hurt her.”

“Not intentionally. But I have been by your side a long time, my lord. The thirst—”

Austin paced the room, each step echoing like a distant drum in the quiet night. His jaw was set, his eyes haunted by battles fought in the darkness of his own soul. "You think I am not aware?" he said quietly, stopping to face the window. "You think I do not feel it gnawing at me every moment she is near?"

Mr. Pembroke sighed, his expression softening as he watched his master struggle with his inner demons. "I know you do, sir. And I fear for you both." He paused before adding solemnly, "Especially for her."

Violet's heart seemed to seize within her chest, her emotions tangled as tightly as the vines that crept along the manor's old stone walls. She had come in search of solitude, a place to ponder the peculiar warmth she felt around Austin—how his slightest smile or the mere touch of his hand could set her adrift in turbulent seas of feeling. Yet here she stood, invisible in the shadowed threshold, eavesdropping on a conversation that she knew would alter everything. Fear prickled at the base of her neck, sharp and cold as the draught that danced through the corridor. The chilling words hung in the air like a dense fog, seeping into her very bones. How could someone so composed and formidable grapple with such overpowering vulnerabilities?

As she stood there, cocooned in the thick shadows just beyond the flickering light from the room, her mind replayed every encounter with Austin. Each smile, each thoughtful gaze he had directed at her now seemed laden with an unspoken gravity that pressed heavily on her chest. The realization that his struggle was far more profound than she could have imagined ignited a fierce protectiveness over him, mingling strangely with her own survival instincts. A part of her yearned to burst into the room, to confront the palpable tension. Yet, another part, gripped by an almost paralyzing fear, urged her to flee—to run from the manor and its dark secrets that seemed as ancient as the stones themselves.

Caught in this tempest of thought and emotion, Violet shifted slightly, her foot brushing against a loose floorboard. The sharp creak shattered the silence like glass. Instantly, the voices ceased. The eerie quiet that followed was suffocating. Violet's breath hitched in her throat, and for an agonizing moment, time seemed suspended.

Then Austin spoke, his voice cutting through the stillness with unnerving calmness. "Who is out there?"

The air in the corridor grew colder, a palpable tension swelling as Violet's heart pounded in her ears. She felt pinned in place, her instincts at war between the urge to reveal herself and a desperate wish to vanish into the shadows. Slowly, with a sense of inevitability etching through her bones, Violet stepped forward into the dim light spilling from the room. "It's me," she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper but loud enough in the haunting silence.

Austin turned sharply at the sound of her voice, his expression transforming from suspicion to something undefinable. His eyes, usually so commanding and unreadable, now betrayed a hint of vulnerability. Mr. Pembroke looked between them, an uneasy expression etched upon his features.

"I... I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Violet stammered, her eyes darting nervously between Austin and Mr. Pembroke. "I was just—

"There is no need for explanations, Miss Everly," Mr. Pembroke interjected smoothly, though his eyes held a warning glint that suggested the gravity of what she might have overheard. "These walls are old; they carry sound misleadingly."

Austin stepped closer to her, each movement deliberate and controlled. There was an intensity about him now that seemed almost palpable, a dark aura that both frightened and compelled her. "Violet," he began, his voice low and resonant, "what you heard—"

"I understand it's none of my business," Violet interrupted quickly, not entirely sure if she spoke out of fear or a protective urge towards Austin’s privacy. “I didn’t hear much truthfully.”

Austin’s gaze lingered on her, his eyes searching. For a brief moment, there was silence again, thick and unyielding, as if the world held its breath. Then he softened, the tension leaving his body if only for a moment. “Very well,” he said with a forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Mr. Pembroke, observing the delicate interplay of emotions crossing Austin's face, cleared his throat discreetly, a subtle but insistent reminder of the propriety that governed their actions. "Perhaps, it would be best if I attended to some matters elsewhere," he suggested, his voice measured and bearing an undercurrent of urgency. "I shall ensure that everything is in order for tonight's gathering."

With a final nod that seemed to convey a multitude of unspoken thoughts and warnings, Mr. Pembroke excused himself, his footsteps echoing down the grand hallway with a rhythm that mirrored the ticking of the ornate grandfather clock at its end. The old clock, a sentinel in time, chimed softly, marking the hour. Austin watched Mr. Pembroke depart with an unreadable expression before turning back to face Violet. The room seemed smaller now without Mr. Pembroke's commanding presence, yet charged with an electric intensity as if the walls themselves were leaning in to listen.

In the vacant quiet left by Mr. Pembroke’s departure, Violet felt as though she was truly seeing Austin for the first time—the complexities of his nature suddenly laid bare. There was something deeply compelling about his troubled solitude, and despite her apprehensions, she felt an undeniable pull toward him. She decided to break the silence. “Gathering?”

Austin, glad for the change in subject, nodded. “Yes. An annual ball I am all but forced to throw every year for the socialites around the area. More of a formality than anything.” He gestured to the vast hall outside the room, where servants were already starting to arrange decorations. "It's an obligation, but one that provides a... welcome distraction."

Violet nodded, absorbing every detail, her curiosity piqued. "It sounds... extravagant." She paused, then added with a hint of playfulness that surprised even herself, "Will I be expected to attend this grand affair?"

Austin's expression shifted slightly, and for a brief moment, his guarded reserve faltered. "I would be honored if you joined me," he replied earnestly, then hesitated. "But only if you wish. You are under no obligation to participate."

The invitation and its cautious delivery spoke volumes to Violet. It was a glimpse into the duality of Austin’s existence—caught between the obligations of his status and his more genuine impulses. Her heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice, pushing her earlier reservations momentarily aside.

"I think…I would like to attend," Violet responded softly, her decision surprising both Austin and herself. "If my lack of social decorum wouldn’t be an embarrassment to you.”

Austin walked closer to her taking her hand. He placed a delicate kiss on her fingers. The touch of his lips was light, yet it sent a shiver racing through Violet's body, her skin tingling with a mixture of alarm and exhilaration. She looked up at him, her piercing gray eyes wide and searching.

"You could never be an embarrassment," Austin murmured, his voice low and imbued with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "I assure you, the pleasure would be entirely mine." His gaze held hers, steadfast and revealing a hint of vulnerability that she had not seen in him before.

Violet felt the walls she had meticulously built around herself tremble under the weight of his words. Here was a man marked by power and shrouded in mystery, yet offering her a kindness that felt both genuine and heart-stirringly tender.

"Then I shall prepare myself to be your most charming guest," Violet replied, the corners of her mouth lifting into a tentative smile. The atmosphere between them was charged now, the air thick with something unspoken but palpably present.

Austin's grip on her hand lingered, a silent plea in his touch before he reluctantly let go. "One more thing," he started, the timbre of his voice turning grave once more. "At the ball...stay by my side." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken warnings and a fierce protectiveness that caught Violet off guard. It left her pondering about the mysterious attendees of the upcoming event and the secrets they might hold.

"I will," she vowed, her words a mere breath, almost drowned out by the faint crackle of the fire in the far recesses of the chamber. As Violet's thoughts whirled with uncertainties about the impending gathering — pondering who might attend and what hidden perils awaited necessitating such proximity to Austin — a rush of excitement tingled through her. The idea of standing beside him among enigmatic high society figures sparked an intoxicating blend of apprehension and fascination within her.

Stay tuned for part 8!! Click HERE to view!

Taglist: @buckysteveloki-me @imusicaddict

[sezija]

TAU fic recs (arranged in as close as i can get to chronological order)

Dipnip - Yggdrasil and its effects on Dipper (non-canon(?) past SA of Mabel) Henry&Mabel - How they met, fell in love, and got married The California Incident The Woodsman - How Henry became the Woodsman (Acacia loses her eye in chapter 6) Hank and his Supernatural Mafia The Scouring - Gideon attempts to undo the transcendence (Alcor is tortured; has a sequel) (Post-Mabel) Creation of the Circle of the Dreamer's Star Return, Rewind, Rewrite - Dipper makes a deal to become the twin of Mizar (Belle Sterling), forgetting who he is in the progress The Creation of the Alcor Virus The Rosewood Affair - The Alcor Virus inhabits a body and decides to go to school Jan Faust - A retelling of Jan Faust in the TAU universe; amazing series with much more amazing content So You Want To Be A Demonologist? - Alcor goes to college as Tyrone, a regular old human Reincarnation Blues - Bill Cipher is reincarnated as Ian Baele Toby Pines - Alcor freaks out over raising/taking care of Toby, Ian's/Bill's Reincarnation Bentley Farkas and Friends Haunted and Hunted - Alcor is forced to possess a selkie by a Government Alcor creates a new universe as the old one dies

[blackberrysummerblog]

Hi everyone! It’s been a busy few weeks and has only been getting moreso lately, but I so appreciate everyone who’s been continuing to tag me! And thanks to @orange-peony and @monbons for the tags this morning!

I finally finished writing Chapter 3 of Time Will Lie Down and Be Still, my COBB with the brilliant and amazing @rimeswithpurple. Her art for this latest chapter was really incredible, so I hope you check it out and let her know how gorgeous it is!

I began working on chapter 4 this week, so here’s a little excerpt of a Simon POV from that:

Merlin and Morgan and Methuselah, this would be my luck. I lower my binoculars as Jeremy, perched atop my head, crows, “It’s time we went our separate ways!”

“Come on,” I groan, waving a hand in the hopes of loosening his claws’ iron grip on my curls. He clenches in and scratches my crown.

This is just my miserable luck—the one night I decide Penny is right and that I need to let the investigation breathe, Braden Bodmer has vacated The Rosewood and evidently taken Dev Grimm with him. Fuck. The question now is, where have they gone? And magic help me if it’s the Welsh countryside.

“Jeremy,” I groan, offering him a dry cricket from a little bag I bought at Sainsbury’s. Barbecue flavoured. He loves them. “I beg of you. Can you at least get off my head while I go inside to talk to the check-out desk? This doesn’t look professional, mate.”

“We’re too alike!” Jeremy massages my scalp with his little bird feet, making a strange tingle play up the back of my neck. I reach to pick him up and he beats me around the head with his wings, but finally hops down onto my shoulder.

Have a great week everyone! No pressure tagging: @beastmonstertitan, @papierhaikuphoto, @nightimedreamersworld, @aristocratic-otter, @valeffelees, @c0nsumemy5oul, @alexalexinii, @prettygoododds, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @nausikaaa, @thewholelemon, @supercutedinosaurs, @youarenevertooold, @cows4247, @larkral, @confused-bi-queer, @asocialpessimist, @aceumbrellaheroes, @cutestkilla, @artsyunderstudy ,@hushed-chorus, @shrekgogurt, @stitchy-queerista, @ic3-que3n, @raenestee, @letraspal, @bookish-bogwitch, @forabeatofadrum, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @bazzybelle, @theotherhufflepuff, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @fatalfangirl, @facewithoutheart, @palimpsessed, @stardustasincocaine, @whogaveyoupermission, @onepintobean, @wellbelesbian, @j-nipper-95, @ileadacharmedlife, @imagineacoolusername, @sailorblossoms, @arthurkko

[life-is-unreal]

Stranger Danger~ {Genshin x Reader} Teyavat Chapter 14 - Teardrop Crystal

slight spoiler : There's probably going to be a slime army :D, which slime for Liyue I wonderrrr :DDD

"Welcome back!" Venti's eyes glimmered under the bar lights. "Ah, this is the Holy Lyre! You managed to retrieve it!"

"The pattern of flowing wind carved on the rosewood... and the strings still feel cool to the touch too. Oh, the memories..." You rolled your eyes. Anyone with an actual brain could tell what's wrong with his words. 

Jean exchanged a glance with you. Barely shaking her head. "What do you think, Venti? Can you summon Dvalin?"

Venti shrugged, spreading his hands, "Although this lyre is the real thing, I doubt that it's going to work. As you can see, the lyre has been through a thousand years of history. Its Anemo power has run dry. In this condition, you couldn't play music fit for even Diluc's tavern with it..."

Diluc frowned, "Bards fight to get on the stage of my tavern. Don't make assumptions!" 

Paimon gaped at him in disbelief, "Is that really important right now, Master Diluc!? And you - did you just borrow the Holy Lyre to play music for drunkards to hear?"

"Hehe."

Paimon's eyes widened in a cartoon like way, "What do you mean "hehe"!?"

"Anyway, we won't be able to call Dvalin with it." You sniggered at Aether's expression, if you didn't know the plot before hand, you would've slapped Venti.

Venti hurriedly changed his words upon Aether's emotionless face. "The lyre itself is fine, but the strings..."

You patted Aether's shoulder, "Time for you to do your lil magic."

"M-me?"

“He never said that it was broken."

