#signs a man is unhappy in his marriage

[myfictionaldreams]

Hey :) i would love to ask for a spicy Lucius Malfoy x Reader ☺️ something like Reader is a young Teacher in Hogwarts and Lucius and her are having an (very serious) affair (takes Place in the chamber of secrets).

The School Governor //Lucius Malfoy x Fem!Reader

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I've never written Lucius before, but hopefully, you'll enjoy it!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, infidelity/cheating, secret relationship, rough sex, creampie, fingering, squirting, tension, praise kink, size difference, Narcissa bashing (sorry!), kissing, fluff/angst

Words: 2.8k

my masterlist 📚

AO3 Link

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be here at this time of day, Mr Malfoy?”

The corner of the man’s lip twitched up like he was trying to smile but attempting to conceal it by remaining stoic. You were then faced with his signature sneer, those piercing grey eyes wandering over your appearance as if he was assessing whether he even wanted to waste his time. “It seems I’ve become lost on my travels around Hogwarts. Might you show me the way out?” Lucius asked with disdain thick in his voice

“Of course, Sir. Just this way”, you pointed in the direction you’d just walked from. No one even blinked an eye in either of your directions as you led him away from the grouping of students who were all on their way to bed as the night drew closer to curfew.

Your head remained forward, not once looking over your shoulder to check if he was following as you knew that he would be. You thanked Merlin for having an office so far away from students and other professors as the main offices were already lived in. You were new to the school, recently hired to assist Madam Pomfrey with Herbology, as she was too busy trying to attend to the Mandrakes.

The job may have been due to the recommendations of the man following closely behind you, his cane clicking against the stone floor and billowing close, switching the dust in whichever direction he turned.

As you both approached further towards the greenhouses and, thus, your office, there was a blossoming of heat and anticipation spreading from the centre of your chest to the tip of your toes. This was always something that your body seemed to do whenever within arms reach of the school’s governor. Moreover, he always seemed to be at the school nowadays, stating that he was there on school business, especially with the latest attacks on the students.

This is just an excuse, however, pretending to look around the school to catch the Headmaster in a scheme, but really, he would be sneaking to your classroom, office or meeting in the Forbidden Forest.

It was wrong. More than wrong. He had a wife, whom he was incredibly unhappy with, having been forced into a marriage as soon as he’d finished his time as a student at Hogwarts. All to abide by the pure blood status and traditions without any sort of say in the matter. Forced to live a life of misery, reproduce and have heirs and then die in a loveless marriage.

This was the only reason you had continued to meet with him. The ache in your heart quickly succumbs to his negative life. You knew he was manipulative, quick-tempered and had questionable ideologies on the dark arts. But when it came to Lucius Malfoy, it was as if your mind purposefully ignored these warning signs, mainly because he never discussed or acted in a horrible way around you.

You were always his peace and tranquillity, his little saviour in the dark before the world's realities came crumbling down around him. There you were, gifted with the raw, passionate, and incredibly loving man who held your hand when walking past, stroking your cheek to catch any slipped tears when it was time to say goodbye for a few more weeks.

It was a complex relationship to have and made even more so when you were now having to teach his son, Draco, who seemed to be a smaller copy of his Father, to be even more arrogant at his young age. It meant that you could give him additional help to boost his grades and, therefore, please his father, which, in turn, helped bring positivity into the secret relationship.

As you were greeted with the view of the long corridor that led to your office, your steps slowed as Lucius snapped, “Dobby. Check the area is clear for any prying eyes”.

With a flash out of the corner of your eyes, Dobby appeared and disappeared, apparating further down the corridor in multiple positions to check if the two of you were truly alone.

“The area is clear, Master”, Dobby approached before disappearing completely. You and Lucius rushed the remaining way to the office. You opened the door wide enough for him to follow through and slammed closed. As your wand waved in front of the handle, thoroughly locking the two of you in, a hand gripped your hip, turning your body so that your back met the door's wood.

A leathery gloved hand then cupped your jaw, tilting your face back so that Lucius could kiss you with as much desperation and urgency as you felt in the centre of your chest. It almost hurt with how much pressure his face was applying to yours, his warm breath fanning across the apple of your cheeks with where his nose was pressing. Your hands lifted to grab any part of him and ended up clinging onto the opening of his cloak, harshly tugging him even closer until there wasn’t a gap between your bodies.

Releasing a soft moan from your throat, this seemed to begin moving further, both gloved hands now cupping both of your cheeks in a safe cocoon as his thumbs caressed careful circles against your skin.

The coldness of the material wasn’t enough to satisfy your need for him as you dipped your head to free your mouth. “Off! I need your clothes off!”

Lucius’s baritone laugh burst across your face as he stepped back to give the two of you some room. “Such a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“I am when you’re wearing so many layers! Take them off!”

He chuckles at your reaction once more but finally begins to remove the cloak from his shoulders and gloves from his hands, next attempting to undo the luxurious vest jacket that he wore. The buttons running down the middle were taking too long for him to undo, so you quickly gripped either side of the best and pulled hard, surprised by your strength as the buttons began to pop off and tumble.

“Do you know how expensive this was?” he asked incredulously, but humour still danced behind his bright eyes.

“I’ll fix it at the end”, you say breathlessly, wrapping both arms around his neck and pulling him in for another heated kiss. A perfect mix of lips, teeth and tongue, all moving together, nipping, licking and sucking. Neither mouth pulled apart from the other, making the actions more frantic and chaotic with the attempts to remove more of the clothing articles. Soon, you both became frustrated by the barriers and settled for the basics.

Leaving your jumper and skirt on, you kicked off the shows, tights and underwear you’d been wearing as Lucuius kept his white shirt on but undid his leather belt to loosen his trousers and boxers until they were around his knees.

Lucius pulled back from the heated kiss first, but only so he could turn you around and push you face-first against the door. You huffed at the impact but soon were groaning in pleasure as he lifted your skirt and began to rock his dick against your folds, teasing you with gentle pressure before finding its home in your warm cunt.

“Silenco”, Lucius whispers, waving his hand as the atmosphere becomes dense as the spell renders the area soundproof. With the safety of the spell, your mouth fell open, and a barrel of dirty moans left your lips as you didn’t hold back from telling him how good it felt to be stretched by his cock once more.

Lucius dipped his height so that his forehead could rest against your cheek, breathing heavily as he thrust hard and deep. The pace was bruising to the side of your face, resting against the door, but nothing in the world would get you to stop at that moment. To be able to feel his thick length fucking hard into your pussy was something you craved every day.

As your hand reached the back of his head, gripping his silky white-blond hair, you gasped, “I’ve missed you”.

Lucuius groans as he nuzzles into your neck, biting the skin just below your ear as his arm moves around your waist, angling your hips so your arse is sticking out slightly so he can deepen the thrusts.

“I’ve missed you too, little witch. So much more than you could ever know”. Your heart could have stopped at his words, falling even more in love with him than you had before, which tightened your drenched walls even further around him. “I know you’re close. I want to feel you cum around my cock Darling, cum for me like the good witch I know you are”.

As he praises you, the arm around your waist slips beneath the front of your skirt so that he can roll your clit in circles, matching the pace of his hips. Your thighs tremble, fingers clenching his hair until it hurt, but Lucius didn’t stop until you were crying out in pleasure, cunt clamping in spasms around his length, and he, too, joined you through his own orgasm.

Lucius didn’t stop rolling his hips until you were sated and calm from cumming, and his seed had soaked as deep as he possible, caressing your cervix and then dripping out down your thighs. The two of you sighed in contentment, staying together, pushed against the wall, and just appreciating the moment you had tangled against one another.

“I didn’t expect to see you for at least another week. Have you come because of the attacks?”

“I feel as a good Govenor; my answer should be yes”, he whispered against the shell of your ear, nipping the lobe with his teeth, causing goosebumps to rise down your arms. “I can’t deny, however, that it was you that brought me here. I meant it when I said I missed you”.

Even with his softening cock still inside of you, he knew how to make your knees tremble as you blew out a long breath as you asked, “Can you please stay?”

You could feel his shoulders dropping and knew his answer before he’d even begun to speak, and sadness spread through your body, replacing the euphoric sensation. Lucius gently kissed the back of your head as he carefully eased himself away from you, “I’m sorry, my love, you know I can’t”.

Smiling to hide the upset, you turned to him, “I know. I’m sorry I always ask; I just hope that one day you’ll be able to say yes”.

His warm hands cup your cheeks delicately as you do the same for him, carefully moving some of the messy strands behind his ears. “I’m sorry”, he says earnestly.

“Could you stay for a drink at least?”

“I would never say no to a drink with you”. Lucius began to dress, looking significantly more chaotic than before but always looking crisp before leaving. All you managed to do was pick up your discarded clothes and shows, straighten your jumper and wait for him to wave his wand between your legs, cleaning up the mess he had created with a smile.

Walking further into the office, you entered through the hidden door at the back of the room leading directly into your living area. The fire sparked to life as soon as you stepped onto the roof, instantly filling the vast space with heat and an orange hue. Pouring the both of you a hefty glass of dark liquid, you both cheered the glasses together, taking a deep swig of the alcohol that burned your throat deliciously and then settled into the sofa.

You sat remarkably relaxed with him, leaving your bare legs thrown over his lip as his arm settled around your shoulders to keep you close as you watched the fire lights dancing with the flickers of the flames.

“He’s nearly top of the class, but I think he’d have a hard time trying to best both Longbottom or Granger”, you explained sometime later as Lucius asked how Draco was fairing in your class. The man scoffs, only earning him a slap to his chest, “Hey! They’re my students; stop that”. Thankfully, he held his tongue and didn’t prattle on his biased opinions on pure-bloods or traitors, which he had quickly learnt was nothing you were particularly focused on. “Could I ask about what the governors are going to do about the attacks? I don’t want them to close the school, but it feels so dangerous now that students are being attacked”.

Lucius’ arm tightens around your shoulder as his lips press against your temple. “Nothing will harm you, Darling, and I’ve told you this already: I can’t speak of the Governor meetings. We’re sworn to secrecy”.

“It’s not me I’m worried for. It’s the children. It means - aren’t you worried about Draco?”

Your head tilts back on his arm so you can look up into his effortlessly handsome face, expecting him to be worried. However, he only appeared to be as calm and in control as ever, his grey eyes dancing with yours and the bottom lip you’d tucked between your teeth.

“Not at all. He’s in the safest house with the safest blood. I have no worries for my son”. His answer confused you, but you’d just put it down to his many prejudices and superiority complex. Reach up to stroke the smooth sin of his jaw, and you can’t resist the temptation to lean closer and kiss him deeply, tasting the alcohol on his tongue that matched your own.

“What’s it like?” you ask between kisses, unable to stop yourself from asking. “At home, I mean, what’s it like? Do you have any happiness at all?”

“You know I’m not happy and never will be with her”, he answers abruptly, to look at you with a questioning gaze.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know you hate her”. You refuse to say her name both from shame and jealousy. “Do you have anything else that brings you joy? I hate the thought of you being alone in a big house with no one to give you any positivity”.

The hand lazily resting across your calves begins to draw circles into the skin as he contemplates his answer. “Without Draco there, I have no one. Narcissa and I may eat meals together, but that’s as far as it goes. We never talk; we even sleep in separate rooms. Everything is always for show, which is why these moments with you, where I get to be with someone I genuinely love, mean the most to me”.

You shake at his words, feeling the edges of your eyes water as you cling to him with even more desperation. What's more, the hand on your calf was beginning to slowly creep up the sensitive area of your inner thigh, distracting you from continuing the conversation as your legs automatically parted, giving him more room.

“Lucius”, you pleaded, eyes following his long fingers, the thick silver ring with the ‘M’ wrapped around his thumb adding extra sensitivity with the coolness of it against your skin.

“Shh, I’ve got you, little witch. Just relax for me”, he whispered against your temple as his fingers finally reached their goal. Your head tipped onto his shoulder as your back arched. All of your thoughts were centred on the skillfully trained fingers as he explored your dampening folds, spreading them with ease to give his middle finger the path to your eagerly awaiting hole.

You were a mewling mess as he eased two fingers into your cunt, coating the digits in your juices and rocking them in and out carefully. Lucius began to move the arm around your shoulders, relaxing his hold so he could lie you down on the sofa as he leaned over you, his mouth hovering just above yours.

“Are you going to be good for me, my Darling?” he asks, his warm breath teasing you once more as your legs try to clamp his hand in place.

“Yes!” Your shout was abrasive, but only because he’d already caused you to become a pathetic mess. Lucius smiled against your lips but didn’t move to kiss you properly as he applied more pressure with his fingers and thumb and stroked your clit.

You could feel his soft hair falling around your face as he began to curl his fingers inside of you, pounding that one spot within you that had you seeing stars. You weren’t able to say a coherent word as moisture squirted from your cunt, coating his fingers and wrist as he continued the action at a hard and fast pace.

The sloshing noise was obscene to your ears as he made you squirt over your thighs, sofa and his black trousers. You weren’t even sure you’d came as everything went from 0-100 with how intense his fingers had made you feel.

When he slowed his curling digits, you were a gooey mess in his arms. A grin erupted across your face as he sighed into the cushions, leaning further into his chest as he kissed your temple, allowing you to catch your breath.

“I must go; it’s getting late. You know I love you, my little witch”.

“I love you too, Mr Malfoy”.

[thezombieprostitute]

The sheriff likes how you always got a pie baking in your window. He likes that every time he sees you, you got your apron on. He likes that you smile and wave at his cruiser. He likes all the way you make him shift in his seat.

The only thing he doesn't like, is that you're not waiting at home for him.

Summary: Lee has regrets to deal with and decisions to make.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Depression, Thoughts of cheating, Unhappy marriage. Please let me know if I missed any!

Lee's made a lot of decisions in his life that he regrets. He'll swear up and down that he had only the best of intentions when he signed up for the police force. When he decided to become sheriff. But no one knows better than him how far his morals have fallen.

But not being your man was the biggest regret of his life.

To become sheriff, he needed financial and social support. The kind he could get from her family. He courted her, got on her father's good side, eventually marrying her. He honestly thought that's all love was, that that was the purpose of a marriage. Now he's got all the resources he needs to keep his position, barring his sister royally fucking things up for him.

But then he met you.

Him and his little family were making an appearance at the local auction to raise money for the church. People brought a bunch of homemade goods and foods. Sometimes it was simply pine cone crafts that really did look pretty. Other times it was Granny Russell's special chicken livers. Lee always thought only an idiot would turn down that specialty.

But then you showed up, with a stack of pies.

You were something to look at, Lee was sure no one could deny that. But you were also so sweet. He was certain your kindness, patience, couldn't be real. No one was that sweet all the time. You were too new to the town for him to really know well, but given how the people who did know you reacted, he could imagine you were worth knowing. He made sure to buy one of the pies you'd brought, intent to use it as an ice breaker. He'd figure out your angle, how you could play so nice.

But when he looked into your eyes, he was a goner.

He's never seen such beautiful, kind eyes. He swears they were sparkling. For the first time in his life, Lee was tongue-tied. His wife had to subtly elbow him in the ribs to stop his staring. He definitely got an earful that night before sleeping on the couch. The entire time you were talking to his wife, his kids, he felt at a loss. Like there was something more to life than status. His wife set him straight, though.

But he kept seeing you around town and the feelings kept coming back.

You were always busy with your baking. Always kind to everyone. Always waving at him and smiling. He feels in his bones that you should be his. That you could give him the actual warmth that storybooks about love had promised. Not the performative care that he and his wife did for each other. You'd genuinely enjoy spending time with him, with the kids. Not complaining about a "life wasted" like his wife.

But cheating or worse, a divorce, would kill his election odds.

Every day he can't be with you hurts him. He takes up drinking to try to ease his misery until his wife dumps all of his bottles, citing the upcoming election. The people aren't gonna vote for an angry drunk. Lee thanks her, honestly thanks her, and it catches her off guard. If he can't have you, he's gonna try to do better by his own wife. Maybe it'll help ease the pain of not having you and your natural sweetness in his life.

But then Hal Carter comes to town.

He's a tramp, everyone knows it. He's a drifter working in different towns as he tries getting to some friends of his further south. He claims to have a college degree but Lee doesn't want to believe it. Hal is young, strong and, according to all the old ladies at the church, very helpful. Everything Lee is not. Hal hasn't stopped showering you with attention, attention Lee knows you deserve.

But it should be Lee making you happy.

Holy wah, that got away from me! This was not supposed to go on so long!

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[baxndaid]

human vox

x reader 📺⛽🎤

an ; request more vox pls i love him, most of this is just me yapping

The year was 1952 and you worked in the upcoming film and TV industry. While it was just a small job reading through scripts to find typos or getting coffee for the more important figures, it was a job nonetheless and you enjoyed it.

A new show had quickly skyrocketed in popularity since its debut, a game show where you would have to answer questions in order to win the, most likely branded, items. Something like a washing machine or a supply of toothpaste. If the producers felt generous that day however, the prizes would rise in value, the show once giving away a brand new sleek black Fiat 1900. While the simple yet new and exciting premise of the show might’ve drawn viewers in, the host of the show made them stay. He was charming and handsome, he always dressed the part with a dapper suit and his hair was always done perfectly. Whenever he spoke, it was like the whole stage brightened up a bit, at least, that’s what you thought. His stage name was Vox, you never really liked that name - too sharp and aggressive, you thought. His real name was Vince, and you liked it better, though you’d never tell him that. You hardly ever had any interactions with the man other than handing him the script that the sponsors wanted him to yap about. He was charming, and you liked him - unfortunately it was just a pipe dream. You didn’t bother chasing after him considering you were just a small time employee while he was the face of the whole show, thousands of American women had their eyes on him especially when they turned their black and white TVs on between 5-6PM.

Fortunately for you, the producers had caught a glimpse of you backstage and wanted to spice up the show a bit. It was getting boring, other than the host himself there was nobody else the audience could attach themselves to. So, naturally, the best idea would be to introduce a beautiful woman, who was smart and shy - the “role model” if you will. You fit the bill, and how could you say no? You would be beloved by every household for your wholesome nature, (and especially loved by all the men in unhappy marriages and liked looking at the young women on screen.) And if you won? you could keep the winnings.

And you would win, because the show was now rigged in your favor.

Simply put, they wanted to paint you as the underdog, the vulnerable lady who simply wanted a chance to make some money. So when you would answer every question, even the ridiculous ones, correctly, the audience would gasp in disbelief at your amazing hidden knowledge and then tune into the next episode to see more of you and Vox. The truth was, the only thing hidden was Vox sliding you the answers to each question onto your desk. It was genius, really, the producers seemed to love the idea and so did Vox. Anything for ratings. You were still a little apprehensive, but you couldn’t back down after already signing the contract.

After winning one episode and becoming around $10,000 richer, Vox strategically pulled you in for a hug and gave you a polite kiss on the cheek to congratulate you for your “victory” in front of the camera. He was an amazing actor, you thought as he said his goodbyes to the audience and the cameras stopped rolling. Maybe he should ditch this studio and try his luck in Hollywood.

Once the room was no longer focused on Vox, he turned to you, his smile less big and forced and a lot more casual, “That was your first taste of show business, how’d you find it? Pretty nifty eh?” He prodded you with his elbow gently.

“Yeah, it was um- different… to what I usually do.”

“Oh yeah, forgot you worked here prior.” He looked at you up and down as he pulled a cigarette and lighter out from his pocket, “Say, since you and I are going to be working with each other from now on, why don’t we blow this antsville and I’ll buy you a drink?”

As he waited for your answer he placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. You were surprised and albeit excited by his offer, but you decided not to go out drinking with a famous guy in the middle of the afternoon. Something something responsible adult.

"A drink? Oh, I don't know about that sir... It's rather late."

He scoffed and exhaled, a puff of smoke engulfed you as you coughed. "Don't be such a square." He looked at your face again whilst bringing the stick up to his lips once more, "And don't call me sir, makes me seem old. Call me Vince," He paused, "Or Vox, I don't really give a rats ass."

You nodded and took a small step away from him in a pathetic attempt to get away from the smoke. He smirked.

"I take it you don't smoke?"

You shook your head

"Look at you, I'm not surprised." He took another draw of his cigarette, "So, about that drink?"

You were going to be honest, you couldn't say no. He was so unbelievably pushy that it was practically impossible to turn him down without feeling like shit afterwards. He was THE Vox, America's beloved host! How dare you even think of saying no. So here you were, in his luxurious house, sat on his couch that probably cost more than your entire living room, and with a glass of expensive scotch in hand that he generously poured you.

He returned with his own glass and sat down next to you, laying his free arm behind your head. He took a sip, his gaze never leaving yours,

"You're a pretty thing, can't believe you haven't been casted already, or snatched up by some of the big dogs like Vogue." He said, a smile plastered on his face. "I think you and I will get along just fine."

_____

As he predicted, you and Vox did indeed get on well, normally chatting (gossiping) about who knows what in his dressing room after work. He had told you about his old job as a TV salesmen, and how he has this weird hatred for radios. Something about them being outdated and boring. You never understood. He learnt a lot about you too, your past relationships, your family, your favourite animals - you two grew close and he relished in the idea of getting even closer. The network had given you another job since you could only appear on Vox's show so many times. It was a higher paying job but not all that stressful since you now had someone to talk to about it.

The press had caught wind of your friendship and naturally began to speculate on it. You won his gameshow 3 times now, maybe you simply slept with him in order to get the answers? Maybe it was luck? Are you two truly just friends or are you dating? Or just putting on a show?

Vox loved it, he loved your flushed face whenever you'd read the title of a gossip paper involving you and your new friend, he loved touching you a little more intimately whenever you two were hanging out in public, and he especially enjoyed kissing your hand or cheek under the guise of being a gentleman in front of any fans that just so happened to meet them out and about. Luckily for you, these rumours went nowhere and remained as simple speculation. Did he want you? yes, he couldn't even deny it. You were funny and understanding, even when he wasn't in a good mood. You knew so much about him and he knew so much about you - the fact that you were gorgeous was just a plus. Additionally, you were fantastic for his public image; a darling little thing like you attached to his hip just fuelled his already massive ego since he loved showing you off. The only problem was - you were as dense as a brick. He often got a little frustrated since his flirtatious efforts were fruitless; you couldn't tell if he was being for real or just acting for publicities sake, so you opted on just ignoring his romantic (and sexual) remarks towards you.

And don't think for a second that you'll be getting a real soppy confession from him either. He would buy you expensive clothes and take you out to fancy dinners, he would hold your hand while you crossed the street together and he would cuss anybody out if they were pissing you off. His feelings for you would be confirmed by him sloppily kissing you on his desk one random afternoon after a few drinks and tears; maybe not the most romantic way to say "I love you" but it was close enough for him and close enough for you too.

[yanderestarangel]

TW : daddykink, betrayal, dilf!bi han, age gap, breeding kink, handjob, v!sex, afab anatomy, pet names, power play, dark!bi han, sex without a condom, possessive sex, objectification, aforementioned pregnancy, sex with pregnant reader, exhibitionism.

♡ DILF!BI HAN  - Who is a tired and grumpy leader always rolling his eyes at everything and everyone, even at his advanced age - 40 years old - he maintained the muscular physique of his younger years, but his hair, which was previously completely brown, now had white streaks , a sign of prominent old age.

♡ DILF!BI HAN -Who is married to an influential woman from another clan, an unhappy and arranged marriage, always aimed at the future and progress of the lin kuei on the earthly plane. The poor woman tried to win Bi Han's love, but she couldn't, after all, he never cared about anything other than the clan's purpose, he had two children, both suffered the pressure of having a father who was the leader of the lin kuei, that is, They had to be worthy of being Bi Han's heirs, but deep down, he loved his children but was too proud and cold to show it.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - Who got angry with his wife when she brought you into the house, you were young, beautiful and full of dreams. You saw the man look you up and down, grumbling at the presence of another person in his house, but you didn't say anything to avoid causing an unprecedented fight.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - Who listened carefully that you were there to learn about ninja culture and do your history college graduation project, making Bi Han let his guard down a little, even if just a little. He saw an opportunity to bring the knowledge of the existence of the lin kuei to you, even if it was just a college assignment.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - He began to sympathize with you when he saw you playing with his children, you were affectionate and friendly, always with a smile and a light aura, like an angel, he didn't understand how you managed to maintain such a positive attitude in the midst of so much chaos, but, he liked it, your smile was charming to see, it made the old man's heart warm, even if a little.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - Who starts calling you to his meeting room when his wife comes out, serving you tea and wanting to hear your life story. He will listen to everything quietly, but with a practically invisible smile on the corner of his lips, he had something in you that awakened something in him, something he hadn't felt in years. Bi Han will thank you at the end of the conversation for sharing such cultural and life knowledge, so different from his, while asking you if you would be willing to go with him on a walk through the gardens of the lin kuei land.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - That he sees himself thinking of you in another way, a lascivious way, he never cheated on his wife, but you were irresistible, something in the way you moved your hips, your soft thighs, your soft body that gave off a delicate smell of fresh moisturizer , the way you sought his approval for every action, not wanting to make the grand master as calm as possible... It made him feel uncontrollably horny, but he was a man of class, he was going to win you over one way or another.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - He started masturbating thinking about you, while he was taking a shower, one of his most vivid fantasies was having you stand up for him, with his pulsing cock, both wet with water, while he held your ass, burying it in your pussy while you looked pleadingly at him. He, with his sweet and seductive voice, squeezed his dick, calling him "my grand master" or "my lord" or even "Daddy". Bi Han accelerated the movements of his hand on the pulsing length, thinking about how he was going to fuck you so fucking hard, making you shake and squirt on him as he sank his dick into your womb. He manages to finish the nighttime handjob in one long stroke with his fist, while he trembled slightly, his white and black hair fell in his face, while the grand master tried to contain his moans.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - He starts asking you for strange favors, like massaging his muscular back, full of fight scars, his well-worked and tense muscles, while he smiles at you, giving you rose oil, telling you his orders in a calm and deep voice. how to make him feel good. Bi Han asked you to lower yourself a little more, going to his abdomen, while you could see his erection through his pants. "-Fuck I can't contain myself anymore, making me hard since you got here... Just be a good boy/girl and let me fuck that beautiful pussy... I promise to make you feel good (Y/ N)."

♡ DILF!BI HAN - He fucked you with his slippery dick, pushing with all his might, feeling the bulge his dick made in your belly, while he covered your mouth with his hand. "-Shh... you don't want my wife to hear, right?" Bi Han spoke in a cold whisper in your ear, you knew it was wrong, but old Bi Han had a wonderful dick. Bi Han turned you to face him, moaning loudly and smiling mischievously. "-Fuck- what a greedy pussy... sucking my dick like that? so good my pretty boy/girl..."

♡ DILF!BI HAN - Who made you squirt on his dick, but he continued fucking you with his spent, pulsing dick, using both thumbs to mark exactly where he would mark you with more and more of his hot cum. "-See my little boy/little girl? I'm going to fill you up to here, I'm going to get you pregnant, I want to have more children, more children with you baby..." Bi Han would take his dick out of your pussy, using his another hand to hold the member and hit the hard dick on your sensitive clitoris, watching you squirm "-Fuck (Y/N) just a pretty boy/girl looking for a dick to be fucked, right? teasing me with that beautiful pussy. .. you're a little slut... my tight little pussy whore."

♡ DILF!BI HAN - Who fucks you all over the house, holding you in his still muscular arms, forcing you to swallow his dick or fuck your breasts and cum all over them, making you suck off the mess you forced him to make on you. "-Is that what you like, slut? Being your grandmaster's cumdump? I must thank my wife for bringing you a boy/girl so hungry for cock like that." -Bi Han said sadistically, spreading hot jets of cum over your breasts and squeezing them afterwards, while lightly slapping your face, pulling you into a hungry kiss, whispering between his thin lips that he needed you more than anything in this world, that you were his good boy/girl.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - Who doesn't care if his wife sees you fucking him, after all, the only thing he cares about in marriage is his children. So he'll just fuck your pussy, on the kitchen table while she passes by in the hallway, pretending not to hear and see you two. "-Just let her listen, just use that pretty head to make me cum, squeeze that little pussy on my dick like the good slut you are." He would finish saying this with a loud grunt, filling you with his cum again, slapping you hard on the ass, burying two fingers in your pussy, so as not to let his cum escape.

♡ DILF!BI HAN - Who smiles widely when he sees you pregnant with another of his children, seeing you get along even better with his first two children. He will fuck you even more, taking care of your belly, holding your heavy belly while he fucks you slowly, squeezing your sensitive breasts full of milk and sucking them a little. "-Yes... fuck you look so beautiful pregnant like this... fuck I'm the happiest man in the world, and you're my boy/girl forever Fuuck-"

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (13) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: coriolanus doesn’t understand why you've shut him out. 

word count: 1,878

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: coryo’s pov, a shorter chapter rip, coriolanus the cat is a menace™, pet name (petal), not proofread

Coriolanus Snow could not even begin to understand you. Where had he gone wrong? In the days leading up to the wedding, you were so affectionate with him. It felt like the difficult part of this was finally over. Sejanus, his only real competition, was long gone. You were finally calling him Coryo. You spent time with him without complaint and, dare he say it, even seemed to enjoy his company. Yet, it all came crashing down so quickly, so suddenly. 

What had happened last night? Coriolanus spent the entire night wracking his brain, going through each part meticulously, trying to determine where he went wrong. Had he missed some sign that you were uncomfortable? Had he unintentionally pressured you? What had he done to deserve the cold look you gave him? For you to accuse him of only caring about himself? Coriolanus couldn’t deny that he could be a selfish man, but for you? Did you not realize the lengths he would go to, to make you happy? 

When morning came, you said hardly a word to him. The most he heard of your voice was when you were speaking to your lady’s maid, telling her of any questions you needed answered about the trip to the cottage. Coriolanus nearly lost his temper then. What had he done that was so wrong, so hurtful, that you were cutting yourself off from him? He had half a mind to bring up the agreement made during your courtship, about how you would behave, but he thought better of it. You never responded well to his attempted pressuring. To do so now might push you away. Might irreparably damage this relationship. 

Now he sat across from you in the carriage, traveling through the countryside, still just as clueless about what he should do. Worse yet, every time he attempted to speak, that damned Coriolanus the Cat hissed at him from its perch on your lap. 

“The cottage has a library,” he tried, hiding his flinch as the cat swatted its paw at him. “Not nearly as impressive as the one in the palace, of course, but I believe it should be satisfactory during our stay.”

Finally, finally, you looked over at him. Your eyes were blank, completely void of emotion. Your voice was the same when you said, “Placating me with a library worked once. I will not allow it to work again.”

Then you turned back to the window, watching as the flat lands of the Capital swooped into rolling hills. Coriolanus the Cat hissed at him again, as if it was in agreement with you. 

“Petal, tell me what I’ve done wrong. I don’t wish for this to be an unhappy marriage. I…” He swallowed thickly. This would pain him far more to say than it would for you to hear. “I would be alright if you never love me the way I love you. But I don’t want you to think that this is a political affair. Or that I care more for Panem or the want of an heir more than I do you.”

You stared at him for a long moment. It almost felt like hours. Coriolanus wanted to say more, but he fought against his instincts. If anything could be repaired from this relationship, he could not force you into it. 

“How long until we arrive at the cottage?”

“Three hours, assuming there are no delays.”

“Very well then.”

You plucked a book from the stack beside you. Coriolanus should have known you wouldn’t want to speak to him when he watched as a half dozen books were placed in the carriage.

You didn’t say anything to him again. 

He should have known that bringing up the possibility of a delay would, in fact, cause a delay to occur. When the dark gray clouds began to dot the sky, Coriolanus had hoped that the storm would pass by. But with each rumble of thunder and flash of lightning, it became more and more obvious that luck was not going to be on his side. Even nature was turning its back on him. Finally, the coachman announced that it would no longer be safe for the horses and that he would be stopping at the next available inn. 

The cat hissed at Coriolanus as if he was the one to cause the storm. 

Coriolanus stepped out of the carriage first, his nose wrinkling as he stepped straight into a mud puddle. Was the entire universe against him now? Could he not even have a nice, clean pair of shoes? He bit back his disgust as he reached for your hand. Admittedly, he was surprised you took it, allowing him to lift you out of the carriage and far away from that damned puddle. 

“Coriolanus hates the rain,” you said, reaching out for the cat. 

“Yes, I do,” he muttered. He took the cat before you could, not wanting you to get scratched up by the beast. Coriolanus pulled back his damp jacket and tucked the cat inside, careful to make sure not a single droplet of water hit it. The cat hissed and clawed still, not impressed by Coriolanus’s attempts to keep it (mostly) dry. Once secured, Coriolanus reached for your hand again. You didn’t shake him off. “Come, let’s get inside before we get sick.”