He nodded, "It's just that the anemo power is diminished."

You leaned to Aether's ear, "Use the tear drop thingy."

His eyes widened, "I- I never told you about that." He hissed.

You fluttered your eyelashes, "Shut up and do it."

Venti grinned, "It worked, as expected. 

"This youthful glow..." Jean muttered.

"Praising yourself?" Paimon gasped flabbergasted.

"It's not just a youthful glow, it fucking changed colors." You commented.

Jean raised a brow, "KEUGH KEUGH I said nothing." You waved your hands.

She sighed in exasperation, "...I was talking about the Holy Lyre."

"Thanks to Aether having purified the crystal, the Holy Lyre won't continue to lose power. That said, its power is far from replenished. It'd be great if we could get more tears."

"We'll-"

"Wait." Your eyebrows furrowed. "Jean, you didn't pay us yet."

Paimon slapped her forehead. "Oh yeah! Paimon forgot about that too!"

"Oh and we rented out a place instead of going to the inn..." you smiled largely.

Jean smiled lightly, "I'll send all of the rewards after Dvalin no longer threatens Mondstadt."

"Then the water bodies..." you wiggled your eyebrows, sparkles in your eyes.

"After Albedo finishes his experimentations."

"Ok, we'll help."

Venti's eyes remained unfocused, "Suffering alone in some deserted place..." he muttered.

"Dvalin..."

Paimon's expression turned from confusion to sadness, "Poor baby..."

"This is not something that an Honorary Knight and Y/N can accomplish alone. I will mobilize the rest of knights to assist. When you get the Teardrop Crystal, please let Aether perform the purification process."

"Leave it to me."

"Heroes supporting each other and setting out on a journey together... How exciting! Lemme come up with a song for you..." 

You and Paimon side eyed him. "Is that all you're going to do? Just sing?" Paimon screeched.

"Wouldn't be much of a bard if I didn't now, would I?"

"Hmph. You're so cheeky...You deserve an ugly nickname." Paimon, nooo, stop giving people that can one shot us ugly nicknames..."Oh, Paimon knows! From now on, you'll be known as 'Tone-Deaf Bard'!"

-.-.-

(Thousand Winds Temple)

"The ruin guards aren't attacking us..." Paimon scratched her head. "OH YEAH! It's Y/N's ability!"

A strange expression emerged on Diluc's face before returning back to normal.

You coughed slightly, "I think ya'll need to kill it though, how else are you going to get that crystal?"

Jean turned to you. "Y/N, do you want to try?"

"M-me?"

"Yes, I've been wondering how it would react when you attack it." Strong curiosity could be seen through her cerulean eyes.

"But-"

"I'll pay for your rent until you leave."

"Sure!"

Your catalyst appeared besides you.

Aether gaped at you, "Where did you get that?!"

You smirked, "It's called having friends."

It didn't take too long for your smile to drop. "Oh fuck I can barely even fight. What if I fucking die?" You dragged your legs behind you.

Taking a deep breath, a ball of Anemo appeared in your hands.

The ruin guard stared down at you, as if frozen in place. As the ball of Anemo became larger and larger, you felt horrified when you noticed that it wouldn't stop.

"Y/N! That's enough to knock him out!" Aether yelled, he had no idea why you were suddenly so strong, the Anemo ball was stronger than his tornado, his eyes widened as it slowly grew to be twice your size. 

Jean frowned. "Is this her first time?"

Aether paused. "I have no idea but she's definitely never summoned such a large ball."

Jean's eyes narrowed, "I'll have to knock her out if she can't control it, she'll end up in a coma if this continues, she'll also create a large enough storm to cover up the whole of Mondstadt if this Anemo ball continues increasing."

The ruin guard stared down at you. "HELP ME!" You screamed, your hair covering your face. You could feel the large amount of Anemo gathering in your body. In a blue screen that only you could see, you noticed your experience increasing in large amounts.

It was a good thing but you felt chills on your spine, you were going to faint by the enormous amount of energy roaring inside of you. It felt refreshing, but in contrast you could feel your body getting tired. You might die if this continues on.

Suddenly, you felt your body getting lighter. Lifting your head, you noticed that the ruin guard slowly walked towards the Anemo ball. As its arm touched the ball, you felt yourself regaining control of the elemental energy. 

"Is it, killing itself?" Paimon shrieked. 

The machine continued to walk towards you, its gears getting ripped and turned into metal dust by the reckless energy.

You panted, staggering as the entire ruin guard turned into metal dust before disappearing, a precious chest dropping in its place.

"That was unexpected." Diluc's questioning gaze landed on you before striding towards the chest.

"To sacrifice itself so that you wouldn't be depleted of elemental energy. This... is indeed very unexpected. Your pet slimes don't even seem as odd now that I think of it." Jean handed you a potion.

"This will replenish the lost energy in your body. Sucrose created the formula by accident. I'll introduce you to her soon. Sorry for almost knocking you out." 

"It's fine. I didn't expect this too."

"I'll bring you to Albedo when he comes back with results with the samples across Mondstadt."

"Sorry, but umm... Paimon has been wondering since yesterday, what are you guys talking about?" Paimon giggled nervously.

"Oh? Is there a problem with Mondstadt's water? I was wondering why I saw Kaeya near the Dawn Winery." 

Remembering the sample of water that Keyarye 'accidentally' dropped, a small bottle appeared in your hands. The moment you returned back home, you had split the sample of the concentrated substance in portions. You were going to give one of them to Albedo but he was probably cooped up somewhere doing experiments.

"Oh yeah! I almost forgot. You might want to give this to Albedo, he can compare it to other samples." The concentrated liquid wasn't like the diluted samples, it looked like water but to the keen eye, some differences could be spotted. From the minty tint to the light sweet smell.

"Thank you Y/N." Obviously, Jean noticed the differences, hopefully she'd give you a raise.

Clearing your throat, "Did you guys seriously not notice how all the plants around the lakes look kinda wilted and how there's less and less fish? Why'd you think a bunch of knights gathered samples of the water bodies. And come on Aether! You legit go out every single day. How brain dead are you?"

Paimon coughed, "Anywayyyy, Paimon didn't think we'd find Dvalin's tears in a place like this."

"As knights, we are taught to hone our investigative skills."

"And I ended up in prison because three knights thought I was a spy." You grumbled.

Jean sighed, holding her head. "I'll double your pay if you stop talking about that during work."

Your eyes sparkled in joy, "Ok Grandmaster!

-.-.-

(Whispering woods)

"Jean...has a turtle..." Paimon whispered dazed. "Diluc...has a turtle?...too?!"

"Paimon... Are you ok?" You poked her tummy. "Paimon... You gained weight again."

Paimon turned to you, her eyes unfocused, "Hey Y/N, did you have a pet turtle when you were young?"

"Yeah. I had...five or something but they all died because of sickness. Maybe something else."

"Y/N... had five turtles.... turtles...Ehehehe, turtles..."

Your face scrunched up. "She's..."

"Yeah, let's ignore her. Let her be in her lil world." Aether muttered. Yup, Aether sounded more and more like a Gen Z through your influence.

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

Teyvat Chapter 15:

https://www.tumblr.com/life-is-unreal/763057975194779648/stranger-danger-genshin-x-reader-teyavat?source=share

[ultimatebethylficlist]

#BHF24: Christmas

better angels by devils_might_heed_us ( @lemortehomme )

A winter night and the giving of a gift. [a comic]

The Man On The Mountain by gneebee ( @gneebee ) [chapter 25]

She finally got her dream job, working at a small regional hospital near the Rosewood Mountains. Everything just fell into place and it's all going great, until a new, unexplained virus begins spreading through the area, and everywhere else in the world. People are scared, panicking and desperate. Everyone except the reclusive man on the mountain. He's isolated and blissfully unaware.

Snowflakes by @mistressheroine

Huckleberry Windbreak by Kat_Parrish

"...I’m not tryin’ to force you into anything, but I know you’re not prepared for winter. I can help. I don’t even need to be inside; I just need a warm spot.” “I have a gun.” “I’m sure you do. Can you use it?” “Good enough.” “Good.” Beth and Daryl live together in a cabin on an isolated mountain.

What Do You See? by Kat_Parrish

Daryl is coerced into a Christmas party a few months after a break-up. "The first time he received a proper, wrapped Christmas present, he was twenty-six. He sat on the couch watching while his girlfriend rummaged around under her tree until she produced a package wrapped in shiny green paper with a gold ribbon. "

The Christmas Party by gneebee ( @gneebee )

Merry Christmas! I wrote this one shot Bethyl story in response to the Bethyl Holiday Fest 24 Prompt "Ribbons." Beth gets herself in a situation when she invites Daryl to attend her Christmas Party. Thank you for taking the time to read it!

Thank you to everyone who submitted their creations! Merry Christmas!

[scuttlingcrab]

To the Hells and Back

The Devil's Den

Summary: Minthara makes a proposition to Raphael, very much against her will, for an alliance. It's the perfect plan: Raphael gets Avernus and she will get her vengeance against Zariel for Karlach's death. However, Raphael is not a fan of anything that takes the spotlight away from him. No matter what, Minthara will get what she wants... whether the Devil likes it or not.

You can find Chapter 01 here.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Chapter 02 on AO3 as well.

(Image via bg3-fox-trail)

After centuries of traversing planes, scouring souls and scheming for his eventual domination of the Hells, Raphael seldom found mortals anything but disappointing. 

To any Devil, these vile creatures were nothing more than an appetiser, a light snack before they moved on to bigger and better things. No matter their social status or how well they could mesmerise Raphael with their various artistic talents, it was all a facade. On the exterior, they appeared well-to-do and haughty, but in reality they were rotting at the core, devoid of any ambitions save for their own greed and vanity. The lot of them. The mortals’ lacklustre views on life bored Raphael to tears, and all the petty deals that came with them.

Even now, with the Crown of Karsus finally in his possession and with a far greater list of priorities piling up around him, mortals still flocked to his door, seeking his services. And naturally, Raphael obliged his own primal instincts, knowing that each soul would only make him more powerful in the end and serve him well in his endeavours. 

He cursed them all the same. 

Soon he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. Soon the Hells would be his. And he could finally end this farce once and for all. 

The Devil quickly halted his wavering thoughts, massaging his hands together as he redirected his attention back towards the unexpected guest in front of him. 

As he stared at Minthara Baenre, with her teeth bared and knuckles white from clenching her fists, something else stirred within his being. Something that reeked of nostalgia, yearning for a time that nearly consumed him whole.

His breath quickened as he observed the Drow, a thousand thoughts flying through his mind like arrows. He titled his head curiously at the tension building, a hint of a smile threatening to show on his lips and break his cool composition. He would not give himself away so easily, or that he delighted being in such a chaotic presence once again.  

She was frozen in the centre of the room, struggling to break free from the holding spell Raphael had on her. He took a step closer, pacing around her and observing his latest acquisition as if she was but an artefact in an exhibit. 

Minthara's eyes were full of fire and fury as they travelled Raphael’s body, watching him move around her, undoubtedly imagining the various ways she would slay him should she have the opportunity. He could still remember the vicious threats she growled in his direction when they first met in this very room, when he had made the greatest proposition of his career, and when the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate still travelled together. 

It was hard to predict why Minthara decided to call upon Raphael that morning, but he knew what she might offer in return could be something worth listening to. Anyone who had once travelled with Tav, who had aided in destroying the Elder Brain itself, and ultimately won his unending curiosity, would be a benefit to his conquests.

Raphael slithered to his rosewood desk at the back of the room, crossing his arms as he casually leaned against it. 

“Hmm. I suppose that’ll do.” At Raphael’s words, the spell ended. 

Minthara gasped, nearly falling to her knees. She swiftly recovered, instead going straight for her dagger and lunging towards Raphael. She grappled him in one easy move, asserting dominance over his person as she pushed him against the wine rack. The bottles rattled as she snarled at him, the weapon now held at his throat.

“You take me for a fool, Devil. ” Minthara tore the last words apart in her mouth, digging the dagger deeper into his skin. 

Raphael raised his hands in surprise, mock wincing as if he was performing this scene in front of an audience.  

“I see you haven’t changed, Minthara. Have you grown bored of your pursuit of Menzoberranzan already?” Raphael smiled, “Though don’t tell me you’ve come to strike a deal in order to return home? How dull.”

Minthara’s eyes widened at the mention of her old home in the Underdark, but the shocked expression disappeared faster than a flame. She twisted the dagger in his neck, drawing blood.

“Go on,” Raphael yawned, “humour yourself, slit a Devil’s throat, but I will be less cooperative when I’m forced to clean blood off one of my favourite doublets.” 

The two locked eyes and for a brief moment, the world stopped for Raphael. He met Minthara’s deeping scowl with his most dashing grin. He could do this all day. There was nothing he loved more than riling up mortals and seeing them crumble from the mounting pressures of the unknown. He had nothing to lose, he never did. Minthara narrowed her eyes before cursing to herself and jumping back. She kept the dagger raised in his direction however, ready to pounce at the next chance she could get.

“Well, I for one am glad that’s settled. I do hate these frivolous mortal games, but I would expect nothing less from a Baenre.” 

Raphael snapped his fingers, summoning a handkerchief in an elaborate display of sparks. He lightly dabbed the wound on his neck, before proceeding to delicately wipe down his hands of the remaining filth. With a flick of his wrist, the handkerchief disappeared, along with any trace of blood or previous signs of struggle. 

“Now, what is it you would like to discuss?”

There was a long pause as Raphael watched Minthara fight with herself on what words she would utter next. She took a deep breath, before straightening her posture and tilting her head up proudly. 

“I have come to make a proposition.” She finally responded, sheathing her weapon. 

Raphael raised his eyebrows, biting the side of his tongue in anticipation. 

“I seek entrance to Avernus, to the frontlines.”

“Oh? Are we planning a holiday?”

“I’m planning on killing Zariel.” 

“You?” Raphael couldn’t help himself, he erupted into laughter, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “If it is death you seek, be my guest. I will summon a portal here and now just to watch for myself. She will eat you for supper, my dear. And you will serve as a brief distraction at best.”

“Hold your laughter.” Minthara hissed. “I have yet to see you claim Avernus. Tell me, Devil. You have the Crown and yet you are still here. Why?” 

Raphael tensed, any previous bouts of laughter evaporating into thin air.

In truth, not long had passed since he secured the Crown of Karsus from the bottom of the River Chionthar, wasting more time than he would’ve liked to admit picking up the pieces and painstakingly reforging it in his image. Precious time he’ll never get back, wasted when he could’ve been obliterating Zariel’s forces and getting closer to his ambitions of uniting the Hells.

Raphael had been calculating this exact moment the day he was banished from Cania. Thousands of years to ensure all the right pieces were set in place before he even had the Crown in his possession, recruiting all the right soldiers to his cause and lining them up so perfectly on the battlefield as if he was playing a game of lanceboard. 

Even then, his plans were met with backlash. Ripping off Zariel’s wings should’ve been as easy as crushing an insect, but he was barely able to make an indent against her never-ending legions. And now the Drow was coming to rub these blatant failures in his face.

“One fight against an Elder Brain and you think you can defeat an Archdevil.”  

“Zariel is mine, I will have her head, whether you like it or not.” Minthara smiled, “You can sit back and watch me do all the wo–” 

Fire erupted from Raphael’s fists, the flames turned blue as they crawled up his forearms. He took a commanding step towards Minthara and shed his mortal skin. Wings exploded from his back, horns sprouted from the top of his head and dug into the ceiling of the suite. He loomed above the Drow, bearing his fangs as his tail thrashed behind him, destroying his desk in one swing. 

“I will not stand idly by as I am insulted by a mortal. You have overstayed your welcome.” 

Raphael raised his claws above Minthara, so close to wrapping them around her brittle neck and sending her to the Hells the old fashioned way. Decapitation . She didn’t flinch at the growing heat or at the claws that remained inches from her face, there was no sign of fear in her piercing eyes, unlike most mortals who had been in this exact predicament. Minthara instead edged closer to Raphael, making it clear she was not backing down. 

“You interrupted me before I could get to the point of why I am here. We have a common enemy. Is that not obvious? You will still get Avernus, all the glory and attention you want, and I will have my vengeance.”

Raphael huffed angrily, causing a burst of fire to shoot out of his nostrils. The Drow had a point. The more Raphael turned those words over and over in his brain, considering the alliance and how it could expedite his ascension, the more it angered him. Why didn’t he think of it first? 

Perhaps he would humour Minthara, use her so he could get the final kill instead. Yes . Once Zariel was at her weakest, moments before her demise he would sweep in for the finishing kill. Raphael grinned at the thought, his eyes flickering with mischief. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

A timid knock came from the door, barely audible over the flames that roared around Raphael. His next guest . He viciously snapped his fingers, returning to his mortal disguise and rectifying the destruction around him. 

“Thank you for your visit, and for the interesting offer. I will think about it.”

Minthara opened her mouth to counter, no doubt aiming to insult him a second time, but Raphael waved his hand, teleporting the Drow away from his room.  

He took a deep breath, massaging the bridge between his nose before walking towards the entranceway. 

“Please come in, Rufus.“ Raphael clapped his hands, opening the door and gifting the mortal his most flourishing bow. “Let’s get to business, shall we?” 

---

Minthara was on her knees, fingers digging into the dirt to keep herself from toppling over. She despised teleportation, it always left a sour taste in her mouth. Her ears rang, head throbbing as the world continued to spin around her.

She was going to kill that damned Devil. But first , she needed to rid the Hells of Zariel. 

She kept her eyes focused on the ground, deeping her breathing, until she no longer felt like vomiting. Soon, the sounds of mortals chattering, creaking carts and boisterous farm animals filled the air once again. She looked up, realising she was back outside Sharess’ Caress. People continued to pass her, kicking up dirt in every direction. These mortals carried on with their simple lives, blissfully unaware of the monstrosity that lurked above them. 

Minthara let out a pained sigh, rising to her feet and brushing the dirt from her knees. She glared in the direction of the Devil’s Den, anger pulsing through her veins at the notion of Raphael discarding her like rubbish.  

She reached for her dagger, gripping the hilt as she contemplated her next steps, wishing she had slit the Devil’s throat, if only to cause his blood to boil.

All Minthara could do was wait. For now. Whether Raphael would heed her offer or not, she would find a way to exact her revenge. Not only for Karlach, her beloved , but to parade Zariel’s head around in front of Raphael just to spite him.

---

“Psst, wake up sleepyhead.” Karlach whispered, lightly nudging Minthara. 

The words echoed in Minthara’s mind, pulling her from slumber. She stretched wide in her bedroll, brushing up against Karlach’s warm body. 

“What is it, my love?” Minthara responded, through a yawn. “Don’t tell me we’ve overslept… when there’s still blood to shed?”

That thought alone caused Minthara to open her eyes and she immediately shot up, ready to jump out of her bedroll and run into whatever battle awaited outside the tent. 

Karlach chuckled, reaching towards her. She delicately placed her hands on Minthara’s shoulders, massaging them. 

“No, just relax. Here . With me.” 

Minthara leaned back, finding comfort from the warmth of Karlach’s body, and how she expertly found each knot in her back. 

“Perhaps you should consider a new profession when we’re through.” Minthara whispered, closing her eyes.

“Oh? That could actually be f—“

Karlach’s hands tensed, her nails digging into Minthara’s shoulders. The heat from Karlach’s hands intensified, as if she had just submerged them into a furnace. Before Minthara could even react, Karlach screamed, ripping her hands away from her.

Minthara rolled around to face Karlach, but her body was covered in flames. Karlach’s face contorted in pain as she keeled over. She writhed around on the floor, desperately scratching at her chest as if she was attempting to rip out her own heart.

“Karlach…”

Minthara reached towards Karlach as the flames exploded, but found herself unable to move. She could only sit there, paralysed as she watched Karlach consumed by the fire. 

The smell of sulfur suddenly filled the air around her, sneaking into her senses like a snake in the grass. Her eyes watered as the scent strengthened. Minthara opened her lips, attempting to speak out to Karlach, but her tongue was heavy; sticking to the bottom of her mouth. Minthara clenched her teeth as her chest grew heavier and heavier, making it harder to breathe… to concentrate… to… 

Minthara’s vision blurred as she toppled over, pulled from one nightmare and into another. 

When she opened her eyes, Karlach was gone but Raphael now stood above her bedside. She had secured a small room in a random, cheap inn outside Wyrm's Crossing. The bed she was lying in was cheap and uncomfortable, the sheets were drenched with sweat and tangled around her frame. The Devil chuckled to himself as he watched Minthara, wearing that same shit eating grin she despised.

“It seems we have a deal. Battle awaits, Nightwarden.”

"What are you do–"

A blistering portal opened in front of Minthara, battle cries and screams of pain and anguish poured from the circular entrance. She grimaced at the high temperatures pouring from the opening and the rancid stench of the Hells. Minthara could only see orange coloured skies from where she lay, but a lump formed in her throat all the same. It didn’t stop her from wondering what horrors remained out of view. 

“After you.” Raphael spoke as he walked towards the portal, “And let’s make this quick. I don’t have all day.”

To be continued...

[spiritedstars]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXXIII

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Author’s Note:  Thank you for reading <3 I hope you enjoy this next chapter and where the story is going :)

thank you @elidelochans for always being my beta <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @zenkindoflove / @animezinglife / @rosewood-cafe / @vanserrass / @positivewitch / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens

Find it all here.

When two days passed, Eris gathered with his brothers and mother in her garden. For this conversation, Iris stood by his side. He had carefully shielded their scents and if his brothers noticed, they didn’t comment. 

He may trust them but as he shared a glance with his wife, Eris couldn’t help but want to keep this…gift to himself a little longer. If they made it through this, Eris would let himself reflect on how the Mother had a strange sense of humor; to give him Iris with the possibility of losing her. 

Then again, the Mother knew this would be a hard fight. Sending his mate only gave him more reason to insist on making it out. 

“You don’t think it’s too dangerous to be gathered like this in one place?” Lady Enya asked in the silence, her hands wringing in her lap. 

“I glamored us as we arrived,” Eris assured her. “No one saw us coming in.” 

But his mother was more nervous than usual, which added to his stress. Eris could tell she was tired and it made him want to choke his father more viciously than usual; that fucker knew his wife hated his guts and yet he kept his paws all over her. 

Forcing the thought from his mind, his expression tight, he addressed his mother with a nod. “Are you prepared?” he asked. “Do you have everything you need?”

Lady Enya nodded, her hands clenching in her gown. “Yes,” she answered, clearing her throat. “I don’t wish to take anything with me but the clothes on my back. I have nothing of value that I shared with him.” 

The words made him grimace. He knew his mother hadn’t meant her words to be about her sons but it didn’t stop the sting of knowing how she had held herself back. It didn’t hurt any less that she had endured all this because of them. For them. 

The brothers shared a frown.

“I’ve checked with every one of my sources and nothing seems to be amiss,” Emil said, his arms crossed. “My soldiers are ready.”

Izak, seated next to their mother, nodded. “The same with mine. Everything is going according to plan.” 

“What about Lucien?” Finn asked. 

“I’ve been in touch. Everything is fine on his end.” Eris confirmed. “Winter and Dawn have given us passage to winnow from the court lines.”

“No questions asked?” Iris inquired carefully. 

“Lucien has enough connections that no one bats an eye when he mentions he’s passing through with people,” he explained. “Especially when Helion and Rhys are welcoming. There’s no reason to object when there won’t be lingering.”

“Does Rhys know?” Lady Enya asked quietly. 

A muscle flexed in Eris’s jaw. “Rhys has always known this day would come but he doesn’t ask questions. He knows it’s near.” 

Finn shifted on his feet. “We’ve checked and triple-checked everything. Things are going according to plan and yet…why does it feel like something isn’t right?”

“Because we’re a bunch of paranoid motherfuckers.” Izak said then glanced at his mother. “Apologies, mother.”

The corner of Iris’s lips twitched as her mother-in-law rolled her eyes at her son and she couldn’t help but let her gaze shift between the brothers and their mother, feeling slightly out of place. This was her first time meeting Emil and Izak personally and other than an awkward greeting, they kept their distance; the tension lining Eris’s back and the way he watched his brothers with every breath they took near her had Iris do the same. Given what Eris had shared with her about each of them, Iris couldn’t help but have a soft spot for the brothers who were all trying to find the light with love as they battled their own demons. It didn’t change how close Eris had her stand and if anything, his brothers understood his possessiveness too well, even if they didn’t know to what extent.

The last two nights seemed to escalate his levels of stress and Iris had watched him have to expel his anger, nearly setting their whole suite aflame to get himself through the day. He’d leave her early and return late, checking in with her periodically throughout the day and whenever he did, they would end up releasing his stress in a much more intimate way. Iris had found that whenever his body was draped over hers, was the only time he actually relaxed. 

Even in his sleep, her husband struggled and she found herself awake more often, watching him as he shuddered through every breath. 

Iris kept her eyes on Eris as he ran his tongue over his teeth, sharing a look with Emil. “We did find one idiot who was ready to sell out,” he said carefully. “He was hoping to get in with the High Lord and rise through the rankings.” 

“And what happened to him?” Finn asked, his tone casual.