The innkeeper was already waiting with a bundle of towels when Coriolanus led you inside. Coriolanus passed one to you, before taking another to dry off the hissing beast. The innkeeper flinched, but held his own tongue lest he offend his King or Queen. Coriolanus nearly laughed at the idea of you chewing the man out for offending your precious beast of a baby. Once the cat was bundled and in your arms, Coriolanus took a towel for himself. 

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” the innkeeper began to say, “but there is only one available room left for tonight. Had I known that you would be stopping in, I would have made sure there would be plenty of room for your staff. Unfortunately, all that is left beyond that room is the stables.”

So Coriolanus would be sleeping in the stables tonight. Wonderful. He just hoped you would be gracious enough to wait until after the innkeeper was gone to kick him out of the room and reveal the already apparent marital problems. 

“That will be quite alright,” Coriolanus said. It wasn’t. But part of being King was knowing when to play the part of a courteous monarch. “If you could please show us our room, that would be most appreciated.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the innkeeper said. Then he turned his gaze to you and bowed his head. “And if I may, congratulations on your nuptials.”

Coriolanus half-expected you to spit in his face for mentioning your marriage. Instead, though, you offered a smile. “Thank you. And thank you for being so accommodating to us.”

“It is my honor, Your Majesty. Now, if you’ll follow me.”

The entire walk up to the room, Coriolanus braced himself to be thrown out. Even as the footman followed behind, carrying a trunk with his belongings, he nearly said to not bother. He was sure that, within a few minutes, you would be demanding a room alone. He could only hope that you would be kind enough to minimize the embarrassment.

Yet, when he found himself alone in the room with you, you did not make any demands, save for asking Coriolanus to help you out of your gown. He undid the fastenings, but turned away when you stepped out of the gown and into a nightdress you plucked from the trunk. 

Fine. If you weren’t going to make the demand yourself, he would go. “I shall see you in the morning, petal,” he said. 

You turned, but where he expected your brows to be furrowed, your face was blank. “You think you are to sleep in the stables?”

What game were you playing? Last night, you couldn’t get away from him fast enough. But today, you are confused as to why he might leave? “After last night, I thought you would want some privacy.”

You looked out the window, at the torrential downpour and at the stables that felt like a million miles away. “I am not cruel, Coryo.”

Not like me, he finished. Instead, he said, “I don’t understand you.”

“I believe part of your agreement was that I refrain from causing any scenes. I can think of no greater scandal than me throwing you out to spend the night with livestock the day after our wedding.”

“There is no one here to spread a scandal.”

You rolled your eyes. “Much of our staff is here, as is the innkeeper. They talk as much as the ton. If I make you sleep in the stables, by the time we return from our honeymoon, the Capital will be in disarray that the seeming lovebirds are already on the outs. Whether they blame you or I, I cannot say for certain. But it would ruin the public perception of us.”

Coriolanus was proud that you had thought these things through, but part of him nonetheless ached over you allowing him into your bed only so as to avoid scandal, not because you enjoyed his presence.

With nothing more to say, you climbed into the bed, laying down as close to the edge as you could manage without falling to the floor. Coriolanus let out a sigh and then, too, got ready for bed. Once dressed in his nightclothes, he crawled into bed. You shuffled even closer to the edge. He worried that you might fall if you moved any further away. 

Was he truly so repulsive that you’d rather risk falling to the floor than share a bed with him? 

And though he knew better, he still reached for you. All he wanted was to hold you. He had been deprived of that last night, deprived of the ability to tell you how wonderful you are, how he enjoyed being your husband. A part of him hoped that the forced proximity might make you more willing to be held. 

You pushed his hand away. “Not tonight, please.”

“Petal…”

“I shall fulfill my duty some other time. Today has been too stressful.”

“You are more than a duty. And I want more from you than that. I want your love, but if you can’t give me that, can’t I at least hold you?”

You started to move, and, for a moment, Coriolanus thought you might burrow yourself in his arms. But instead, you picked up that damned cat from the floor and dropped it between the two of you. “Hold your son.”

Coriolanus the Cat hissed at him. Coriolanus (the human) had half a mind to hiss back. Instead, he rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, wishing for sleep to come. 

It never did. 

Not with the beast looking at him like he was a meal. Not with his wife acting like this is all a transactional affair. And certainly not when, some minutes had passed and you allowed yourself to cry, perhaps taking his stillness as a sign he had gone to sleep. 

Oh, where had he gone wrong? 

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Replacement Therapy

Yandere!Hannibal Lecter x plus size reader

In a desperate attempt to save your marriage, you begin to attend counseling with the famed Doctor Lecter but soon enough, things begin to take a turn. Based on prompt by @queenstarlight2

Warnings: mention of cheating, VERY INAPPROPRIATE RELATIONSHIP, reader has defined married name (let me know if you recognise it), reader is ever so slightly naive and easy to manipulate, insecurity (not explicitly mentioned what they are), murder, blood, little bit of humping and making out, implied smut, nudity

WC: 2.6k

A/N: I'm so sorry if I didn't do this prompt justice!!

Minors DNI

It was embarrassing, truly. Your husband said it was a disgrace too. But here you were, attending marriage counseling alone. There was no one else in the luxurious waiting room and you were grateful for that small reprieve, you don’t think you could have handled any more humiliation today.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter came highly regarded as the best (and most expensive) therapist in the state. So, foolishly, you had signed yourself and your husband of three years up for a session to see if you could fix your marriage. After all, it had been your fault that he cheated on you with his secretary, you were the one that selfishly denied him.

“Mrs Hansen?” You looked up to see a very well dressed older man standing in the doorway. His yellow eyes were fixated on you like a predator watching their prey but it didn’t scare you. You nodded and he shifted so his lean body was side on, gesturing for you to enter his office. Gathering up your coat and purse, you walked in.

The office was really quite lovely, walls covered in books, beautiful leather chairs and an ornate desk made you feel as if you had stepped into someone’s home rather than a psychiatrist’s practice. “Can I take your coat Mrs Hansen?” Dr Lecter stepped closer, offering his large hand to you.

“Um yes, thank you.” Your hands brushed as you gave him the expensive coat Lloyd bought for you. He smiled kindly at you before he turned his back so he could hang the garment up on the rack next to his own. You noted his suit, it was similar to the suits associates of your husband’s wore: expensive, exclusive.

“Take a seat and we can begin.” The smooth leather squeaked against the bare skin of your legs as you sat, the sound filling the otherwise silent office. Your heart dropped to your stomach and you quickly tugged down the hem of your dress over the expanse of your plump thighs. 

The doctor soon found his own seat opposite you. He unbuttoned his suit jacket as he did, taking on a relaxed air, as if he were about to watch television or read a book. It put you immediately at ease. “So tell me, why do you believe you are in need of counseling?” His voice was smooth and rich like an aged whiskey. 

“Well, recently, my husband and I have been going through a rough patch and I thought-“ You started, nervously playing with the gaudy wedding ring on your finger when Doctor Lecter stopped you.

“I asked why you needed counseling, not your husband. I do not doubt that he is in need of it but I make it a habit not to diagnose in absentia. So Mrs Hansen, I ask again; why do you need help?” The silence was deafening as his words sunk in. When was the last time someone offered to help? You were lost in your own mind, the questions consuming you.

But the doctor was patient, simply letting you experience your thoughts without any interruption. Too lost in your spiraling mind, you didn’t see how his eyes trailed down the length of your plump body, taking in each and every detail like you were some rare and beautiful creature. “I-I don’t know Doctor Lecter. I feel like I can’t be fixed but maybe my marriage can.”

“And why is it so important that you fix the marriage that is obviously making you unhappy?” Your head shot up with such a force your neck clicked.

“I’m not unhappy, I love my husband.” He tsked and leaned back in his seat, crossing one long leg over the other.

“Now now Mrs Hansen, I don’t tolerate liars in this office. I respect you enough to tell you to tell the truth and I expect the same respect from you.” You felt like a scolded child under the scrutinizing gaze of a parent. 

You didn’t realise you were crying until the tears fell onto your folded hands, rolling down onto your dress. “I love my husband.” You emphasised half-heartedly. Your voice thickened as more tears welled up, making your vision swim.

“And I do not doubt that my dear. But those we love can make us unhappy. And it is in your best interest to recognise that.” A box of tissues appeared before you, you took the whole thing. “How about we start at what makes you happy, do you have any hobbies?”

——————

Your sessions with Doctor Lecter, Hannibal as he insisted you call him, were the highlight of your week. Everything was getting better! Lloyd had even stopped pestering you about it, just sending you out the door with his black card to pay for it.

Hannibal had been wonderful, he helped you rediscover old passions and find new ones to keep your mind occupied during the day since Lloyd insisted you become a housewife after you were married. You felt lighter and truly happier. 

But the only downside to this whole thing was your unfortunate crush on the older man. Who could blame you? He was sauve and sophisticated but not condescending. He was kind but not a roll over. He was handsome but not unobtainable. He knew your soul better than Lloyd, he always seemed to know what you needed, whether it be a shoulder to cry on or someone to laugh with you. He recommended wines and getaways, museums and art galleries, he had even picked out a new perfume for you that had made your husband go absolutely feral for you.

A part of you wished you had met the doctor before Lloyd. You often wondered what your life would have been like if he was the one that swept you off your feet first. 

“How have you been this week? Have you been journalling like I asked you to?” You nodded, a large smile on your face. You pulled the beautiful leather-bound journal from your bag and handed it over to the good doctor without hesitation.

“Yep! Just like you told me to! One entry in the morning as soon as I get up and one at night right before I go to bed.” Hannibal winked at you from over his glasses.

“Very good girl." He purred before opening the book and beginning to read. It had been a strange request, to write down all your thoughts and actions through the day, including, well more like emphasising anything sexual that happened, especially if you pleasured yourself. But you trusted Hannibal and knew that he would do whatever was best for you.

“I see you and Mr Hansen had intercourse this week.” Your breath caught in your throat at his tone and the sudden frown marring his perfect face. Shamefully, you looked down at your lap.

“Yes we did.”

“But you write that you didn’t enjoy it. Can you tell me why?” Because I was thinking about you the whole time and what you would feel like inside of me instead of him. But you couldn’t say that to your therapist.

So you just shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t in the mood.” But like all lies you told him, Hannibal saw right through it, although, this time, he didn’t make any comment.

“I hope you were able to take care of yourself after then, I would hate to think that he left you feeling vulnerable and unsafe.” You most certainly had. A quick trip to the bathroom after he fell asleep with your waterproof vibrator and a tub full of hot soapy water and fixed the ache between your thighs. Especially when you called out Hannibal’s name when you climaxed.

“I took a hot bath and drank a glass of that red wine you recommended last week.” He nodded approvingly, the smile returning to his lips as he placed the book on the side table next to him. His legs spread slightly and you could not help but sneak a quick glance at the sizeable bulge hidden by his navy pinstripe pants.

Your eyes snapped back up to his own as he began to speak again. “Now this is a strange question but I find it useful to ask my patients this sometimes. How many times do you think you have had sex with your husband?” 

“What?” You breathed, legitimately shocked by the question. How could he even ask that? But like he could read your mind, Hannibal explained himself.

“I only ask because to a woman such as yourself who values intimacy and physical connection, sex is a very important and healthy part of a relationship. Knowing how often you and Mr Hansen engaged in such acts, and by focusing on how often it used to occur versus now can give me a better idea as to the state of your marriage.” 

Sceptically, you withdrew slightly, thinking about the many times you had been intimate with Lloyd. It hurt to reminisce on the times before your marriage when he was your whole world and you were his. When did it change? Or was it ever like that? “We dated for three months before we got married. We used to have sex at least twice a day. And then on the honeymoon it was pretty much a 12 hour affair every day. But about a month after we got back, the sex stopped. Since then it’s maybe been 10 or 20 times.” Hannibal slumped forward, his scruffy chin coming to rest on his intertwined fingers as he did the math in his head. 

“It isn’t unusual for couples to stop being intimate but it is certainly questionable for the sex to stop so quickly after it frequently occurred. Is there any reason you believe this has happened?” And like you couldn’t stop it, you started spilling your deepest and darkest secrets to him, just like all the times before.

——————

Fridays were reserved for Hannibal, you made that very clear to your life partner and apparently, he had taken full advantage of that. You stared at his computer in complete disbelief. There were thousands of messages from hundreds of women, each detailing the dirty and almost borderline illegal acts he committed with them.

You hadn’t meant to snoop, only wanting to find your mother’s pie recipe to give to Hannibal for today’s session but the logs were right there! Like he wanted you to find them. In a haze, you printed out as many of the chats as you could and stuffed them into your purse.

“Hmm.” Hannibal hummed as he looked over the various sheets of paper. His face remained neutral but inside he was seething. You had already confided in him about your husband's past ‘indiscretions’ and your insecurity about pleasing him sexually. “I won’t ask you how you feel about these chats because that would be unhelpful so instead I’m going to ask about what you wish to do about it.”

You had his undivided attention, his amber eyes locked on you as he awaited your decision. “I want to leave him.” Hannibal’s shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly. “B-but I can’t afford the divorce. All of our money is his.” 

Slipping from his seat, he knelt before you as if in worship. Your legs squeezed together, both to sate your arousal from his close proximity and to prevent him catching sight of your soaked panties. “You needn’t worry my flower, I have more than enough money to buy your freedom.” 

“I can’t let you do that Hannibal. You’ve done so much for me already and I’ll forever be grateful but this is something I need to do on my own.” His eyes grew softer, filled with swirling emotion. Palms skated up your leg, cupping the side of your knee in a grip far too tight to be friendly.

The doctor was close enough now you could study the details of his face far more than you ever could before.  Your gaze followed the lines of his wrinkles, going from the crows feet by his eyes to the smile lines on his cheeks. Then to his lips. “I would do anything for you, my flower, you never have to ask.” Slowly, his hands moved higher and his lean body closer. His broad shoulders forced your legs apart so he could rest between them. “If I cannot give you financial support, let me offer you my home, at least until you are on your own two feet.”

You could not speak, too lost in the idea of surging forward and finally kissing him. “Ok.” You murmured, conceding to his wishes. 

“Wonderful. Then how about we wrap up this session early so we can get you home and fed.” You whined low in your throat as he slipped away but thankfully, he didn’t hear you. He helped you to your feet and then turned to fetch your coats

“Whatever you want, Doctor.” You said jokingly. He laughed but you missed the truly wicked grin spreading over his face. Oh yes, whatever he wants indeed.

——————

You were truly beautiful when you slept. It was like all of your worries and stresses washed away, leaving you almost fae-like in appearance. Hannibal had lost count of the amount of times he had snuck into your home to catch a glimpse of your resting form. He had drawn you each time, and each time, he took something of yours. A lock of your hair, a piece of jewelry, even several panties from your hamper., things you wouldn’t really notice if they went missing.

But now, you were here, in his home and in his bed. You were his.

He had hoped that you would have come to your senses months ago and realised that he would be a better lover than this worm of a man could ever be. But it seems that you needed a bit more of a push to fall into his arms. 

The messages had been easy to fake. He knew you wanted a hero to come and save you from your husband, the chats had been the perfect excuse to come to him. 

You shifted in your sleep and the dark sheets pooled around your wide hips, exposing the way his own shirt stretched across your large body. He could even see how your nipples pebbled in the chilly air of the room. “Absolutely divine.” He could not help himself.

As quietly as he could, Hannibal slipped into the bed beside you, not caring that he was staining the bedding with the still wet blood that covered his naked skin. Your legs fell open easily, allowing him to crawl up your body, taking his rightful place above you.

Red began to seep through your white shirt, blooming like a flower. “My beautiful, perfect flower.” He nosed along your pulse point, inhaling your alluring scent like he needed it to live. You were so soft and warm, he had no doubt you would be absolutely delectable but he was far far too selfish to let you go.

His hips nudged into your own, unable to keep himself from seeking out the warmth of your core. “H-Hannibal?” Your eyes were barely open but they were dark with lust, almost as if you had been expecting him like this.

“I am sorry to have woken you my flower but you were far too alluring for me to just walk away.” He returned to your neck, now licking at your slightly salty skin. 

“Oh fuck.” You moaned, your hips canting upwards, bumping into his cock. You wrapped your arms around his muscular back, encouraging him to continue his ministrations. “Is this a dream?”

Hannibal planted his forearm by your head so he could guide your shapely leg over his waist. “If it is, I hope we never wake because I have lots I must do with you.” Your fingers tangled in his silvery hair, overcome with electricity in your veins.

“You have slept with your idiotic husband almost 400 times and I must scrub away his touch from your heavenly body.” 

“Should we get started then?” You asked coyly and Hannibal couldn’t help but oblige you.

Prompt: Imagine yandere Hannibal asking how often you and your husband have had sex during a therapy session, saying it might be making you unhappy. When the reason he asked was that he wanted to know how many times he was going to have to fuck you to make you forget about your husband

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[where-dreams-dwell]

*One Day Netflix Spoilers*

You can interpret it however works for you, and I don’t know how it played out in the book, but I loved the scene where Em and Dex got together.

Because Emma *chose* Dexter. When she didn’t have to, when she had other options, knowing all of his baggage, and knowing that they would probably be able to stay friends if she didn’t. And she still chose to start something romantic with him.

Emma was at the highest point of her success: a published author, signed for a second book, sent to live abroad in an exciting new city. And she’d started seeing someone who (from the little we see) is kind, charming, and cares for her. Emma is winning in every sense!

And she initially rejects Dexter. Her reasons make sense; she doesn’t feel he truly *wants* to be with her, just that she’s there and he’s lonely. She is sure of herself and her place in the world, and turns down the man she used to crush on because she wants it to be real. When given this opportunity were not shown a knee jerk, desperate, ‘oh my god, finally, yes!’ moment when he says he wants to be with her. She was NOT waiting on this, and she’s not PINING for him. It actually shows huge strength that when the man she used to like finally wants to be with her, she has the inner strength to say no and stick to what she deserves; a proper relationship with someone who truly wants her, not a placeholder.

Dexter lays his heart on the line, leaves himself competent venerable, and Em says no.

You could interpret Em coming back as unsatisfactory: a woman in her prime, going back to the man she’s been pining over most of her adult life. But it can also be seen as an empowering moment.

Emma knows all of Dexters issues and chooses him anyway. Dexter has literally just laid out his current headspace and issues, and it’s clear she was supporting him as the divorce was announced and agreed upon. And previous episodes show they’ve been close throughout Dexters marriage and fatherhood, with Em stopping in at his job and answering his late night calls. She’s been his best friend again for several years and knows his struggles, so she is going in to any romantic relationship with her eyes open.

Reducing Emma’s choice to being a silly or naive one I think misses huge parts of who she is, things which are key to her characterisation. Throughout the series she’s shown as intelligent, savvy, switched on and determined. Even when she’s unhappy or trying different things, she is sure in her conviction to do *something*. When she’s unhappy at the restaurant and Dex suggests teaching she makes a career change and trains. When she’s at her lowest (post headteacher affair and loosing Dex) she turns rock bottom into a spring board and tries once again to write her novel.

Emma is the embodiment of conviction. Whether it’s knowing what she wants or just knowing what she doesn’t, she is decisive and commits to her path. She’s the perfect foil for Dex who’s lesson across the series is to stop running from difficult feelings, and learn to process unpleasant emotions.

So she didn’t choose Dexter on a whim, and I love that they showed that. Em leaves Dex, turns him down, and goes to dinner with her lover in the city she’s loving living in, while doing the job she always wanted.

And she could have left it like that and they would have likely remaking friends. They did after that kiss at Tilly’s wedding, and after they slept together. So she has nothing to loose by rejecting him.

But Emma *chooses* Dex. She knows herself and what she wants, she knows who she is and what she is now capable of. What she wants, if it’s on the table, is to be with Dexter. So she commits to it.

They could have made her jump at the option to be with Dex. The writer could have had them get together when Dex was at the height of his fame or Em at the lowest point of her life. And either of those could have easily had a sense of fear on Em’s part: to be equal to Dex, to be good enough for him (in her head), to finally make it. But doing it this way gives her all the power, all the agency. And I *love* that.

From comments later it’s clear their relationship was good, they do work well together and they make one another happy. We’ll never know how Emma’s life could have gone if she stayed with Jean-Pierre. But the life she chose with Dex *was* happy. As Ian said ‘[Dex] made her so so happy’: wether you think she could have done better or deserved more, a life with someone who makes you happy… isn’t an insignificant thing.

We’ll never know if it was *the right* choice to be with Dex. But seeing how happy she was it’s clear it was a *good* choice. And that’s all we can ever hope for.

[gretavangroupie]

Transcendent - One

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 24.0k

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Smoking, Cursing, Mention and Use of Magic, Black Magic, Curses, Fire, Death in Fire, Anxiety, Arguing, Physical Violence, Fighting, Use of Weapons, Blood, Arranged Marriage, Unhappy Relationships, Sadness, Illness, Death, Use of Restraints. Smut: Heavy Pining, Kissing, Light Touching.

A/N: Surprise! @gretavanmoon and I are back with what has to be our favorite project yet. Without giving too much away, this will not be your traditional storyline. We've been dreaming on this one for a while and after a quick little break we are ready to get back to business. There will be no posting schedule with this story, taking it as it comes to give you the best story possible. But, it will be ongoing throughout this Fall and Winter season. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting and reblogging. It means the world to us and truly keeps us going.

JAKE

I push the old wooden door open, the rusty handle leaving my hand feeling stiff and dirty. I swipe it against my canvas trousers, all the while knowing they are just as dirty as my hand is now. A hard day's work will do that to you. A hard day’s work is also how one finds themselves wandering into a bar at quittin’ time. I had to ask around to find one, the mason on the jobsite informing me of this place tucked away between two shops just a few blocks down the road from the job. There’s no sign out front, nothing that would ever reveal that it was a barroom. But as I open the door and step inside, the smell is what hits me first and I know I’ve found the right place. 

I make my way towards the bar attendant, the room warm from the kerosene lamps burning on the tables. It's dimly lit and the place seems to be full of laborers like myself. Everyone has just gotten off a job or is looking for work themselves. I keep my head low as I approach the attendant, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I don’t know who knows what around here, but the town is small and I know people talk. Especially in my line of work, ain’t nothing to do besides talk. 

“What’ll ya have,” the attendant asks. His lips are almost fully enveloped beneath his thick mustache as his eyes look me up and down. 

“A Lager, thanks,” I say, sticking my hand into my trouser pocket in search of coins.

“Outta the Lager, I can do a Porter,” he counters, reaching for a mug. “I seen you around here before?”

My eyes flick up to his, “No sir, don’t believe. Just here temporarily for work.” He seems perplexed by my answer, as if he doesn’t believe me.

He fills the mug with the ale as he continues, “What's ya trade?”

“Carpenter,” I answer quickly, “Boarding house goin’ up a few blocks away.”

“The St. Lemire job?” he asks, and again I nod.

He doesn’t say anything else, instead passing me the mug of ale with a grunt. He seems uneasy about my presence. For why I don’t know, but I don’t question it. I nod in thanks and pay him what he’s due, taking the mug of dark beer over to a table in the corner. The kerosene lamp is burnt out and the table is dark, but that’s almost better. I didn’t come here to make friends, I came here for a drink, and once it’s gone I’ll be on my way.

As I sit in the old wooden chair I begin to look around at the other patrons. They are gathered in groups of three or four, loud and boisterous as they drink away their troubles and a day's work. One man is passed out on the table top, his friends poking and prodding at his face with no reaction. Someone taps away on the old out-of-tune piano in the corner, playing a song that grits my nerves. 

A few women occupy the bar, but not the kind I mess with. These women are here for a reason. They know we have a little money in our pockets and they plan to get their hands on it in exchange for their time. This is not something I am particularly interested in, despite the urges that naturally invade my mind from time to time. Not that I don’t feel attracted to them, because trust me, I am. I just need more substance and a little depth in my women. To be able to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around sex. Call me old fashioned, I suppose.

It is rare that I even find myself on this side of town, avoiding it and my brother Joshua at all costs for several years now.  However, the ad in the paper promised good pay in exchange for quality work, and if there is one thing about myself that you should know, it’s that everything I do, I do the right way. I knew they would be happy with my work and I was fully prepared to prove myself. 

It’s been two weeks that I’ve been working the job, arriving just after the foundation was set and the frame was ready to be built. I've done this hundreds of times now, maybe not this scale, but all buildings are built the same way more or less. Working with my hands is what I know. It’s what I’m good at. Just like my father before me. I spent most of the day today putting up walls on the second floor. The stairs took me longer than I anticipated, but I got it done. I always do. 

I take a long pull from my mug, letting the alcohol warm my blood and ease the tension in my neck. My shoulders are sore from hauling lumber upstairs all day, but I’ve felt worse so I can’t really complain. 

I’m about halfway through my beer when the door opening harshly grabs my attention. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he caught wind of my arrival into town, and I knew I wouldn’t be met kindly. Josh steps through the door, his eyes scanning through the tables until he finds me. His eyes narrow as he locks in, pushing chairs out of the way until he gets to me, positively seething and full of fiery fury. 

“Why’re you here?” he demands, slamming his fist on the table, rattling the glass of the dark kerosene lamp. 

I sit back in my chair, unaffected by his anger, much to his dismay. He always was all bark and no bite. He’d been that way since we were boys. 

“I’m here for work, I think you know that though, Joshua.”

“How long,” he seethes, a curl of hair falling to his forehead.

“Couple months, maybe, if all goes to plan,” I answer, my casual attitude only infuriating him further. 

“Don’t fuck with me, Jacob,” he grits out, leaning against the wooden table. His eyes are dark and still the mirror image of my own, though somehow his are different. As if he is completely detached from reality and no longer sees me as his own flesh and blood. 

“Won’t bother you if you don’t make no trouble for me,” I offer, hoping he will accept my suggestion. “I’ll finish this job and you won’t see me ‘round here anymore.”

He raises his eyebrows at me and ticks his jaw to the side as if he's considering my proposition. He then pushes off the table and heads towards the bar without a word. I let out a sigh and take a drink from my mug knowing that conversation could have gone a lot worse. Honestly I expected more after three years of silence. 

A few minutes later I see him slide into the seat across from me, slamming his own mug down on the rickety table. “Fuck,” I groan, suddenly realizing that the conversation is in fact not over. 

“Ya know, I thought about it, but what’s a drink between brothers…” he sneers, flashing a bit of a teeth through his snarl. 

My chest grows tight and my heart rate picks up, an uneasy feeling entering my body as his eyes size me up. I lick my lips and lift my mug towards his, tapping the glasses together. I raise my eyebrow, “Yeah, brothers.”

He takes a long pull from his mug, swallowing down the dark beer. “So, had any nice tail lately?” he asks, catching me off guard. He settles back in his chair, rocking back onto two legs as he waits for my reply.

I haven't spoken to him in three years and he wants to know about my sex life?

“The fuck do you care?” I spit, refusing to answer him. I know exactly where this conversation is going and I will not give him what he wants. 

Josh shrugs at my response, acting unaffected by my unwillingness to play his game. “Just thought maybe you could send some my way.”

I turn my attention to the ladies making the rounds and nod my head towards them, “Could take you home one of them,” I say, catching the attention of a woman behind me I didn’t know was there. 

“Fellas?” she grins, leaning against our table. 

Josh flashes her a smile and she smiles back. Of course. 

“Did I hear you two was looking for some company?” she asks, locking her eyes onto mine. 

I quickly pull my eyes away and look down at my beer, not wanting to answer her. 

“Could be,” Josh answers, deepening his voice. 

Her eyes begin to flick between the two of us and realization hits her. “You two brothers? You look mighty similar.”

“Twins, actually,” I correct, hoping to cure her curiosity.

“Twins, huh? Can’t say I’ve ever been with twins,” she says, pursing her plum colored lips. My eyes scan over her body, curvy in all the right places, with skin softer than anything I’ve touched in a long while, but I refuse to give into her temptation. 

Her hand reaches out and brushes over my forearm, sending a tingle through my body for what feels like the first time in a long time. She moves her fingers in circles over my sun tanned skin, not even caring about the sawdust still covering me. I swallow harshly as I try to will away the desire running through me. I don’t want her, but my body sure does. 

“I’ll tell you what,” she pauses, looking between Josh and I, “I’ll cut you a deal. I like the both of you, so I could do two for the price of one.”

“No–”

“A deal…” Josh ponders, interrupting my refusal. 

She moves to lean on me, pressing her chest into my face in an attempt to change my mind. I see a flicker of fury and jealousy returning to Josh’s eyes as she comes onto me, and I can tell he is about to lash out. 

He snaps his fingers, grabbing her attention, “You know sweetheart, come to think of it, there's no need for a deal. You can keep me company tonight. He will just end up fucking killing you, anyway,” he says, cutting his eyes at me.

Anger takes over my rational brain, and I shove my beer mug forcefully across the table, crashing into his chest and splashing the remnants all over him and the woman. 

“What the hell?!” Josh immediately stands, pushing her off of him as he bucks up at me, trying to gain the upperhand. I stand too, meeting his stature as I stare back at him in disgust. 

“You’re never going to let that go are you?” I shout, no doubt drawing attention to the both of us, just like I was trying to avoid. 

“This is why I ignore you, Josh! This is why I steer clear of this place, this whole damn town! There is nothing I can do or say to get through to you that her death wasn’t my fault!” I grit my teeth as I walk back to snatch my hat off the table. “You just needed me as a scapegoat for your bad choices. You’ve always been this way and you’ll never change!” 

I feel Josh’s hands as they push at my shoulders, sending me stumbling backwards into my chair and into the wall behind me. The pictures on the wall rattle above me, and I can hear the bar attendant starting to shout at us now. 

I know I shouldn’t fight him. I know I shouldn’t, but thanks to the alcohol my inhibitions are gone, and my hands are quickly flying up to defend myself against my own flesh and blood. My hands connect with his shoulders, shoving him away from me as the woman runs off to the other side of the bar, no longer interested in being Josh’s woman of the night. 

Josh grunts out a few profanities as he tries to swing at me, but as if anticipating his next move, I duck out of the way and take him down by the waist. Our scuffle makes its way to the sticky barroom floor, and before he can land a punch on me, we are being dragged out the side door and tossed into the alleyway by the barkeep. 

We both stand, dusting off our clothes of the stale beer and alleyway sludge, the smell putrid and unpleasant as it seeps into the canvas of my trousers. Josh is still cursing at me, gearing up for the next round no doubt. I take in my surroundings as quickly as I can, seeing a number of shady characters lining the dark, musty alleyway. Peddlers, more women, even a few rabble rousers. They seemed intrigued by us, all turning their attention our way as Josh connects a blow right to my face. 

I can hear the crack of my nose as his fist connects with it, blood instantly pouring down my face. He’s broken my nose more times than I can count. My eyes start to water, further obstructing my vision in the dark alley as I rear my arm back in order to return his punch. I connect with his jaw, knocking him back a few steps as he turns his head to spit blood. 

“You killed her! You fucking killed her just to get at me!” he shouts, his teeth red and stained with blood. 

“I didn’t!” I shout. “I told her not to follow me inside, and she didn’t fucking listen to me, Josh! She killed herself!”

“She wouldn’t do that!” he screams, a growl coloring his words. He charges at me, pinning me against the brick wall behind me. I could easily overpower him, but part of me understands his anger. This is his release and it’s been long overdue.

“I shouldn’t have trusted you. She would still be here. My Lizzy would still be with me!” he shouts in my face. I can feel the emotions flowing through him as if they were my own. That’s the funny thing about twins, we share everything. 

“I begged you not to go that night, Josh,” I counter, still remaining tightly in his grip. “I told you to go home to her. To stop gambling your savings away. It would have been you, yelling for her in that fire. I fought for my life trying to get to her! Do you get that? I fucking tried, Josh. I almost died in there trying to save her! It should have been you with her that night, not me!” 

It’s as if his own guilt finally comes to light. A tear streams from his eye as his anger boils over. A scream rips from his chest, primal and laced with rage as something heavy smashes against the side of my head, and my vision quickly fades to black. 

—

The air was already chilling, then, the leaves barely skittering across the ground when a breeze would come through. Joshua and I had met up at the crossroads on our walk home from work, me from the construction of a new bank in the square, and he from the metalsmiths shop.

“I don’t care what you do with her… just keep her entertained until my game is done…” he asked of me as he slipped his arms through his coat.

“It could be the wee hours of the morning by then, Josh, sit this one out for once. Go home to her tonight. You’re about to be wed, for Christ’s sake.” 

As of late, Josh had picked up a gambling habit, secretly tossing he and his fiance Elizabeth’s money away little by little.

He quirked a laugh as we trod down the street. “No see, I’ve got this one in the bag, I can feel it. I’m coming home with my pockets full tonight, brother. Fate is gonna be on my side.”

“Your pockets were empty before you started this nonsense, Josh. Don’t you think you should stop while you’re ahead? Before you lose it all…” I tried reasoning with him. If he wasn’t careful, there would be no money to pay for the wedding Lizzy wanted.

“Just keep her busy, eh? Don’t let her ask any questions…” he argued. “Talk your mind up to her with your wise words that you’re so agile with. I’ll be home before the sun comes up.”

“Fine. Fine!” I threw my hands into the air. “I’ll spend my hard-earned pay on a nice dinner with your fiance. A dinner that you should be enjoying with her. No. I don’t mind at all…” I yelled with sarcasm as we began separating and walking opposite ways.

“Thank you, Jacob. Really. I promise I’ll repay you!”

I scoffed. “You just better be glad she’s good company!”

And really, if Josh hadn’t met Lizzy before me, I might have thought of courting her, myself. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman with a knack for teaching children. She was easy-going, and came from a good family of hard-working people. She never gloated, and she was very easy to talk to, to get along with. Since she started dating my brother, we’d formed a tight kinship that was nothing more than good conversation and shared meals while Josh was “working”, and as of late, discussing wedding plans.

—

Lizzy and I were walking back to their house after a light dinner, arm in arm as the sun was dipping low in the sky. “You truly don’t have to escort me, Jacob, I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself while Joshua is caught up with work…” my heart ached as I realized the lie we were both telling her. That he was off doing his dealings instead of his “work”, ignoring the fact that she was home waiting for him while I sat in their study making sure she felt safe in her own home. 

“Of course you are, Lizzy, but I wouldn’t have ya eatin’ dinner alone and wandering the streets back home all by yourself. And neither would my brother. Not everyone is as kind-hearted as we are, y’know…” I raised my eyebrows and straightened my shoulders with faux-prestigiousness. 

“Stop with ya theatrics, you and Joshua both. A couple of dreamers, full of aplomb, the both of you,” Lizzy pushed her fingertips into my shoulder as she laughed, obviously a bit embarrassed by my gentlemanly actions. “But your kindness is appreciated.”

I reached into my pocket for my watch, noticing sunset was drawing nearer the further along we walked. Josh could either be finished soon, or he would be hours, still yet. Either way, I sucked in a tight breath and rolled my eyes at the thought of him losing last month’s wages in a bad hand, yet again. 

“Something wrong, Jacob?”

“No, I–” I was cut off by the smell of heavy smoke hitting my nose. I glanced West, seeing thick black clouds of smoke rising into the darkening sky just a few blocks away. “Fire.”

I quickly pulled my arm from Lizzy’s and dashed down the street, the sound of her heels hitting the brick pavers as she followed right behind me. I could feel my heart begin pounding with adrenaline as we rounded the corner, coming up on the chaos. It was Berwick’s Grocer, a two-story building with boarding rooms on the second level. Flames were shooting out of the windows and the front door, with twenty or so people already rushing around trying to stop the burn.

“Jacob!” Lizzy finally caught up to me, both of us out of breath and panting with fear. The heat from the building was already so intense that I could feel it heating my cheeks as we stood out in the street.

Just then Mrs. Berwick, the owner of the grocer ran up to the two of us, her hands grabbing at Lizzy’s. “Ms. Elizabeth…! He’s inside, he’s–he’s still in there!” she cried, her face contorted into a panic that told me the depth of her worry. 

“Who, who?!” Lizzy questioned, leaning into her and gripping her hands back in comfort. 

“My baby, my Benjamin! I couldn’t get to him!” she cried, nearly falling to her knees. “My husband is away, the fire happened so quickly, I–”

I watched as the scene became a blur, the helpless cries of people panicked in the streets, watching in horror as the smoke grew darker and darker in the sky. The flames broke through another window, shattering the glass out onto the street as it began to flash inside the building. Lizzy’s eyes met mine in question, both of us trying to decide what to do.

But I knew then, I had no choice. 

I quickly fastened my jacket as my feet carried me to the side of the building, searching for an alternate entrance inside. I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t have a damned clue about anything. All I knew was that I had to find that boy.

“Jacob, no!” I heard Lizzy cry from behind me. 

“Stay back, Liz! Do not follow me!” I spit over my shoulder.

I made entrance into the building from the side, the smoke thick and black but still untouched by heavy flames here. I began calling out for Benjamin, stepping carefully over the boxes of dry goods and storage as I maneuvered through the rooms. It was nearly impossible to see in the smoke, and I pulled my coat over my mouth and nose to shield myself from it. 

‘I built this building, I know its walls,’ I kept telling myself as I called for Ben over and over and over…

I blindly walked through the narrow halls, relying only on my faint memory of building its skeleton just a few years ago to guide me. Finally, after what felt like hours, I heard his voice calling back out. Small and faint, but there. 

I rushed to the sound of his voice, quickly finding him huddled in a corner. I scooped him up and ran right back toward the way I came, my lungs feeling as though they were full of heavy stones. I quickly removed my coat and covered him with it, telling him to keep his face covered as best he could. I kept him close and protected from the nearby flames, instead taking the licks myself as we passed by them. The child cried in my arms as he clutched on to me, terrified and gasping for air. 

“We’re almost there, Ben. Just hold on to me…” I told him. “It’s alright, just keep your face covered…we’re almost out…”

I saw the light of the door, dispensing him back on the floor and pushing him to run toward it. I heard loud crashes behind me, things falling from shelves and pieces of the ceiling breaking and collapsing. My eyes were blurring, and my skin felt as though it was on fire, itself. 

And then I heard Lizzy’s voice. 

Quiet and back from where I’d just come, she called out for me. 

“Liz! I told you not to follow me! Why are you–” I was cut off again by the sound of exploding tin cans, hundreds of pieces of metal falling onto the floor from a high shelf. I coughed hard as I tried to find her in the thick clouds and rubble.

“Jacob!” her voice screamed, curdled and guttural. That sound alone filled me with more terror than when I’d heard Benjamin.

“Lizzy, come toward my voice!” I yelled, the flames daring to lick more closely, now. My entire body was still full of adrenaline, but more so, fear. Why did she follow me in? Why didn’t she stay behind like I’d asked?!

“Jacob, I can’t breathe!” she screamed.

I felt tears flood my eyes as her voice sounded so graveled, the room around us popping and lurching and exploding as the walls heated and melted. An anchor beam had fallen across the floor, putting a giant burning barrier between the two of us. “Here Liz, here! Come to me!” I urged her, willing her to come to me instead of retreating to a corner where she thought she may be able to hide from the flames. 

I was met with silence. 

“Liz! Liz, can you hear me?!” I coughed, my tongue so dry and my eyes so heavy. “Elizabeth!!!”

No. Not like this. 

I felt my mind begin to leave me, my breaths short and shallow as my body fought for fresh air. I had to turn around, I had no other choice… but Liz…

I stood for as long as I could, wandered around in the darkness, still yelling her name as each breath I took filled my lungs with more of the chalky smoke. I knew that if I stayed any longer, I would surely die of smoke inhalation.

I had no control over my body any longer. It had gone into survival mode on its own, and my legs carried me backwards toward the door, away from the flames, away from the smoke, away from the sound of her voice.

Why, Lizzy?!

I fell backwards out the door, my feet stumbling over one another as strangers’ hands gripped my shoulders and arms and pulled me away from the burning building. My limp body was drug away, and cold water was poured onto my face and limbs. I was coughing, strangling for breath as people surrounded me on the ground and tried to keep me alert and alive. 

I went into a state of shock as my body convulsed, ridding itself of the nerves and fearful adrenaline that had kept me alive for the past few minutes. 

“You saved him, Jacob! My Ben!” I heard the faint sound of Mrs. Berwick’s voice from a crowd behind me. “Thank you, thank you!”

The next few seconds were a flurry of more pulling on my limbs, more cold rags to my face, more shedding of my charred boots and clothing. I could smell the scent of my own burnt skin, and the pain of what was sure to be scarred reminders of this day tattooed on my body for the rest of my life. 

Where is Liz…

I could hear the echo of her voice still in the back of my mind, like a screeching siren begging me to come back and find her. And I knew right then that the sound of her voice would haunt my dreams for all of my years to come. How did this happen? Why did she come inside?

And then when I thought my mind couldn’t get any darker, I felt the familiar hands of my twin rest on my shaking shoulders.

“Jake, Jacob, are you alright? Where is she?! Where is Lizzy?” He helped me move to stand, his eyes devoid of anything other than fearful hope. 

“I–I don’t–”

I could hardly move my lips enough to form words. My tongue was sandpaper, my voice like hot embers sitting in my throat. 

All I could do was stare into the fire, the interior of the building now caving in on itself. People rushed us, pushed us aside and trampled us as they carried buckets of water to try and extinguish the flames. 

“Jacob! Where is Elizabeth!” he demanded, moving to stand in my line of sight. But I couldn’t look at him, I could barely even hear him, the world around me sounding as if I were locked in a glass room. Noises reverberating as I struggled to take a deep breath, struggled to think, struggled to even keep my balance on my feet. Why did she follow me?

All I could do was shake my head. Gently, from side to side as my eyes shot back and forth between the burning building and my mirror image, his face sullen and lips already downshot as he let the news consume him. 

“No. No! She couldn’t, she wouldn’t have– why was she…?” he began to pace, stomping his boots into the ground as hoards of people pushed past us. I became dizzy again, everything overwhelming me as I fought to believe it all, as well. Nothing made sense… just minutes ago we were arm-in-arm making our way back home. Minutes. And now…

I watched as my brother fell to his knees, uncaring of the dirt covering up his already filthy slacks. His head fell into his hands, his fingertips gripping into his curls as he screamed, cried, punched his fists into the ground beside him. My mind willed me to console him, but my body didn’t allow me to move. I was stuck in time and space, unable to do anything but stand there and breathe. Blink. Exist.

My back was to the building now as I noticed darkness had completely fallen. One step I took toward him, and then another, before my already weakened knees buckled, falling to his side as my lungs burned with the feeling of a hundred different kinds of rage. I let my weak arm drape over his shoulders as I fought for my own breath, feeling him shudder beneath it. The pain on the skin of my side was nearly unbearable, now. 

“You–” Josh muttered as he finally looked up to meet my eyes. “This is your fault…” he growled, his jaw clenched. “You’re the reason she’s dead, you’re the reason she burnt up in there…” 

“Wha–Josh, I tried to…” I could hardly push the words from my mouth, my body already shutting down on me. 

“Fuck you!” he yelled, pushing me over onto the dirt. I wretched out in pain as the skin on my side felt like white hot burning fire, worse than the flames that danced around my face just moments ago. “She’s gone! And you were supposed to be watching out for her! It’s your fault! She’d stil–” He couldn’t finish as his rage overtook him again, laying himself into me with weak punches to my face and chest. He was crying through it all, but I could tell he was serious. He truly thought it was my fault. 

And in my clouded thoughts… was it?

I couldn’t even fight back. All I could do was raise my arms over my face to defend the blows. Even in my wildest dreams, I could have never imagined this was how my night would have gone. Blow after weak, shoddy blow he delivered to my face, and I let him. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I should have just gone in further after her.

Maybe I should have died in there, too. 

Finally I felt the weight of him come off of me, seeing that two men had pulled him away and tossed him to the side. Through my burning and bloodshot eyes, I watched as he rolled on the ground, turning to sit and face the scene as his bloodied hands covered his face. He wept, his eyes boring into me with more hatred and sadness than I’d ever witnessed on his face. My mind was racing and blacking out at the same time. 

She’s gone, she’s gone. 

In the blink of an eye, and we aren’t getting her back. 

There my brother and I sat as we watched the chaos surround us, and it was only then I noticed all of the money surrounding us lying all over the ground. Coins and bills scattered in the dirt, ripped in half from our scuffle. He’d won his fucking hand. 

And, for what? A night of revelry lost with the love of his life, gambling on the savings they both had worked so hard to collect. He could have had that, with her, tonight. 

But, had he not gone and had I not escorted Lizzy for the evening, Benjamin may have surely met his bitter end. What’s more, the loss of a life at the brink of a new beginning, or the deliverance of an innocent child back into the arms of his mother?

Why must one fate have the other to exist?

Surely, my own redemption means nothing in this grand scheme. I was just at the right place at the right time. 

One more deep inhale of the smoke was the last thing I remembered before I let the exhaustion overtake me, closing my eyes as my body fell limp to the ground. 

—

1860

The smoke.

It wakes me now, except its scent isn’t the same as it was in my dream. The memory of my own burning skin and charring wood is replaced with the scent of a balmy, earthy smell… a little sweet and a little spicy, as if seasonings and herbs were being boiled to cleanse the air. 

I slowly open my eyes, afraid to get my bearings as I remember why I passed out in the first place. Joshua had hit me hard over the head with something in the alleyway of the bar. The flashback memory had confused me a bit, having to relive one of the worst days of my life in the fire, but then again I dream it all the time. I’m used to the nightmare replaying the night my brother’s fiance died at the fault of my own.

Joshua and I had gotten into another argument. But this time, he’d used more violence than he ever had, by knocking me completely out and bringing me… here, wherever here is. I’m lying on a wooden floor, and the room is lit with candles. My body is sore, but I can move. Everything is unfamiliar, and I’m positive I’ve never been here before. The air is humid and thick, and I think we must be close to water, but I know that is a long way from where we were.

I can hear mumbling from behind me… Joshua’s voice mixed in with another, a female. Her voice is unfamiliar too, so we must be at her dwelling. Where on earth did he bring me? I don’t trust him, I haven’t trusted him since the day of the fire, when he completely blamed the loss of his love on me. For a while, I accepted the blame, feeling a guilt so heavy in my state of depression that I believed it, too. But after some time and some reflecting, I realized there was nothing I could have done that night. She entered the building on her own, she became lost inside after I had warned her against it, and tried as I might, I simply could not save her without in turn losing my own life in the process. 

It was a truly horrific chain of unfortunate events. 

I can’t make out their conversation as they’re being hush, and my head is absolutely throbbing from the mix of the alcohol and whatever the hell Josh hit me over the head with. The blood from my nose is dried on my face, my eyes finally stopped watering, though everything is blurry and distorted as I try and listen harder.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” I hear Josh ask the stranger. 

“Do you doubt me, child?” the female challenges. 

“No, no. Of course I don’t. I just want to make sure this is going to go as smoothly as possible, and I won’t have to bother you again…”

What is going on?

I stir on the floor, moving my limbs as I try to sit up and understand. But Josh pushes me back down, before lifting me to sit in a chair. I can’t fight him, I’m too weak. 

“Tie him down,” I hear the stranger demand of Josh. What?

“No no, please,” I beg as I feel my hands being bound behind me. I begin kicking and fighting as best I can, pulling out every last bit of energy I have. 

“Stay still, Jacob, this will go a lot more smoothly if you just stop moving,” Josh bites with madness in his voice, tying a tight knot around my wrists. With the new feeling of the pain in my arms, my head clears up a bit, and I can see who the stranger in the room is. 

She’s a short woman, dark complected with dark gray hair hanging well below her waist. She’s dressed in what looks to be rags, but they’re colorful… Her head is wrapped in the same material, and dozens of gold and silver chains hang from her neck. Her hands, tattooed and adorned with rings and stones rub over one another as her deep black eyes watch Josh tie me to the chair. 

“Who are you? Where are we?” I ask, my voice now sounding more clear as I come off of the liquor. 

“Shh,” Josh spits in my ear as he ties my feet. 

“You’re in my home, child, no more questions,” she says. I hear wind chimes clinging in the distance as the crow of a bird screeches from a high corner. The candles flicker, almost as if the sound of her voice awakens them. The smell of the burning incense hits my nose again, turning my stomach.

“Why am I here? Let me go!” I fight, trying to free myself, but only learn that his knots are pulled tight. He laughs at my poor attempt. 

“Silence him,” she demands, and another wind blows through the rickety walls of the shack. I hear what sounds like shells clanking and sand falling, and the frogs in the bayou waters outside seem to sing a little louder.

Josh leans down to eye-level with me, and I swear I could spit in his face, if my morals didn’t hold me back. “You heard her, quiet. Not another word, or else we can use more force, if you want us to,” he shows his teeth in a pitiful attempt at a smile, but the light in his eyes left a long, long time ago. 

I scowl at him, cutting my losses as I become more nervous for the reason I am actually here. 

“I’m having a curse placed upon you, Jake,” Josh says as he stands back up. “With the help of my new friend here, Seraphine.” A wild whip of air blows through the home again, making my hair fall in front of my face. Fear settles in my belly at his words, and the darkness in the stranger’s eyes seems to become alight, just for a second as she watches us from her seat in the corner. 

I’ve heard about this magic, a cursed and fearsome magic whose practice dates back generations. It’s dark, and it's harrowing. A divination done correctly can change a man’s life for better or for worse, and from the stories I’ve heard told, it is best to steer clear unless you want your life changed forever. 

“You took the love of my life away from me, so it’s only fair if I subject you to a life of similar fate.” Josh projects as he begins pacing the room, his jaw clenched as he speaks. 

“No–” I contest.

Josh’s hands are suddenly on the arms of the chair I’m tied to, his face within inches of mine as he growls at me once more. “I said silence!”

The two of us stare at one another for what seems like minutes, challenging, gritting, both of us shifting our anger back and forth in the thin air that lies between us. “You took everything from me… all of it, and you’re going to learn exactly what that feels like…”

He stands back up, straightening his coat as he clasps his hands together behind him. I feel the sweat beginning to pool on my forehead as my anxiety settles in. 

“You’ll live out your years with no bounds, no end in sight. While everyone around you, everyone that you love ages naturally and grows old, you’ll stay this age forever. Everyone around you will meet the sweet taste of death, while you sit and watch it happen, over and over and over as you stay trapped here, at this very point in your life,” Josh says. “You’ll forever know what it feels like to crave death, wishing daily for it to take you away from this place just as I do, but you’ll never get to achieve it. You’ll watch everyone around you fall from grace and meet God himself, while you must sit with your sins and be a hostage of the Earth for the rest of eternity.”

I feel all the blood drain from my body as I realize he’s wishing, imposing this fate upon me at the hand of black magic. “Revenge,” I whisper. 

He nods, a sick smile gracing his lips. “Precisely, my brother.”

“How fucking could you?!” I snap a whisper at him, baring my teeth as if I could rip him apart with them.

He howls a long laugh, looking at Seraphine for validation. “How could I? How could you? You’re nothing but a sorry son of a bitch, and now you’re going to get every bit of what you deserve. My sweet Lizzy will have her justice.”

My head spins. “Justice?! Joshua, if I could tell you a hundred more times that her fate wasn’t by my hand, I wou–”

“His blood, Joshua!” Seraphine’s voice trembles across the air, loud and boisterous as the walls shake, the wind it causes nearly blowing every flamed candle out. My ears ring at the sound of it, and for a split second I see evidence of the tiniest bit of fear flash across Josh’s face, but he quickly qualms it. “I haven’t the time for any more arguments!”

Josh rips his knife from his side, opening the blade and slicing the rope that binds my wrists behind me. He grabs a glass vial that’s sitting on the table beside us, already half full of some kind of mix of herbs. Also on the table is a silver platter, a green stone, a bit of hair, and a few other odds and ends that I can’t make out before he raises my hand, slicing the skin of my palm until I feel blood dripping from it. I scream out in surprised pain as he collects the blood in the vial, capping it quickly and setting it back in the center of the silver platter. I get a head rush from the pain, and he ties my wrists behind me again. My eyes grow heavy as I hear words of accolades from Seraphine. 

“Good, Joshua, good…”

I feel like I’m about to pass out again as I feel more wind blow across my face, and a new smell drifts across my nostrils. There’s almost a sound of music in the air, but it doesn’t carry a melody, nor does it have a tune. It’s a blend of a thousand instruments that have no weight to them at all, but more so just noise and racket. I hear whispers in my ears as if ten people are standing next to me and in front of me, all speaking a different language from the one next to it. I’m dizzy, I’m confused, and I feel as if I could vomit, but what I feel the most is the scar on my side from the fire all those years ago. The skin is blazing, shocks running through it as if it were being burned all over again. 

I hear Seraphine’s voice, deep and gritty as she begins to recite an incantation. 

“By this blood the spell is cast, to weave your fate through ages vast. In realms of shadow, dark and deep, where time’s eternal echoes sleep.”

“With ancient might and words of old, your endless journey shall unfold. Through ages long and tales profound, in endless life, you shall be bound.”

“Forevermore, through realms of light, in days of dark and endless night. In time’s embrace your soul shall roam, a drifter in the vast unknown.”

Her hands are suddenly on my head, pressing down into my skull as if her life depended on it. My breathing begins to pick up, and I feel myself lose all control of my muscles. An energy flows through my system and all I can see in my mind are Seraphine’s eyes, hollow and black as she laughs at me, taunting me. 

This is it, I have met my fate, and there is nothing I can do about it. All at the hands of my brother, the one I entered this world with. My flesh and blood. He’s now taken measures so horrific so as to take away my entire future. Or give me more of it, I suppose. I’ll never love the same way again, knowing that I will be burdened with watching the end of it like the last petal falling from a late summer bloom. Nothing will be the same. Nothing will feel the same. I hope his revenge tastes sweet, because cursing me by the hand of black magic may end his life in such a way that he, too, did not see coming.

—

One Month Later

I’m lodged between two pieces of lumber, holding myself upright at the apex of a gable as I drive the last nail into the board. My fellow crewmen and I have been working tirelessly on this boarding house for over a month now, and finally we are seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. 

“Drink, Jacob?” I’m offered a canteen by my friend John, of which I graciously accept. I look out over the land, the early Autumn air barely peeking through the still-harsh sunlight. I’m a man of few words these days, ever since that night my brother kidnapped me and took me to that woman’s shack. I haven’t been the same since. My mind tends to drift, and I find myself finding new things to dwell over… things that I hadn’t thought of before, now that I am apparently unable to age. 

I’d woken up that next morning in a nearby grove of trees a little ways from where Seraphine’s home was. Josh was nowhere to be found, I knew he wouldn’t show his face again. Not after that. He knew I would probably kill him. 

I felt the same, yet different. It’s hard to explain, and it could be all in my head. And I’m yet to know if the curse even worked. I won’t even know until a few years from now, if I start to see wrinkles on my own skin. 

I don’t know how to think anymore. I don’t know how to live my day to day life. Things seem so uniform and monotonous, and I hope that the rest of my life won’t find me dwelling this way.

“Everything well with you, mate? You’ve seemed a bit off here lately,” John asks as we take a second to wipe the sweat from our brows as we perch on the unfinished high roof of the building. 

I shrug. “Guess so, just feelin’ a bit down, y’know.”

“Season is about to change, you following the next job when we finish here?” he asks, taking another swig from the canteen. 

“If life allows it,” I reply, still feeling so unsure about any and everything. Just then, my eye is caught by someone walking the grounds down below, a woman dressed in a white dress and hat, carrying a parasol over her shoulder as she wanders with another woman. I can hardly see her face from up here, but just from the way she carries herself, I can tell that she is beautiful. “Who is that?” I ask him.

His eyes follow mine. “Oh, that’s Ms. Y/N, the daughter of Mr. St. Lemire. Quite the pretty one, I say.” I see the sunlight catch her face as she cranes her neck up to see us, and just as I suspected, her beauty nearly makes me fall straight onto the unfinished floor of this boarding house. “Lives under her father’s thumb though, so I’ve heard.”

I realize then that I haven’t taken a breath since the second I saw her. My chest tightens, and I finally inhale. “Is that so,” is all I manage. 

“Mmhm. Fellow that started the job with us tried to ask her name once, offer her an escort to get shade under a tree, he was fired the next day,” John explains, drawing my attention away from her. 

“Is that true?” I ask, my interest suddenly piqued. 

“Sure as hell is. Off limits. A damned shame, too. She’s shinier than a new penny.”

I feel myself become suddenly intrigued with the thought of me trying to escort her to get shade under a tree. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the soft touch of a woman. But the other man was fired for even speaking to her, and I need this job, I need this pay. Maybe I can find another way. Lord knows at this point, I have little left to lose.

—

Days pass, and Ms. St. Lemire still graces us with her presence at the construction site almost daily. I don’t know why she does, she has little to no use being here, except distracting the lot of us from doing our jobs. I keep to myself though, as the wandering eyes of the others follow her every move each day she visits. Some days she’s with her father, some days she’s with a few other ladies, but she has yet to be by herself. My friend must have been right about her living under her father’s thumb. 

The workday was about to end one Friday afternoon, and Ms. Y/N had been waltzing around the property with another woman while we cleaned up our tools and wasted nails from the site. I hid my wandering eyes underneath the brim of my hat, only peeking from under it every so often so as to catch glimpses of her. I wouldn’t swear to it, but on occasion I think she may have been looking, too. But I’d never acknowledge it. 

“Evenin’, Ms. St. Lemire, care to indulge with me down at the pub after supper?” I heard one of the men from the sawmill speak from across the lawn. He must not have heard about the other man being fired.

“Oh, no, thank you, I don’t imbibe,” I heard her voice for the very first time, soft but a bit more rugged than I had imagined. He hair fell in a long thick braid down her back, a cream colored ribbon fastened at the end.

“Now,” the man pressed, “not even wine?”

She shook her head as I continued to work, stealing a glance every few seconds. “No. Only on holidays,” she replied, looking to her friend as they both share a giggle. 

“Is every day not a holiday that God has given us, ma’am?” he goes on, obviously pressing more after she had sternly declined. 

“Sure, but not every day is worth celebrating with libation. Good day,” she bites, offering him a nod as she begins to walk away. 

“Oh, come on, let a man show you a good time!” he demands as he catches her, his hand on her waist as she turns, leaving what looked to be a fairly dark mark of dirt and sawdust all over the back of her light blue dress. 

I stand. She turns quickly, ripping her dress from his grasp while her other white-gloved hand slaps him right across the face. The crew erupts with gasps and surprised laughter. “Do not ever touch me again, and do not ever insist upon a lady after she has clearly said no,” she barks, her finger in his face.

I think I just fell in love.

My eyes are bulging from my head, just the same as everyone else on the job, all of us unable to speak after witnessing that spectacle. My Lord, am I impressed.

Her friend pulls her by the hand back toward their horse and carriage as our foreman comes charging toward the group that had gathered. 

“What in the hell is going on here?!” he asks, and we all stay silent. “Someone give me a god damned answer or there will be no break for lunch all next week…”

One man clears his throat and averts his eyes toward the man in question, and I watch as the foreman goes toward him, ready to question the entire scene. Before he does, though, he notices the group’s silence. “Back to work, all of you! Still an hour’s worth of the job to finish! Go!” I make myself look busy until I hear his voice again. 

“Jacob! Attend to Ms. St. Lemire at her carriage, her coachman has gone to relieve himself in the woods. Water the horses,” he demands, and given the state of his rage, I know better than to attest to that. 

I take off walking behind Ms. St. Lemire and her friend, barely keeping up as they are walking rather quickly toward the carriage. I can see the fire raging through her as she walks; no longer is she carrying herself with the same grace she usually holds. She’s mad, and she’s embarrassed.

Her friend steps up into the carriage first, and offers Y/N her hand for help just as I reach them. She steps on the edge, and her shoe slips off the ledge, making her stumble and nearly fall backwards. “Whoa, ma’am, careful,” I say as I catch her back on my shoulder and arm. She squeals out of surprise and tries to steady herself, her hand slipping out of her friend’s. I help her to get her footing on the ground as she turns to look at me, her bodyweight going limp for a fraction of a second as she finally stands up on her own again. I raise my eyebrows in question as her eyes meet mine, sparkling in the late evening sun. “Are you alright?” I ask. 

She clears her throat. “Yes, um, fine, fine, thank you–” she stands, taking her friend’s hand again and successfully stepping up into the carriage. I nod, making my way to the front of the carriage to tend to the horses. I take a few steps to the side of the road where the water supply is, fetching a metal bucket and pumping water into it. I try not to pay attention, but I can’t help but notice Ms. Y/N and her friend quietly whispering to one another while avoiding my eyes. I keep myself busy letting the horses drink, petting them and speaking quietly to them. I can still feel the feeling of her rested on my shoulder, and the smell of her light perfume still dances across my nose.

“Sir,” she speaks up, catching my attention. 

“Yes Ma’am?” I answer, coming out from my hiding spot behind the horses.

“I just wanted to thank you for breaking my fall,” she says, her friend snickering behind her shoulder. “I surely would have landed in the dirt, and ruined my dress, hadn’t you caught me,” she smirks. 

I feel a wave of confidence and anxiousness roll over me at the fact that she’s speaking to me. Thanking me, when all I had done for weeks now was admire her from afar. 

“Not a problem, Ma’am, though I think George over there might have actually left his stained handprint on your dress…” I say. “May have gotten dirty, anyway.”

She turns and pulls the skirt of her dress to the side as they both inspect it. She clicks her tongue as she sees the dark black dusty stain. “Ah, no matter. Nothing a quick wash can’t fix,” she says with a quipped smile. She clasps her hands back in her lap. 

The two of us stare at one another for a beat, unsure of what to say next. 

“I um, I’m sorry he… that he was so insistent with you just then, men can truly be dastardly,” I say, pulling my rag from my back pocket to wipe my hands free of any more sawdust.

She laughs. “That they can,” she smiles, extending her hand out in front of her for me to shake. “Y/N, pleasure to meet you Mr…”

I brush my hand across my shirt for one last attempt at ridding myself of dirt. “Jacob, pleasure is mine, Ma’am.” Her hand isn’t as gentle as I’d imagined. Her handshake is steady and forceful, and her eyes lock on mine as she repeats my name back to me. The sound of that, god, I’ll be replaying in my head for weeks. 

“You’re um, you’re the daughter of the boss man, I hear?” I try to break the silence that had fallen as her hand drops from mine. 

“I am. Unfortunately,” she quips, earning another chuckle from her friend. 

I’m taken aback. “Ma’am?” 

She lets out a loud sigh. “Oh, being the daughter of a very wealthy and very religious man has its perks, I suppose, but there’s nothing like the realization that I won’t ever get to make my own decisions or live my own life, you know?”

At first, I’m astounded by her sudden willingness to share something this personal with a stranger, but her personality seems to reflect that she doesn’t even really care who knows it. 

“I’m sure it could be… trying, at times,” I try and understand, running my hand along the belly of the horse.

“Trying isn’t the word, Jacob. Far from it,” she clicks her tongue again as her gaze diverts back to the work site. “It’s a miracle he lets me take my afternoon outings to come here, let alone that he allows me out of the house at all.”

“Ah,” I say, nodding slowly. 

“You aren’t one of those dastardly men you mentioned, are you?” she asks, cocking her head. 

I bite my lips in, surprised at her forwardness again. “No, no ma’am. I don’t like to think I am, at least.” 

“I don’t believe you are, either,” she replies, and I walk closer to the carriage. 

“And how could you be so sure?” I press, cocking an eyebrow as I let my elbows rest on the side of the carriage. 

“You’ve been nothing but a gentleman yet. Called me nothing but Ma’am even after I told you my name. Apologized on another man’s behalf, and… you care for my horses,” she says, smiling a sweet, coy smile that nearly knocks me to my knees. I’m left speechless, and I can feel my cheeks burning with shyness. 

Instead, I bring my hand back up to the horse. “I was raised with them.”

“Admirable. So you must know them well.”

“A bit, my father kept a barn when I was a boy, taught me how to care for them,” I reply.

“Hm,” she says, averting her eyes to the coachman returning back from his escape to the woods. “We’ve got a pregnant mare back at home, our first experience with one. Maybe you could assist us when her time comes? Should be within the next week…” she proposes, refastening the satin ribbon at the end of her braid. 

“I could, perhaps. If your father and the foreman allowed me a day from work,” I say, knowing that I have plenty of experience in that department. 

“I’ll arrange it,” she says as the coachman takes his place. “Father will be sure to accept the help. Especially from someone who already works for him.” She raises her hand to wave just as the carriage takes off. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”

I raise my hand as well, watching as the dirt kicks up behind the wheels. “Likewise, Ms. Y/N.”