“By the time Eris and I got to him, our sentries had let him know exactly how they felt about ruining our chances,” Emil said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “We aren’t the only ones desperate for change.”

“I would’ve cut out his tongue.” Izak huffed.

“Emil did,” Eris said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then we hung him in the center of the training ring with a knife lodged in his throat.”

“That seems unnecessary.” Lady Enya muttered mildly.

But Finn nodded at them. “Nice.”

“You have a very odd definition of nice.” Iris said with a raised brow and Finn’s answering grin was a little too sinister. 

“I would’ve carved out his internal organs to hang him by and then pinned his body to the wall with knives so he could bleed to death, slowly and painfully. What they did was nice.” he said and Iris couldn’t help her grimace.

“Please –” their mother started and glanced at Eris who sighed.

“Let’s focus,” he waved a hand. “We have another week before this hell is over. Keep straightening things out. If you hear even a whisper of something, you let me know immediately.” Eris glanced back at his mother. “We wait for the signal that Helene, Theo, and Cosette are fine. We dance. We mingle. Once Father gives his bore of a speech like every year, Emil will be walking you to where you will meet Mikel and then to where you will meet Iris and Oren. From there, you two will pretend to walk towards your gardens until you cross the gates. Serphan will winnow you to Lucien and then report back to me. Helion will also be waiting.”

Lady Enya swallowed, a hand rubbing her throat. “And they – Lucien knows what to do in case something goes wrong?”

Eris nodded then gave them all a pointed look. “Rumor has it that our youngest brother was invited and he may be making an appearance,” he said. “Should he need to use it, he knows the code. Each of our sentries has a uniform color. Lucien knows my insignia and who he can ask if needed.” 

A silence fell on the group and Iris’s gaze couldn’t help but flicker between them all. She couldn’t imagine how long they’d been waiting for this and how these last few days were causing more agony than anything else. 

Lady Enya broke the silence first, rubbing a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’m – I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry to be causing all this.” 

A collective noise of disapproval rang from the brothers and she looked at them with a watery smile. 

“But I am. I always will be,” she added, her grip tightening in the folds of her dress. “If I could stay and help avoid all this, I would but I  — I can’t anymore.”

“Mother.” Finn chasted her gently and his expression tightened when Izak wrapped his burly arm around their mother’s delicate frame and kissed the top of her head. 

“Don’t apologize,” Izak said. “We can’t keep living this way regardless.”

“Enough is enough,” Emil added solemnly. “We are more than what he’s forced us to be.” 

Eris met his mother’s gaze. “You are a phoenix ready to rise from the ashes, remember?” he asked quietly. “Don’t look back now.” 

Lady Enya glanced at each of her sons and then took a shaky breath. “You are all the light of my life. I am proud of each of you and know you will always be more than he could ever dream. Better than he could ever dare to be.” she said softly. “I love you.” 

And Iris had to look away from them as each of the brothers, including her husband, flushed lightly at their mother’s words. But she could feel their content, felt how it filled them with joy and Iris felt an ache in her chest. She hadn’t met her own mother but Lady Enya had easily and so quickly filled that role. This wasn’t her moment and yet Iris felt so honored to be a part of it.

Clearing his throat, Izak gruffly mumbled, “We love you too.”  

Lady Enya chuckled and patted Izak’s cheek. “I know, my beautiful boy,” she said, then sighed quietly, straightening. “Do not underestimate him. He will not respond well and I know he has something up his sleeve.” 

“The bridal party waiting for us isn’t for nothing,” Emil mused. “He’s invited every influential family in the court and somehow, they all have eligible daughters.” 

“We dance and we mingle,” Eris repeated his instructions firmly. “Lying is a form of art we’ve excelled at for years. It won’t kill you to dance with a potential bride to keep up the ruse.” 

“Yeah, but Helene might kill me.” Izak mumbled and Finn snorted as Iris’s lips twitched. 

“Considering Father might kill you first should you not dance, you’ll have to risk it,” Eris said dryly. “He’s surrounding himself with people like him for a reason. He believes in the strength of numbers and has purposely kept some of the guest list names from mother.”

“I think it’s a mighty coincidence that this particular ball is the one he’s having potential brides from powerful families attend,” Emil said. “If the High Lord is promising your daughter a prince, you’d be more than happy to side with a tyrant than against him.”

“It might not be to the extent that families have turned,” Finn said. “But it doesn’t help us if he has some of them present.”

Izak shook his head. “Those families have always been in his pocket, they keep each other comfortable. We knew this.”

“Those families are full of nothing but lofty words.” Lady Enya added. “Nothing in the preparations should change but I still don’t think you should trust them.” 

Finn glanced at Eris. “Once we’re done with Father, we get to clean out the garbage, right?”

“Whoever does not bend to the new ruling will be taken out immediately,” Eris said, his expression tightening. “We know who these people are. They have one chance to make the right choice or they won’t live to make another one.” He glanced at each of his brothers. “This is the only shot we have to disinfect this court and make it into something worth living in. This is bigger than just us.” 

“You should anticipate your father being there.” Lady Enya said to Iris. “He was one of the people the High Lord insisted on adding to the guest list and I don’t see Aron declining the invitation.”

Iris grimaced, her fists clenching at her sides. “I have no doubt he’ll be there,” she said then glanced at Eris. “Even if he knows he’s not wanted.” 

“Especially if he knows he’s not wanted,” Eris muttered. “He knows what awaits him should he step one toe out of line.” And he forced himself to roll his shoulders back, pushing back the surge of anger thumping in his chest at the mention of his father-in-law. He glanced at Izak instead and waved a hand for a letter to appear then flicked it to his brother. “Lucien let me know this morning that Helene and her mother have been settling in nicely. She sent you a letter.” 

Izak caught it and held it tightly, nodding at Eris. “Thank you.” 

Eris nodded back and then glanced at Emil. “Cosette?”

“She’s ready to leave.” his brother answered tightly.

“Adler?”

“He knows his orders.” 

Eris nodded again and ran a hand through his hair. “We have to be on guard for anything.”

“I know.” 

Eris shifted as he stared at his family, feeling the blood pumping beneath his skin. “If –”

“Eris.” Emil’s calm tone cut through his. “We’ve done every single thing we could. The only thing we can do is set it in motion and make it through.” 

Taking a breath through his nose, Eris let his head fall back, his eyes on the open air above them. “I won’t pretend I’m not filled with dread and it’s been getting harder to tighten the leash on my powers,” he mumbled then fixed his gaze back on his brothers. “I set fire to one of the stables yesterday because Father made a snippy comment.”

“What a pity he wasn’t standing in it,” Finn said, his lips twitching and Eris snorted. 

“Pity, indeed.” 

Iris’s gaze locked on Eris and his tightened shoulders and she couldn’t help stepping closer to him, her hand sliding to his back as she leaned into him. He glanced at her with a thin smile then cleared his throat, addressing them all. 

“He’s going to make this a hard fight. We fight as dirty as he does.” Eris said firmly. “Whatever it takes.”

It fell silent as his brothers nodded. His mother’s eyes welled up again, and Eris had to look away from her so it didn’t pain him. He glanced at Iris instead, and even though her smile was a small sad one, it managed to loosen a breath from his chest. Whatever it took, he would crawl his way out of this and back to her. 

“Well,” Finn began and Eris let out a long-suffering sigh echoed by Emil and Izak. “He can’t kill all of us, right? One of us has to survive him to continue the Vanserra line.” 

“Finn.” Eris warned as their mother made a noise of distress.

“What? I’m only reassuring you once again, that if the task comes to me, I would be happy to marry all your lovely ladies and take care of them should you all bite the dust at the ball,” Finn said graciously.

“Don’t you have a certain someone in your life?” Iris asked, holding back a laugh and Finn waved a hand good-naturedly.

“He’s very reasonable, you’ll love him,” he reassured Iris as he wiggled his brows at her. “You won’t mind having sister wives, right? As the wife of my oldest brother, you would be my first wedded, of course.”

Before Eris could do more than snarl rather viciously at his brother’s teasing, Iris held a hand to her husband’s chest and raised a brow at Finn. “It’s sweet you think you can handle one wife, much less three,” she said then turned back to Eris. “If you bite the dust as your brother says, I promise I won’t marry him.” She patted his chest gently. “But, you’ll be perfectly safe so there’s nothing to worry about. You don’t need to punch him.” 

Eris scowled then narrowed his eyes at Finn’s smug smile. “I still want to punch him.”

“We can save it for another day. When all this is over.” Iris couldn’t help but glance at the rest of them. “When we’re all safe. You can punch each other all you want then.” 

“Your wife is an optimist,” Emil noted, tilting his head at her curiously. “What a fate to be married to a Vanserra.”  

Iris’s lips twitched then made a show of stepping back to run her gaze down Eris’s body and back up. Eris’s brow lifted as she made a noise of approval. “Well, he is pretty so it balances out all the struggle,” she said and Eris rolled his eyes as she turned back to shrug at his brothers. “It isn’t much, but it’s honest work.” 

Izak’s head tipped back with a laugh as Finn hooted and Emil couldn’t help his chuckle. 

And Eris wanted to devour her when she gave him a cheeky smile that made him roll his eyes again. “Hysterical,” he deadpanned, the tips of his ears heating at his mother’s small smile. 

“I told you she was funny,” Finn said to his brothers. 

“My wife’s jokes and Finn’s enthusiasm to marry females who won’t want him aside –” Eris began, warning Finn with a look when his brother opened his mouth. “We’ve lingered enough, I think. Should anything else come up, be quick and be discreet.” 

The brothers let themselves slowly disperse with Emil vanishing first then Finn. Izak delayed for a moment and approached Iris with a thin smile. Eris’s brow quirked up as his brother ran a hand over his beard, his expression curiously cautious. “I just wanted to say…I think you and Helene would get along well,” he said and glanced at Eris before meeting Iris’s gaze. “It’s not easy being married to a Vanserra but…I think you two could be friends. If – if you wanted.” 

Iris’s smile was warm. “Based on what Eris mentioned to me, I think so too. I look forward to meeting her when I can.” she said then added quietly, “Congratulations on the pregnancy.” 

Izak flushed, pleased as he nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see you again at the ball.” 

As Izak departed and only his mother remained, Eris gave her a moment as she took in her gardens, her expression tight. He knew this place had always been a sanctuary for her and though she’d be leaving it behind for a better place, he knew it wouldn’t be easy. 

“Mother.”

Lady Enya turned towards him. “Yes?”

“If needed…will you be ready to use your magic?” he asked carefully and his mother took a breath, nodding.

“Yes. Whatever I can do, I will support your every step,” she said, her expression shifting into grim determination. “Whatever it takes, Eris.”

He nodded at his mother then shared a glance with his wife and Iris’s smile was tight as Eris promised, “Whatever it takes.” 

-

Eris blinked and as the ball crept closer, he barely slept. He went about his daily routine, spent time with his wife, and plotted through the night. He tried to be more relaxed, tried to stay focused but as everything slowly came together, he couldn’t help but anticipate that something would go wrong. He’d readjusted his plan with Oren, Mikel, and Seprhan twice already; he was driving his friends crazy. 

The feeling intensified when it was finally the night before the ball and his Father summoned him to the throne room. Eris had hesitated for only a moment in front of the door, the memory of the last time he was summoned here lingering in the back of his mind. But he forced himself forward and allowed himself a glance around the room as he walked towards where his father stood, taking in the splendor of decor as he went. His mother always outdid herself with the way she planned for these events. He knew how this particular event was one of significance and didn’t miss the little signs around the room. The abundance of gold. The wisps of fire magic. The miniature phoenix art scattered around the room. His lips couldn’t help but twitch. 

Eris paused a healthy distance from the High Lord who stood with his back to him, facing the throne. As his Father deliberately took his time to acknowledge him, Eris ran his tongue over his teeth and made himself take a deep breath, schooling his expression into that careful calm he desperately needed around his least favorite person. 

After a few moments of silence, Eris clenched his fists behind his back and cleared his throat. “You called, Father.”

Beron glanced over his shoulder and then made a noise of disapproval as he turned to face his son. The two watched each other in silence and though Eris was used to his father’s mind games, something about this summoning felt…sinister.

Beron gestured for Eris to come closer and immediately, his shoulders couldn’t help tensing further.

But Eris moved and stopped at the place Beron had pointed to, right in front of him. “Do you know why I called you here, son?”

“I really hope it’s because you missed me,” Eris said with a thin smile. “Otherwise my feelings will be hurt.” 

Beron snorted. “Funny,” he said and shifted his head slightly as he watched Eris. “I wonder if you get your humor from your wife. I hear she’s very funny.” 

A beat of silence passed and Eris felt his heart nearly leap out of his chest. “Pray tell, who has been passing along her jokes?”