—

Day and night, I think of her. She’s infiltrated my dreams, the sound of her voice still playing like a song in the back of my mind. We’ve only spoken once, that day she slapped George, but it seems as though that’s all the time I needed to know that she already holds a very special place in my heart. It isn’t often that I let a woman in like that, hell, I’ve only ever had one serious relationship my whole life, and it was when I was fifteen and thought I was in love. That feeling gave me an inkling though, all those years ago, of what love may actually be. And though we grew up and went our separate ways, I’ve still searched high and low for that longing feeling that I had in my chest. 

And I felt it that day when Ms. St. Lemire fell off of her carriage and into my arms. 

I can’t explain it. I’m almost embarrassed to admit the amount of space she takes up in my thoughts. I’ve nearly forgotten the fact that my brother laid a curse upon me. My thoughts are taken up by something else, now. A distraction from the fact that my fate is sealed. Her face is the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. I find myself wondering how her lips would feel pressed to mine, how her skin would feel under my rugged touch. How her voice would sound saying my name over and over…

But no. There’s no way a woman like her would ever find interest in a scoundrel like myself. I’m too lowly for her liking, surely. And the fact that her father would probably never let me near her enough to even say hello. No. Surely her life is already planned for her, her husband probably already chosen to keep the family fortune alive long after Mr. St. Lemire’s death. I have no hope, but still yet, I let my mind pretend it exists. 

—

I’m drying my hands off after I’ve cleaned them thoroughly, watching as Y/N sits in the hay with her back against the barn wall. She’s admiring the brand new foal as we give them space, watching intently as it nurses on its mother.

“That was… quite the experience, Jacob,” she mutters through a tired smile, the toes of her riding boots knocking together. “Not sure she would have made it had you not come to her rescue.”

“Oh, she would have been fine,” I say. “Your hands here had it covered,” referencing the other three men who helped to run the barn. 

“I’m not so sure,” she says. “I’m just glad we went and fetched you when we did.” Her hair is a mess and tangled all over her face, her clothing covered in hay and mud from our very eventful afternoon. A carriage had rolled through the construction site midmorning, the coachman yelling for me. He’d announced that the horse was in labor and having a difficult time, so I hopped in and we were at the barn within half an hour. I’d never tell her, but I was glad they got me when they did, too, or else we may have been burying the poor things. 

“Will you stay for supper, Jacob?” she finally speaks again after I’ve taken the spot on the ground across the stall from her. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t, thank you. I’ve got a long walk home, and sunrise comes early,” I say, fighting a yawn. I pull my knife from my side and begin peeling at the grime that is caked under my fingernails. 

“You live to work, don’t you?” she asks gently. “You truly love it?”

I nod. “I do, I’ve always loved to build. Work with my hands, my father and I built a barn about this size when I was a child. He taught me everything I know about laborin’.” I left out the part that Josh helped, too, not wanting her to delve into that detail of my life.

“Well he taught you well,” she says through that sweet smile. I swear that I could sit here and talk with her about absolutely nothing for days on end. 

“Thank you, Ma’am. So… why do you frequent our job site so often, if you don’t mind me asking?” I have wanted to ask her this question for a while, but was unsure about it. 

She takes a deep breath. “My Father wants it to be mine when it’s completed. Wants me to have a sense of purpose, running the boarding house. My husband and I, that is.”

There it is. 

My chest clenches. “Oh,” I reply. “I was unaware of your status, I apologize.” I shut my knife back up, and begin to stand. 

“Oh, no, it’s–” her eyes drag longingly to mine, and I cock my head in question. I shouldn’t stay here any longer if she is already spoken for. My job here is done. 

“He’s away, he travels with my father a lot for work, for business…” she says, her voice fallen. “I–I’ve only ever met him a handful of times, actually.”

I slowly sit back down. “...You’ve only met him a few times? And you’re to marry him?” 

She nods, her face contorting as she breathes in a chopped breath. I stay quiet, quite unsure what to ask next. 

“It’s been the plan since I was a young girl, marry a man within the church, devote my life to him and our work, have his children, and that’s that,” she says tilting her head to the side as she avoids my eyes. 

“...And that’s that.”

“I’m– I don’t believe that that is how I want my life to go, Jacob,” she admits, biting her lip. I’m surprised again at her forwardness. 

“Isn’t it?” I ask. “Why is that?”

Finally she does look at me. “Because he is fourteen years my senior.” There can’t be much difference in age between the two of us, maybe a year or two either way. I’d ask if she is twenty-five as well, but I figure it rude to ask a lady her age. 

I sigh. “That’s a bit of time,” I reply, trying to sound neutral.

“It is. It’s way too much time. I know it seems a normal gap when it comes to marriages but, not for me. That isn’t what I want. Especially not with…” she stops herself, sitting up straighter against the barn wall. “Anyway. It must be nearing time for me to return home.” She stands suddenly, and I follow suit. She extends her hand out to me again. “Thank you, Jacob, for all of your help today.”

I clear my throat. “Anytime, Ma’am, please just let me know if there is anything else I can do to help,” I offer, giving her hand a little extra squeeze as I grip it in mine. Just like lightning bolts.

I watch as her chest turns red. “I will, we will. And please, call me Y/N. See you next time.”

She pulls her hair back from her face as she gives me one last look as we part ways in front of the barn, and I head toward home.

—

Two days pass with only a few sightings of Y/N, and nothing more than passing glances and head nods come from either of us. I chalk it up to her not wanting someone to see us interacting, then reporting back to her father. I trust it, but it still feels as though she seeks me out. Watches me until I notice her so that she can offer me a smile. If only she knew that my days wouldn’t be the same without them, anymore.

That next morning, though, the coachman had come to collect me from the site again, informing me that the foal had begun to exhibit signs of distress in the late hours last night. Again we travel the half hour to the homestead and I gently approach the stable where we had left them before. The stable was clean and bright. I could tell there were several people attending to it at all times. Every tool and piece of equipment you could ever need was in that barn, and I felt envious that I was not raised with such fineries. A small brown paddle boat leans against the side of the barn, a paddle resting against the wall in the morning sun. I step into the barn and there I see an exhausted Y/N leaned against the stable door, her chin in the crook of her elbows, watching on as the mare tends to her baby. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask, startling her. 

“Oh, Jacob,” she perks up. “The foal, he is acting strange. Will hardly nurse, he’s been rolling around…” 

I quickly walk into the stall, greeting both animals. “Has he defecated?”

“Very little, but yes,” she answers, following me in. I squat and run my hand along the foal’s belly, racking my brain as I think back on all that my father had taught me about colic. 

“How many times an hour does he nurse?” I ask. 

She runs her hand over her face, obviously very worried. “Two, maybe three?”

“He may be a bit dehydrated. He needs to nurse seven, maybe eight times an hour.” I take a wet rag from a bucket and clean the mother’s underside as best I can, then try and assist the foal in trying to suckle again. “Sometimes their feedings need supplemented, and he may, but try and just make sure he is eating often, for a few minutes each time,” I instruct. I know that the animals will require care and monitoring through the day and into the evening, so I tell her that. 

“I’ll send someone to tell the Foreman that you need to stay here, with me, and help…” she says, still a mess as she worries herself to death. “I’m sure they can all handle the worksite without you, today.”

“Lots of trust you put in those men, Ma’am,” I joke as I grab a brush and run it along the mare’s back.

“I told you to call me Y/N, Jacob,” she jests, coming to join me at the mare’s side. She’s dangerously close to me, closer than she has been since she stumbled back onto me that day. My heart rate rises, hearing our names said together.

I hand her the brush. “I know you did, but I still feel it to be improper. I would only call my friends by their first names,” I say lowly as she begins brushing the horse at an odd angle.

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second. “Friends,” she mumbles. “Wouldn’t you think of us as… that? As friends...”

I swallow my pride as her eyes bore into mine. I gently place my hand overtop of hers, guiding her hand in a more comfortable way to brush. “I’d like to be considered as such,” I reply, my hand gripping overtop of hers more sternly, now. I can’t help myself.

I watch as she swallows, too, my hand guiding hers. “Then it’s considered,” she breathes, moving her face just a little closer to mine. I can hear my heart in my ears, my palm sweating where it touches her hand. “I’ll not answer to ma’am again,” she whispers, her eyes flitting from my eyes to my lips. 

I’m fighting everything within me not to kiss her, not to give in to her proximity and finally feel the closeness I’ve been craving so desperately. But I push through it. The woman is betrothed. 

Our faces are nearly touching, only inches of thick air separate us. I can hardly breathe, let alone think. But I must speak…

“As you wish, Y/N,” I say gently, her name tasting like sweet summer honey on my tongue. I can feel her breath on my lips, all of my nerve endings on fire as she breathes in the way I said her name. The brush falls onto the ground but our hands stay clasped as she turns to me fully, and I grip her hand tighter, pulling her into me. She takes my opposite hand and holds it like the first, our noses now barely brushing. I can hear her ragged breathing as she holds herself back, and I know better than to make any more moves. So I just wait, clenching my teeth together so I don’t let my urges get the best of me. I squeeze her hands in mine as she rises on her tiptoes, our foreheads now balancing on one another’s. God, this woman is everything…

“Say it again, Jacob,” she whispers, her lips almost on mine.

“Y/N, Y/N… Y/N…” I sing over and over like a hymn to the heavens, wanting to say nothing but her name for the rest of eternity. What a joke that is, since eternity is apparently all that I have. But her name on my tongue is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. She lets out the smallest whimper at the sound of it, and I have to envision ropes tying me down to stop myself from letting my demons win.

Her hand rises to rest on my chest, likely feeling my speeding heart. “You’re anxious, Jacob,” she teases as my worry comes true. 

“Of course I am, look at you,” I mutter, honestly. 

“What, covered in sweat and hay and manure? Sure,” she laughs a little, pulling away as our eyes meet again, and our hands disconnect. 

I push a strand of hair from her eye. “Yes, and it’s beautiful,” I say honestly, again. 

I watch her cheeks rise with pink. “Don’t flatter me.”

I clear my throat. “My apologies, if I was forward.”

Her hand reaches up, her thumb brushing on my lower lip, removing what felt to be a speck of dirt. The action nearly knocks me on my back, the soft pad of her finger so close to where I could just…

“Not forward. No apologies,” she demands, her voice deeper than normal. She steps backward as we both breathe, and collect ourselves. We stand there for a good fifteen seconds, just staring at one another. My chest is rising and falling now, just from watching her watch me. The tension is so thick I could–

“Ms. St. Lemire!” I hear a man’s voice from the front of the stable. “Shall I let the Foreman know we’ll need assistance all afternoon?”

She clears her throat and shakes her head free of her seemingly intrusive thoughts. “Yes, um, yes please, Winston, if you don’t mind!”

“Not in the least, Ma’am,” he says, and I hear his footsteps retreating.

She clears her throat again as we are both relieved that we weren’t caught those fifteen seconds ago. “My father will be home soon, from his travels,” she breathes, laying a steadying hand on the mare still beside us. 

“And your fiance?” I say before I can stop myself.

“I haven’t got a ring on my finger, Jacob,” she barks, swallowing harshly as if she is offended, or maybe just mad at the fact I brought him up. But she’s telling me true, there’s no ring on her hand to indicate her status. 

“...And?” I press, a little confused. “I thought you said they travel togeth–”

“Yes. They will return home together. And I will have to go with him, I haven’t got a choice,” she says, crossing her arms as she shakes her head. 

I leave it at that, there’s not much that I can say. Her life has been decided for her, and though it seems that their plan goes against everything that she actually wants, I’m positive she doesn’t have a dog in her own fight.

—

Later that evening after I’d spent most of the day showing the barn hands more ways to care for the foal, Y/N returns from her afternoon duties at the homestead to find me taking a catnap in the barn stall. 

“Sleeping on the job, Jacob?” I’m awoken by her sweet voice. I lift my hat from covering my eyes, finding her in the same clothing from earlier this morning. She tosses me a green apple, and I barely catch it as my sleep is still barely escaping me. 

I sit up. “This for me, or for the mare?”

“You. This is for the mare. She prefers a red apple,” she says, offering the mare the fruit as she pets her nose. 

I smile and stand, noticing my stomach growling as soon as I take a bite from the Granny Smith. She disappears for a second, but returns back with another horse, a male Appaloosa. “Come on, want to show you something,” she says as she nods her head for me to follow her out of the barn. 

“But the foal–” I say, replacing my hat.

“The hands will tend to them. Come on, evening is setting in,” I hear her voice from outside. When I finally exit the barn, I find her mounted bareback on the horse, one hand on his mane and the other shielding her eyes from the evening sun. “Hop on, come on.”

My eyes widen at her offer, and I freeze, unsure that what I am seeing is truly real. “Jacob, come on! Hurry!” she orders again. 

I decide to cut my losses, so I take a little run, launching myself up onto the horse with the help of her hand. He’s a smaller horse and still young, yet, but I can tell he has a lot of heart. She begins trotting him to the wooded area behind the barn, and as he picks up speed, I’m completely unsure of what to do with my hands. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden this way as a passenger. 

“Hold on!” she instructs, and as the horse begins to run as we rush through the woods, I have no choice but to wrap my arms around her waist. She guides the horse over the grassy trail, expertly avoiding rocks and hillsides as if she’s ridden all her life. And if I had to guess, she probably has. My arms grip tightly around her as I have no choice but to do so, but I still try to keep them at a respectful level. 

After a few minutes, we enter into a clearing, the deep orange setting sun peeking through the leaves and casting a fire-like glow to the air. She slows the horse as I look over her shoulder, seeing a small pond with an old dock built right out into the middle of it. The water looks fresh and clean, and I can tell that though the dock is old, it’s still in good shape. 

“Where have you brought me, Y/N?” I ask, leaning into her ear just a bit as the horse rounds a tree. “And who is this?”

“To my most favorite place in the world,” she says, stepping off the horse and onto the ground. I follow after her as she ties him to a tree. “And this is Silas. Silas the Great, actually,” she introduces me to the horse. “I took him under my wing five years ago, he was injured and we nursed him back to health. I sat all day and all night in the stable with him, just so he knew he wasn’t alone. Now we’re a bit inseparable,” she says, touching her nose to his. My heart swells, never have I met a woman with a passion nearly the same as my own. Maybe more so, even. 

“Nice to meet you, Silas the Great,” I say, running my hand down his side. “You uh, kind of surprised me… I didn’t expect you–”

“To know how to actually ride a horse? Mm, well if that surprised you, then so will the reason I brought you here,” she says as she turns and walks toward the dock, unbuttoning her riding vest. Next, her hands are gripping at the bottom of her white blouse. She rips it right over the top of her head, tossing it behind her as she turns back to look at me. Then comes her corset. She pulls at its ties behind her until it loosens, and she steps free of it.

Again, I stand frozen. …What?

She then undoes her belt, and kicks off her pants and riding boots as she stands on the weathered wood of the dock. “You coming?” she yells as she continues to undress.

“Ma’am, uh, Y/N, I don’t think this is appropriate,” I say, trying to look anywhere but at her undressing herself. 

“What, rinsing off the straw and sweat from the day? Don’t you want to get cleaned up?” she teases though a side smile. 

I open my mouth to speak, and my brain tells my legs to walk, but I can’t. I’m simply stunned, and she’s standing there in her undergarments, begging me to dive into the water with her. She lifts her pointer finger to tell me to come, so I beckon every bit of nervous energy I have and walk down the slight decline to the water’s edge, gently kicking my boots off into the dirt. 

She watches me intently, feeling no embarrassment or shyness in the least from standing before me, a complete stranger, in almost nothing. I walk slowly to the dock, unbuttoning my shirt with shaking hands as I’m terrified someone is going to catch us. I pull my arms from my sleeves and let the shirt fall behind me, and I swallow the lump in my throat as my hands reach my belt buckle. I pull it from the loops, so slowly that I almost stop altogether if it weren’t for her eyes telling me to get on with it. 

I’m finally before her in my undergarments, and try as I may, keeping my excited self hidden behind them is becoming more and more trying, especially since I can see her nipples through her thin white undergarments. She’s absolutely astoundingly gorgeous. 

“Your hat, Jacob,” she laughs, tapping on her own head. “Unless you’d like to wash it, too.”

I swallow, plucking it from my head and tossing it onto my boots beside me. She smiles, offering me a satisfied look as she turns and dives head first into the water. She re-emerges a few seconds later, brushing the wet hair away from her eyes. “Ooooh!” she exclaims. “A little cold but it feels great, come on!” 

Who is this woman, and where has she been all my life?

I close my eyes and send up a quick prayer of thanks and good luck, and I take a deep breath, hurling myself into the water. She’s right. It isn’t warm, but the refreshment clears my mind and wakes me up more than the ride here, and when I surface, her bright smiling face is right in front of me, her hands gripping my face as I catch my breath. 

“Your face is filthy, Jake,” she laughs as her soft hands rub water over my cheeks and forehead, and I can hardly see straight as she calls me by my nickname. No one’s called me that in a very, very long time. 

I’m still shocked and I know she can tell; it’s as though her comfortability with me increases with every passing second. I know better than to argue it. So I let her clean my face, her thumbs and the pads of her fingers gently running over my eyes and jawline… and suddenly I feel a chill come over me, but not from the temperature of the water. 

I can’t pull my eyes from her as we both fight to stay afloat in the water. The way it’s reflecting off her face, making her eyes look like diamonds as they scan over me. Her lips so perfectly shaped as the corners curl up into a smile as she continues cleansing my cheeks from the mess of the day. “There,” she says. “All better.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice deciding to leave me just like all my thoughts have. It’s like the most perfect moment that I never want to end, and I hardly even know this woman. She slowly separates from me and swims to the dock, hoisting herself onto it and sitting with her legs dangling in the water. She wrings her hair out and wipes her eyes, watching as I swim over to join her. 

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” she says quietly. 

“Yes.” I tilt my head back into the water and run my fingers through my long hair, ridding it of any pieces of straw that have lodged themselves there over the past couple of days. 

“I’ve been swimming here since I was a child. I think the water is healing, magical, even. I always leave here feeling like a whole new person. My own little oasis,” she explains, turning her face to the remnant sunbeams as she reclines on her hands. I hoist myself onto the dock to sit beside her, still feeling just the least bit uneasy at our lack of no translucent clothing. 

“Well thank you for sharing it with me,” I say.

She grins. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” 

I laugh a little. “Ah, I don’t know, am I?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me somethin’ you do, besides build boarding houses and take care of foals.”

I lick my lips as I look out over the glittering water, admiring the willow trees hanging out over it. I grip the necklace that lives around my neck in my hand, holding the heavy silver charm between my fingers. I’ve never taken it off, since the day Josh gifted it to me. It was one of the very first things he made in his shop once he became a master silversmith. Though the two of us have become enemies, I still can’t bring myself to remove it. 

“Well, not much really,” I explain, holding back the fact that I am apparently going to stay twenty-five for the rest of eternity. “I devote myself to work, leave myself little time for much else.”

“Hm. No friends, family, no other hobbies?” she asks. 

I shake my head slowly as I turn to her. “No more family,” again, I keep Josh from conversation. “I guess I enjoy going on long walks, learning history, telling stories… spending my last spare coins on a beer or two to reward myself for a long work week,” I shrug. “Not much to me.”

“I think there’s more to you than you realize, Jake,” she says, her eyes searching mine. Again, my heart drops at her use of my name, and the way her eyes look at me as if I’m the only person left on earth. “You were the one that saved that boy, Mrs. Berwick’s son, from the fire… weren’t you?”

My breath catches as I nod slowly. 

“And you were burned pretty badly, your side, here…” she says, motioning to the now healed burn marks along my ribs. “You saved that boy’s life, I remember you were the talk of the town, all over the newspapers… it was you.”

“Right place, right time,” I shrug, trying to calm her talk of heroism. 

“But there was also a fatality, that day, wasn’t there? A woman, did you know her?” she presses. I feel a chill run over my body again, and I close my eyes for a second as the memory floods back.

“I did. She was a…friend,” I swallow.

She pauses, and nods in understanding. “I’m sorry you couldn’t save them both.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” I admit, more to myself than to her. There’s a lull in the conversation as we both breathe in the evening air, giving a moment of silence for the life lost that day. Finally after a minute or so, she reclines back onto the dock, her arms splayed out above her head. I try to avert my eyes from her chest, falling so perfectly. But then, I join her. 

“Do you ever think about running away, Jake? Just packing a bag, and getting on a horse and riding until you can’t see what you’ve left behind you?” she asks, her voice high-pitched and longing. 

I watch as a crow lands in the tree above us, rustling a few leaves to fall and float through the air. “Sometimes,” I say. 

“I think about it all the time. Just leaving. Heading north, probably.” 

I swallow, feeling her elbow barely touching the side of my head. “But, your father, your fiance, your business…”

“I don’t care about any of that. None of it truly belongs to me, it’s all been handed. It’s all been planned, you know?” she breathes, looking at the sky. “I don’t want to live out the rest of my days under the thumb of a man who’s decided my every move since I was born, only to marry another one who will continue to do the same exact thing. Who doesn’t even love me…” she blinks.

“I’m sure he cares very deeply for you, Y/N.”

“No. No he doesn’t, Jacob. The man couldn’t care less about me. He’s–he’s the most unkind person I’ve ever met. Brash and difficult, rude in many ways. Uncaring and hateful. Tries to keep me happy by buying me nice things, sending me gifts. I’ve only kissed him once, and it sent an emotion through me that I’ve never felt. Something bad, something ominous,” she says. “He may care for me on the surface, but I can tell that he knows he will be miserable with a woman fourteen years his junior, just as I feel.”

I don’t know how to respond, so I let her keep going.

“I dream of having a love so fierce that I can hardly sleep at night, for fear of losing a single second of time. A life so free that I look forward to each morning. I want to feel my life, Jake. Not wish for the day that I don’t have to live it anymore.”

Her words hit me like a train. Never has anyone opened up to me this way, before. And for some reason, I feel the need to help her. It’s ironic, here she is telling me that she wants to feel her life come alive around her, while I’m moping at the fact that I will have to live each and every day not knowing if I’ll ever see the end, at all.

I nod and fold my hands underneath my head as she sniffs away a rage-filled tear. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have let all that out on you. Wasn’t very ladylike of me.”

“No no,” I interrupt, “I understand. I wouldn’t want my life to have been chosen for me, either. I couldn’t– I couldn’t imagine it, actually. Especially with someone whose love isn’t mutual with mine.”

“Exactly,” she says, pushing herself up on her elbow. “Am I not crazy, Jacob?”

I shake my head. “No, you aren’t crazy. I’d want to run away, too.” And truly, I would.

“Then let’s go,” she whispers, her eyes wide and hopeful. “You and I, and Silas.”

“Me?” I’m surprised yet again. 

“Yes, you! Why not, you know? This town offers me nothing, nothing is holding me here…” she goes on.

“You’d find no benefit in runnin’ away with a person like me, I can offer you nothing, Y/N,” I argue, completely blindsided by the fact that someone like her would want to have me as a running partner. “I have no money, I have no excitement in my life. No inheritance, no family, no fancy home… You should stay here, where you are comfortable and have a prosperous future waitin’ for you at your doorstep.”

She shakes her head as she stays silent for a beat. “That’s the most I’ve heard you speak, yet,” she finally laughs, rolling back to her back. “Do you think I truly care about all of that, Jacob? I mean I hardly know you, but you have to have noticed that I just spent the last few nights sleeping in the hay of a barn floor. The last thing I care about is how large and appealing my home is, or how much money lines my pockets… I want someone willing to lie there in the hay with me. Someone like, well, you.”

She isn’t wrong. She can read herself like a book.

I sit up and lean over her, bringing my face close to hers as I balance on my elbows. “You really want to do that? You really want to run away…” 

She squints her eyes. “More than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life…” She lifts her head, brushing her nose against mine just as she had done in the barn. I struggle to take a breath as she exhales against my lips, her eyes searching my face again. My entire body stiffens as she gently presses her lips to mine for just a second, her neck craned as her eyes close. She pulls away and covers her mouth, almost as if she didn’t mean to do it at all. She giggles but pulls her hand away from her mouth, instead gently brushing her fingers through my still-damp strands. 

I close the gap again, this time cupping her neck and pulling her body into me. My entire mind is full of fireworks, bright white lights as I feel every single one of my nerve-endings ignite with fire. She feels so perfect, so good underneath me as her lips part just a little, letting me inside. 

I gently brush my tongue into her mouth, tasting her for the very first time. Like fresh spring honeysuckles and the burn of a good whiskey, she kisses me back, the sound of her light cries almost making me come undone as our bodies lurch together, begging to be touched. Her kiss has already weakened me completely, and if we weren’t already lying down, I’d gently lie her back anyway, letting myself take a bit of control as her hands tighten their grip in my hair. Both of our breathing is labored, and neither of us have hardly moved from our places on the dock. She’s blinding me, in every sense of the word. I can hear the tree frogs and feel the breeze around us, but all that exists in my mind is her, and the way she feels as she’s connected to me, the way she tastes on my tongue. I find myself wondering what the rest of her tastes like, and if she would shy away from my efforts to taste her further…

My hand tightens on her neck as my tongue delves a little deeper, eliciting another whisper of a cry from her throat as our lips fight against one another. I can feel the heavy silver chain and charm that stays around my neck falling to rest on her chest. 

We continue this way for a minute, maybe two, just letting ourselves enjoy this new company. Her body writhes under mine as I lean over onto her, and I can feel her breasts pressed up against my chest. My head is spinning and I can hardly form a thought. I let my other hand travel, sneaking it slowly down her arm and along her side, making her shudder beneath me. Her reactions let me know that I’m doing everything right. My hand travels again, pulling her undergarment up just a bit so that my hand can roam over her skin. 

It’s perfectly soft and supple, goosebumps covering the places that I let my fingertips glide. Her kiss is intense, pulling me back in and making my yearning for her all the more heavy. I feel myself tightening in my underwear, and I’m sure she can, too, but she continues her movements. This is a horrible idea, but I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to. She’s already making herself addictive. Just as my hand glides along her stomach, and I’ve decided to test the waters with a light touch of her breast, she hops back in discomfort, making me stop altogether. 

“What’s wrong, are you alright?” I ask, lifting my hand and looking at the place I’d just touched. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, fine, it just–”

There on her skin, right under her breast is a red rash that looks a bit painful. “What’s this?” I ask. 

“I–it’s probably poison oak, or something… I have been outside a lot lately. Don’t worry about it,” she argues, brushing it off. 

“That looks like it hurts, Y/N, and that isn’t poison oak…” I say, knowing the look of that rash like the back of my hand. “Does it burn?”

“It’s fine, Jacob…” she says as I pull up more of her garment, seeing more and more of the same rash all over her torso. 

“Y/N, what is this?”

Suddenly, though, we’re harshly interrupted. 

“Y/N! Y/N, are you out there?” I pull off of her quickly, realizing that dusk had begun to fall. 

“Shoot,” she says. “It’s my father.” We both stand and quickly begin to grab our clothing and redress. I’m panicking, wondering if he is traipsing through the woods towards us as we speak. I help her lace her corset closure, saddened at the fact that I didn’t even get to help her remove it initially.

I’m grabbing my own shirt as I hear another voice, and it causes me to go stiff on my feet. “Y/N! Sweetheart! Are you there?!” I drop my hands as they hold my shirt and my eyes meet hers with fury. 

“Is that him?” I ask, a fire beginning to burn within me.

“Yes, that’s him, now hush,” she demands. We finish dressing and she makes her way to untie Silas from his place at the tree. 

“Yes, father!” she yells through the trees. “Just brought Silas out for a run! I’m on my way back!” 

I step into my boots and quickly walk back up the incline, feeling flushed and confused and mad all at the same time. I don’t know why I’m mad, the overload of emotions really decided to hit me. Just before she jumps back on to her horse, she quickly paces back over to me, placing her hand harshly on my cheek as she pulls me in for another deep, heated kiss. Fuck, what is she doing to me…

“I meant what I said. If you really want to run away with me…”

“I–I’ve got to finish this job for your father, I’ve got to make this pay…” I say, knowing that if we were really going to do this, I needed to have some jingle in my pocket to at least get us to the next city.

“Alright,” she agrees in a rush, her hand still lingering on my cheek. “But after then, we’ll go…”

“Will you be married by then, Y/N?” I ask, the thought sending daggers through my heart. 

“I’ll do everything in my power to stop that from happening,” she whispers. Just then she takes the cream colored satin ribbon that’s tied in her hair and wraps it around my wrist, fastening it in a loose bow. “Don’t forget about me, Jacob…”

“Impossible, Y/N,” I say through the first genuine smile that’s graced my lips in weeks. I watch as she mounts Silas, offering me a small wave of goodbye as she turns and makes her way back through the heavy trees, leaving me in a pile of whimsical confusion there, in the near darkness. 

—

It’s been two weeks since that day at the pond, without a word or sight of Y/N. I find myself thinking of her often, keeping the ribbon she gave me in the pocket of my trousers. I figure the foal must be getting on well if the coachmen hadn’t come to collect me in this many days. I feel a sense of pride at the fact that it must be flourishing and healthy after a little bit of help. 

Each day I look for her, waiting around to see if her or her father would show up at the job site. The job is nearly complete now, and I know my chances of seeing her are growing slimmer each and every day. I would move on to the next job and she would be but a distant memory, a fleeting thought that will pass through my mind when I least expect it to. It’s unusual that her father had not come to check the progress of the building, though, seeing as how he had been here most days since the start of the project.

An uneasy feeling fills my stomach at his absence, and even more, hers. Unable to stand it any longer I decide that after quittin’ time I would go to their estate. I need to see her. I know my presence will raise suspicion from her father, but I have a plan. 

It isn’t a great distance to walk and luckily the air has cooled some now that summer is drawing to a close. By the time I see the estate in the distance, my sweat soaked shirt has dried and the sun is beginning to set. It really is a beautiful property, riddled with pecan trees and oak trees dotted with spanish moss. The crickets have begun to chirp in the tall grass and I can hear the gentle whinnying of the horses in the stable. Part of me wants to go check on the foal first, but I know I need to announce my presence before someone suspects me of thieving.

As I ascend the long path to the front doors I see several carriages tied up to the horse posts. There are several that I have never seen before and a sick feeling begins to swirl in my chest. The lanterns aren’t burning on the porch, and it seems unsettlingly quiet inside the home. I swallow nervously as I reach for the metal door knocker, hearing it echo through the home. I step back from the door and shove my hand in my pocket, feeling the silky ribbon against my rough fingers. My heart rate has quickened and I can hear it beating in my ears as I wait for someone to answer. 

I stand there for several minutes until suddenly the door rushes open. A woman answers, a look of distress on her face as her eyes search me trying to figure out who I am and what I am doing here. 

“Hello ma’am,” I say, “Could I please speak to Ms. Y/N?”

Her face drops and her lips part as she turns to look behind her. She turns back to me and shakes her head, unable to find the words she is looking for.  “I–I’m sorry sir, I can’t take you to her.”

“I’ve come all this way, is there any way I–”

“Griselda!” I hear a man shout. I believe it’s her father and his voice sounds angry. “Who goes there?”

“My name’s Jacob, I am his carpenter,” I say quickly. 

“His name is Jacob, sir. Says he is your carpenter,” she answers him as he opens the door further. 

“What do you need, boy?” he growls. 

I suddenly feel like I am lost for words. Do I tell him the truth or do I lie?

“I need to speak with your daughter, sir.” 

“My daughter? Y/N?” he scoffs, “There will be no such thing!”

“Sir, if I may–”

“You may not!” he shouts, interrupting my plea. “You have no business with her, and she is unwell. You need to leave my property.”

“She is ill?” I question, my mind immediately remembering her rash and my previous suspicion. “Her rash…”

“How do you know about that, boy?” he seethes. 

I quickly realize I have said too much. “She– she told me about it while I helped tend to the horses. She was in pain.”

His eyes study me, as if trying to decide if I was telling the truth. 

“She has the fever,” he swallows. “Scarlet fever, and she is very unwell.”

I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces as I wrap the ribbon so tightly around my finger that it cuts off my circulation. “If I could please just speak to her for a moment…” I beg. 

“I’m sorry son, but I cannot allow it,” he says finally, shutting the door abruptly. 

I stand there dumbfounded for a few beats, trying to come to terms with the fact I won’t be speaking to her any time soon. I slowly back away from the door, making my way back down the porch steps as I stare up at the home. A window is open on the far right of the house, a sheer white curtain catching the breeze. I decide to try my luck calling out to her, hoping maybe she will be on the other side of the window. 

“Y/N!” I shout, being met with deafening silence. 

“Y/N, it’s me!” I try again, but this time I see someone at the window. It slams shut and the curtains close which tells me my suspicions were correct and she is just beyond the glass. 