His father’s answering smile made Eris’s fists tighten. “The wind carries all kinds of whispers, son. I didn’t realize it was a secret.”

The moment stretched between them and Eris tried to keep the beating of his heart calm as his father watched him. What did that even mean? Who was talking?

The High Lord’s mouth curled and Eris tried to tamper down his agitation as his father added, “Then again, everything about your wife would be a secret if it was up to you.” 

Eris’s expression flattened. “Are we really doing this again, Father?” he said and tried to keep his tone even. “I thought we were past this.” 

“Of course, of course,” Beron said casually. “Though how sensitive you are about her is still concerning, I suppose we have other things to worry about with our big event tomorrow.”

Tension lined Eris’s spine as he watched his father watch him, every sentence loaded with words left unsaid, and Eris’s mind scrambled to catch it all. “Indeed,” he said carefully. “What can I assist you with, Father?”

“Always so eager to assist, son,” Beron said. “Sometimes I forget just how much.”

Eris’s gaze narrowed slightly in confusion. He didn’t want to believe his father was bored and wasting his time like this. Eris could barely keep awake these days; with this last night, he wanted to be alone with his wife. His mate. He wanted that fucken time with her. 

Yet here he was, squandering that time with this.

“Is there anything about the event tomorrow you’d like me to do? I do believe everything has been taken care of.” 

“I didn’t call you here for that.” Beron said and Eris lifted a brow.

“If not that, to what do I owe the pleasure of being here?”

The words seemed to cause a slight shift in his father and Eris noted exactly when his expression went from amused disdain to anger.

“You overstep and I tire of it.”

Eris blinked. “Oh?”

“You are my eldest son. I acknowledge that a certain load of responsibility has been expected of you and even added to your shoulders. You have always done your duty as required and yet…” Beron pursed his lips, his gaze narrowing. “The past few months, you have overstepped so very often.”

Eris forced his expression into polite indifference. “Is there something I did in particular that bothered you deeply enough to summon me?” he asked and his father’s eyes narrowed. “I would like to ensure I apologize profusely for my errors.”

“You and that fucken mouth of yours.” Beron snarled and backhanded Eris so quickly he barely took a breath, his face snapping to the side and Eris nearly swore at the sheer force that went into his father’s hand. 

Oh, the High Lord was pissed to be this triggered by his tone.

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, slowly facing his father again and he knew there was nothing to be done about the anger that coursed through his body – anger he knew the High Lord felt despite the bland expression Eris managed to push through on his face. “That seemed rather unnecessary.” he managed to say lightly, even though his fisted hands were shaking violently behind his back. “Was it something I said, High Lord?”

And this time when his father lifted his hand in warning, Eris leaned back, his expression flattening again. “I can handle words, Father. You don’t need to put your hands on me to tell me when I’ve supposedly wronged you.” 

His father’s mouth curled in anger and the High Lord stepped into Eris’s personal space even further. “Back away from me again and a flogging pole will be the least of your worries.”

A strained silence pulsed in the air between them and Eris knew he was venturing into dangerous territory when he couldn’t hold in his humorless laugh and his father’s eyes narrowed.

“And get blood all over the floor? That wouldn’t be the kind of welcome you’d want to give our guests.”

Beron yanked Eris by the front of his tunic. “Keep speaking in that sarcastic tone and your body hanging by the gates will be what welcomes the guests instead.” 

Eris felt his fire nearly burst out of him, his anger shooting up his spine but he held that leash on his magic and held it tight because he wouldn’t blow up here. Given the kind of pressure he’d been under the last three weeks, it would be so fucken easy to unleash everything and be done. 

But no. Not now. Not when they were so fucken close. Not when they could wipe the slate clean in front of the whole court and step into a new age with history on their side.

Nevertheless, Eris couldn’t stop the steam from pouring out of him and he certainly couldn’t stop his glare when his Father’s cold smirk appeared. 

“I don’t know if that would match the theme Mother’s going for this year.” Eris said tightly as he tried to reign in his anger even as Beron’s answering chuckle was laced with cruelty.

“You keep speaking to me that way and your mother will have more things to worry about than her tacky theme.” Beron spat then shoved Eris back. “Fix your face and apologize.” 

A muscle flexed in Eris’s jaw as father and son stared down one another. They had barely started talking and his father was already goading him just to lay hands on him. Had the High Lord sensed anything amiss? What was it that seemed to be putting his father in such a foul mood? 

Eris’s hands remained behind his back, flexing his fingers then fisting them again as he forced himself to bow his head and as calmly as he could choke out said, “Apologies, High Lord.” 

Beron’s head cocked to the side. “An apology should come with a full bow, boy. Do not disrespect me.” 

Eris’s expression blanked immediately and he forced his body not to react negatively, not to tense further. His well of power would not be blown away on this. This was nothing. He’d tolerated more. 

So forcing himself once more, Eris bowed fully to his father and said as dull as possible, “Apologies, High Lord.”

His father said nothing for a moment and Eris took the opportunity to glare at the sparkling floors they stood on. When another minute ticked by in silence, he couldn’t help but lift his head to find his father smirking at him. And that was never good.

Especially when he opened his mouth and said, “Your wife says my High Lord. You should say it the way she does.” 

Eris’s body straightened before he could stop himself, his vision going red and the only thing that managed to hold him back from ripping his father’s throat out was the laugh that slipped out of the High Lord’s mouth, mocking him.

“You’re so easy to rile these days.” Beron taunted. “Which goes to show you how bad of an influence that wife of yours is.” Giving Eris a sly look, his father continued, “Maybe you should pick out a new bride tomorrow.” 

Eris didn’t bother fighting back his eye roll, despite how much his clenched fists were shaking. “This conversation is getting tedious, Father,” he said curtly. “May I please know what it is you wish to discuss with me?”

The High Lord’s expression filled with contempt as he stared down his son, the silence between them was heavy with trepidation. 

“Tedious, you say.”

“Yes. We both know there are about a thousand other things we could be doing instead of this little dance between us.” 

Beron made a disinterested noise. “I had no plans other than to fuck your mother this evening. Though her lack of enthusiasm doesn’t make it as enjoyable as it could be, it is better than nothing.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eris snapped and nothing could stop his fists from catching flame. “Show some respect when you speak about her.” 

And Eris knew his father’s fist would fly out. H​​e let it. He let the taste of blood fill his mouth as he staggered back a step from the blow. His father seemed to be spiraling. He had lashed out at stupid things before but this? To this extent? Eris felt the pit of his stomach give out. Could it be that something had slipped through the cracks?

“I will speak about my wife as I see fit. You do not get to insert yourself between us.” Beron spat and Eris wiped a hand at his mouth with a huff of disbelief. His father’s expression of disdain remained as he took a step closer to his son. “This is your problem. You are always inserting yourself in places you don’t need to be. You do it with your mother. You do it with your brothers. You did it in a meeting the other day with our council while I was in the room.” The High Lord glared and Eris had to fight with all the willpower he had to calm his shaking hands – to smother his flames. “You know why I called you here? To discuss how you intervened between me and your brothers the other day. An intervention I did not welcome.” His father’s gaze raked over his face. “I’ve tolerated your overstepping in the past because you followed orders – you get things done. However, I will not tolerate your overstepping tomorrow, especially in front of the many important guests that will be present. You will remember your place and watch how you behave.” 

The High Lord’s voice was nothing but a lethal threat as he said, “The next time you get between me and your brothers so carelessly like that, you will take the brunt of their discipline.” 

Eris tried to keep his expression from shifting at the promise filled with violence. This whole conversation was bringing all the stress he had been carrying and crashing it down on his head. It seemed that indeed, his command of his brothers had finally seemed to bother his father enough that he was finally saying something about it. What convenient fucken timing. 

Beron’s expression morphed into one of cruel amusement. “Your hair is only just starting to grow out. It’s too early for another new look, don’t you agree?”

And the warning was clear – a reminder of what the High Lord would be happy to do again in this very room. 

Eris pursed his lips, his heart thundering in his chest at his father’s gaze filled with violence as clear as the tone he used. He nearly choked as his magic surged up again, desperately wanting to answer it but instead, Eris forced himself to breathe slowly, the leash on his magic held tight as he said carefully, “I merely wished to help, Father. I didn’t realize it would bother this much.”

“I do not require your help to make your brothers fall in line. You should be falling in line with them.” the High Lord snapped. “Your help has become an insult.”

Eris’s jaw worked and again, he forced himself to bow his head graciously even though he wanted to do anything but – his father had already laid his hands on him twice; he couldn’t afford to keep giving him reasons to lash out. So Eris only said, “Duly noted.”

Silence stretched between them and Eris waited, knowing a threat was coming up. His father liked to play games and loved to waste his time. Minutes ticked away and Eris couldn’t help the flare of his nostrils when his father’s mouth curled up.

“Eris.”

“Father.”

“Tomorrow is a very big day,” Beron said slowly and took a step closer to him. “I’d hate for things to go wrong should any of you decide to do something foolish.” 

A chill skittered down his spine but Eris’s expression remained politely bored. The comment didn’t have to mean anything. His father didn’t know anything. The High Lord was only lashing out because Eris hadn’t said the right things to him, because he wasn’t being as careful as he could be. He would blame it on the stress and would not let himself believe anything else.

“Other than drinking excessively,” he said as nonchalantly as possible, “I don’t foresee any trouble.”

Beron hummed, watching Eris in a way that always made his skin crawl. “Your father-in-law will be in attendance. I expect you and your wife to behave accordingly.”

Annoyance flashed on Eris’s face before he could stop it. “I am aware. He’ll do well to steer clear of us completely, Father. That is my only request to you.”

“And if I refused?”

Eris forced his expression to blank pleasantness again, noting the movement of his father’s hands. “Then I cannot promise there won’t be trouble should his path cross ours.” 

“Is that a threat, son?”

“Never, Father,” he said with a small smile. “I am merely setting expectations.”  

Beron’s eyes narrowed and it was a deadly type of silence between them, the type of silence that Eris knew, had his father not needed him to be presentable tomorrow, Eris’s face would’ve met his fire rather than his fist. “You were my favorite son.” his father said quietly. “I do not like who you’ve become.” 

Eris could only slowly shrug his shoulders. “I’m sorry to be of constant disappointment, Father,” he replied and wished he could tell his father exactly how sorry he was – how much being the so-called favorite had cost him. 

Beron scowled and grabbed Eris’s face with a hand, tugging him closer. “Do not think I haven’t noticed how abysmal your attitude has been lately but I will warn you one last time,” his father said quietly, enough violence in his tone that Eris knew not to move. “Should you do anything that isn’t a direct order from me – anything that isn’t what I expect of you, I will make you pay in ways that’ll be worse than your nightmares.” Beron shoved him back and Eris couldn’t help his expression darkening at his father’s glare. “All this family has ever been is disappointing. Let’s hope you and your useless brothers don’t make matters worse for yourselves tomorrow.” 

The High Lord shoved past Eris but paused half a step away and Eris turned his head without a word, only raising a brow at the loaded silence between them. 

But then his father’s nostrils flared and Eris felt his blood run cold. He didn’t dare breathe and mentally checked his shields, knowing he had reinforced it around his scent before he came anywhere near his father, and yet…what exactly was the High Lord sensing?

His father merely gave him a once over then spat, “I’ll see you and your wife tomorrow. I hope you remember to make good choices.” 

And the High Lord’s goodbye felt like a promise full of death. Eris waited a few moments in tense silence, his blood thumping in his ears and when he was sure he was indeed alone, he closed his eyes to let out a deep shaky breath, feeling steam rise from his hands. His anxiety had returned in full force at his father’s departure. His father couldn’t have sensed anything, could he? Eris had glamoured his scent well; no one could note his mating bond, especially without Iris near him. If his father had scented his wife on him, that wouldn’t be unusual but Eris was too careful even for that. 

He ran a shaky hand through his hair and let himself linger for another moment, eyes flickering around the room, letting himself see it as it was for the last time. With a sigh, he turned on his heels and left the throne room. 

He needed to warn his brothers. 

–

Iris watched as Eris finally stepped into their suite and slammed the door behind him. He had taken longer than she had anticipated and the anxiety that had been squeezing around her chest immediately loosened when she saw that he was whole and unharmed. Her heart had stopped when Eris had told her about the High Lord’s meeting and the only reason Iris had survived waiting was because she distracted herself on the piano. 

Everything was supposed to be set. Everything was in place and yet, the tension that seeped into the room with him made her nervous. She hated that what could be their final night together was filled with such emotions. 

She rose from her place on the piano and walked over to him then stopped in her tracks, noting the slight bruise on his cheek, the cut on his lip. “What happened.” 

Her voice was more hushed than intended but if not for that, Iris knew she would start to panic. She moved closer until she stood before him and let her healing senses reach out, not wanting to touch him just yet – not until she was sure he wanted her touch at this moment. But she sensed nothing amiss aside from the evidence on his face and had to swallow when she met his blank stare. “What was this about?” she asked softly.

Eris had to calmly count to ten and let out a long breath before he could speak, “I seemed to have gotten under the High Lord’s skin when I supposedly overstepped and intervened between him and my brothers the other day.” he explained and Iris watched with a grimace as his fists tightened at his sides. “He wanted to remind me of my place and to watch my tone because apparently, my sarcasm doesn’t translate well.” 

“So he finally noticed and said something about it?”

“Funny how he’s always benefited from me doing all his work for him and now has the nerve to get annoyed by it,” Eris grumbled then shook his head. “He wanted to warn us – me to behave tomorrow.” 

Iris felt her heart stutter in her chest. “Warn how?” 

“He wanted to make sure I didn’t intervene in my brother’s whore parade so they could pick wives.” 

Iris brows furrowed. “Given that they’re all in committed relationships, I don’t think it’s going to go the way he wants.”

“Hopefully, by the end of the night tomorrow, he’ll be dead and we won’t have to worry about him at all,” Eris spat and rolled his head back, breathing deeply and Iris felt his frustration seep off him.

She frowned and stopped in front of him, assessing his expression then reached out a hand to gently touch him. She waited a heartbeat, giving him the chance to push her hand away if he wanted to but Eris couldn’t seem to help but shudder at the touch, and after a moment’s hesitation, he turned his face to kiss her hand softly. “You’re almost there. Tomorrow, you all will be free of him. You’ve prepared as best as you can.” she said softly, letting her magic wipe away his hurt.

“I know and yet, I don’t feel prepared at all,” he said quietly and Iris had never seen his eyes so tired. “I feel like it’s going to all go to hell and I’m going to drag you all down with me.” 

Iris cupped his face and forced him to meet her gaze. “Everyone is ready to go down swinging with you, Eris. This is not on your shoulders alone,” she said. “Please…unburden yourself.” 

He shook his head slowly and pulled her hands from his face to hold in his own. “My head isn’t wired to do that,” he said. “I’m thinking about all of the things that could go wrong.”

“But what about all the things that could go right?” Iris asked, squeezing his hands.

Eris’s chuckle was weak. “How I ended up with an optimistic wife really is a comical event. You truly did marry into the wrong family.” 

The corner of Iris’s mouth lifted. “Fate does work in mysterious ways.” 

“Indeed,” he agreed, then took a step back, his expression shifting. “Do you have all your items prepared for tomorrow? Aside from the bag we sent ahead to Lucien and Elain’s.”

She tried not to let her face fall and nodded. “I have a small satchel and daggers to hide beneath my dress.”

“You know where you’ll be meeting Oren?”

“Yes.”

“And the drop-off location where you’ll winnow to reach Lucien?” 

“Yes, Eris,” she said wearily. “We went over all this in the morning.”

“And we shall review it again tomorrow. I cannot take any risks when it comes to you.” he said and Iris gave him a knowing look.

“I know,” she said quietly. “Do you want to try and get some sleep? It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Eris shook his head, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. I’m too tense. Too nervous.” he said and licked his lips, glancing at her in a way that made her pause.

She waited a heartbeat then asked, “...Is there something else?”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his expression tight but with a sigh, Eris explained quietly, “When he was walking away from me, he paused a step away and…seemed to sense something in the air next to me.” 

Iris froze in his arms. “And you think that means…he knows something?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Why else would he do that? You mentioned in the stables he seemed to sense something around you. What if he sensed something from me? What if he knows?”

“Eris –”

“Iris, I can’t – how can I —” he growled and his grip on her tightened. “If he knows and pulls some shit tomorrow that would harm you in any way I —”

“Eris.” Her tone was firm enough that it made him pause, his expression stricken in a way that made her chest ache for him. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“How can you –”

“And what if he does? What does it matter?” Iris asked. “Tomorrow, things will change regardless. What does it matter if he finds out about our bond now?”

Eris’s expression fell and his whisper was hoarse, “Because this is the one thing – you are the one thing that is all mine. I don’t want his mark on it.” 

Iris felt her heart crack, the same way it always did when she thought of the way he’d lived his life constantly on edge, constantly thinking and planning and scheming. She didn’t want this particular night together to be this way. He needed some peace and Iris needed him just as badly as he needed peace.

“It doesn’t matter what or if he does anything,” she said quietly but not weakly. “I am yours and you are mine and whatever tomorrow brings, we will face it. He doesn’t get to win.” 

Eris struggled not to tremble at her determined gaze. That he had someone to worry about was one thing but to have someone — her — worry about him like this? He could truly never bring her peace and yet – she looked at him like this. Like she lov— loved him. 

As he loved her.

“What do you need?” Iris found herself whispering, reaching out a hand to gently touch his face again and a thrill always did go through her at how many times she could make him shudder with her touches. Iris waited, watching as he worked his jaw, swallowing before his eyes met hers. Without saying anything, she could feel his every emotion and concern. The thread at her ribcage was a path to his every thought and she gently tugged at it as for once, her husband let his emotions flicker across his face. The panic, the worry, the desperation, and Iris would do anything to bring him ease. 

After an eternity, his response was a broken rasp, “You. I only need you.”

Iris softened and stepped closer, Eris's arm immediately wrapping around her waist to pull her into him. “You have me,” she said softly and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I am here, with you. I am yours.”

He licked his lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly, without saying a word, the look they shared conveyed exactly what he needed – wanted, and always craved. He needed her in every way. He needed to only see her tonight. To only feel her. 

Her eyes didn’t waver from his as she slowly slid a hand down his chest. She knew exactly what he needed to be able to get through this night and Iris wanted nothing more than for them to feed into their feelings. Her hand continued down, past the waistband of his trousers until her hand wrapped around his impressive length and Eris hissed as she squeezed him, slowly pumping. His arm tightened around her, tension lining every inch of him even as their mouths were a breath apart.

“Tell me what you need,” she whispered but Eris couldn’t do anything but watch the blush across her cheeks, trying not to have his eyes roll back as she tightened her grip. His breath stuttered as she leaned in closer to him, pumping him leisurely as she spoke, “Do you want me on my knees? Should I take you in my mouth?” Eris groaned and closed his eyes, leaning into her slightly when Iris quickened her pace and then slowed down. “Tell me what I can do to make you feel good.”

“I want you everywhere.” he rasped and opened his eyes, his gaze filled with a desperate kind of heat that Iris felt seep into her bones. “Anything you want. Everything you’re willing to give me. I want this night to be just about you and me. For nothing else to matter.”

“Then nothing else has to matter right now,” she said softly. “It’s always just you and me.”

Eris licked his lips, his request for permission written all over his face, and every desperate thought and emotion he had spilled into his next word, “Please.” 

All it took was a nod from his wife and any restraint Eris had snapped. His kiss was as desperate as he felt, chasing her lips and Iris whimpered into his mouth, her hands digging into his back, quickly backing her into the table of their dining room.

“I — I can’t be gentle right now.” He said urgently in between his kisses, his hands moving as quickly as hers, both trying to undress the other. “If you don’t want that — please tell me now I don’t want to —“

But she held up her hand and Eris froze immediately, breathing heavily with her barricaded between his arms. Tonight, there would be nothing gentle about their coupling. With how high stakes everything would be tomorrow, all Iris wanted – needed was him. “I don’t want gentle," Iris said quietly. "I want whatever you'll give me.”

The demand in her tone had a noise he never thought he could make slip from his throat and Eris surged forward to claim her lips once more, searing himself into her.

His hands couldn’t move fast enough; he shoved her dress down her body, undergarments with it and Eris only got a second to admire her body before getting distracted by Iris’s own hands practically ripping off his clothing and in an instant, he helped her send them flying. He turned her around, pushing her body down and Iris hissed at the sensation of the cold table to her heated naked body. She couldn’t help but lean forward even further, presenting herself to him, and couldn’t stop the mewl that slipped from her lips when he smacked her ass. 

She looked over her shoulder and found Eris’s eyes on her, spreading her legs and Iris couldn’t stop the arch of her hips, biting her lip with a soft moan when his fingers slipped into her already wet folds.

“This is going to be hard and fast. I promise to be nice to you later but now…now I need to fuck you, wife.” He said and the low tenor of his voice made her hips arch back further, her breaths in time with his fingers teasing her entrance. “You understand?”

“Then you better fuck me hard, mate.” she said and Eris’s breath shuddered as she whispered, “I’m all yours.”

“Brace yourself,” was all he said before Eris thrust into her without preamble, and Iris let out a ragged moan, clutching onto the table as he had her. Eris fisted a hand in her hair and fucked her at a vicious pace and she could do nothing but bend over further for him, whimpering helplessly.

Her body took him and his brutal pace, Iris groaning as Eris grunted into her ear and Iris felt her impending release slowly start to build. The sensation of his tight grip on her hair, his other hand firmly on her back to keep her down was fueling a lust like never before in her.

It made her realize that she desperately liked it when he unleashed himself on her. That in fact, she loved that he was fucking her like this, especially as he thrust into her so hard again, he hit a spot she hadn’t thought existed until him. 

Looking over her shoulder, her breath quickened at the sight of the fire blazing in his eyes as he claimed her.

“Husband.” She gasped and Eris’s eyes snapped up to her, the hand on her back sliding to her ass and squeezing.

“Wife.”

“Harder.” She demanded and Eris’s eyes glazed over, the words driving him into a frenzy. He growled so deeply, goosebumps erupted all over her and the hand fisted in her hair pulled her head back so he could claim her lips, bruising her with a kiss.

“Gladly, mate.” he purred.

She shuddered and tried to meet his pace but Eris had unleashed himself completely and her husband was gone. Pushing her down fully on the table, the grip on her hips was deliciously painful as he thrust wildly.

There was no hope for her to catch up and Iris happily let him claim her, her release creeping closer – knowing how much they needed this with all that tomorrow would bring. The sound of his heavy breathing, the sound of their bodies meeting, and finally when he smacked her ass hard enough she knew there would be a mark, Iris shattered with a delicate cry.

Eris grunted and didn’t give her a moment to shudder through her climax as he pulled out, his length hard and wet with her release. He turned her over so fast and before she could realize what was happening, her husband had her flat on her back on the table.

Yanking her to the edge, he spread her legs for him and slapped her cunt, rubbing the slickness of her release in her folds. “I didn’t ask you to come.” He purred, his tone just a little mean and Iris arched her back off the table with a throaty groan as he slapped her sex again. “You like it when I slap your cunt, wife? Your cunt that belongs to me?”

But Iris was having a hard time getting her mouth to form words and could only breathe heavily, nodding. 

“I want to hear your answer, little gazelle.” he growled and slapped her cunt again, the sting a little harder and Iris cried out.

“Yes.” Iris wouldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed at the whimper that left her lips when he did it once more with a savage grin.

“That’s my good girl.”

Iris’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as his hips snapped into hers and held, the sensation so overwhelmingly good she could already feel another release building. 

The blaze in his eyes become more prominent, predatory as he pulled back only to pound into her again, his thrusts frantic and the pace merciless, watching her take his cock; a choked sob slipping from Iris’s lips when he pushed her legs further apart and held down, the angle deepening his reach. Her hand slid to her clit and his smirk was wild as he watched her play with herself, her pace trying to match his.

“You take me so fucken good, wife. I need to fuck you in front of a mirror so you can see the way my cock fills you up. So you can see how your swollen cunt drips with need for me.” His voice was guttural and Iris bit her lips, the words only igniting more fire in her – more want. “You like it like this? You like it when I lose control? When I fuck you like an animal?”

“Yes.” She breathed and Eris clenched his jaw, his thrusts now desperate. 

“My hand — your throat.” his words were barely understood as another choked whimper slipped from Iris and she begged, 

“Please.”

Her plea had Eris’s hand slide to her throat and Iris’s mouth fell open at the sensation of his grip tightening slightly.

“You like that?” He ground out, snapping his hips into her hard enough, it caused her to shift back onto the table slightly.

But Iris could only gasp as he pulled her back to the edge of the table with a growl, his grip on her throat heightening all her other senses, her free hand clenching the hand on her throat desperately.

“I’m —“

“I’ll have you dripping all over this table momentarily, wife.” He snarled. “Patience.”

And Iris let him lose himself inside her as she lost herself in him. The feeling of being at his mercy like this would’ve had her breaking out in hives once upon a time but now she trusted him so thoroughly that giving him this type of control — control he needed – was so freeing. She was free falling and the sound of his rough grunts as he fucked her senseless sent her right over the edge once more with a tight moan.