I force my feet to carry me down the walking path, stopping to sit on a wooden bench. I drop my head into my hands, suddenly feeling like I failed her. I saw the rash and I knew what it was. I shouldn’t have let it be. I should have made her see the physician. Now I don’t know if or when I will see her again. Guilt fills my soul. I briefly wonder if this is my penance for Lizzy. 

I don’t know how much time has passed as I sit here, but off in the distance I hear the front doors of the home closing and what looks to be a physician walking to his carriage. Before I can convince myself of it I am running towards him, knowing that my only chance of answers will come from him. 

“Sir!” I shout, “Excuse me, sir!”

His head whips around to look at me, his eyes having trouble focusing in the darkness of the evening. 

“Yessir?” he stops, his medical bag in hand. 

I am panting as I stop in front of him, doing my best to catch my breath. “The girl, inside,” I pant. “She has– she has Scarlet fever?” 

“I’m sorry son, it was too late. There was nothing I could do for her.”

“Too late?” I gasp, lightheadedness filling my mind.

“She went without pain, that I can assure you. I am very sorry for your loss, she seemed like a fine lady.”

“She’s– She’s gone?” I breathe. “No– she…”

“I’m sorry son. I must be on my way. Have a good evening,” he says, stepping into his carriage. 

My head whips up to look at the house, the window still closed in the room she was in. There’s a faint glow of a candle burning in the room, and I wonder if her father is with her, if he is with her… holding her hand as they say their silent goodbyes. 

I can hardly wrap my mind around the fact that she’s gone. She can’t be. She was just with me at the pond. In the stables. I still have her ribbon in my pocket… 

“No…” I breathe as my hand flies up to cover my mouth, the sting of tears threatening to fall.

I barely hear the sound of his carriage pulling away. I can’t even feel the rocks and dirt as they hit my skin. All I can feel is my heart shattering and the hope I previously held for the future completely gone. 

—

I don’t know how, but my feet managed to carry me back into town. It felt as if the world had gone silent around me, as if it too was mourning the loss of her. There isn't a soul in sight as I make my way further into the center of town in search of something that can help numb this pain in my chest. I knew her for such a short time but everything in me knew that our meeting wasn’t happenstance. She was everything I never knew I wanted to find. And the only thing that managed to fill my mind anymore. I’d grown so fond of her, but I dare not say just how much.

I push open the door to the barroom, silently scolding myself for returning to this place. I haven’t been here since that night with Joshua. I vowed never to return, refusing to sit in the place that was the catalyst of this damned curse. 

I would now live the rest of my days knowing what I lost with Y/N. Thinking of what could have been. Maybe hell isn’t a place, maybe hell is a state of mind. Damned to an eternity of never knowing what could have been and reliving the memories of what I had. A self inflicted mental imprisonment where fear and guilt is the warden, and the sentence is life. Hell isn't a place you go to atone for your sins, hell is a place you create for yourself to live in endless emotional agony of “what if”.

As I step up to the bartop, the attendant eyes me, clearly recognizing me from the scuffle a few weeks ago. 

“You ain’t gonna cause no trouble here, now are you?” he asks, drying a mug with a dish rag. 

“No sir, just here for a drink,” I answer, my voice gravelly from hours of held back tears. 

He nods his head, “We got a Porter and Lager tonight.”

“Do you have anything stronger?” I ask. 

He looks around at the patrons behind me, then back to me. “I got Whisky, but I ain’t got much.”

“I’ll take what you have,” I answer, feeling thankful that soon my mind would be a blur.

“It’s the real stuff kid, ain’t no foolin’,” he warns.

“I need it,” I answer, tossing all the change in my pockets onto the bartop. Her ribbon falls onto the wooden surface and my breath catches before I snatch it back into my grip, working quickly to tie it around my wrist. His eyes look me over again, his lips pursing as if he wants to say something. He pours a small glass full of brown liquid, sliding it my way as he bites his tongue. 

“Thank you,” I say with a nod, and before I walk away he stops me. 

“Hey kid…”

“Yessir,” I turn to him. 

“I hope whatevers’ ailin’ ya, eases up soon.”

I nod to him and walk away with the drink. The lump in my throat grows as I think of her. I decide right then and there that I would give anything for one more day with her. I would pay any price. If I was cursed to live forever there wasn’t a day that I wanted to spend without her by my side. 

I take a long drink of the spicy liquid feeling like I could breathe fire. He wasn’t lying about the Whisky. I let my mind slowly drift off, thinking of every choice I’ve ever made and how I have found myself here today. I think about my future, or lack thereof. I can’t stay here, not anymore. People will begin to notice when I don’t wrinkle and my hair doesn’t thin. I will live my life on the run, now. Thanks to this curse. Thanks to Josh. My own flesh and blood, the–

The curse. 

My blood runs cold as Seraphine’s incantation swirls through my mind once more. Chills run the length of my body as I feel her power drift through me. I quickly swallow down the rest of the Whisky in the glass, slamming it down onto the table so hard it burns out the lantern. 

“I have to find her. She can fix this,” I mumble, my heart suddenly racing with the idea that she could bring her back. If she can curse me to eternal life, surely she can raise the dead. I push up from my chair and rush towards the bar attendant with a new fire in my chest. 

“I’m looking for someone,” I rush out. “She– she’s a witch. A voodoo lady. She does magic and curses,” I whisper loudly, looking around at the patrons beside me.

The attendant blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t know anyone like that, and you’ll be hard pressed to find someone who does and will admit it.”

“There has to be someone!” I shout, slamming my fist on the bar top. “Please…”

“Listen,” he growls. “Old Mr. Friar may know who you speak of, but he doesn’t say much these days. Hardly speaks to me but to ask for his drink.” He nods to the older man sitting in the corner of the room. He’s dark complected and has a blue glassy eye. He stares off into the distance, his light white hair glowing in the lantern light. 

“He will know?” I ask.

“He may, he got into some trouble back in the day. He is your best bet around here.”

“Thank you sir,” I plead, walking over to the man I now know is Mr. Friar.

I pull out a chair in front of him, hoping he is welcoming to my intrusion of his night. 

“Hello sir, my name is Jacob,” I speak softly, doing my best to hide my nerves. 

He says nothing, continuing to stare out into the barroom.

“Sir, I was told you may know where to find someone. She– she’s a witch or somethin’. Does that black magic. I only know her as Seraphine.”

That seems to catch his attention, his head snapping over to look at me. “What business do you have with her?”

“I– It’s a long story sir, but I need her help. I need to find her. Where can I find her?” I beg. 

“Shouldn’t toy with magic son,” he grunts, pulling his mustached lips into his mouth.

“I need her help to reverse something, and I think only she can do it,” I continue, “Please, anything you can tell me sir, I have money, anything.”

“Keep your money, child,” he pauses, leaning over the table onto his elbows. “To find Seraphine you will need a boat. Head North up the Delta a few miles, and you’ll see a red shack on your right, has a blue roof and looks abandoned. You’ll find her there. You’ll know you’ve found the place when the air grows silent. No creature dead or living dares to be in her presence. You don’t tell her how you found her, now, y’hear?”

Relief overtakes me as I commit his directions to memory. “Thank you sir, thank you so much.”

I push up from the table and storm out the door in search of a boat, and thankfully I know just where to find one. 

—

I trudge along in the darkness, my mind still a bit fuzzy from the spirits, but I think my body would know this route even if I was unconscious, at this point. The half-hour ride in the carriage seems like nothing as I traverse on foot to the St. Lemire’s homestead. Finally, I see the dim lighting of the stables just up the dirt road, and I know that I have a long night ahead of me.

I quietly lurk in the shadows around the side of the stables, just in case any of the hands have decided to have a late night, after learning of the passing of Ms. St. Lemire. When I’m sure I’m alone, I allow the moonlight to guide me in the right direction, and I find the old boat leaned up against the outside wall. I unravel the thick rope that I had brought along with me, gently slipping it through the front handle and tying a tight few knots. 

Again I glance around, hearing nothing but the horses rustling in their stalls. My mind tells me to go in and check on the foal, but truly, I don’t have much time to worry about him. Plus, seeing the baby and the mare without the glowing presence of Y/N beside me might send me into a fit of sadness that I can’t deal with right now. 

I grip the rope and wrap it a few times around my hand before I gently yank it free from its position, letting it fall onto its belly and into the grass. I pray there are no snakes living beneath it as I take hold of the paddles that were propped against the wall. I give the rope some slack and begin to pull it toward the woods, ready to make my journey to the swamp water’s edge and find a place to hide my newly commandeered vessel. I do feel badly for stealing it, but I convince myself I am only “borrowing” it, and plan to return it back to its home in a timely manner. Truly, it looks like it has lived leaned against the side of the barns for some time now, anyway.

I drag the heavy boat through the thick woods, trying not to make too much of a ruckus as the rocks and sticks brush its underside. I go slowly, and blink often, letting my eyes adjust to the half-moonlight. I’m glad I have the paddles to double as walking sticks, feeling out the land before me as I walk. I wish that I had some inkling of how far Seraphine’s home is from the water’s edge, but I suppose I will just have to learn that on my own. 

I know that there is no way that I will be able to make this journey in the darkness, as I did not bring a lantern of any kind along with me. I will hide it in the thick weeds and return home for some sleep, and return at daybreak to make the trip to Seraphine’s.

As I walk, I look to the starred-sky, taking in its wonder and beauty and how I hope that Y/N is somewhere, in another universe or heaven itself, looking at the same sky, too. I miss her, damn do I miss her, already. I hardly even knew her. But still her presence alone was enough to ignite a fire within me that had long been burned out, smoldering bricks of ash that were just waiting to be lit again. And she’d done that. So quickly that it almost scared me. Running away with her sounded like the dumbest, most juvenile decision I could make as a grown man, but I didn’t care. My mind had been made up. If we only had a little more time… if only I had tried to warn her of the fever than I was positive that she had. 

It feels like hours that I walk, catching thorns and bristles in my arms as I sneak through the trees, a thief of my own doing as I pull the boat behind. Thankfully it isn’t too heavy, but the exertion is sobering me up, a bit. Finally I hear the croaks of the frogs and the wildlife that inhabit the swamp, and I know that I am close.

I find a clearing in the thick grasses that shows no signs of footprints or bait traps, and I pull the boat into the water, pushing it behind a thick clump of weeds to hide it as it floats freely. I tie the rope off to a nearby tree before I check my work, and make my way back home to sleep off the rest of that damned Whisky. Tomorrow I will find Seraphine. Tomorrow I will beg for her to bring my Y/N back to me. 

—

The sun is just starting to rise as I paddle towards the shack in the woods. For a long while, I followed the man's directions, and sure enough I spotted the old place without issue. Faded red with a blue roof, just as he said. The bushes and foliage are so overgrown I could have missed it had I not been searching for it. I figure that is probably why it's like that. She doesn’t want to be found. I briefly wonder how Joshua found her but cast that aside as I quietly paddle the boat up to the dilapidated dock. I tie the rope to the rotten wood post and carefully step out of the boat, tossing the paddles inside. 

Just as the man had said, I hear the sound of no wind, no crickets, no birds… everything is still as no living thing dares to be in her presence. 

My blood starts to pump a little harder as I make my way to her door, a thousand thoughts running through my mind. I know this won’t be easy and she may refuse me, but I am here and I won’t leave without my girl. If she can curse me, she can bring my Y/N back. 

I pound my fist against her wooden door, covered in algae and moss from her proximity to the water. It leaves a brown smudge on my fist that I quickly wipe onto my trousers. My heart is beating hard as I wait for her answer, telling myself I am not above barging in. This was a courtesy to her. 

Seconds later the door flies open, revealing to me the woman I remember. The woman that did this to me. 

“Why are you here, boy?” she snaps, cutting her dark eyes at me as if I am the one that did her wrong. 

 “You’re gonna bring her back,” I demand, pushing her door open and stepping inside. She seems surprised by my forwardness but I am not here for games.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she growls, turning away from me.

“You will. You’ve done this to me and you will bring her back. I know you can, and I’m not leaving here until you do.”

“Of who do you speak?” she asks, settling herself in a chair. 

“My girl. My Y/N,” I answer, “She was stolen away from me. I didn’t even get to say goodbye before she was pulled away from this world. You must do something. You must bring her back.”

“Why would I do anything for you? You show up here and demand me to help you?” she questions, raising a brow to me. 

“Because you have cursed me, against my will! I will not spend the next thousand years without telling her goodbye! I didn’t deserve any of this!” I shout, my emotions crawling up my throat. 

She shakes her head, “I cannot help you.”

I raise my voice in panic, “No! You have to! I know you can! I know there is something you can do to bring her back!”

She stares at me for a moment before releasing a breath, “Sit boy.”

I cross my arms across my chest, breathing heavily as I try to calm myself. She eyes me up and down, and it’s clear that she is placing her memory of me. 

“Tell me of this girl,” she says, gesturing to an empty chair.

I begrudgingly sit, resting my elbows on her table with a sigh. “Her name was Y/N. I was working for her father, building a boarding house. She came to the job site one afternoon and I was instantly taken with her. I found myself seeing her several times over the next several days and we planned to run away together. She was being forced into a marriage to a man who didn’t love her. A man that would never love her. Not like I could. We were to go away together. Start a new life. I planned to go to her after the job finished and I got my payout. I hadn’t seen her in several days, and as I went to the estate to check on her, I found she had passed of Scarlet Fever.”

“And why should I help you?” she questions again, nodding her head. Her eyes are illuminated by the few candles burning around the home. 

I furrow my brows at her, “You cursed me. Wrongfully. While I was nearly dead, unconscious and not comprehending what you were doing. I– I never deserved the curse you gave me. Though I have accepted my fate now, I believe it fair that you help me in return. You bring back Y/N and you never have to see me again.”

“Your friend,” she pauses, “He offered me a pretty penny for my work.”

I scoff, “Friend,” I mutter under my breath. 

“This girl, you love her?” she asks and I nod. 

“I can feel that your heart is in your wishes boy,” she pauses. “How do I know you will love her and no other? That you will not long for another?”

The words fall from my lips quicker than I can think of them, “I would chase her through time and space just to see her again. I would go to the ends of the Earth to feel her touch. I would do anything. Give anything. You’ve got to believe me.”

She looks at me for a few long minutes, the silence broken by the thumping of my heart. She puffs the smoke from a pipe that I hadn’t seen before, slowly releasing it from her lips as it floats into the air above her.

“I want to help you, Jacob. But it will come at a cost.”

“I will pay any price,” I blurt. 

“Not that kind of cost, my boy.”

My face twists up in confusion as I listen to her speak. “This is what I can offer you. Though I cannot bring her back to this Earthly plain, I may be able to take you to her.”

“I thought I– How could you do that if I cannot die?” I ask. 

“There is a way my boy, though it too has its consequences,” she starts. 

“I don’t understand.”

“We all exist in more than one place. In more than one dimension. There are hundreds of you, living in different places, at different times. Though our bodies are made from the dirt of the Earth, our souls cannot be destroyed, so they live alongside themselves, existing amongst each other in ways that you cannot even fathom. Though she may be gone from this here existence, she is alive and well in every other,” she explains. “What I can offer you, is a way to get to her.”

“How?” I ask, leaning closer to her in anticipation. 

“It would be a new spell. A new curse placed upon you,” she answers nonchalantly. 

“Do it,” I say, unwilling to let her finish. 

“You must know the implications, Jacob. You must know what you’re asking me for.”

I sit back in my chair letting her continue. 

“Though you will undoubtedly find her, it will not be the same girl you know. It will look like her, talk like her, act like her, but it will not be her. She will not know you, or have any memory of this life. You will be a stranger to her. But, humans alone cannot change fate, and if she is the woman you are destined to love, she will love you in every lifetime just as she did in this one. In every dimension you will be together in one way or another.”

“So it will be her, but not the girl I knew…” I confirm. 

“Preciscely, Jacob. You will have to start from the beginning with her, every time.”

“Every time? As in…”

“As in every time you find her,” she answers. 

“I don’t understand,” I groan. 

“You will only have a set amount of time with her. You will know when your time is running out. When it is time to move on.”

“Then I will start over,” I breathe, finally understanding. “How long will I have with her?”

“Every jump will be different, my child. You will know when time is running out. You will feel it, even see it. You will begin to anticipate it. All the signs will be there and eventually you will know before it happens.”

“So I will do this forever?” I ask, realizing what my future will hold. 

“No my boy, not forever. There will come a time when it is all over,” she pauses, puffing her pipe again, “When I will collect.”

I rub my hand over my mouth, taking in the weight of what will be the rest of my days. “All of this because my twin hates me. Because he refuses to hear the truth and accept it for what it is. I did everything I could, you must understand.” I’m near tears.

“What did you say, child?” she snaps.

“What?”

“Did you say your twin?” she asks, quickly standing from her chair. 

“Yes, I– Joshua is my identical twin brother. He brought me here that night and had you place the curse because–”

“Silence!” She screams, throwing a glass dish at the old wooden walls. It shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces as the air grows frigid around me. 

“This changes everything!” She shouts, “It’s worse than I believed!”

“What? Changes what?” I ask, standing from my chair. 

“He didn’t tell me you were twins!” She seethes. 

“Yes, yes, identical twins. He is older than me by a few minutes,” I explain, my hands starting to shake. 

“He only said you were brothers! Do you know what this means, child?!” she yells. 

I shake my head, beginning to breathe heavily as the candle flames blow out, the crow hanging in the cage above us cawing loudly at her outburst. 

“You share the same blood. Your blood is his blood. His blood is your blood,” she pauses. “He didn’t only curse you, child. He cursed himself as well. The curse was sealed with your blood. The blood that you share!”

“So he–”

“Yes. He suffers the same fate as you,” she answers, her fist clenching around her pipe. “Anything I do to you will also be imposed upon him. You two will share the same fate, always.”

A pit settles in my stomach, I know he doesn’t know what he has done and because of that I refuse to give him any of my pity. He shouldn’t have acted so brashly. It is clear he never thought of the consequences. We came into this world together, and we will exist in it together until the end of time, whether he knows it or not.

“It changes nothing,” I demand. “I must find her. I must be with her.”

“He too, will go where you go,” she warns. “Always.”

“Be it as it may.”

Seraphine limps toward me, forcefully blowing her smoke around my face, the smell of it taking me back to the night Joshua cursed me. “You must be sure, child. There is no going back...” Her eyes delve deeply into mine as she studies me, reading the aura that I must be projecting.

“Please, let me go to her,” I beg, my anger feeling like it has subsided into something more subservient, an emotion of willingness that I was devoid of when I crossed her threshold. The smell of her smoke is making me dizzy, my emotions of sadness crawling back into my bones though I try and fight them. 

“You must know you are no better than your brother for imposing this upon him, much in the same way he placed the curse upon you,” she says. 

“Please, don’t think it is my fault that my brother didn’t tell you. Tell me that this new curse will benefit me…” I plead with Seraphine, straightening my shoulders a bit as to show her I am unafraid of her.

“It will benefit you, boy, as long as fate decides to be on your side. I may collect the roots of the earth and I may stir them into elixirs to alter the state of your being, but it’s the magic itself that will decide your fate. It will read your soul more delicately than I could ever even begin to…” she drawls, her accent so heavy it almost escapes me. 

Suddenly she is close in front of my face again as I fall backward into the chair that Josh had tied me to when I was cursed the first time. Seraphine’s long hair and braids fall onto my lap as her face is within inches of mine, and I can smell the scent of charred incense and tobacco burned into her very being. 

“You may only jump a limited amount of times through time and space, the count is unbeknownst to me, and unbeknownst to you, but you will be offered clues as to when you are running out,” she sings, her neck contorting her head into jerked twists as she speaks to me from somewhere that is not her own mouth. “You mustn’t toy with the fabric of Mother Nature, you mustn't make yourself a known person of public interest, and most importantly, you mustn’t ever take the life of another human being,” she explains, the sound of her voice changing with each word. “Do you understand?” she asks. 

I nod against her, her hands now pressing down hard on my wrists as her dark eyes bore into mine. “Yes, yes I understand,” I agree, committing every word to memory. I quickly glance down to my wrist, finding Y/N’s ribbon sitting underneath the old, bony hand of Seraphine.

“Every move you make will be for her, every ounce of effort you desire to perform will be in her favor, and you must never lose sight of that, you must never long to find the love of someone that isn’t her, or else this will have all been for nothing,” she bellows, the wind flashing across our faces. I nod in understanding. 

Finally, Seraphine steps back, glaring at me. Her hand extends, and a small object forms in the palm of it. I can’t tell what it is until she takes it, opening it up. It’s a hand mirror, scratched and cracked on the surface, but still catching the light of reflection. 

“This, and this alone will be your amulet for advancement through dimensions. Mirrors, child, and seeing yourself in them will be your means of travel. Stand and see yourself as you are, while you recite,”

“Echoed glass, reveal the way, through the veil of night or day. Turn the key, unlock the door, let me walk through time once more.”

I repeat the incantation over and over with her as I memorize it, and somehow, I am able to correctly and precisely say each and every word as if I have memorized them like a prayer. The fabric of the words sewn into my mind like a perfectly cut quilt.

I take the hand mirror from her as she continues speaking, the wind carrying a strong aroma as it blows against the walls. 

“Wherever you land, find a tree with three mother trunks, and a deep hole at its center. There, inside, will be everything you will need to survive in the place and time you find yourself. You’re to blend in with the people there, and never question anything. Remember your sole mission is to find her, and show her time and time again that she is the reason for everything you do.”

“Will I age? After I jump, Seraphine?” I ask.

“No. That part of the curse is irreversible. Even as you travel through the continuum, you shall still stay this age, forever. As will your brother.” 

“Will he know? When he’s thrust into the next world with me, will he know what is happening?” I ask again.

Again, she shakes her head. “No. That’s his punishment for not disclosing every detail of our last arrangement. He will wake up in time with you, though he may be in a different place altogether.” 

So, as I search for my Y/N, I will also spend my time escaping my brother. Just as I am now, I suppose.

“What’s in this for you?” I ask her, suddenly aware of the fact that she gains nothing from this arrangement. “You’re helping me so willingly…”

Seraphine licks her dark lips, her eyes flashing a bright gold before falling into a dark black, again. “After so many jumps, I will lay claim to your soul.”

Claim? “So, I will die?”

“Your mortality is not up to me to decide. I didn’t create this malediction, I am only the vessel of it. Like I said before, the conjury is mine, the magic is not,” she explains. 

“Fine, fine, just do it. I do not care for the rest of my future if she is not with me in it, I’ve got nothing left to lose…” I plead as I feel an energy coursing through my body.

“Give me your hand, Jacob,” she orders, and I place my open palm into hers, the same one that Josh cut with his knife so as to secure his curse upon me the first time. “Do you have any markings, child? Birthmarks, scars…”

“Yes,” I reply, a euphoric feeling entering my bones as I breathe in the heavy herbal fumes surrounding me. “A burn scar, here,” I motion to my side and pull up my shirt. 

“Mm, very well,” she says, laying her hand overtop of it as words that I do not recognize escape her lips. “And something of hers… the one you wish to follow across time…” she asks. 

Immediately I pull the ribbon from around my wrist, reluctantly handing it off to her. She takes it with force, placing it on the table beside us. 

“Finally, something that never leaves you. A constant, something that is unchanging…” she holds her hand out again moving her fingers as if I’m going to hand her something. I wrack my brain, but her hand touches my chest. My silver necklace and charm. “Do you wear this always? Do you ever remove it?” she asks. 

“I never remove it,” I reply. 

“Good. It will be your talisman of continuance. Keep it always, never let it leave your person. It will be what keeps you tied to this curse, it will keep you within the realm of what we are bounding today. Without it, you cannot jump,” she explains, and I take note again. Just as her hand squeezes across my necklace, I feel a sharp blade cross the palm of my hand again as I become increasingly lightheaded. 

The sound of the wind whooshes by my head, the smell of spices and herbs fills my nose, and the feeling of my body being completely torn from my own control overtakes my entire being. I’m dizzy, feeling as though I am spinning out of control. 

“Look at the book, child…” I hear Seraphine’s voice, muffled and distorted as she begins reciting a different version of the same incantation she had taught me earlier. I feel blood oozing from my hand and a burning feeling comes across the scar on my side. Look at the book. Look at the book.

“Winds of time, both swift and slow, through the mists, let moments flow. Past and future, intertwine, guide his path through space and time.”

“Stars that mark the cosmic thread, guide him where the hours spread. Through the veil of ages cast, let him journey to the past.”

“Echoes of the ancient day, and whispers of the dawn’s first ray, open now the temporal gate, to reveal his destined fate.”

“By the moon’s eternal gleam, and the night’s unending dream, shift the currents, bend the line, let the ages now align. In the shadows, through the light, lead him through both day and night.”

“As I speak, so let it be, through the echoes, set him free.”

I blink my eyes as my mouth begins reciting along with her, and suddenly the mirror is in front of my face. My voice grows louder, and the wind grows more intense, but my body has never felt stronger than it does, right now. I’m watching my own reflection in the mirror as I feel as though I am going to disintegrate, waves of pleasure and pain switching back and forth with dizziness. I’m confused, but I’ve never been more sure. 

The last thing I hear is Seraphine’s voice mixed with my own before all I can see is black. I don’t breathe, and I don’t move. I don’t even think my heart beats. I’m suspended in between two moments that don’t even exist, one coinciding with the other as they float and dance along a timeline so vast and elusive that the Creator himself couldn’t even control them if he wanted to. But I, now the holder of a skill so rare, can.

I am face down on the floor, my body feeling as if I have just traveled a thousand miles. I peek my eyes open to see that I am in my own home, on the floor of my bedroom. I sit and shake my head, trying to get my wits as my memory floods with the happenings of the past hour. Did I jump?

The scar on my side is burning with a fire so intense that I have to grab it to make sure I’m not actually on fire, again. And when I glance beside me, I see a book. The book. I pick it up, holding the small brown leather bound pages in my hands as I notice something stuck between the cover and the first paper page. It’s Y/N’s ribbon. 

I pull the book open, seeing her ribbon holding the page, perfectly untouched. And there, written in fresh black ink, is a place of which I have seldom heard, and a time of which does not yet exist. I stand, walking to sit on the side of my bed as I look around the room, feeling no emotional attachment to it at all, nor a want to exist in this place for another second without her. My heart won’t beat unless for her, my breaths won’t give me life if not to live for her. I’m positive of my decision.

I pull the compact mirror from my pocket, taking a deep breath as I open it. I see my reflection, disheveled and exhausted, but a glisten in my eye that feels unfamiliar. My mouth begins saying the words again as I hold the mirror in one hand, and the book in the other.  

“Echoed glass, reveal the way, through the veil of night or day. Turn the key, unlock the door, let me walk through time once more.”

I feel my body begin to lurch and thrash, but nothing could ever make me feel more perfect than I do, right now. A flight through the clouds could never compare to this euphoria, an ecstasy I’ve never encountered weighing so heavily upon me as I feel my body ascending. The last thing I see before I slip back into nothingness, is the ink dancing across the page. 

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[dangermousie]

Something I really love - as I was discussing with @aysekira - is how the drama is subtly showing how messed up the polygamous wife/concubine system is.

You can see it of course vis-a-vis ML, who is a talented ambitious man held back by his birth in terms of his mother's (lack of) rank but it's even more stark with the regard of Lady Qiao's children. Her daughter has consistently been portrayed as scheming towards FL and almost caused her grievous harm but she's not a one-note villain (neither is her mother, but that's a separate topic.) She is a genuinely loving daughter to her mother and loving sister to her full blood brother - she is willing to sacrifice for them both. We don't see the brother much but he also seems a loving son to his mother and brother to his full blood sister. It is quite clear by now that in a monogamous family situation, both the siblings and the mom would have behaved decently enough and had a loving enough family unit. They are warped by the family.

And Lady Qiao - she may be awful in many ways but she is a deeply loving, sacrificing mother for her children (more than can be said for her "noble" husband.) She'd have been fine in a different situation. And she has a valid grudge - scumbag dad promised to marry her as a legitimate wife before he married FL's mom. And then to promote her before he married wife n2. And did neither. Now, his mother objected but (a) that is why you should not promise if you know you won't be able to carry it out or (b) then you should fight to fulfill what you promised. No wonder she's bitter.

That is a household full of messed up, wounded, unhappy people - there is a reason that the most functional and happy member of the family is FL who lived apart since childhood.

The only one truly happy is the dad - his first and second wives had a bad time, Lady Qiao did too, his children all suffered at one time or another but he? He's got a woman he fancies, another woman who pays for it all, and he's the boss. All those miserable people and the only beneficiary is him.

And the thing is - any family can have issues, bad spouses, golden child/scapegoat dynamics, but when you have polygamous marriages of mad power imbalance, it supercharges the potential for it all. Take ML - he is a smart, properly- behaved dude. But his mother's status is what it is, and dad doesn't like him so he's basically at the bottom of the family hierarchy. And granny doesn't like him either - she claims it's because he was not an endearing child (which btw is insane - your own biological child or grandchild doesn't have to earn your love - they should be loved just because they exist; not to mention to be able to coax adults just so in his situation would be a sign of manipulative sociopathy, not awesomeness.) But she also doesn't try hard either - she actually seems largely indifferent to all her grandkids male and female except for FL -and in a status type polygamous society where other women are in favor or have higher status and thus their children do - unless he has someone powerful (in terms of within the family) in his corner, he's screwed and that is viewed as totally acceptable - he even learns in secret!

It's pretty telling that his position in the family only starts slowly changing when the favorite granddaughter, and the most high status one, stands up for him and decides to be in his corner. I do love watching him being gradually dragged into the family and softening because FL is making some other members like him more - when the story starts there is nobody in that fam he can do more than tolerate - he views them, understandably, as a bunch of unpleasant strangers he dwells with. But by now he loves FL, he likes sixth miss and little uncle and stepmom and while he doesn't like grandma he'd protect her because she's important to FL. He is a sane person who treats others well if they treat him well, but he is not gonna care for someone just because they are blood.

One last point - I love that he finally has someone who puts him first. FL consistently aims to protect him and to take care of him (whether in the physical try to cover him during an attack way or metaphorical - working to put him on the registry - the way he can't believe it and yet she does and he watches her work on it methodically!) but also she views him as someone smart and capable and someone she should learn things like calligraphy from - for someone who's been viewed as the bottom of the totem pole to be viewed as competent (and in the traditional status subjects at that) and someone who should be teaching her is actually pretty huge. When he teaches her calligraphy, she tries to wheedle out of work and what not but even doing that is implicitly acknowledges that he has authority in the subject (because she could always be - you can't make me, who are you.)

Anyway, to get back to dad, I hope he rots!

[fxtalitygod]

VII. ~Survival~

Summary: You were determined to survive longer than anyone, even if you were set to marry him.

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, theme/depictions of horror, swearing/language, suggestive, mentioned pedophilia, child molestation, attempted child sexual assault, mentions of adult murder, implications of impregnating, implied Stockholm Syndrome, images/depictions of dead bodies, slight misogynistic themes (if you squint).

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Soooooo... this is the shortest chapter I've ever written, but it wasn't my intention. To be honest, I kept becoming unhappy with the results and kept going back to fix it, but it never felt right. At the end of the day, I decided to touch into an uncovered territory of (Y/n) that I had debated on for a while and enjoyed the results. I promise the next chapter will be longer and will cover more bases! Enjoy Chapter 7 of Survival!!

P.S. I know I said I'd get this chapter out in May, but it's currently June 1st, 12:26pm (for me), so take it or leave it!!! (╥﹏╥)

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules•

• Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII

"Y/n, wait up!"

You turned to see your little sister running over to catch up to your quick pace, grabbing her hand as she extended it to you. The two of you were pushing through the crowd in the market, holding on to each other as if it were for dear life. You would rather be damned than lose any of your younger siblings upon your watch.

"We need to hurry! We have to be home before Mother starts dinner," you noted breathlessly, "She cannot even start if we do not get these ingredients to her on time," referring to the basket you were holding close to your form.

Your sister gave an obedient response as she focused on your swift gait. You could only smile at the young girl's compliance— had it been any of your other more youthful siblings, they may have given you replies of retaliation out of their immaturity, but she was a sweet child who clearly looked up to and admired you. Turning your attention back towards the road of the market square, you saw that you were close to the exit that would lead you on the path home, sighing in relief as you slightly sped up your stride; however, before the two of you could exit you felt a hand wrap around your arm, pulling you and your sister into a secluded area.

"Now, what do we have here?" A gruff voice sounded, "Two pretty little buds have stumbled upon my path."

The voice was clearly a male's, and he was undoubtedly intoxicated as his speech was slurred, plus his stride was far from straight as he walked closer towards you. He circled the two of you like a vulture over a carcass, his eyes narrow and intimidating as he looked at your youthful figures, disgustingly licking his lips. The predator eventually moved into the light, revealing his aged appearance. The man was clearly an older one, his rough, oily skin and few missing teeth being a telling sign of his seniority; if he was any younger than you had assumed, he did not age gracefully.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you started, unintentionally stuttering as you spoke, “b-but we have to be home before sunset,” you finished explaining, your voice slightly cracking as you spoke due to the fear swelling in your chest. Despite your own terror, you tried to keep your stance straight to give your sister peace of mind, pulling the little girl behind you to act as her human shield.

“No worries,” the stranger chuckled, before reaching around you and grabbing your sister by her forearm before pushing you onto the ground, holding your chest down with his foot, “I’ll make you both into proper women before then,” the man closed his statement, making his advance on your younger sibling first.

You struggled as you tried to push the man’s foot off your torso, but your attempts were futile. The sick individual only grew tired of your punching, moving, and scratching as he decided to kick you to the nearby wall. Your gaze followed his figure as you weakly got up, only to be pushed into the wall once more, feeling cuts and scratches being made upon your flesh. The male took hold of something at the corner of your eye, still keeping your sister in a tight grip as she struggled. In moments, your hands and legs were tied, and a solid heavy stone was placed upon your lap to keep you from getting up anytime soon.

“Y/N!” Your sister screamed with tears in her eyes as the predator began to touch and kiss her pure skin with his contaminated flesh.

Your mind paced watching the scene, bile rising to your throat as you grew repulsed. Before long, the disgusting creature decided to yank at her clothes— that was the moment you snapped.

“Wait, take me instead! I’ll let you do whatever you want to me!” You yelled in haste. The decision was made with little thought, but as long as your sister was safe, you could live with the disgust.

The man paused to think for a moment before a repulsive grin overtook his expression, quickly going to restrain your sibling before removing your bonds. The moment you were free was the moment you were infested by his greedy touches. If the contact of his fingers and lips didn’t make you want to gag, the feeling of his bulge between your thighs made you want to vomit.

You thought that by sacrificing yourself for your sister's safety, you would be able to tolerate his blatant violation, but you could only feel your resolve weaken as his lingering touches began making your skin burn, but not in a good way. Despite your discomfort, you continued to indulge in his horrific actions, deciding to let out your emotions with tears and balled fists. Things weren't any easier as you heard the choked sobs of your younger sibling as she watched the setting, feeling your dignity and pride being washed away. Everything was going as the man wanted– he was getting his fixture of pleasure while two young girls suffered. If his hard-on wasn't a signal of his enjoyment, his chuckles and wretched words were an unmistakable banner.

"You're such a pretty little thing, so obedient for me. Y'know, I think that deserves a reward," the aged man cackled, moving his hands to remove his garments, changing course to strip you as well.

"(Y/N)!!!" your sister screeched, loud enough for her voice to echo in the alley.

Before you could say any words of comfort for the little girl, the man turned around, obviously not pleased with her outburst. The man's nostrils flared as he raised a hand and hit the young girl. The audible smack did not settle with you, and you could feel a temper you had never felt before build up inside you. You do not remember what happened next, but everything went pitch black for a second, and when you opened your eyes...

All you saw was the body of the pedophile lying on the floor, unmoving and breathless.

You stared at the lifeless figure, not knowing what to say as the scarlet liquid began to pool in a puddle beneath his form. Lifting your crown, you looked around to maybe see who the culprit of killing the man was; however, the alley was empty– just you and your sister. Speaking of the sibling in question, you swiftly moved to retrieve the girl only to see that her restraints were already broken and that she was unconscious, yet breathing.

Questions began to fill your mind, but you pushed them aside, focusing on the current circumstances. You wasted no more time as you went to lift the little girl onto your back, picking up the basket of ingredients before making your trek home. Although one problem was resolved, there was still another pressing matter...what would you tell your parents? Unfortunately, you did not have much time to think up an answer to that as you were now at your front door, sliding the object to reveal the worried expressions of your parents.

The couple rambled, asking what had happened, questioning why the two of you were late and battered. The more they interrogated, the louder the ringing in your ears started to develop, effectively drowning out their uneasy voices. You didn't know what to say or what to do. Would it be a good idea to tell them the truth? What if they wouldn't believe you? Would you be punished? How would they even react?

"We were playing in the fields and had an accident, but we're alright now. (S/n) fell asleep on our way back, she really exerted herself."

The lie was sour in your mouth, but you thought it was the better route when you pictured the corpse lying on the dirt floor. How would you explain such a gruesome sight? The answer is you would not because there wasn't an explanation to give– you didn't even know what had happened.

The night went on as usual, your parents buying your story and continuing regular activity. When your sister had risen, she didn't remember a thing, only saying the last thing she recalled was shopping at the market. Your parents didn't think much of it as they gave her a simple reply before having her eat with the family. When you were presented with your plate, you could hardly stomach the sight of the food; however, you knew it would be rude to waste a precious meal, so you ate and shoved whatever bile threatening to scale your esophagus down.

After the meal, you were tasked with helping your mother clean the dishes. It was quiet between you both as you scrubbed the dishware and bowls, not yet feeling comfortable to voice words. Although you opted to stay muted, your mother did not make indications she would do the same.

"Thank you for taking care of your sister," the woman started, giving you a warm smile, "she really looks up to you, and I could not be prouder of that."

Her words broke you then and there as your eyes glossed over, feeling tears cascade down your face. Your mom stopped what she was doing and took hold of your face to have you look at her, "Whatever is the matter, dear?"

"But I didn't take care of her. She got hurt today because of my incompetence. How can I call myself a good sister after that?" You choked out between quiet sobs.

"Accidents happen, my dear," the parent soothed as she pulled you in, petting your hair to calm you, "The best thing you can do is learn from them."

You could only nod into your mother's bosom, not trusting your own voice at the time being. Maybe she was right– you just had to ensure the incident wouldn't repeat itself. You repeated that statement mentally as she held you, so why did you still feel guilty.

"After all, you took care of it, my dear," your mother sounded, "You killed that vile man."

Your eyes shot open, your breathing heavy, and your pulse uneven as you woke from your nightmare. It wasn't the first time that night terror had occurred, but you had to admit it had been a while since it had. Ever since birthing your children, the nightmares had been more consistent.

At first, they were an occasional occurrence, but as the months passed, once or twice a month turned into three to four times a week. Some lasted longer than others, and others were more frightening than some. Either way, your once dreamless nights began to fill with discomforting and restless evenings. Despite the abnormality of some of the dreams, you only deduced it as a result of stress. You kept yourself levelheaded on the outside, but within, you were drowning in your overwhelming thoughts.

Ever since your everlasting pact with Sukuna, things around the temple began to change significantly, at least for you. Perhaps someone with an ordinary eye would not notice these small changes, but you were focused on the finer details. Minimal adjustments such as staffing, specifically the addition of two new guards. It was not a large sum of security, definitely not an army, but for even one guard to join Sukuna's ranks was unusual. Your husband had not much need for any more manpower as he had plenty of that as it already was; however, the stranger part is that they seemed to be patrolling the areas where the mothers resided. This did not go unnoticed by anyone as rumors were already spreading, but everyone seemed to hold an opposite reaction from your own.

"Well, they definitely do not hurt my eyes.~"

"I heard from one of the kitchen maids that they're Sukuna's spies. Apparently, one of the moms here is being distasteful."

"Our dear husband protecting his prizes, how sweet.~"

"This was bound to happen since last year's inspections– truly disappointing how many failed progeny there were."

Meaningless jokes, endearing words, bustling rumors, but no mentions of concerns. You found this new detail far from good because the guards were not focused on the mothers nor the children but rather on the surroundings of the room they inhabited. Their eyes were cautious and were jumping from place to place, their forms tense, almost as if they were waiting for something to happen. Despite these prominent cues, everyone seemed to overlook it– you had heard a few women state that `Sukuna did not want them looking upon his prizes.`

"Y/n-sama, I've been requested to escort you to the gardens," a voice sounded; however, it was not your attendant but rather Uraume who had called out to you.

You had been seeing the individual more often than usual– what started off as passing glances and minimal greetings had turned into confrontational meetings and regular appearances; this happened to be one of those instances. It did not take you long to rise from your relaxed state, moving to take hold of your children before turning to Sukuna's right hand. Uraume did not say anything, only giving you a bow and a gesture to follow them to the gardens, where your attendant would most likely be waiting. Usually, the girl would be the one who greeted you on these mornings, but because of your recurring night terrors, you opted to have her take the time to focus on other tasks, telling her that you could wake yourself; however, when you first brought this conversation up, she hesitated on the idea. After some convincing, your attendant finally caved and gave you the mornings to yourself, but that did not last long.

It took around a week or two for Sukuna to figure out that you were spending most of your mornings alone, which your partner did not appreciate. Despite his detesting of the news, he did not lash out at anybody for it– the man seemed more apprehensive than infuriated. It took only a few days for Sukuna to appoint his direct helper to retrieve you. From then on, you were seen with Uraume for most of the morning before they left to perform their other duties.

You followed the individual down the corridor, glancing at the walls and what inhabited them. There wasn't much decorating the temple as Sukuna was not a sentimental man– he hardly kept his offerings unless they were of necessity. The walls were blank and lifeless, and viewing them could drive you insane if you focused on them.

"Y/n-sama, do you love Sukun-sama?"

Your breath hitched as you moved your gaze to look at the back of Uraume's head. There question left you speechless; however, it was not because you did not have an answer but rather their sudden interest that took you aback. The person did not vocalize their thoughts much, but you could always tell when they were thinking to themselves.

"Yes, he is my husband. Why would I not love him?" you quickly stated.

"You do not have to lie to me (Y/n)-sama."

You could not help but worry at Uraume's comment. Did they know your intentions? Were they going to remove your twins from your care? Had they already discussed this with Sukuna? How long did you have left?

"And where is your evidence of that, Uraume?" you managed to keep your voice leveled despite the anxiety creeping up on you, but you needed to keep your composure if you wanted to win this little tussle, being if you had to fight at all.

A chuckle resonated through the hall.

"You're right... I have no proof, only my own conspiracies. I admire your ability to hold that over me– your defensive side is a site to see. If I'm being honest, when you first came to the temple, I did not think much of you as I thought you were just another woman to bear Sukuna's kin; you proved me wrong (Y/n)-sama. I do not understand how you managed, but you have Sukuna-sama wrapped around your finger like I have never seen before," Uruame voiced, a lightness to their tone before continuing, "Perhaps it is for the best, after all, you are both seem satisfied with your current standing."

For the rest of the trip, you sustained the following stillness, only giving the individual a hum in response to their last comment. When the garden came into view, you internally sighed in relief, glad to rid yourself of this mind-wracking conversation. Too bad things couldn't stay that way.

"Y/n-sama, your village has started to retaliate against Sukuna's command. Truth be told, it has been going on for the past year; however, things have started to escalate— for the sake of your family unit, keep yourself on guard," The righthand warned, turning to leave you to your daily activities.

Just peachy, another occurrence to write down in your list of troubles.

You would not get proper rest in a while.

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya @pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @alurafairy @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty

[hangmanssunnies]

Bones, Hearts, & Marriages

Summary: You and Javy "Coyote" Machado did not get married for the right reasons. Now, three years later, you are going to make sure that you two at least get divorced for the right reasons to make up for it. However, per usual, things don't always seem to go to plan when Coyote is involved. 

(Thank you @bradshawsbitch for this stunning gif 🫶)

Pairings: Javy "Coyote" Machado x AFAB! Reader

Word count: 11k

AO3 link

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Marriage of convenice, PinV, Realistic intimacy conversations, implied plus size reader, insecurity, self image issues, Valentine's Day.

Please let me know if I missed any.

Authors Note: Oh gosh, I have been working on this for a while now. It was supposed to be posted for Valentie's Day, but then life happened. I love Coyote soo much, and I actually NEED him to be my husband or I will perish. Coyote Hangman BFF supremacy implied. As always, apologies for any mistakes.

Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

There was no question in your mind that your husband, Javy "Coyote" Machado, was your dream man, and most people would think that it is very lucky to be married to your dream man. Most people also wouldn't think falling in love with your husband was a terrible mistake. However, most people's husbands were in love with them back. You hadn't married Coyote because you loved him, and he certainly didn't marry you out of affection, either. The truth was, it was just a very convenient arrangement for the two of you. Javy hadn't wanted to live on base anymore, plus the benefits and pay for married men were better. Also, he was so tired of being bottom of the totem pole for vacations and holidays off to the aviators and sailors who were married or had families.   For you, being married would change your financial aid status to receive almost three times more money each term. Having a clean, financially stable roommate was the cherry on top of the deal. You and Javy had really only known each other a few weeks when you had jokingly mentioned your need to get married. After several conversations where Coyote was deadly serious, you found yourself at the courthouse with him signing licenses and throwing a small party with your friends. Even now, nearly three years later, you would still catch yourself thinking about the sweet kiss he had bestowed on you. 

To say you were unhappy with your marriage or your husband wouldn't be true. You were happy, and Javy was good, almost too good and kind to you. That itself could be an issue because it was so easy to slip into being his wife, being Mrs. Machado. Nowadays, it was second nature to snuggle up on the couch with him, celebrate your wins together, and seek him out for comfort with your losses. You would try anything new he would whip up in the kitchen and offer a detailed critique. It was natural to want to make Javy happy. You worry and care about him. Though you try not to make comparisons, you were pretty sure you missed him just as much as any other military spouses missed their partners anytime Coyote was gone. You never allowed yourself to consider the possibility of your marriage being more with Javy. It didn't take much for you to deter those thoughts; typically, just some extended longing looks at Javy paired with a glance in the mirror to remind you that Coyote was out of your league. No matter how often he would compliment or say that you were beautiful. Three years into this marriage, you two still had separate rooms and hadn't fallen in love or bed even once, despite your secret hopes, which was telling enough. 

You and Javy were friends first, no matter what the other circumstances were. So, picking Coyote up from the bar certainly wasn't something unusual. This evening his texts, where most things were misspelled and littered with random emojis,  made you thankful that he shared his location with you because they were borderline incomprehensible. He wasn't actually answering any of the questions you were asking either. It was there at the bar picking him up that you started to realize maybe the benefits of this marriage weren't enough anymore. 

"Howdy, Mrs. Machado," Jake says affectionately when you enter the bar and found the group of familiar aviators that made up your husband's friends. You kiss his cheek in greeting, taking stock of his well-being, pleased to find Jake mostly sober. 

"Hey, Hangman," You verbally answer, looking around for Coyote, wanting to get home and into bed as quickly as possible. His tall form isn't around the table with the other aviators, so you look back to Jake expectantly. "And where is Coyote?"

"Aw, little M&M, you don't even care about me anymore," Hangman says in a fake whine while pouting. 

"That just isn't true," you say, rolling your eyes at the blond while continuing to look around the honestly concerningly dark bar. 

"He's at the bartop," Jake finally supplies. You try hard to contain your frown, but you aren't fully successful. Javy had already been very drunk when he texted you earlier. Sighing, you turn to the bar, finally spotting the tall and broad shoulders you were looking for. He is on the back side, furthest away from you. It takes conscious effort not to let your eyes linger too long, lest you get caught up in just how tall, broad, and what a great ass your husband has. You wave a hand towards Hangman and the rest of the group in a half thanks and beeline to the bar.

Coyote is laughing with the bartender when you get there. You slide in close next to him, leaning in against the bar top. Javy's eyes flash a glance at you, away, and then back towards you as he turns to face you completely. 

"Oh my god Mark, my wife is here!" Coyote says enthusiastically and at least two times louder than he needs to, considering how close you are standing. 

"It's nice to meet you," Mark says, smiling at you. Javy wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him in a half hug so that he doesn't let you go after. His lips press to the side of your head that is lingering. You ignore how he nuzzles you and how warm and strong his arms feel, reminding yourself that Coyote is just a very affectionate drunk. 

"Hi Coyote," You greet him, trying not to let the wide smile he gives you go straight to your heart. However, when his eyes crinkle, it was a fool's errand. You see that smile nearly every day, and it still manages to make heat blossom in your chest. Finally managing to tear your eyes off him again, you focus back on the conversation. 

"It's nice to meet you, Mark. Has Lieutenant Machado paid his tab yet, or should I?" You ask, nudging Javy's side playfully. It has the opposite effect than you intended as Javy pulls you even closer and tighter into his side. 

"He hasn't. In fact, he was just ordering another Shirley temple," Mark informs you. Shooting a halfhearted glare at Javy for ordering another drink this late, his grin hasn't dimmed once. Sloppily he raises the drink to his mouth, taking three attempts to finally find the straw and slurp up a large gulp. When he sees your frown, Javy sets the drink back down on the bar. 

"It's a virgin," Coyote reassures you with a small laugh, no better than a schoolboy with what he finds funny sometimes. Once he manages to contain the giggle, he continues on, "I know better than to drink after 12:30."

That answer placates you as you start rummaging in your purse for a card to pay. However, when you go to hand over the card, it is smacked out of your hand. There wasn't any real force or aggression to the action, but it certainly was surprising, causing the metal rectangle to clank against the bar top. 

"Javy!" You gasp in surprise, turning to see him glaring at you. 

"You're not paying for anything when I'm around," he all but growls. His arm that is snug around your shoulder hasn't moved one bit, but his free hand is digging around his pocket, clearly looking for a wallet.

"Javy, sweetheart. It's okay. I know how you feel about this." You pick up the card from where it fell on the bar and show it to him. As you explain, the Navy Federal Credit Union logo is clearly visible for him now, "This is the card for our joint account."

Halting the digging in his pocket, he narrows his eyes to fully observe the card. Once he is convinced it's the card attached to his account, he weakly apologizes, "Oh. I'm sorry."  

"It's okay, " you say as you pass over his soda and then nudge his side again. "Why don't you say goodbye to the boys. I will close your tab." 

"You're not going to leave, right?" He asks you worriedly. His thumb brushes a broad stroke against your arm while he asks the question. 

"Not without you, handsome." You reassure him, ignoring the small butterflies he still inspires in you. 

"Promise?" Javy asks you in a small voice. 

"I promise," you say. You squeeze his hand gently and then peel his arm off you.

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise," you guarantee, hooking your pinky with his. A wide grin splits Javy's face again, and he kisses your forehead. Walking away, mostly steady on his feet, to say goodbye to his friends. Once you're sure he made it alright, you turn back to Mark. 

"I'll grab his tab, and we might as well grab Seresin's Tab also. The blonde one over there," you request, gesturing back their direction. 

"Sure thing," Mark says, offering you an easy smile and taking your card to run through the POS system. It's in that quiet moment in-between while paying when your whole night shifts. You hear a group of men a bit farther down the bar, but there weren't even any people between you and their gabbing. You were sure they were all drunk enough to think that the conversation wasn't one that could be overheard. 

"That's Coyote's wife?" One asks in disbelief catching your attention. 

"Yeah, I'm shocked every time," someone else confirms. You resist the urge to look over at the group and see which one of them had met you before or if they just knew because of Javy's previous yelling. It's not like you exactly played the part of trophy officer's wife very often like someone married to Javy should be. 

"I don't understand," the first man says like he is trying to solve a very complex math problem. It's not an uncommon reconciliation someone might have to make seeing you and Javy together. 

"There is no way Coyote settled for that," One of them says in disbelief. Their conversation is a dagger to your heart and self-esteem. While you knew that Coyote was out of your league, confirmation from someone outside yourself doesn't make it hurt less. 

"Maybe she looked different when they first got together. You know a lot of women let themselves go after marriage."

"Well, she is kinda pretty… If that's what you're into." Gritting your teeth to keep from crying, you wish you could just disappear or that Mark would hurry up with your card so you can collect Javy and leave. 

"Fair enough, but Coyote is a ten dude." Maybe it was more offensive that they thought you weren't aware of your husband's attractiveness than their opinions on your own looks. As if you weren't aware, like you didn't see Coyote shirtless daily or when he got home from his run and the gym. The 5-inch inseam shorts he wore on your last beach vacation and just how great his thighs looked haunted your dreams for months. As if you hadn't seen him in his dress whites, dress blues, and the Tuxedo he wore to his cousin's wedding last summer. You were very conscious, hyper-aware even, of how attractive Coyote is. 

"You know who else has an ugly wife?" Someone interjects, and their conversation moves on. You wish it was as easy for you to move on. Of course, it's not the first time you have heard similar comments, but they still nearly bring you to tears every time. It's not fair so much importance is put on physical looks, on something you can't even fully control, despite what most people think. 

You make eye contact with Mark, who is looking at you with something much too close to pity, while your card is processing. How he looks at you makes the pit in your stomach fall a bit lower like he agrees with them but would never say it. As if he is embarrassed that you were forced to endure hearing the truth on this matter. You manage to give him a smile, but it clearly is forced. Anyone thinking you weren't painfully aware of the discrepancies of attractiveness between you and your husband must also believe you are blind. When Mark gives you the receipt to sign, you quickly scribble a tip and your signature, wanting to escape as quickly as possible. As you shove your card into your purse, you finally look over to the group who made the comments trying to remember their faces in the din of the bar so that if you meet them again, you can avoid them at all costs. 

You go back to Coyote, who is laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and his eyes are crinkled. You know that he isn't laughing at what you just heard. Javy's sense of duty regarding you and your sham of a marriage is boundless, and he hasn't hesitated to play the part of a protective husband before. However, you feel so sensitive now that part of you thinks he must be laughing at you. Despite how irrational it is, you can't fully push the thought away. Coyote must find it funny that he has gotten you to come pick him up. It's funny that people always view the discrepancies in your marriage in his favor. 

As your feelings and thoughts start to spiral darker, your nails bite into your palms. The looming cloud over you is shoved to the side because Javy is making grabby hands at you. As a human embodiment of sunshine, something magnified by how carefree and open he is while drunk, it only takes that and a smile for the dread hanging over you to significantly lessen. Even though you don't feel quite as low as you did when leaving the bartop, you still aren't in high enough spirits to settle into Javy's welcoming embrace. His strong arms fall back to his side at your denial, which also dims his smile as he comes close to you. 

"Are you ready to go, Coyote?" You ask, trying and failing to achieve the upbeat tone you were shooting for. 

"No," he answers petulantly. 

"No?" 

"I want to dance before we go." He pouts, opening his arms wide again. You try to ignore all his friends' eyes on you and Hangman's amused sniggering. Javy is very affectionate when drunk, and it wouldn't shock you that Jake had been on the receiving end of that affection in the time it took you to get here to pick your husband up. 

"We aren't dancing. We are going home," you respond, maybe a bit too curtly because all the joy in Javy's face is sucked away. Watching his grin become a frown and the mirth in his eyes drop just serves to add to the heavyweight you feel coiled up in your chest. The one that is always there but was aggravated by the conversation you overheard and will be as sensitive as an open wound for several days to come. 

"Bye guys," Javy says halfheartedly, waving to his friends and now quickly striding to the door, not even waiting for you or checking if you are following. You look over to Hangman and shrug quickly, telling him that you got his tab too. 

"Little M&M, you do care!" Jake gasps, pressing a hand to his heart. 

"And don't you forget it," You say, while accepting his side hug. 

"Thank you, honest. And you get my wingman home safe, please." Jake says, letting you go and shooting you a stellar smile. The rest of the group calls their well wishes, and You give one last wave before hustling after your husband. Coyote is standing, waiting near the door outside. You immediately start to walk to the car but turn around when you realize Javy hasn't moved. 

"Can still hear the music out here," Javy mumbles. 

"True, they must have an outside speaker." You say while backtracking to him again. Javy lifts a hand, settling it on your shoulder, then running it down your arm until his fingers tangle together with yours. 

"Dance with me? Please." He requests again, and you can't say no with the way he is looking at you. 

Setting down your purse on top of one of the outside tables, you hesitantly step closer into Javy's waiting arms. He hums contently the moment you are there. Singing along with the music into your ear, he holds you close. The dancing is little more than swaying together almost in time with the music. That doesn't really matter to you, though, because Javy is warm, and being this close to him makes you feel safe. Two songs pass that way. However, when a more upbeat tune comes on Coyote tries to spin you, nearly falling in the process, and you think it's probably time to get home. 

He doesn't make any complaint getting into the car, except for insisting on carrying your purse and then holding it in his lap once his seatbelt is secured. While driving home, Javy is staring at you instead out of the window. He was so quiet at first you thought he had fallen asleep. However, when you cut your eyes over to him at a stop light, you are trapped in the deep brown of his gaze. You're lucky the roads are mostly abandoned because you nearly miss the green light you are so caught up in him. 

"Do you ever wonder?" Javy eventually asks you. 

"Wonder what?" 

"About us. About this," He says, spinning and twisting his wedding ring. Javy had surprised you when he had come home one day with the matching bands only a few short weeks after you got married. There had hardly been an occasion since that he could be found not wearing it. 

"I don't know. What is there to wonder about Javy?"  

He blows out a long sigh through his nose, and your stomach clenches with anxiety. Javy had always been so resolute, so committed to this deal you two had. His steadfastness is what you would desperately cling to on the days that you felt like you conned him. Javy questioning your union suddenly shakes everything in you. Maybe he had heard what those men in the bar were saying after all. Perhaps after all this time, it was going to click for him that he shouldn't waste away in a loveless marriage, that he could do so much better than you. 

"I suppose so. 'S Not like we could go back and change anything."

"Do you regret what we did?" You ask him, barely above a whisper. The quietness following your question is heavy, and the dark of the car makes it nearly suffocating. Javy's left hand peels your right hand away from the steering wheel, and he threads your fingers together tightly. 

"No. I never regret," he says firmly. Neither of you utters another word on the way home, but Javy doesn't let go of your hand either. 

The men's comments from the bar hang over you all night as you fitfully toss and turn, trying to sleep. You consider them beyond just the comments about your looks, but more about Javy and what he deserves. How he deserves something more than you. You want to keep him, but the more you think about it, the more wrong that seems. While meditating on your husband, you come to the decision there is nothing, not even your own comfort, that you care about more than seeing Javy "Coyote" Machado happy and in love. Something he will never be with you. You rationalize it's like a bone that had been allowed to heal the wrong way; the only way to remedy it and set it on the right path is to break it first. Bones, hearts, and marriages all practically the same thing. 

You are buzzing with this revelation, and when you wake up the next morning, you know you can't wait. The sooner you get it over with, the better it would be for both of you. Still wearing pajamas, you go straight to the kitchen after waking up. You can hear Javy there making noise. 

"Javy, I want a divorce," you declare more confidently than you feel. The words leave your mouth before you have even fully gone through the kitchen doorway. There is a clattering and your eyes are instantly drawn up from the floor near your feet where you had been focusing. Javy is standing by the counter wearing his Kiss the Cook apron and drops a knife he was holding. 

He opens and closes his mouth twice before he finally says something. It sounds directed more toward himself than you. "I can't believe you just asked me for a divorce on Valentine's day."

"Is it Valentine's Day?" You ask him, shocked. Quickly pulling out your phone to check the date, the device confirms that it is absolutely February 14th. You can't believe you woke up and let the holiday sneak up on you.

"It is," he reaffirms, a deep frown marring his handsome features. 

Guilt immediately floods through you because Javy loves Valentine's Day. He had openly admitted on your first anniversary that it was one of his favorite unexpected benefits of being married. He loved having someone to do all the typical Valentine's Day things with. Someone he was guaranteed to spend the day with. He wouldn't admit it, though you suspected he also liked that it was a day you were guaranteed to think of him. An added day to the calendar that he knew he wouldn't be forgotten. 

There are not one or two, but three large bouquets of flowers scattered in the room. The table is all set up with a cloth covered in pink and white hearts. With a glance at the pan, you see the potato pancakes Javy is cooking as well as the sweet crepes arranged with strawberries he had cut to be heart-shaped. All of this on top of the various decorations littered around the room. The room is littered with evidence of Javy's joy for the holiday, almost decorated to the point of tackiness. Every part is thoughtful as well as endearing, and you hadn't even realized the day. Tears prick at your eyes while taking the whole thing in. He leads you to rest at your small round dining table his palm warm on your arm as he guides you. 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. I can ask again tomorrow, I guess." You say with a wobbly voice. 

"No sweetheart, I don't want you to ask again." He says tightly. Javy isn't even sitting in the other chair. Instead, he kneels in front of you while holding your hands, looking so earnest. "Why do you want a divorce?"

"Well, the reasons we got married don't really apply to us anymore. You will still live off base now no matter what, at your rank, and I'm finally graduating."  Javy's thumb is still swiping across the back of yours. You recognize it's wrong to take comfort from him right now, but you also can't help how you relax slightly which each stroke. 

"Okay," he says slowly. Staring at you intently, you can see how hard Javy's brain is working to process the information you just threw at him. He traces over your face, then falls down to look at your joined hands. Javy squeezes your hands and drops them, sitting back on his heels, and you feel the dread seep in again, not having his steadying warmth so close anymore. "Can we dissect this together, please? You want a divorce?" 

"Yes," you answer. He blows out a long heavy sigh, scrubbing his hands across his face as he sits in the chair on the other side of the table. Silence starts to stretch before Javy breaks it again. 

"Have I been making you unhappy?" 

"No. Not directly at least," You answer quickly, and it's not a lie. Javy himself is rarely the cause of your unhappiness. 

"Indirectly then. And you have been unhappy?" 

You think over his question and then start to think of a lie. You don't want to detail your feelings about this. Honesty would certainly lead to both your feelings being hurt more than necessary. You have been unhappy but in ways only of your own making. Wanting that which you could not have, fancying yourself a sort of Icarus. 

"As much truth as you can spare me, please. Don't want to hear whatever lie you were just cooking up." 

"It's more about the happiness we are cutting ourselves off from. The opportunities that we are missing." 

The hold on the very neutral look Javy has been wearing slips, and he clenches his jaw hard. You are momentarily distracted by the flexing muscle, nearly forgetting the conversation at hand. The deep frown that pulls Javy's lips reorients your priorities, and you really wish this was a conversation that didn't have to happen face to handsome-distracting-gorgeous face.

"Is there someone else? Has Mrs. Machado's eye finally been caught after all these years?" Javy asks the questions more casually, curious than you are expecting. It does make you feel foolish to look for jealousy in his words. However, the idea of there being someone else is so funny you can't contain your dry chuckle.  

"Our divorce is not a laughing matter!" Javy cries so indignantly it just makes you laugh harder. Then a few breaths later, his deep laugh intertwines with yours. It is not long until you are both breathless after the chuckles turned giggles turned howling. Javy is actively pushing away stray tears, and you are clutching your side, feeling a small stitch. Leaning back in his chair, he blows out a breath, sniffing in hard and breathing the air out in a measured way.  

"Okay, well. This isn't something that can really happen today, is it?" Javy asks you. 

"No. I guess not," you agree. 

The corner of his right mouth quirks up then, and some of the severity eases on his face. "It's still valentines day then, and you're still my wife, so —" He trails off and reaches across the table, picking up an envelope that was sitting in the center, handing it to you. With shaky fingers, you open it. The card inside is almost more beautiful than any card Javy has ever given you. The front is covered in tasteful pastel hearts, gold foil, and your name. It's just as high quality as you knew it would be. You aren't sure where he has been buying these over the years but every card you have ever gotten from him is stunning. Seeing the inside filled with Javy's cramped writing with an extra sheet included almost moves you to tears, and you shove the card back in its envelope. 

"I'll read that later," you mutter with a watery smile. Javy doesn't push you, which you are thankful for. Instead, he just holds out a hand, and you immediately grab it threading your fingers together. 

"Will you be my valentine?" Javy asks you hopefully. 

"Yes, of course, I will." 

He grins, but it's not as wide as you would hope. There is still a clear air of somberness to him. "If you don't want to spend the day with me now I understand." 

"Oh Javy, I'm so sorry. I should have thought through bringing this up to you much more than I did, including factoring in relevant holidays. Of course, I want to spend the day with you."

"No sweat, my Valentine. How about I finish cooking us breakfast then? I have the whole day planned, you know."

"Yes, I know," you say affectionately. 

"Today's menu and itinerary can be found to your left," Javy informs you. His free hand gesturing to a small decorated chalkboard propped on the table. Then he lifts your joined hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of your palms. When he tries to detangle your fingers and stand from the table, but you stop him. 

"Hold on. I have to go grab something."

"You already had papers drawn up?" He asks in a strained voice. 

"No, I haven't. Let's set the divorce aside for the day okay?" 

"That's a good idea," he agrees. 