“I said pati — fuck.” He growled and his thrusts became even more erratic as she clenched her walls around him, her body bowing off the table with a silent scream, her release coursing through her.

“Eris.” She whined and the sound of his name whispered from her lips undid him.

Eris cursed, pumping hard as he spilled himself inside her and Iris watched him through hooded eyes, relishing the way his eyes closed, the hand not on her throat gripping her thigh tight enough she knew it would bruise. He leaned over her, resting his head in the crook of her neck,  his breathing unsteady as his thrusts slowed and Iris could only moan softly when he pressed himself in her and held again, his cock still pulsing inside her. Her thumb caressed the hand still wrapped around her throat and Iris licked her lips, pleasure still coursing through her. 

When he finally opened his eyes and pulled back slightly, the sight of her underneath him, splayed beautifully, almost had him come again; he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of her, and judging by the way her walls still tightened around his shaft, Eris was sure she didn’t mind. He loved being inside her, loved it when she warmed his cock.

The fingers around her throat stroked her neck gently before he let go and peppered it with soft kisses that earned him a breathless sigh from his wife’s lips and he couldn’t help his small smile when he pulled back to meet her gaze.

And Eris felt his whole being crumble when she smiled softly at him and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing her with such tenderness that Iris felt her heart break a little. This was the way it was between them – a little rough balanced in with a little soft; she was the only one who made him realize how much he needed that softness. 

She pulled him closer with a hand on the back of his neck, the other on his chest, and wrapped her legs around his waist, the movement pushing him deeper inside her, and Iris had to bite her lip to swallow the wanton sound she knew would come out of her mouth. But she wanted to wrap her very being around him and keep him close to her heart, where he would be safe and whole and hers. She wanted him forever like this, in her arms as he kissed her and touched her and looked at her like she was the only one who mattered.

Their kiss deepened and when he shifted slightly, she wasn’t sure who made the breathless noise between them as she tightened around his cock again.

He shifted slightly, brushing a hair out of her face. “You’re trying to torture me, aren’t you?” he gasped and Iris giggled. 

“I’m only giving you what you wanted.” 

His gaze was smoldering and Iris felt her whole body heat as they shared a breath but Eris forced himself to pause, his eyes roaming her face. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly and Iris felt his nervousness start to creep up. “Did I —“

“You didn’t hurt me.” She said immediately and leaned up to leave a quick kiss on his neck, running a hand down his chest. “I liked it. I liked it a lot. In fact –” Iris slid her hands up his toned arms then down his back slowly until they settled on his backside and she squeezed, digging her nails into his flesh. Her cheeks flushed as he groaned, rocking into her. “I think you and I are far from finished.”

Eris’s eyes flashed with desire as her words ignited a fire within him; she always knew what he needed without saying a word. His wife. His friend. His mate.

She was his and he was hers and Eris – who had never even dreamed of this, would hold on to this glowing thread between them like the lifeline it was.

“You’re right,” he said and his voice was a sensuous caress as he leaned closer. “I am far from done with you, little gazelle.” 

Little else was said as the two moved, and there was nothing soft about this claiming, nothing gentle about the need and desperation in their touches. Everything would change tomorrow and Eris couldn’t stop himself from letting himself be all wrapped up in her. For having this night of forgetting. 

And Eris promised himself he would do whatever it takes for their tomorrow to have a tomorrow. Whatever it takes to bring them peace. Regardless of how many pieces he had to break himself to do it. 

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 8 - Purely Coincidence

Chapter Summary: Cat starts classes at Midtown High, where she recognizes a certain someone.

Chapter Warnings: None

Notes: This is for everyone wanting more Peter! Let me know if there is something else you want to see too! Updates are slow as I’m on vacation right now but I’ll try to crank out what I can!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

March - One week later - Rosewood Elementary

“You’re gonna be taking classes at the high school?” T.J. said incredulously.

“Yup.”

“Are you a genius or something?” Lance demanded.

“Pretty much,” Cat said. “But I’m still gonna be coming here, only Mr. Radd from the office is driving me to the high school for a couple of classes a day.”

Lance’s eyes were wide. “Whoa.”

To her surprise and slight pleasure, Cat had slotted in well with her table group. T.J. came off as sweet and quiet, but Cat found out that he had his share of eye-rolling and wry side comments. This was especially present during Chelsea’s long rants about the most frivolous inconveniences, like how she found the school’s water fountains “disgusting” and “unseemly” for a person “of her stature.”

Lance had been right about Chelsea. Seriously, the girl thought she was a big deal or something. Most everyone at the school was well-off— Cat didn’t know why Natasha had chosen to enroll her in such a preppy elementary school— but Chelsea’s parents were dripping in wealth, a fact that Chelsea liked to shove in everyone’s faces. They dressed her up like a doll, in frilly, pastel clothes and matching shoes. Coupled with her auburn curls and doe eyes, she looked like a princess. A spoiled, smack-talking, evil-hearted princess.

Every time Chelsea made a Chelsea-like comment, Lance and Cat would lock eyes and exchange a series of silent mocking, which made her presence bearable. Meanwhile, Lance and Cat got along like a house on fire. He was the class troublemaker— a position that Cat both respected and was vying for. However, Cat’s quick wit and cutting remarks balanced them out.

Their table group was located at the furthest corner of the classroom, making it an ideal location for hushed conversations during boring lessons. Currently, Mrs. Reynolds was lecturing the class about negative numbers. The worksheets they’d been given were things Cat could’ve finished in her sleep.

“How are you so smart?” T.J. asked.

Cat tapped her head. “Perfect memory. I can remember stuff like that.” She emphasized the last part of her sentence by snapping.

“That’s not even possible,” Chelsea dismissed. “There’s no such thing as a perfect memory.”

Cat turned on her. “Explain to me how I have one, then.”

“You don’t, obviously.”

“I so do.”

“Don’t!”

“Do!”

“Cat, Chelsea,” Mrs. Reynolds warned from the front of the class, stopping mid-lecture. Half the class turned to look at them. This was a common occurrence. “Are you paying attention?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Reynolds,” Chelsea simpered, widening her eyes innocently. Her entire persona had changed in less than a second. “It won’t happen again.”

“Suck-up,” Cat muttered once Mrs. Reynolds had turned.

“Least I’m not a liar,” Chelsea fired back.

“I’m not a liar. I can prove it.”

“Don’t bother. It’s ridiculous, anyway,” Chelsea said, crossing her arms. “You’re just trying to get attention.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Which high school is it?” T.J. intervened smoothly, like he’d done a hundred times.

“Midtown School of Science and Technology,” Cat replied, throwing Chelsea a smug smile.

Lance perked up. “My sister goes there! It’s a really fancy school.”

“If it’s called a ‘School of Science and Technology’, don’t they only teach science and technology there?” Chelsea asked. “How’re you gonna learn math and social studies? You’ll be so behind.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Cat retorted scathingly. “Obviously they teach math, too. Just because it’s a science and technology school doesn't mean—”

“GIRLS!” Mrs. Reynolds yelled tiredly from the front of the classroom. “Don’t make me separate you two!”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

March - that day - Midtown High

The boy in her chemistry class was definitely staring at her.

Actually, half the class was staring at her, due to the lovely introduction Mrs. Whatsherface (Cat hadn’t caught her name) was currently giving her.

“Class, this is our new student, Cat. She’s only ten years old and she’s going to be attending Midtown High for the rest of the year. Now, you’re all responsible high schoolers. I expect all of you to welcome her warmly. I don’t want to hear about any mistreatment going on behind my back…”

Cat zoned out. She’d heard a similar speech given in her Algebra and English classes. Here’s the weird freaky-smart fourth-grader, please don’t eat her alive. So she was used to the staring by now. That didn’t mean it had stopped freaking her out. She wasn’t going to lie and say she wasn’t intimidated by the high schoolers. They were so much taller and older than her. They felt like giants. They talked about things that she didn’t know the slightest about.

Some of the nice ones tried to befriend her, but these occasions were more awkward than not. They tended to talk to her like she was their five-year-old cousin at Thanksgiving dinner, which did not make a strong friendship foundation. Cat just stared at them until they backed away slowly. And so the staring continued.

But the boy wasn’t staring at her in the judgemental, why-are-you-here way she’d grown accustomed to. Instead, he looked confused. His brow was wrinkled as if he wasn’t sure which item to order off the menu at a restaurant. His gaze followed her as Mrs. Whatsherface gestured for her to take a seat at the same table as his.

A Filipino kid next to the boy gave her a friendly smile. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Ned.” He glanced at the boy and nudged him.

The boy started. “I’m Peter.”

He looked away then, but Cat was aware of his frequent glances towards her as Mrs. Whatsherface started the lesson. She ignored it, instead focusing on scribbling down notes in the lab notebook as required and writing observations in the worksheet that had been passed out. She had never learned the material before; it was all very interesting. Still, Peter’s staring was getting a lot less subtle.

Cat’s head finally snapped up, returning his gaze with an unblinking stare of her own. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” he said immediately, head falling back down to his work.

When his eyes found its way back to her less than a minute later, she hissed, “What?”

“Sorry,” he repeated, looking away. “I just thought I recognized you.”

As he spoke, Cat thought she might’ve recognized him too.

Ever since she was little, Cat had been able to recall the exact pitch and inflection of any voice she’d ever heard. That statement, and the sound of his voice, triggered something in her memory. The boy’s voice was a lot more subdued and quiet from when she’d heard it last, but her memory had never failed her before. It only took her thirteen and a half seconds to correctly match the voice to the person.

Spider-Man.

Cat had to physically restrain herself from gasping and yelling something out that wouldn’t be appropriate in a school setting. It took an impressive amount of self-control to bite the inside of her cheek, give the boy a weird look and shrug as nothing had happened, and turn back to her work. But instead of writing down the answer to number 5 on the lab worksheet, Cat stared blankly at the page, an internal turmoil whirling inside of her.

She trusted her memory, but she couldn’t help thinking, Seriously? This high schooler, of all people? This is… Spider-Man? No— more accurately— Spider-Boy .

When she’d met him, she’d guessed that he was young, but she hadn’t thought he’d still be in high school. That was… young, right? Or was that normal? Cat thought back to the Avengers she’d met— Hawkeye had for sure been older than a high schooler. He’d looked about the same age as Trevor. Cat knew Natasha was kind of young, which made sense. You couldn’t fight aliens and robots if you had aching bones and stiff knees.

But still— a high schooler? In the grand scheme of things, that was barely older than her. How old were high schoolers again? Fourteen to eighteen?

Cat risked a look up at him. Peter was scribbling on the page, almost done with the problems on the worksheet. He had brown hair with a slight curl to it, and eyes without the slightest hint of malice in them. He wore a crewneck sweatshirt over a collared shirt. He dressed like a stereotypical nerd, but Cat noticed he was built athletically and had a slight, yet muscular figure. Despite this, he didn’t look anything like what she’d expect a superhero to look.

For example, Cat could tell just by looking at Natasha that she was an Avenger. Even out of her Black Widow garb and dressed in civilian clothes, she was strikingly intimidating and gave off an important, self-assured air. Peter looked like any random high schooler. Not even any random high schooler— a high schooler who was made fun of by bullies.

Like a lightbulb turning on, Cat recalled something interesting that had taken place outside of class. She’d been on her way to class, when a preppy-looking boy— Flash, his friends had called him— rolled up in an expensive car, jeering at Peter. They yelled out names at him. One had stood out to Cat— “Penis Parker.” The insult was neither funny nor creative, but it made Flash’s hoard of goonies roar with laughter. Peter had ignored them, but it was clear he was used to this kind of charade.

“Now you’re the one staring at me,” Peter/Spider-Boy said, and Cat realized with a start that she’d been caught.

“Yeah, uh,” Cat stalled, still frazzled by the realization. “I think I recognize you too.”

At this seemingly innocent statement, Peter's eyes widened, and a look of wild panic passed over his face. He started stammering. “Uh— wait, really? That’s, um, that’s so weird.”

He suddenly launched into a coughing fit, bent-double over the table. Ned clapped him on the back, hard. Peter lurched forward and his lab goggles came off. In one swift, fluid motion, he swiped them before they could smash onto the floor. Mrs. Whatsherface hurried over to make sure everything was okay as Peter’s coughing subsided. While this happened, Cat couldn’t help but feel a bit unimpressed with him. Was he really this bad at disguising his reactions? If Cat hadn’t already figured it out by then, she would have certainly been suspicious of his actions.

“Dude,” Ned muttered, “you good?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good,” Mrs. Whatsherface said, relieved. She looked over his worksheet and smiled at him. “Done already? Keep it up, Peter.”