"I didn't completely forget about Valentine's Day. I just didn't remember this morning. Do you really think I would miss all the heart decorations all over the place? Or the 14 hearts you drew on the calendar." You ask him teasingly. 

"Well, I don't want you to think you have to do anything." 

"Javy," you sigh affectionately. Then telling him to stay put, you rush to your room and grab the wrapped gift youpicked out only days after new years. Coming back down, you excitedly plop the box in front of him on the table. 

"This is so kind you didn't have to." 

"I never mind doing anything for you Javy. Now stop delaying and opening it." 

Obeying your command, he excitedly rips at the paper and into the box, searching for the gift. When he pulls it out, he smiles so wide his eyes crinkle, and everything is right again. "A candle of the month subscription?"

"I thought you might like it," you admit.  

"With a wood wick," he sighs, opening the candle to smell it. 

"And they let me put a list of all our no-no scents," you say. 

"I love this, really. Thank you so much, sweetheart." Javy says while he reads over the little brochure that had been sent with the first candle. 

"I'm so pleased you like it." 

After that you finally allow Javy to finish cooking breakfast, making surprisingly easy conversation. It almost seems as if he truly has taken the temporary tabling of your divorce to heart. The day preceding light hearted and upbeat the rest of the morning, following the same patterns as years past. 

You and Javy do have Valentine's traditions at this point, gifts, and the day spent together. The first Valentine’s you spent together he had made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in town weeks in advance. Only for the meal and service to be subpar, both of you agreeing Javy could have made something just as good if not better at home. In the years following, you two have still dressed up, but Javy makes the meal. Valentine's day is also one of the two days a year you are guaranteed kisses from Javy. He will drink too much wine, becoming affectionate and playful. Then he will pout about all the work he put into cooking, never in a  way that makes you feel guilty. Huffing until you ask what he wants in repayment. Then Javy will always request the same thing. Each of the last four Valentine's days and all three of your wedding anniversaries, a kiss. It never stays at one kiss, but it has never been more than a heated make out session. It's something that neither of you ever brings up the next day. 

You think it seems odd that you should make an exception to that tradition just because it's the last one. You hope that your foolishness of suggesting a divorcee on today of all days won't make an impact, but the more rational part of you knows it already has. Regardless, you still dress as nicely as you always do that evening for dinner. 

The hallway into the kitchen and the kitchen itself are decorated with way too many mini candles to be considered wholly safe. The soft lighting is accented by the heavy aromas of Javy's cooking, making your mouth water slightly. Javy has a dress shirt on with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and has a towel thrown over his shoulder as he puts the final touches on some of the dishes. Glancing up as you enter the kitchen he freezes into place before straightening to his full height. 

"You look beautiful," he utters, throwing the towel on a rack and striding across the kitchen to you. 

"Oh come on Javy, don't make fun." 

"I ain't making fun," Javy says, catching your hands and holding them tightly in his large warm palms. When he sees your disbelief, he repeats the words again, squeezing your hands urging you to believe him. With a breath, you accept his words the best you can. You had spent a lot of time deciding what to wear and were pleased with how the overall styling went. 

"Thank you. You look very handsome. Are you an aviator or a model? We may never know." 

"Why can't I be both?" 

"Don't worry Coyote. I'm sure the day the Navy decides to do a shirtless Naval Aviator calendar you will be number one on their speed dial." Which makes him laugh as he pushes in your chair for you at the table. Then pressing a kiss to your forehead, he goes back to the kitchen. 

"Callsigns at home, on Valentine's Day. Sweetheart, you are trying to break my heart." Javy teases, bringing over your plates. Paying him all his compliments due, You had only had the first few bites when Javy asks you a question that catches you off guard. 

"What about health insurance?"

"What?" You splutter. 

"What are you going to do for health insurance when we are divorced? You need that insurance, sweetheart." 

"Javy, I thought we were leaving it." 

"I can't leave it. I don't want a divorce. So, I'm sorry, but I can't leave it. Who's going to take you to your doctor's appointments? Where are you going to live? Am I moving, or you, or both of us? Are we selling the house?"  

"I don't have it all figured out yet. It's something that we are going to have to do as we go along." 

"I just don't understand what we would gain from this," Javy says, frustrated. 

"Freedom!" You cry out, wishing you could find it in you to explain the twisting feeling, the dark and sad thoughts you had to endure in this marriage. Knowing you not only would never be enough but that you were less than. Your words make Javy stiffen like a board. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I had entrapped you into this relationship," The words are biting, and you wish a conversation could ever go the way you were hoping. 

"It's not like that," You tell him quickly. "Don't you want the freedom to choose to be with who you want? Don't you want to date and not have to awkwardly explain that you're married to your roommate?" 

"So there is someone else?"

"No, just you Javy." 

"Can you tell me what it is about me that you don't love?" He asks you in a quiet way. Javy's eyes drop down to his plate and you feel his knee bouncing quickly. Your mouth goes completely dry, and you scramble to sip some water from the glass set out. After a big gulp you still aren't sure how to answer. But then Javy's shoulders slump slightly, you see part of him crumble, and you crumble with it. He deserves honesty, maybe more than anyone else you know, because Javy is straightforward, ambitious, loyal, funny, kind, and you love him. 

"That's the problem. There isn't anything about you that I don't love Javy. And god, you would think after nearly four years married to you, I would have found something not to love. I honestly think you are more wonderful now than when we first met." 

Javy's eyebrows draw together, and he clearly is struggling to process your confession. Then he lets out a sigh of relief, "Thank god, this is wonderful news. I love you too." 

"Javy you could do so much better than me. You should be with someone who is on your level." 

He laughs. Javy laughs, and you wish you could manifest yourself out of existence. But then he is out of his chair and crowding in close to you, hooking a finger under your chin lifting it so that you can no longer avoid his gaze. "Sweetheart, there is no one better than you." 

Then slowly, so slowly, he leans in and catches your lips in a gentle kiss. A kiss before wine, and before a drawn out preamble. It was a kiss because Javy loved you with no other pretenses involved. He pulls away, and you suck in a heaving breath. His eyes study yours intently, and he leans in for another kiss. Meeting him halfway you wrap your arms around his neck, awkwardly pulling him closer while deepening the kiss. 

Javy looms over you, and the angle makes your chair squeak shifting backward, trying to take the shifted weight. You are saved from falling completely thanks to your arms and his that instinctually wrapped around your waist. Once you are both steady on your feet and the danger of falling has passed, you meet Javy's eyes while biting your lip to keep the giggles in. He looks in a similar state of mirth, not able to stop smiling even as he presses kisses to your face. 

"Do you know how hard it's been? Blissful torture every day of our marriage. Able to have you here, to see you, but not allowed to touch. And I have wanted to touch you for so long."

"Where do you want to touch Javy?"

"Oh everywhere sweetheart," he says roughly. His hands drifting from your waist over your ass and then starting to trace the shape of your thighs in slow appreciation. Just when you are finally getting to appreciate Javy's tongue against yours, his phone rings. He pulls away from you with a pained groan, glaring across the room. His phone is set on the furthest away counter that it can be practically tucked away. You know Javy would have had the phone turned off and tucked away if he was allowed. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he strides quickly across the room and picks up the phone. 

"This is Lieutenant Machado," The tone is stark and official. His eyes haven't moved from you, though. Then a tick forms in his jaw, and he grits out, "Hangman, are you serious? It's Valentine's Day. I care about you, but unless this is life or death, I'm spending the night in bed with my wife." Hearing who it was that called, you follow Javy into the kitchen. Sliding up to him, you slot yourself into his side, draping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer.

"In bed with M&M?!" You hear Jake start to yell, but you are taking the phone from Javy. 

"Seresin, don't call back through do not disturb unless it's a real emergency," you mutter into the receiver before hanging up. Javy's lips are tracing your neck less than a breath later. 

"What was this you mentioned about bed?" You ask Javy. 

"Do you want to get in one with me, like right now?"

"Yes, please," you agree breathily. You hand Javy his phone, and he tucks it in his pocket, clearly displeased by the device's proximity.

"I hate being on call."

You are pulling him in the direction of his room just because it is closer before you can let any further idea of work enter his head. Entering the room, you both practically scramble to undress each other. Javy whines while reminding you that his shirt is Armani, and he wants to keep all the buttons when you fumble opening them. You roll your eyes but slow down and take care not to ruin one of your husband's favorite shirts.  

"I think about these pretty lips every single day," Javy tells you. He kisses you again, but it's more tender than you expect. When he pulls away, he smiles. 

"I think about how pretty they are when you smile and all the ways that they could touch me. What they feel like against my lips. How they would feel wrapped around my cock." Javy's thumb starts to trace your lower lip, and you suck it into your mouth, gliding the tip of your tongue against the pad. Inhaling sharply, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, to your disappointment. 

"I think about touching your tits all the time." Javy pivots while grabbing a handful of your breast and squeezing, taking the opportunity to unhook your bra. You help him slide the straps off your shoulders, and he takes a moment to admire your breasts. Then dipping down to kiss them as well. Urging you to lay back on the bed, once you are lying down with Javy's eyes raking over your form, you start to feel self-conscious. Even as he pulls your panties off and starts kissing your legs. You cross your legs and do your best to cover yourself. His intense gaze nearly making want to reach for the throw blanket that is on the end of the bed. The sight of Javy's chiseled chest and cut edges reminds you of your soft edges and curves, the thought that you are ill matched flooding your brain. 

"Now Mrs. Machdo. That is not how things go in this bedroom. But don't you worry, I'm here to teach you." Javy tsks at you. Javy grabs an ankle in each large hand, pulling you toward the end of the bed. Then completely unabashed, he stares at your pussy. You try to close your legs again, but Javy's hands on your ankles prevent you from doing so. Kneeling down, he presses soft kisses to your legs and the inside of your thighs. 

"I'm going to take my time with you," he tells you, kissing up your legs. He bypasses your sex, instead kissing your stomach. As he is teasing one of your nipples, you dare to touch him back, letting your fingers dance over the shape of his arms and then across his strong shoulders. It's an exploration you have dreamed of many times, but the soft smoothness of his skin is better. When Javy has paid attention to both nipples and leaves a mark you know will blossom into a hickey near your collar bone he is kissing you again. With one of his strong thighs in between your legs, you push against it trying to seek some friction and relief from your burning arousal. Pulling your lips away from his. 

"Javy, I want you now," you gasp, pouting. Squirming against his thigh, you trace your hands down his back with the full intention of pushing down his briefs. Instead though, he is easing himself back down your body and kneeling on the side of the bed.  

"No Ma'am. I'm going to do everything I wanted to on our wedding night when we should have consummated this marriage." Javy starts tracing your skin again, peppering kisses where he sees fit. You jump slightly at the feeling but quickly relax. Even though you two have not ever been intimate, that doesn't mean that you aren't comfortable with him in almost every other way. It feels surprisingly easy to take this new step, to be pressed together. You had always thought it might not be there, a physical spark, that maybe you were compatible with Javy in every other way. However, the moment Javy's tongue meets your clit, and he is the one who moans first, the doubt largely vanishes from your mind; it's so evident he desires you too. 

While licking your clit Javy traces a finger along your lips, occasionally dipping into you, but the whole action is teasing. Just when he edges the length of his finger inside you, he kisses your thighs. When he licks your clit in firm strokes, he starts to edge his finger out of you. It's building you up but also making you feel like there is no end in sight. 

"Javy, I need you now," you beg again. 

"It's too soon." He tells you, lifting his head and pulling his mouth off you, and you nearly cry at the loss. "I have to warm you up baby, or it will hurt." 

It will hurt, Javy claims, and the thought of his dick being big enough that is something he worries about sends another wave of arousal rushing through you. Married three years, you had seen the delicious outline of it in boxers, briefs, grey sweatpants, and towels, and even now, you still haven't seen all of him. 

"Now, please," you whine. 

"Prove you can take my fingers, and then we will see," Javy tells you, attempting to compromise with a teasing lit. He only has one finger in you, and you buck against it, seeking more. When he teases another at your entrance, you shift taking that finger as far as your position will allow. Sighing contently when with the stretch, feeling more full. As you clench around his thick fingers, Javy grunts out a low moan, speeding his digits and occasionally scissoring you wider open. 

"What about a third?" He asks eventually. The idea sends another wave of arousal through you. As you clench around his fingers, Javy hums against your clit. Gasping desperately, you fist your hands in his forest green quilt. Javy doesn't actually indulge you in a third finger but continues to tease your entrance like he might. His tongue drags against your clit, and the wet sounds of the whole act making you clench harder around his fingers. 

"Please, just fuck me. Please, Javy."

"You think I'm going to fuck you before you cum on my tongue? You're so silly, sweetheart. I'm taking my sweet time with you. I have so much to make up for," Javy nips playfully at your inner thigh. You hum at the contact spreading your knees and legs a little wider to accommodate Javy's broad shoulders. Flattening his tongue to give you a broader stroke and occasionally licking around his fingers. You feel dripping at the combination of your own juices and his spit. It's teasing and playful, a pattern you're starting to notice with him. 

Nearing an orgasm, you try to grind harder on Javy's tongue, but when you do he teases a third finger again. The push for new fullness drags you back from the edge. Teetering there, you try to figure out if another one of his fingers will enter you. When he curls it away, you groan lowly. Javy stops sucking at your clit and turns his face back to pillow on your thigh. You can feel his smirk against your skin. You weren't prepared for this kind of edging, and the desperation feels nearly raw and beyond just needy. 

"Please, Javy. Do I need to beg more? Do you want me to cry? Or—" you trail off, hoping that he will fill the blank for you. You are willing to give him whatever he wants; you just don't know what that is yet. Navigating sex is always something a little awkward with a new partner. It feels an extra layer of odd because you know Javy, and have known him for years. You know that the smallest glance with a squeeze of your hand means he wants to leave a party. You know when he spends too long at the gym by the slightly slower pace he walks. You know the soup to make him when he has a cold and tries to hide it from you. You know Javy. Suddenly having a situation where you are unsure feels foreign and uncomfortable. 

Javy sits back more on his calves so he can better gauge your reactions. "I want to rock your world. I want to ruin every other man for you. I want my name to be the only one you know. I want you to be mine and only mine. Sweetheart, you are all I want." 

 "You already have all those things," you reassure him. Propping yourself on your elbows so you can meet his gaze. Even heavy with lust, his eyes still make you feel warm and safe. A small genuine smile lifts on his lips, then grows into a splitting grin that makes his eyes crinkle.  

"You've been so good and giving for me Mrs. Machado. About time I give back to you ain't it?" He asks, peppering more kisses all over your legs. His fingers resume pumping into you steadily, and he is purposeful in how he drags them along your inner walls. "I want one more thing, though." 

"Anything Javy. Anything."

"I want you to cum for me whenever you're ready. I'll give it to you. I'll give you anything you want, baby." Javy isn't teasing this time. He starts to work you over again with his lips sealed around your clit. He sucks while also tracing hard twisting strokes of his tongue. His digits maintain a steady speed, but they are fucking into you harder, and he continues to curl them, occasionally dragging over your walls. Arching further to the edge of the bed, Javy's arm lays across your hips, holding you down so he can grind his tongue against you harder.

"Don't stop," you beg, and this time he listens. It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and you are tumbling over the edge. Your pussy spasming around his fingers. Javy moans, and the vibrations travel right through you, extending your orgasm and making your hips stutter before falling all the way down to the bed. Closing your eyes tightly with short breaths, it takes you several moments to come back to your body. When you finally feel yourself, you find Javy on the bed with you resting with his head on your tummy. As your brain starts working, you try to push Javy's head away, but he resists snuggling further into you.

"Javy," you start to say, not sure how to explain to him your insecurities. 

"Thank you, baby. That was so good. You are so beautiful," he says, mouthing little kisses near your belly button and up your chest. 

 "I love that you're so soft," he mutters, almost in awe. One of his hands squeezes your side, and the other graces over your lower belly. Javy presses his lips to your breasts and sucks a nipple. You keen under him. Using your knees to urge him that much further up your body so you can kiss Javy, tasting the hint of yourself on his tongue still. Once he knows that you don't mind your own taste he deepens the kiss and rolls you both to be less perilously positioned on the end of the bed. 

"Will you fuck me now?" Javy is nodding, but not as enthusiastically as you expect him to. So you ask him hesitantly, "Or we can do other stuff?" 

"I really want to make love to you, but." 

"But?" You ask. Groaning, Javy slides to lay next to you, hiding his face in your chest. You run your fingers across the shaved prickly skin at the base of his skull, patiently waiting. 

"I'm worried I'll cum too fast. I don't want you to get the wrong idea." 

You make no attempt to stop the burst of tenderness and love you feel at his small confession sharing vulnerability. Then in the kindest voice, you say, "that's okay. It doesn't really matter to me. As long as you enjoy yourself, that's what matters."

Lifting his face from your chest, the look Javy gives you is horrified and a little offended. Immediately he starts jumping into explanation, "To start, fuck no. That is not what matters. Like I said, I don't want you to think that I'm always quick to cum. I've just wanted this for so long, and I spent so much time putting everything together today that I didn't even jack off in the shower. My second round of the day is always so much longer, I promise." 

"Javy, thank you. I promise this isn't going to change my thoughts or feelings about you. Okay? And a second round sounds great to me. We have to get through the first, though."

"Okay," he says with a sigh. Javy stands off the bed again, and you take the opportunity to scooch  further back against the headboard. You watch, entranced, as he finally peels his briefs off; Coyote’s cock is mouthwatering. You aren't at all ashamed of the small gasping moan that falls from your throat. 

"How do you want me?" You ask him as he crawls back up the bed. You stare at his body, suddenly overcome with the urge to trace over every single inch of him with your tongue. 

"How do you want me, beautiful?" He fires back in an easy tone. 

"Missionary?" You suggest. Nodding his head enthusiastically to your suggestion. Settling in between your thighs and you have to widen your knees to accommodate his broad frame. 

"Fuck yes, I want to be in this pretty pussy and able to see your pretty face too." 

He wasn't lying when he told you that he was big, and as he starts to push in, you are appreciative that he took his time with foreplay. Being stuffed so full of him leaves you gasping, and your mind keeps repeating better. This is better than you ever thought it would be. He is better than you always knew he would be. 

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" 

"So good. I'm so full of you Javy. I want more." 

Taking your permission, he starts rocking into you at a steady pace. With one arm, he anchors himself against the headboard gripping it tightly, then his free hand traces your face. You can tell Javy is trying to hold himself back and take things slow for the sake of his ego. You start to meet his thrusts lifting your hips a bit more to get a better angle. Javy's hand falls from your face to your ass, helping support you. The steady pace starts to increase to a hot frantic tempo. He moans your name brokenly, and you grab his ass, trying to urge him even closer to chase his pleasure. His hips start to stutter, and panting he slips out of you. His hand lets you go to give his cock a few harsh jerks, and Javy cums on your chest. He is frozen like that for a moment before rolling to your side with a wide grin on his face. 

"You could have cum inside. We are married, you know." You tease Javy. He stops breathing momentarily, and you turn your head to see him better. Despite having just cum, his eyes are still heavy with lust, and when he does take a breath again, it's a little ragged. 

"We've never really discussed that and should have used protection anyways. I'm sorry." Javy hasn't even finished the apology when you drag your finger across some of the cum on your chest. Delicately you swipe your tongue across your finger, tasting him. Javy groans low in his chest, turning to lie flat on his back and his face in the crook of his elbow. You hum happily, the power you have over him intoxicating to a degree. 

"You're right. That's definitely something we need to talk about, but next time…" You wait for Javy' to remove his elbow and look at you again. He does peek at you a few seconds later. "I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you dripping down my thighs. I want you to fill me up." 

Javy's mouth falls open, and his eyes are so dark you feel like you could get lost in them. He is surging forward then and kissing you. It's a dirty and quick tangle of tongues. Then he pulls away and starts mouthing at your throat. "Do you want to be stuffed with my cum, baby?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Machado," you say cheekily. 

"Fuck. You drive me a little crazy," he warns you lowly as you move to straddle him. You can tell he is still sensitive, but his dick is already starting to thicken again. You settle on his thigh instead, deciding that you could be patient waiting for him. You rock against his thighs for the smallest bit of stimulation just to start you going again. Javy watches you, completely captivated. 

"You being a good girl and waiting for me? Just give me a few minutes."

"I've been waiting three years. I can wait a little while longer to be full of your cum," you tell him, but it comes out as a whine like you're trying to convince yourself that's true. Javy settles a hand on your hip, giving you a small bit of encouragement to grind against him harder. 

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart. No more though. I've got you now. I promise. I've got you." He repeats gently. His sweet and caring tone only makes the desperation in you burn higher. Shaking your head at him, unable to form the words explaining how you are feeling. Instead, you drop your eyes down to look at your chest again. You thought you would feel a little more peeved at the feeling of his cum drying against your skin. Rather, you just find more you can scoop into your mouth. The fact that his dick isn't in your mouth feels criminal. 

Taking a moment to not just admire him but also strategize. Javy has a long cock, and you know you wouldn't be able to take all of him down without practice and working your way up to it. Something that definitely wouldn't be happening tonight. However, then the taste of his cum isn't enough, and neither is just looking. You slide further down his thigh; your own pleasure is lost in the haze of this need. 

It's a more burning type of relief to have your mouth on him. You give the head a few soft licks, vaguely wondering how different he will taste when he hasn't already been in you. Javy lets out another shuddering moan. You want to lift your head in order to take in his features, but you are too absorbed in the feeling of his cock in your mouth. Javy clearly doesn't mind as you set about tracing his length. After a thorough exploration, one of your hands joins the mix, appreciating his shape and how heavy his dick is in your hand. 

Sucking Javy until he is fully hard again, you become braver, daring to take more of him in your mouth. Bobbing slightly and sucking, letting your hand make up for the rest. However, just as you start to feel pleased with your rhythm, Javy gently pulls you off him, cooing when you whine. 

"Baby. Baby stop. It's okay. Take a breath. That was so amazing. You are so fucking amazing." 

"I hope it was okay. I might be a little out of practice," you admit to him shyly. Your lusty haze ebbing, you trace the lines of his chest but don't want to meet his eyes. Surely he hadn't been expecting you to be this much during your first time together. 

"You're doing so good, sweetheart. I love you, and I love this," he reassures you. You shimmy up to straddle him again, lightly dragging your dripping cunt over him. Javy's cock is pressed hotly between your thighs, spreading your lips while nudging against your clit. You rock along him, wanting that friction while bracing against his chest, leaning down to kiss him. 

"I love you too," you mutter against his lips. When Javy shifts his hips in tandem with yours, catching your entrance and then sliding past it, you're spurred into action. "I need you in me, Javy."

"I ain't stopping nothing, but are you sure you are okay?"

You don't answer him directly; instead, you reach between you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. Leaning back for a better angle, you slide down his whole length. You are taken aback, letting out a sharp almost pained gasp. Having already accommodated him inside once tonight, you didn't expect to still feel the slight burning stretch of his girth now. Once you adjust riding Javy is a dream. Praise spills out of his mouth along with the most delicious sounds. It's a great angle that makes you feel incredibly full. Your thighs start to burn when you stop the slow grinding and transition to you bouncing quickly on his dick. You hope the increased pace, paired with the snapping of Javy's hips, would get you there. However, it's still not enough. Not even when Javy brings his thumb up to circle your clit in strong consistent strokes. Although you are nearly in tears, Javy looks perfectly content like this is exactly what he wants. 

"Javy," you cry high pitched, completely ceasing your movements. Even though you froze, he doesn't. Javy's hips continue lifting up fucking into you, and his thumb doesn't falter either. You take a moment to just feel it, and savor the moment. Then tiredly you slump down against his chest. A few thrusts later, you bite Javy's peck hard. He doesn't complain as he runs one of his hands down your back and squeezes your ass, chucking. 

"What do you need, sweet girl?" He asks you. You bite him again, licking one at his nipple before nibbling it too. That rewards you with an extra hard thrust from Javy.

"I don't know," you admit, frustrated. The constant stimulation makes you burn hotter and is tantalizing, but it doesn't give you any push to the final release. Javy completely stops moving but stays hilted in you. His hands urge you to sit up, and he holds your gaze steadily. 

"It's okay. We always figure things out together, don't we? This isn't any different." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, of course. Now tell me how you are feeling. Tell me what you like." 

"I really like you. I love you Javy. And I've been thinking about this for so long."

"I've been dreaming about it too. I can't believe neither of us said anything sooner."

"I couldn't ever tell you."

"I wish you had. Why didn't you?" 

"We both know you're out of my league, Javy. I never thought that you would want me back." He makes a pained sound hearing your admission. 

"I'm not out of your league, and I've always wanted you back from the beginning. Okay?" You feel a little frustrated that he doesn't see or understand what you're saying, and if he wasn't literally still inside you, it might have been possible to press the issue. Right now, though, you know your insecurities could be tabled to another day. 

"Okay."  

"Good," Javy mutters, slipping out of you with a wet sound. "Let's try a different position. Does that sound okay, sweetheart?" 

"Okay, we can try that," you say with a shrug. 

Then with little effort, he gently manhandles you off him into a new position. Your front is pressed to the bed ass up for him, and Javy helps slide a pillow under you for better support. Kissing down the length of your spine. He asks twice if you're comfortable, taking his time pushing into you. It's a good position, allowing Javy to fuck into you harder than before. Your biggest complaint is the loss of being able to appreciate his handsome features. 

In between telling you how good you are and just how wet and perfect your pussy is, Javy asks if he can spank you. It's a suggestion that has you biting your lip and agreeing hesitantly. It's not even a hard spank against your ass, just enough for a slight sting. The sharpness in contrast with how deliciously you're being filled, has your back arching. With a few more spanks, all of which you can tell Javy is holding back for, you feel close to an orgasm again. 

"I'm getting close," you warn him. 

"Going to give you every last drop, sweetheart. I'm going to make sure you're so full of me. I really want to feel you cum, though. Can you do that? Will you cum for me, Mrs. Machado?" Javy finally gives attention to your neglected clit again, and you know it's only a matter of time. Every time he bottoms out and gives your pulsating bundle of nerves a tweak, you feel yourself teetering. 

"Call me that again," you request, relishing the way it falls off his lips more than nearly any of the other times he's said it in the past. 

"Mrs. Machado," he repeats. "My wife, my girl, my love. Mrs. Machado, I want you to cum now." 

With an extra hard press of his thumb, you're cumming. The heat that had been building in your abdomen bursts flooding bliss through your limbs. Crying out his name and fluttering around his cock, your legs start to spasm too. Coyote keeps fucking you, though, a little harder, a bit more selfishly chasing his own release. 

"Javy, fill me up now," you demand, turning your head as much as you can to watch him. His pace falters at your request but immediately picks up again. 

"Yes ma'am," Javy gasps. Speeding up so fast and hard, you feel a twinge against your cervix at the abuse. Just as you think you are going to have to tell him to be more gentle with you, Javys hips stutter. Holding himself entirely in you, his hands gripping your hips so hard you won't be shocked to find bruises later, he finally fills you up. You clench purposely around his length, wanting to help him milk his orgasm as long as possible. The warm spreading feel of his seed in you makes you sigh happily, and the boneless tired feeling after a good orgasm hits you like a truck. 

Javy lays down on the bed, his breath still coming out in short pants. Immediately you cuddle closer to him, turning to lay your head on his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you even closer to him. As his breaths even out, he starts kissing you slowly, hands cluching you tighter to his chest. 

"Come closer, sweetheart," he requests quietly. Part of you wouldn't be surprised if Javy will ever think you are close enough to him again now that he's been inside you, but most of you relishes that concept. You scoot even closer, more than half laying on his chest, pressing as much of your skin together as feasible. 

Later after one of the most tender intimate showers of your life, you are snuggled into Javy's bed with fresh sheets, trying to pick out a sappy Valentine's Day movie to watch. Javy had brought the extra pillows in your room, so you could make an extra area for movie cuddles. You are still scrolling when he comes back into the room with a plate of reheated dinner. Ravenous from skipping dinner and the following activities, you grin widely seeing the food.

"You are the most amazing man to ever walk this earth, Javy Machado." You tell him, patting the spot you left for him next to you. 

"Sweetheart, you'll give me an ego if you keep talking to me like that." Javy expertly balances the plate and nestles in close. "Please tell me more," He says cheekily, pressing a kiss casually to your lips. You have to take a full minute to process that's a thing that can just happen now. So you lean a little more of your weight into him, and seek out Javy's lips again, simply because you want to and can. 

'Well, no one cooks like you do."

"Yeah?"

"And no one gives as good cuddles as you do." 

"I think that one's actually about you because you are the most comfortable and soothing person I have ever met. Of course it turns me into a snuggle monster." You laugh at him, and he casually throws an arm over your shoulder. He feeds you a small bite in off the plate before taking one himself. However, he doesn't seem overly invested in it like you expect. 

"You ate a plate in the kitchen, didn't you?" You guess and feel Javy stop breathing. 

"That maybe could have happened. I'm sorry sweetheart, I was so hungry." Javy adopts an exaggeratedly apologetic face sticking out his lower lip pleadingly. 

"I guess, I could be convinced to forgive you."

"Oh, I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

"How about breakfast in bed tomorrow," you suggest casually. 

"Absolutely, whatever you want. Quiche? Waffles? Omelettes? Croissants?"

"That all sounds good, but I was thinking of something else."

"Really? And what do you want to have, sweetheart?" He asks curiously. 

"The only thing I had on the menu was you," You tell him cheekily. His eyes widen a little, and his teeth dig into his lower lip. He kisses your neck sweetly, nosing under your jaw. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. 

"Marry me?"  

Finding his joke funny, you laugh lightly, playfully tapping your elbow into his side. Javy remains quiet and serious, though. When he doesn't respond, you set the plate aside, so it has no danger of spilling and turn to face him more fully. You are sure that he is waiting for that to reveal his mirth, but his eyes are just as serious as his tone. 

"Javy, we are already married." You say, chuckling again. 

"Marry me, again." He requests earnestly. Taking your hand in his, he gently pulls off your wedding band, holding it out like an offering. You pluck the ring back from him, sliding it into place on your finger. A smile breaks out on his face following your movement. Then you place that same hand on his face, holding him so he wouldn't be able to avoid your eyes. 

"No. We are not going to get remarried." Javy pouts, and before he can reach true sadness, you lean forward to kiss him again. "But we can throw a really nice party if you want."

And when you two do finally get around to throwing a big old party, most of the room is confused about why exactly you and Javy are exchanging vows. However, absolutely no one is surprised when Javy produces seven cramped front-to-back sheets of paper of written vows when it's his turn. 

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Family ✨

Summary; You're the nanny to Eddie's adorable little boy Kit, Feelings have grown between Eddie and you despite him being your employer.

Throw in ex-wife drama, nights spent in Eddie's arms and your love for him growing stronger every day and it's all a big mess.

Eddie is 40, the reader is in her 20's

Warnings; Older Eddie, Nanny reader, fluff, a little bit of Smut, 18+ Minors dni, bitchy ex-wife, feelings of not being good enough. More fluff.

Part 2 is in the making if my readers want it, featuring a heavily pregnant reader waiting to give birth, anxious, overprotective Eddie and Kit excited to be a big brother to his baby sister ❤️

I don't give anyone permission to copy, reuse or repost my work.

If you enjoyed this pls consider liking, reblogging, etc. ❤️✨

❤️

Eddie Munson was the sexiest man you had ever met.

He was also the most unattainable, your little crush on him was kept under wraps for most part.

You were the nanny to the sweet boy he had adopted three years ago called Kit and for the first year of your employment Eddie was married.

The marriage was... It was unhappy and hanging on by a thread, it was like Eddie and Ivy barely knew much about each other at all.

Turns out that a three-month relationship and a drunk elopement in Vegas summed up the length of the two of them being together.

When you heard the two of them argue, Eddie trying his best to hide it but Ivy wanting everyone to hear their fights) you would distract Kit, a trip to the park, the zoo or painting in the garden.

You didn't like Ivy one bit, she was rude and demeaning to you if Eddie wasn't around, and threatened to fire you if you talked back or told Eddie.

She called you names and treated Kit like he was an afterthought, knew all about your crush on Eddie and told you he would never date you in a million years. You hated the woman.

Fortunately, Eddie's friend Nancy and her husband Steve had no qualms about informing Eddie what a bitch Ivy was.

For the most part you were strictly professional with Eddie but it was getting harder to maintain that professionalism.

Especially when he started giving signs that he was enamoured with you too.

His divorce from his wife was raging on in the background but it was hard to notice when Eddie gave you long lingering stares, touches that went on for longer than usual.

Even before the divorce, he was gentle and sweet with you, always making sure you were okay, his big brown eyes full of concern.