Peter, Cat thought. The name echoed in her head. Peter Parker.

She knew Spider-Man’s real identity.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Cat was not stalking Peter Parker.

She just happened to be walking in the same direction as him when she saw him leaving campus. And followed him when he turned a corner. And idled on the same street when he stopped to pay a vendor for a hot dog. And… okay, maybe she was stalking Peter Parker.

But Cat was curious. Questions had been springing up in her head all day. Had she gotten it wrong, or was Peter Parker really Spider-Man? And if he was, how did he do it all— manage school and Spider-Man-ing? When Cat wanted to find something out, there was nothing she wouldn’t push out of her path to get to it.

She was careful to stay a few paces behind him, but he seemed to know someone was following him. His strides became longer and hastier, and he frequently cast looks behind his shoulder. He never saw Cat— she was too short to be quickly picked out from the crowded sidewalk, but she could tell he was wary.

Eventually, he stopped. He crossed the street and headed into a library. Cat lingered at the steps of the library for a few moments, waiting to see if he would come out. When it became clear that he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon, she followed him in.

A rush of warmth hit her as she came in through the doors. She hadn’t been in this particular library before. It was small, colorful, and cozy. She did some exploring, wandering the shelves while keeping an eye out for Peter. There were beanbags and bright stuffed animals in the children’s section. A row of computers lined a table. There was a section of tables in the corner of the library. And finally— there!

Spotting a head of brown curls, Cat crouched behind a shelf of books and watched him. He was sitting alone at an isolated table, scribbling in a notebook. Earbuds were hanging from his ears, and his head was bobbing to the beat. There was a laptop open in front of him. Every now and then, he would punch numbers into a calculator. He looked like he was doing his Algebra homework. Not doing any things that screamed, Hey, look! I’m Spider-Man!

Cat looked away, disappointed. Her gaze fell on a small nub of an eraser lying on a table. She got an idea. Palming the eraser, she walked closer to Peter’s table, positioning herself so that she was perpendicularly behind him. The section of tables was mostly empty. There was only a sprinkling of people, none seated near Peter’s table, all so concentrated on their work that they paid her no attention.

Cat rolled the eraser around in her fingers, peering at the boy. Her aim was usually dead-on— she had an uncanny knack for darts. She lined up her arm to her target, and lobbed the eraser at Peter. The eraser had barely left her hand before there was a flash of movement. Cat, expecting it, saw it as if it happened in slow motion.

The calculator dropped onto the table with a clatter. Peter spun around in his chair, almost faster than Cat could comprehend, and caught the eraser inches before it hit his face. His eyes flitted across the room, searching for the thrower. It didn’t take him long to find her. It wasn’t Cat’s intention to hide— and even if it was, there was hardly anything to hide behind. She looked right into his eyes, and saw the suspicion replaced by startled confusion.

She walked up to him. He was a lot taller up close. He looked at her, clearly expecting an explanation for randomly chucking an eraser at his head. She was instantly seized with a bout of anxiety. Perhaps she should have prepared a speech. What was she planning to say to him? She fumbled for the right words. It had to be the right combination of intelligence, humor, and comprehensiveness. She couldn’t mess this up.

“Hi,” she said.

Nailed it.

“Hi,” he responded reflexively.

“I’m Cat. We have the same chem.”

“I know.” He glanced behind him, towards the doors of the library. A frown came over his face. “I’m confused. Did you follow me here?”

“Kind of. Maybe. Well, yes. Nice catch, by the way,” she added.

He held up the eraser. “Did you—”

“I did, yeah.” Now what? “Listen. I know you’re Spider-Man,” she whispered impulsively, in a volume so low that she could barely hear herself.

Peter seemed to have heard her as clearly as if she’d just shouted it across the room. He jerked away from her like she told him that she had a contagious disease. His mouth opened, then snapped shut with a close. His head snapped from side to side, his eyes darting across the room again, making sure no one had heard.

He leaned in closer, and Cat could tell he was about to deny it. “That’s not—”

“And there’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind,” she said hastily, talking over him, “because I’m completely sure about it. And you know me, you said yourself you recognize me, because you saved my—”

He made a series of frantic waving motions with his hands, eyes bugged out of his head. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa! SHHHHH!”

In the stillness of the library, his wild movements and volume caused a series of heads to swivel towards them to see what all the fuss was about.

“Sorry,” Peter whispered, and they all collectively turned back.

“Very smooth,” Cat murmured.

He looked around nervously. “We should go somewhere else to talk.”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

“I like your backpack,” Peter said, once they were both settled into the furthest part of the alley. “It’s very—”

“Ugly and pink. And don’t try to change the subject! It won’t change the fact that I know you’re—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Peter raised his hands up hastily, then lowered his voice. “Could you maybe not say those words out loud?”

“Why? What’s gonna happen? Is a lightning bolt going to strike me out of the sky?” Cat looked up at the clear blue sky and held up her arms, fully expecting this exact scenario to happen.

“What? No! I just don’t want people to know who I am.”

“So you admit it? That you’re…” Cat leaned in closer to him, so that her mouth was inches away from his ear. “Spider-Boy ?”

He sighed in defeat. “Spider-Man.”

“Hardly,” she dismissed, pulling back. “You’re barely older than me.”

“Hey!” Peter protested. “I saved your life.”

Cat felt pleasantly surprised that he’d really remembered her. “You remember?”

“Of course. You were the girl being mugged in an alley by those jerks. You had a cute little beagle.”

“Her name’s Taco.”

“Looks like your eye healed up all right.” His eyes scrunched up. “Didn’t you say you were homeless? How are you in school? And why are you at my school? And why did you follow me?”

“It’s a long story. And it’s purely coincidence, I promise. I’m not, like, a crazy stalker or anything. I was just curious.”

“But you did stalk me to the library,” he pointed out.

“That’s besides the point.”

“So what is the point?”

“The point is, Spider-Boy—”

“Peter,” he interrupted. “Don’t call me that. Call me Peter.”

“Fine, Peter. The point is, I’m awesome and I figured out that you’re…” Cat leaned closer for a second time. Dramatically, she whispered, “ Spider-Man .”

He cocked his head at her. “Right, that. How did you figure it out?”

“Your voice. All high pitched and squeaky. Kind of hard to forget.”

“Hold on.” He put his hands up, stopping her. “You recognized who I was… by my voice?”

“Don’t be too flattered. I’ve remembered every voice I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Remember that thing I told you about the voice modulator? You should really get on to changing it, because someone super smart like me could figure you out just by hearing your real voice.”

“That’s crazy,” Peter repeated. “This whole thing is crazy. Your memory must be nuts. Is that why you go to Midtown? Are you a child prodigy?”

“I mean, I don’t want to sound too boastful, but… yeah, basically.”

“That’s… kind of awesome.” He shook his head. “But this is so weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

There was a moment of tense silence where they just looked at each other. Cat wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Was there anything going on? She’d nearly revealed Spider-Man’s real identity in a public library, dragged him to an uncomfortable hiding spot, and forced him to admit the truth to her. She felt a little bad about inconveniencing him. But now what? What had she been planning to do after capturing his attention?

“Sorry if this was creepy,” Cat blurted. “Is this creepy?”

“It’s a little creepy,” he confirmed. “But not bad-creepy.” He considered that for a moment. “Also not good-creepy. It’s more of an in-the-middle creepy.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not. It’s creepy.”

“It’s not that creepy. You know what— let’s just stop saying the word ‘creepy.’”

“Agreed.”

Something shifted about him. He was suddenly wary, nervous. He regarded her carefully. “Hey. You aren’t going to tell anyone about this, right? About me being… you know?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t get why you wanna keep it all a secret. If I were you, I’d swing around and shove it up everyone’s faces.” She widened her eyes at him earnestly. “But if you don’t want me to tell, I won’t tell.”

“You swear? It’s really important to me that you swear.”

Cat held out her pinky. “I not only swear— I pinky swear.”

He linked his pinky with it. “Just to be clear, this means you won’t tell anyone. Not your teacher, not even your closest friends.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Obviously, because that would fall under the definition of ‘anyone.’”

He went on. “Because this is super important—”

“Spider-Boy!” she yelled at him, a little offended. That effectively shut him up. “Are you doubting my promise-keeping abilities?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“Well, don’t! I am an excellent promise-keeper.”

He raised his hands defensively. “Okay, I believe you! Just making sure.”

After a moment, Cat asked, “I can’t even tell Taco?”

He thought about it. “You can tell Taco.”

“Yay!” She checked her watch, and her mood did an instant one-eighty. “Oh, crap!”

“What?”

Cat grabbed her backpack from the ground. “Crap!”

“What is it?” Peter asked, now alarmed.

Crapcrapcrapcrap. She’d forgotten about her promise to Natasha to meet her at the apartment after school for her first fighting lesson.

“I have to be somewhere,” she yelled to Peter as she booked it out of that alley. “See you in chem!”

“Okay!” he yelled after her. “This was very weird!”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Yay for more Peter and Cat! Let me know if there are other things you want to see! And please continue to like/reblog/comment if you’re enjoying the story so far! They motivate me so so much while I’m writing. Thank you!

[neonacity]

ARCANE: INIZIO | CHAPTER 8 [PREVIEW]

ARCANE FULL SERIES

Cold fingers ghosted over your skin, teasing you to slowly wake from your slumber. His touch was gentle as they traced your spine but the roughness of his calouses made you shiver and melt even more against his touch. Jeno felt it and moved his head a little to brush his lips against your forehead. You sighed, the action warming his bare collarbones with your breath.

"Are you awake?"

"No..."

You felt him slightly smile against your hair. You didn't want to open your eyes, afraid that the moment you do, he will pull away from you again. It's been so long since you had him close like this, so open and raw, and you are willing to put in the line anything just so you could live off of this moment for as long as you can.

"Look at me..."

"Jen, it's past midnight. You can leave before daybreak. I don't think anyone will care at all—"

"Run away with me."

You froze in his arms. Slowly, you pulled away to look at him, wondering for a moment if you heard his words well and clear. He looked too beautiful in the shadows of your room to be saying lies he didn't mean. Desperately, you tried to look for a hint in his eyes of guilt, but instead he only met your gaze with an openness that made your throat catch.

"What...?"

Jeno slightly turned towards you and raised a hand to cradle your cheek. His thumb made gentle strokes on your lips for comfort.

"Run away with me. Let's leave everything behind and start somewhere. Anywhere."

You were speechless. Unconsciously, you held back his hand to stop him from distracting you with his touch. He let you do it, but the look he gave you did nothing to soften his determination.

"Jeno, we can't leave the family. You know that. We're both—"

"Masters of a system that we both didn't want nor wished for," he said, cutting you off before you could even finish the words he's heard from you countless of times. "Don't you see? We've always had a choice. Being born into this doesn't mean you have to carry this burden forever."

He sounded so raw yet so held back in that moment that you just knew he had been thinking about this for so long. Is this why he had been avoiding you since you went back to Rosewood?

"Our lives has been set for us the moment the Arcanas chose us as their masters. To have these powers mean we have a role to play. All of us do," you answered back in a tone that almost sounded as if you were begging. You can't help it. Never in your life have you ever considered this, the freedom he is talking about.

"And I choose a life with YOU," he shot back as he finally pulled away from you to stand up from the bed. You sat up as well, your heart dropping at the distance he put between the two of you. The desperation and frustration in his voice was like a slap on raw skin. You watched as he paced and ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that told you it was costing him his everything to say these things now.

"You say there is a war coming, but you don't have to fight it. None of us do. Your father has always given you a choice to run away from this, but you've held back thinking you need to pay a debt you didn't ecen make in the first place," he paused, before finally facing you again.

"I've made my choice. And I only have ever wanted you."

Silence rang in the wake of his words. You looked at him lost, and he did the same but with an intensity you have never seen in him before. There are only a couple of things in your cursed life that you have always been sure of. One, that tragedy is in your horizon, no matter how much you try to run away from it.

Two, you want Jeno.

Just as desperately, foolishly, and madly he wants you.

Your gaze finally lowered as you let your thoughts consume you whole. Jeno, seeing that as a clear refusal, sadly softened his shoulders in defeat. He looked away and stepped back.

"Forget it."

"We leave at dawn."

This time, it was his turn to freeze. He looked back at you, stunned and silent. You met him head on, your gaze clear and also determined for the first time in years.

"Let's leave together... I want you. And I'm not running away again."

*******

Taglist: @lostlovesoul11 , @byunniebaekhyunnie , @smolpeyy , @bettyschwallocksyee , @babyksworld , @cabaretyun , @marijmin , @glitching-wren , @jhornytrash , @coconuttiez8d, @huangberryyy , @wonyofanclub ​, @ronjunnie , @cuilwen0630