He was protective of you, when Ivy's barbs had gotten to you badly one time you had decided to date to try and forget Eddie.

For some reason, Eddie disliked your date Tom from the minute they met. His overprotectiveness went into overdrive and he was always super tense when Tom was around.

He wasn't jealous, that was wishful thinking you told yourself, however, you were starting to rethink that.

There was tension in the air that grew stronger and stronger every day and over three weeks ago, it had exploded into a night of mind-blowing sex.

Eddie made the first move and it was the incredible.

Since then the two of you would steal time together, moments in the shower, Eddie sneaking you into his bedroom at night, long hours together if Kit was with Wayne or Steve and Nancy.

Sometimes you would spend hours talking and you found yourself falling even deeper for him, he was soft with you, tender at times and it made you wonder if he felt the same.

He opened up to you about his relationship with Ivy, how it was fine at first but like most of his relationships there was little emotional connections or feelings and it made him feel empty.

The marriage was a drunken mistake but Ivy would blackmail her way into Eddie staying with her.

The divorce finally happening was cathartic for him.

Even though the nights you spent with Eddie were amazing it was little moments, talking all night, learning about each other more, hanging out together with Kit in tow that you enjoyed so much.

It's those nights when you fell even deeper for Eddie.

❤️

Kit was excited, he was happily telling you all about him and Uncle Wayne's big plans for their weekend together.

"Uncle Wayne, says we can have popcorn, hot chocolate and a movie night" He's delighted at this.

When Wayne comes to pick him up he's excitedly talking about which movies they can watch.

Wayne gives you a big smile as Kit rushes over to hug you goodbye and then hurries over to Eddie.

"Daddy, can I take my guitar?" the guitar was a little thing and pride and joy of Kit, he was like his daddy with how much he loved his guitar.

Watching them play together, Eddie patiently teaching his boy how to play was the sweetest thing you had ever seen.

When Kit and Wayne leave it's just you and Eddie and he wastes no time pulling you into his arms and kissing you.

"Fuck, I've been waiting all day to do this" he moans and trails his lips over to your neck.

The worries that you've been feeling fade away as you unbutton his shirt, hands trailing over his lean, muscular arms, his tattoos.

With one more kiss, he takes your hand and leads you upstairs.

❤️

The divorce had been finalised and Ivy had let her self over to the house to pick up the rest of her things.

Seeing her wasn't exactly the highlight of your day but you just wanted to get this over with.

Eddie was at work and you were busy writing for the paper you worked for in your downtime, so you hoped this was over quickly.

The pinched look on her face and sneer was enough to cause the bits of self esteem you built to plummet to the ground.

"Where's the brat?" she snaps and you glare at her, god you despised this woman.

"Kit isn't a brat. He's a wonderful little boy and I pity you that you can't see that. He's napping just now, so keep your voice down"

Ivy smirks. "Aww is the hired help giving orders now? You think you're some big shot because Eddie is fucking you?" she points to the hickey on your neck that your concealer didn't quite cover up.

"Why don't you get your stuff and get out of here" you suggest annoyed.

"Don't worry, I don't want to spend one more second in here. Just telling you a few home truths since your too naive to see it. You're just a convenient fuck to Eddie darling, I mean fucking the nanny? Cliche much?"

The words hurt but you try not to let it show, Ivy is like a shark when it senses blood and she goes in for the kill.

"You're a stupid girl, you think you mean anything more to Eddie? That he won't want to do better? Does he show you off to everyone? Does anyone know about you? No. Because he's embarrassed sweetie. You're a dirty little secret"

Ivy picks up her bag with a smirk on her face.

"Can't tell you how glad I am to get out of this mess" she says as she leaves and you shut the door fuming but with a sinking feeling that she's right.

❤️

You're quiet, too quiet over dinner and Eddie notices this. He also notices when you retire to bed early and barely look his way.

Hiding the fact that you're heartbroken is hard, hiding the fact that you cried yourself to sleep over Ivy's mostly accurate description of you and Eddie is even harder.

You felt like an idiot for hoping Eddie might fall in love with you too and you knew you deserved better than being a dirty little secret.

It's hard to avoid Eddie though because once he's home from work and Kit is in bed avoiding him is impossible.

Hearing him read to Kit, doing different voices and acting out scenes makes you smile. The two of them completely own your heart, you love watching them together.

The ache in your heart grows and you startle out of your thoughts as Eddie comes out of Kit's room.

"You've been avoiding me, sweetheart?" Eddie murmurs and it actually sounds like he's pained by this.

"Why does it bother you? We're just sex, aren't we? You're embarrassed by us and that's why we hide this because it doesn't mean anything to you" you murmur.

Eddie's eyes widen. "Where the hell is this coming from?" you shrug.

"Doesn't matter. It's true isn't it?" Before he can say anything else, Kit asks for some water and you rush downstairs to get him some.

Avoiding the inevitable of Eddie telling you he doesn't feel the same.

❤️❤️

Turns out though that Eddie doesn't want to leave it like that and once you've got Kit water and wished him goodnight, Eddie asks you speak to you.

"Hey, what's going on princess? You've been distant. Just tell me what's wrong please?" your lip wobbles as you remember Ivy's words.

"Ivy came around yesterday to collect her stuff. She was her usual wonderful self, said some things"

Eddie strokes your cheek tenderly, his eyes flashing.

"What things baby?" you rattle off the list of what she said and Eddie grows more and more irate.

"I'm so in love with you sweetheart. How do you not see that? I love you so much, I want my life to be with you" tears roll down your cheeks.

"Ivy said... what she said made me upset, put all those ideas in my head" Eddie swears.

"Bitch, fucking good riddance to her" he growls and gently kisses your forehead.

"She doesn't know anything, I love you, I adore you and in no way am I embarrassed by you. You're warm, funny, sweet, and beautiful. I'm so lucky, Kit and I are so lucky to have you in our life"

The anxiety eases and he sighs contentedly as you kiss.

"And really? You think no one knows? Why do you think Nancy, Steve and Uncle Wayne offer to babysit so much? They adore you. Let's go out to dinner tomorrow yeah? Me, you and Kit, as a family"

A family you beam and he kisses you again.

❤️

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.4

It's in the paper that Allen Klein was involved in 40+ lawsuits and John doesn't question it? At this point, I feel like he just didn't want to let Paul be right about anything. 

My question is who did that work on before? I mean who fucking does business like that? Let alone business with the most successful man in the world. 

John's complaining about Paul being too good at his job is both hilarious (what the hell is Paul supposed to do with that) and sad (it shows just how far their musical relationship has degraded from partners to rivals)

How did they lose Northern Songs? Genuinely, if anyone can break it down for me I'd be so grateful. Anyway I'm sure it was devastating for both of them. “Who'd have the children?” “Dick James”. 

I know I'm insane, but can I be allowed to see a glimmer of goodness here? I really do think it's John's kinder side winning out when he decides not to lie. Like, yes, he gets a buzz off of watching Paul go white at his words, but I think he also just – in that moment – didn't have the heart to trick Paul into staying. 

But also. Why are we trying to maneuver Paul at all if the end game is for John to leave? It just doesn't make sense to try to trick Paul into signing the contract unless John's divorce threat is at the very least not meant to be final. 

I will never understand this picture. Even in the emotional state he's in, he's still hamming it up? There is something seriously wrong with this man. 

I do find it interesting that the fact that Paul cried his eyes out after that meeting isn't even mentioned in the doc. I wonder why. 

Let's put the bizarre, super-warped timeline in this quote aside for a minute. Apparently the depression started after Brian died and it lasted for about two years and John was still in it during Pepper. Okay. That aside . . .

I have to assume this negative lense on what I can only assume means the period between 66 and 68 is highly influenced by hindsight bias. I agree that John was depressed at the time, in an unhappy marriage, doing too much LSD, etc and that looking at Paul's prolific talent and expansive , fast-paced life would have been maddening. But everyone go back to the end of part one really quick. He looks extremely happy. He sounds extremely happy. Everyone who knows him says he's never been happier. I think he just can't accept right now that there was so much good and he's lost it. 

“I look from the wings at the play you are staging . . . I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love.”

Insanity quote Hall of Fame. Paul explaining why the Beatles just had to break up, obviously, because he and John "didn't marry the same girl." Someone write the fic where John and Paul both marry the same girl. Could be Yoko or Linda. Sister trad wives au. 

Okay, cool, so this means I have full permission to interpret and tin hat about any lyrics I want then, right?

But also. Are we just not going to talk about the fact that Paul dumped a bucket of garbage water and punched this person? And are we not mentioning the depression and alcoholism and heroin abuse during this time?

It's so embarrassing how he looks to her for confirmation here. John, they asked you what you think. Just you. Not some complicated definition. Not Yoko's definition. Just your own thoughts.

“I couldn't wait for them to make up their mind about peace or whatever. About committing themselves.” Yeah, John. You sound real committed to peace. Or whatever. Here's a theory that anyone can shoot down if they want: John asked Paul for some kind of commitment (a friendship wedding, a partnership contract, a mutual wanking pledge) in India and Paul was a chicken about it. 

What was that day like, I wonder? I imagine extremely stiff and professional and horrid. But who knows. Maybe it was nice, and maybe that made everything worse.

I will go to my death believing that instant karma was for Paul. 

Do we think John actually did send Paul “about twenty postcards from Denmark” all covered in hearts none of which Paul responded to? Paul could be just as cruel in his lack of reaction as John was in his over reaction.

I'm sorry but that is not what a man says when he's just lying to the press to buy time for business. That's what a man says to the press when he's trying desperately to communicate with someone who he can't get through to any other way. 

But really, I just don't understand why the creator chose to minimize Paul's emotional response to John's divorce statement. If we don't see him bawling his eyes out and losing the will to live, he comes off like a self-assured, uncaring, jerk. Which. To be fair. John didn't see those things, and that is exactly what John thought of Paul during this time. But still. The audience now comes away from this doc with a skewed view. 

All we get is Paul being pissed off about Phil Spector butchering Let it Be without his consent and John and George trying to change McCartney's release date without his consent. Which are both a) understandable and b) strong, male, angry reactions. Making this section portray Paul in the same one-dimensional hyper-masculine way that John so often is. Which isn't my favorite. But hey, it's my only complaint about this doc so far.

Anyway, update: I won't be able to do part three until it gets reuploaded, so we're on hiatus for this project for the time being.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

stephy bephy baby baby girl, um

any list noone asked for yet but you have?

ASFSADF I LOVE when y'all use silly names for me!

You KNOW I do!! Here's today's that been in my drafts for a few months! Enjoy!!

Please note that because so many of these fics are from my old lists, they will be FFNet links, so if you have them on AO3, let me know, but otherwise let me know if any links don't work.

POV SHERLOCK 3rd PERSON Pt. 4: ANGST / ANGSTY FLUFF or BAMF FICS Pt. 2

See also:

POV Sherlock 1st & 2nd Person

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt. 1: Fluff

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 2: Hurt/Comfort & Whump

POV Sherlock 3rd Person Pt 3: Angst/Angsty Fluff or BAMF Fics

Voices by fizzingweaselbee (T, 607 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Mental Turmoil, Suicidal Ideations) – "We would never do that to John Watson."

The Hollow Man by HHarris (G, 639 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Chair, Introspection, Sherlock’s Big Feelings™, Post TRF, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, POV Sherlock, Pining / Sad Sherlock) – Still reeling from the apparent loss of his one and only friend, Sherlock returns to 221B for the first time after the events of The Reichenbach Fall.

Once Upon A Time by ProfessorSquirrell (T, 908 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Snippets of Life, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Implied Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – There is a room in Sherlock's mind palace where nothing gets deleted. And it looks like this...

Bands by dragonQuill907 (T, 1,017 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, POV Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock) – “Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger.”

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove (NR, 1,053 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Angst, URT, Post-TSo3) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

The Signs of Loss by LitLocked (NR, 1,103 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TSo3, Pining Sherlock, Self Reflection, Implied Drug Use, Angst, Hard Pining, Hurts Like Hell) – Sherlock's internal monologue after he comes back from the wedding.

Ode to a Well-Worn Chair by hogwartswitch (G, 1,274 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TSo3, John’s Chair, Angst, Love Confessions, Mind Palace) – Takes place the night Sherlock left John's wedding early. Why did he move John's chair and where did he move it?

Left In The Ashes by zoltargirl (T, 1,497 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, MCD, Angry Sherlock, Brutal Violence) – Rage is a unique quality in all human beings. In Sherlock Holmes, it's terrifying.

The Two of Us Against the World by slashscribe (T, 1,617 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Anxious Sherlock, Angsty Fluff) – John is there to take care of Sherlock as he comes down from his overdose in The Abominable Bride. Set immediately after the tarmac, back in 221B.

Giveaway Fic #9 - Angsty Sick Fic/Sherlock is Sick by ConsultingPurplePants (T, 1,734 w., 1 Ch. || Sick Fic, Hypothermia) – The next time he awakens is even more chaotic. Two doctors are shouting at each other in the corner, and John is holding his hand so tightly Sherlock is worried he’ll break it. Part 9 of 1000 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics

BBCSH 'Poor Mary' by tigersilver (M, 1,839 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Missing Scene, Sherlock POV) – As the tin says above, this is a missing scene, set directly after Sherlock awakens in hospital after having been shot by his best mate's wife. Minor angst, some pining, nothing nasty; please don't be alarmed unduly.

Dying Changes Everything by whitchry9 (K+, 1,919 w., 1 Ch || Sherlock POV, Suicidal Ideation, Near-Death, Hospital, Sherlock Whump, Gunshot, Unhappy/Ambiguous Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) – Sherlock is having an existential crisis and wants to have a near death experience like John did to gain some perspective. “Shoot me John!” he insisted, gesturing to himself. John just looked at him. “Are you completely mad?” 

L'Esprit D'Escalier by TheSoulOfAStrawberry (K, 2,011 w., 1 Ch. || Ace Sherlock, Romance, Hurt / Comfort, Pining) – A lack of understanding leads to a misunderstanding, which in turn leads to two confused men dealing with something they should have sorted out earlier, rather than on John's wedding day.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w., 1 Ch. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) –  “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that. 

The Deafening Silence by occasionally-maybe-never (T, 2,238 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Major Character Death, Post-TRF) – 'Sherlock hopes fiercely that John can hear him, as sometimes coma patients can. He knows that John will understand, that his admission of love isn't a grand, sweeping romantic statement, but simply an expression of truth.' When Mycroft retrieves Sherlock to bring him home, it's not to John having dinner, but to John on his death bed.

BBCSH 'How To Save A Life' by tigersilver (T, 2,784 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Angsty Schmoop, Requited Love) – Pining, requited, and unabated spates of 'first kiss' fluff. Post Mary, AU, mildly cracky. John lays a smooch on Sherlock's nape in passing. The world does that thing it does when it wobbles and Sherlock practically falls off his own pins. Part 1 of 'How To...'

In My Life (and dreams, you take my breath away) by Nina36 (NR, 2,847 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/TEH, Angst, Pining Sherlock) – The first time he had dreamt about John he had been in Peru. He had been “dead” a little over a month, squatting in a tiny rented room, the heat and the stains on the walls making him slightly claustrophobic. It had been a nice dream: John and he eating take away Chinese in their kitchen, a song coming from Mrs. Hudson’s radio downstairs, something about friends and lovers and how no one compared with him, his mind supplied in his dream.

Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3,004 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, Obsessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Separation Anxiety, Doctor John, Co-Dependent Sherlock) – If Sherlock's kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.

It Wasn't Just the Mistletoe by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (E, 3,593 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Fluff, Mistletoe, First Kiss / Time, Frottage, Masturbation, Come as Lube) – Sherlock and John just stood there, seemingly frozen. Sherlock was desperately trying to think of a way out of this. There was no way he could kiss John, even a small kiss, and not have him know immediately how he felt. Sherlock could lie, and fake and sham, but there was no way he could hide this.

Anticlockwise (Ask Time) by TheBookshelfDweller (G, 3,752 w., 1 Ch. || Metaphorical, Angst, Time, Unhappy Ending) – "Let me tell you the truth: Sherlock Holmes cannot beat Time." Time only flows in one direction, and we are stranded in it, carried by currents we mostly never notice are whirling around us. No one can walk backwards along the timeline, and maybe that’s for the best, because what if someone could? Where would they go? Or, better say, to when would they go? Most importantly who would they leave behind (or is it ahead)? In the end, despite the truth, Sherlock Holmes decides to fight Time, for John, for himself - for himself with John.

Bolt Holes by PostcardsfromTheoryland (T, 4,177 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Angst, Drug Mentions, Pining Sherlock) – John asked, one evening, if Sherlock liked her. To which he grudgingly had to say yes, and John said he was glad. Because John was going to propose to her.

But Tonight You Belong to Me by esplanade (T, 4,296 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Angst, Pining, Stag Night, Sad Ending) – “You. It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”

In Good Hands by Haelia (K+, 4,384 w., 1 Ch. || Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump) – John and Sherlock are stranded deep in the wilderness with no phones and no foreseeable escape. With John wounded, Sherlock fears they will die here: in the cold, in the damp, in the woods. 

London's Ghost by JustlikeWater (K+, 5,642 w., 1 Ch. || Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Post-TRF AU, Sherlock POV) – "Today, it's been weeks since Sherlock died. Other times, years. He doesn't know for sure, though. Time passes differently for the dead" 

Recovery by thesignsofserbia (T, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || HLV-Fix It / Rewrite, Villain Mary, Pining Sherlock, Major Character Injury, Scars, Self-Hatred, POV Sherlock, Doctor John, Friends to Lovers) – Set after the confrontation with Mary, and Sherlock's cardiac arrest, John stays at 221B to aid Sherlock's recovery, forcing them to confront wounds both old and new as they try to heal their damaged relationship.

I'll Be Fine by whitchry9 (T, 6,473 w., 21 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, John Whump, Friendship, MCD, Heavy Angst) – John says he'll be fine, and Sherlock believes him. Until he can't any more. And it's awfully hard to forgive John for lying about something big like that, even if he didn't mean to. Not using warnings because spoilers, but there are some. 

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

Not Alone by taliapaxton (K+, 7,034 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Friendship, MCD, Euthanasia) – Alone on the Water from Sherlock's point of view. Inspired by the wonderful fiction, "Alone on the Water"

Until I See the Sun by Vintage Tea Party (T, 8,194 w., 3 Ch. || Nightmares, Mild Whump, Friendship, Mild Violence, Angst) – After a particularly dangerous case, John suffers from night terrors. Will Sherlock be able to comfort him? Will he be able to find out what is really troubling John? 

Made for You by Raxicoricofallapatorious (K, 8,440 w., 1 Ch. || Android AU || Friendship, Sci-Fi, Sherlock Called Freak) – When John was shot in the shoulder he was decommissioned and his memory and personality was wiped. Sherlock was given the blank droid and he quickly learns that this droid is more than it seems. John just so happened to come back and no one can fathom how or why. Johnlock if you squint.

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Ghost AU || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

Johnlock Ficlet Collection by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (E, 11,505+ w. [WiP] || Random Ficlets, Pining, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Parentlock, AU’s, First Kiss, Character POV’s) - Just a collection of Johnlock ficlets, originally posted on my Tumblr page.

A Building of Bridges by Unique (K, 12,325 w. , 3 Ch. || Drama, Alternate First Meeting, John’s PTSD / Flashbacks, Mute John, Dialogue-Heavy, Caring Sherlock, Friendship) – No one would ever send Sherlock in to diffuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that's exactly what happened. "Congratulations, Lestrade," he called out sarcastically. "You're traumatizing a war veteran."

The Nutcracker by Odamaki (T, 13,758 w., 7 Ch. || Nutcracker AU ||  Christmas, Dark Magic, Dolls) – Sherlock is unimpressed with Uncle Rudy's present. A doll? What does he want with a doll?

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

Let's Make a Bed Out in the Rain by theimprobable1 (M, 17,664 w., 11 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, First Kiss, Unrequited, Jealous Sherlock, Protective Sherlock) – John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w., 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid, Angst, Reunion, Falling in Love, Open Ending) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away...

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

You Have Drawn Red From My Hands by J_Baillier (T, 67,085 w., 17 Ch. || Three Garridebs, Heavy John Whump, Hurt / Comfort, Pining, Heavy Angst, Case Fic/Adventure, Slow Burn, Sick Fic, Injury, Guilt & Depression, Just Talk Already Please, Medical Realism, PTSD) –  John getting injured leads Sherlock on a path of guilt and revelations.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

Bakers with Benefits by Raina_at (E, 88,130 w., 14 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Strangers to Lovers, Switchlock, Friends with Benefits, Mentions of Alcoholism / Past Drug Use, Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Past Sherlock/Victor, Mutual Pining, POV Sherlock, Obsessive Sherlock, John’s Bum) – Sherlock Holmes has a successful YouTube baking channel, but what he really wants is his own bakery. When an old friend sends him a call for the very first Great British Bake Off, he seizes the opportunity to finally win a sponsor for his bakery. Here's the plan: Win Bake Off, get the bakery, don't fall in love with the handsome Army doctor at the neighbouring station. Easy.

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, POV Sherlock, Flashbacks, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock’s Past, Awkward Conversations, Anxious Sherlock) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles, Girl’s Night, Texting, Virgin Sherlock, Drunk Sherlock, Background Mollstrade, Hair Petting, Laying on Lap) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w., 34 Ch. || Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis/Disabilities, Hurt/Comfort, POV Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, Drug Use, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it's supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

[miffy-junot]

"A Grand Marriage under the Consulate" - the wedding of Laure Permon and Jean-Andoche Junot

Following up from my last few posts about Laure and Junot's courtship, engagement and wedding, I'm going to take a quick break from translating the Joseph Turquan book to provide a description of the wedding from another historian, Jules Bertaut - Turquan tells the exact same story in his book but it is less detailed, so I'm choosing to upload Bertaut's version instead.

If you can read French then I would highly recommend reading the full article (linked at the end of the post), because what I've translated here is only the main segment.

Always full of vanity, eager to dazzle the city and the court, the young general ordered the trousseau from the best suppliers in vogue: Mlle l'Olive and Mlle Debeuvry, fashionable lingères, were urgently required, as well as the famous Le Roy for the dresses, and the no less famous Mlle Germon for the hats. Foncin mounts the diamonds. Every morning Junot travels around town in a cabriolet and returns in the evening to the Rue Sainte-Croix,* his arms laden with trinkets, drawings, and samples of all kinds collected from Sikes or the Petit Dunkerque, which will be the ornaments of the future residence. He does not forget "his terrible mother-in-law" in this distribution of gifts, nor his brother-in-law for whom he has taken a real affection. Every day, Mme Bernard, the famous boutiquiere of the opera, sends a magnificent wreath of flowers to Laure's home.

Now that the engagement is official, Junot appears daily at the house, and twice rather than once, cheerful, full of spirit, happy to live. He brings the fresh news, the news that no one knows yet: newspaper proofs, army bulletins, private letters that arouse the curiosity of these ladies, that amuse them, and on which they will talk all evening. His position as commander of Paris allowed him to know many things that he confided under the seal of secrecy. Sometimes he is also cautiously silent.

However, as the time of his marriage approached, Junot had his family brought to Paris and introduced them to his fiancée and her parents. They are good people from the provinces, Junot's father, who is about sixty years old, his wife, a little older, and the elder brother, and two married sisters and two uncles, a whole tribe of Burgundians who come to attend the wedding of the great man of the family.

The very evening of their arrival, they were brought to the rue Sainte-Croix. "It was on that day," says Madame Abrantes, "that I was able to appreciate all that was good and perfect in Junot's heart. Since he had come to my mother's house, he had been able to recognize the immense difference which existed in manners, in habits, and especially in education, between my family, which had never lived except in Paris, and his own, which had never left the depths of the province. He loved me too much not to fear finding in me a sign that would have detected a mocking feeling that would have made him unhappy." But Laure, who was a good and very wise girl, did not need to be lectured: she and her mother received the Burgundians with all the desirable grace and kindness, closing their eyes to the little blunders they may commit, showing themselves welcoming and deferential, the young girl quite affectionate for her parents-in-law. For this her fiancé thanked her with great effusiveness.

He will be able to prove his gratitude to her, for now the lingères and the courturiers have finished their work and the bride's basket appears. What splendour! It's a princess's trousseau. From a trunk of pink Naples silk embroidered with black chenille, a quantity of small packages knotted with pink or blue ribbons escapes. Embossed chemises, embroidered by Mlle l'Olive, Indian muslin dressing-gowns, night-camisoles, morning canezous, night-caps, morning bonnets of all colors, of all shapes, all trimmed with valenciennes, malines, or English stitch - it is a collapse of linen of the highest price. In another enormous basket are the cashmere shawls, veils, the trimmings of dresses in needle stitch and in Brussels stitches, black lace, pieces of muslin from India, pieces of velvet or Turkish fabrics that the general brought back from Egypt, the dress for the wedding, "representation dresses", dresses embroidered in silver strips. And then ribbons of all widths, all colors, bags, fans, gloves, perfumes of Fagon, of Riban.

On each side of this basket two "sultans" have been placed. "In the first," she says, "there were two necessities, one containing all that is necessary for the toilette of the teeth and hands, in objects of gold enamelled with black, the other contained everything that a woman uses to work: a thimble, scissors, an awl, all of gold also, and surrounded by fine pearls. In the other "sultan" were the case and a blond tortoiseshell and gold lorgnette with two rows of diamonds. The case contained a very beautiful river of chatons, a pair of earrings also made of chatons, mounted in the shape of a wheel, as was the fashion at the time; six ears of corn and a comb, half pearls and half diamonds, which, owing to the enormous amount of hair I had then, was almost as large as it would be today. In the same case was a square medallion surrounded by fine pearls in which was a portrait of General Junot painted by Isabey. But, in good faith, he was of a size to be tied to a gallery rather than hung around his neck. Oh, it was fashionable... In the same pink "sultan" and next to the case were superb topazes that the general had brought back from Egypt (always the "souvenirs") and whose size was fabulous, multi-layered oriental carnelians and antique engraved stones." 

The bride-purse, which it was customary for the bridegroom to offer to his bride, was made of gold chains fastened by a small star enamelled with green; the sum it contained was in notes of the Bank of France - a great novelty at the time - "covered with fifty louis in Venice sequins". For people who had been completely ruined four years ago, this is a pretty nice success...

However, the date of the ceremony was approaching and suddenly there was an unforeseen incident that upset the guests of the rue Sainte-Croix. Junot had a friend of a certain Duquesnoy, who was mayor of the 7th arrondissement, which was then situated in the Saint-Antoine district, and he asked Laure if she did not see any objection to him officiating their civil marriage**. She replied that, as far as she could see, she saw none, that the only trouble was the rather long journey for her mother which she would have to make to return from the quarter of Saint-Antoine to Saint-Louis d'Antin, their local church, which was opposite their home. Junot said nothing, looked a little embarrassed, and when she had gone away, he asked his future mother-in-law if it was really her intention to have a religious marriage celebrated. Mme Permon jumped up. -"What!" she cried. "You ask me if I want to go through the church? Ah, my dear fellow, do you take us for unbelievers, followers of sans-culotte marriages? We are Catholics - like you, for that matter - and we wish to remain so." "However," he dares to advance, "Mademoiselle Laure..." "Well! send for her, and you will see what she will say to you." The young girl was recalled. She seemed stunned when her fiancé confessed to her that when he asked for her hand he did not have the intention of having a religious marriage. She didn't want to hear any more: "Never!" she said, all pale and already trembling, "will I accept only a civil marriage. Be assured that our union will not take place if we do not go through the church." And she ran to lock herself in her room where she had a long sobbing fit.

What an ordeal! Everyone gets involved. Finally, Albert [de Permon] has a discussion of several hours with Junot and returns, triumphant, that he has decided, but that the general wants the religious wedding to take place at midnight. Laure agrees, but will Mme Permon want it? She wants to, she says with a pinched look, but she takes the opportunity to demand that her future son-in-law ask forgiveness from his fiancée for having doubted her feelings in this way. - "Come on! On your knees before her! And you, give him your hand and your cheek to reward him." Stunned, overwhelmed, too, by grief, his countenance upset, poor Junot complies, and, everything seeming to be settled, they end the evening at the theatre and applaud Talma in Orestes.

On October 30, 1800, in the morning, the bride's toilette began. She has a dress of Indian muslin embroidered with dotted and in open stitches with long sleeves. On her head she has a bonnet in Brussels stitch mounted by Mlle Despaux with a small crown of orange blossoms from which a long veil of English stitch starts. At eleven o'clock, the general arrived with his family and his two witnesses, his aide-de-camp, Captain Lallemand, and a painter, M. Bardin. Laure's will be the Comte de Villemanzy, an intimate friend of her father, and M. Laquion de Bois-Crozy. Her tutor, M. Brunetière, will serve as her father***, and they are proud to count in the procession the bride's uncle, Prince Demetrius of Commene, who has come expressly from Munich. 

As they leave for the town hall, they see two "forts" and ladies from the Halle cutting through the crowd of curious people and asking to be introduced. They each bring a superb bouquet, a tribute to the commander of the Place de Paris. "We were leaving for the town hall," says Laure, "accompanied by their noisy greetings and to the sound of repeated cries of 'Vive la mariee!'" M. Duquesnoy, the mayor, spared them the boredom of a long speech, limiting himself "to a few well-felt phrases." Then they went home.

When midnight was about to strike, they set off again: in spite of the late hour, the street was still full of people, who applauded loudly the procession on its way to Saint-Louis d'Antin. An hour later the newlyweds reached the house in the Rue de Verneuil.****

*Laure and her mother's residence at the time.

**before the revolution a marriage had to be held in a church to be legitimate, but since the revolution the system in France is that the couple must have a civil marriage in a town hall and then a religious ceremony is optional.

***Laure's father was dead and so she needed another paternal figure to symbolically 'give her away' to her husband.

****Junot's residence at the time.

source: Jules Bertaut, revue des deux mondes, 1949

[gabessquishytum]

Rich Bitch Hob hires Dream's interior design firm to design a sex/playroom for him. Now after the initial contracts are signed Dream usually hands projects like these off to Desire - they have more aptitude with the "showy" nature of those types of design requests (Dream's rooms always seemed to be too elegant for the types of playrooms most people want).

But for all his horrible attitude, Hob fascinates Dream - Hob is beautiful and sexy(, and married, he came in with his husband after all). And Dream tries to do the right thing, hand the project off, because it will only end badly if Hob and Dream have to work together.

Hob turns Dream down flat - he doesn't want Desire to design his room.... he wants a Dream design, he wants Dream.

It is fine, if a little heated as Dream and Hob discuss the design and design choices in Dream's office. (Although, Desire walks by every few minutes to stare and goggle at Dream having sexual tension with an actual person).

Dream is working on being an honorable man, so regardless of the extreme provocation - Hob lounging around in tight clothes, sometimes pants, sometimes skirts, sheer shirts, multiple earrings adorning his bite-able ears - he finishes the project, on-site (near Hob's bedroom, for f sake) for much of it, without giving in.

Dream channeled all his tension and want into a piece of art (canvas/sculpture) that he places in the completed room.

Holy shit, yeah.

Hob has been pulling out all the stops for weeks to try and get Dream in his bed. Normally Hob isn't even the type to sleep around with people who he's technically paying, but he can't resist this one. Even flirting with his husband's rich friends doesn't quench the urge. He's genuinely incredibly needy and frequently retreats to his bedroom (right next to where Dream is working) to finger himself or play with one of his numerous dildos. Just to take the edge off it.

Honestly, Dream thinks that Hob is incredibly pretty. He likes looking at Hob when he's laying around in his designer outfits. But the best glimpses of Hob are when he sneaks out of his room, red and dishevelled from getting himself off. Or when he's napping next to the pool, all lax and soft with sleep. Dream loves seeing the tension in his body unspoon - Hob is obviously pretty stressed out, whatever else he tries to project. An unhappy marriage will do that to a person. Dream wants to take him in hand, tie him up in velvet ropes, and make him calm down.

His massive, life sized painting of Hob does a pretty good job at illustrating that. His mouth hangs open and his eyes are soft, misty brown. His body is pulled into the most incredible arches by invisible bonds. Its an extraordinary work of art - even Hob’s neglectful husband is pretty impressed (he didn't marry Hob for his figure, and what a figure he is...)

It's Hob who gets the real enjoyment from the piece, though. Now he knows that the gorgeous designer was so into him that he had to make something like this? Hob suddenly feels very confident about showing up at Dream’s office with a "thank you" present.

(Poor Desire gets an eyeful of their balls deep in the cute client's plump arse but honestly, what were they expecting?)