#this is the meat of the fic

[lucky-clover-gazette]

Arceus Forbid Women Do Anything

Chapter 2/3 | 7,558 words | Rated T

Commandment II: Gatekeep

The self-indulgent Volo Wins AU fic has turned into non-diagetic game mechanics timeloop existential struggle with failure fic. Who's surprised

When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure. She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again. As she approached the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time. Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

Read the full chapter on AO3 or under the cut:

BEFORE

The Champion of Hisui knew that something was wrong when she reached the temple’s remains.

Volo had been acting more strangely than usual in the past few weeks, as their search for the plates of Arceus drew closer to its end. Restless, lapsing into bouts of discomforting behavior that she’d struggled to explain. She’d always known there was something ironic about his friendly mercantile persona, and appreciated his genuine nature whenever it showed. Having worked retail herself in the previous world, she could never blame Volo for avoiding his job at the Ginkgo Guild, exploring ruins and attaching himself to her adventures instead. With time she had come to genuinely enjoy his company, smiling despite herself whenever he emerged to congratulate her for quelling yet another frenzied noble. And after her banishment, when he’d been the only person to truly care for her, she hadn’t hesitated to accept his comfort.

She didn’t know what exactly to call their relationship now, in the wake of her victory against Palkia and Dialga. By all intents and purposes, it felt like they were a partnership—officially as seekers of the plates of Arceus, but also as friends. He was the closest companion she had found in this world, and she’d grown to trust him near-implicitly. Volo had put himself at risk on her behalf far too many times for her to doubt his intentions now.

But, still. He was being weird. His lecture about Giratina had been pretty normal (for Volo), but the deranged laughter interrupting it? Definitely harder to explain—even for the champion, who usually delighted in Volo’s bizarre behaviors.

Of course, part of that was due to Volo himself, who was easily one of the most attractive people she had ever met. If someone else did half of the weird shit he did, she was pretty sure she’d find it annoying or even creepy. But with Volo, it was endearing. Not just because he was beautiful, or because he had a pleasant voice, or because he held himself with exceptional confidence. She was endeared because he was brilliant, and passionate about his interests, and clever in his humor, and so very sweet towards his pokémon. And he was hot.

She sometimes wondered if he felt the same way about her. But he was so focused on his studies, on the plates of Arceus, that she assumed that any kind of latent attraction would not be made a priority. Occasionally she felt the urge to just straight-up ask ‘what are we?’, but that seemed far too modern an approach. And besides, did she even want her relationship with Volo to be physical, or even explicitly romantic, outside the realm of fantasy?

She didn’t know if she could stand to lose his friendship. Volo, more than anyone else in Hisui, felt real. He was more than a sycophant, a worshiper, someone who idolized her unquestioningly for her gifts. He’d praised her successes, of course, but she’d never been ignorant to the double meanings in his words, the slight contempt of someone who wished for a life they could not have. A life she did have, thanks to the Almighty Arceus plucking her from her original time and place.

From others, praise felt shallow and meaningless. She’d saved them from misfortune, and they’d thanked her because they could continue living as they always had. But from the lonely and mysterious Volo, praise felt meaningful and true. Through his resentment he saw the many facets of her—she was not a flawless hero—and as a result, hadn’t rejected her when she appeared to have failed. He hadn’t abandoned her after she’d saved the region, either, once she’d served her great purpose. And while he was absolutely using her to find the plates, she knew that she was using him too. And that, somehow, was a greater comfort than any other connection she’d forged in this unfamiliar world.

Of course, things weren’t entirely cynical between them. Volo had shown the champion genuine moments of support, even when it had served him no purpose to do so. He’d comforted her during her banishment, blaming the people of Jubilife for their cruelty rather than telling her what she could have done differently to appease them. He had never once encouraged her to apologize. He’d given her a safe haven with Cogita and dedicated himself to assisting her with the Red Chain. All the while, he’d shown no shame about his continued association with the traitor who supposedly doomed them all.

Arceus, meanwhile, had transported its champion to Hisui with only a smartphone as a tether, offering little support beyond a mission and a vague promise upon its completion. At least when Volo was negging her, he did it to her face. With effort. While being hot about it. When he’d asked the champion for her help with the plates, taking her away from the village so they could travel the world together, it had been a no-brainer to say yes. She didn’t even really know what the plates did—just that Volo cared about finding them, and so she did too.

But, still. Something felt wrong. Something had felt wrong, ever since their last conversation with Cogita. Volo was lying to her, and after everything they’d been through she had no idea why he would. She already knew that he was more misanthropic than he acted and negligent in his merchant duties, which were the things he seemed most invested in concealing. He obviously had secrets—she knew very little of his past, for example—but those missing truths had never threatened the dynamic they’d created together. This truth, whatever it was, just felt wrong. She would not be able to proceed until it was revealed.

The champion took a deep breath, more nervous about this confrontation than any that had come before, and entered the temple ruins.

─────────────────

NOW

The challenger returned to Mount Coronet for what would surely be their final attempt at victory.

They only knew what Arceus had told them: they’d returned countless times throughout their life to battle the Champion of Hisui, and each time they had lost. Lost the battle and their memory, returning to the wilds to train the pokémon they wielded. They knew that they were nearing the end of their life, and soon enough would not be able to ascend Mount Coronet at all—yet the voice of Arceus still urged them forwards, and so they climbed.

They understood now that the Champion of Hisui was a faithless traitor, who they would need to defeat in order to earn an audience with the detested false Lord. In their younger years Arceus had not provided this information, simply requesting that she be dispatched. After several losses, though, Arceus had eventually disclosed the entire truth. Ever since that disclosure, the challenger’s mood approaching Spear Pillar was always the same: overwhelming anger towards the fallen hero who had enabled the old world’s destruction.

The challenger reached the temple again.

“Welcome back,” greeted the Champion of Hisui, motioning to a bench at the edge of Spear Pillar. “Please, take a seat.”

─────────────────

BEFORE

She thought it was rather dramatic, the way he stood at the edge of the ruins. The sky around them was vast and pink, dotted by Hisui’s seemingly eternal clouds as the sun slowly set. Volo did not face the champion and the feeling of wrongness only increased.

“The temple lies in ruins now,” said Volo, still refusing to turn around. His voice was light, distant, a kind of detached calm that she had rarely heard from the passionate researcher. “Columns cracked and broken... like pillars now turned into spears, stabbing into the heavens.”

The champion raised an eyebrow, stopping just before the stairs leading up to the viewing platform. But she said nothing.

Volo turned around then, wearing his winning merchant’s smile. “Well,” he sighed, “I detect a distinct lack of Giratina.”

The champion couldn’t help but smirk at that. It had always amused her, the way he acted like life was a comedy of errors and they had no choice but to play along. The way he’d spoken in the Celestica Ruins had been different, though—he’d been dead-serious about his own suffering and the suffering of others, deranged laughter aside.

And here was that humor again. It should have been a comforting return to form. But this time, the champion could not shake the chilling feeling that Volo was in on the joke.

“Hm?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand. His tone was unmistakably condescending. He hadn’t spoken to her like that in months, not since they’d grown to understand each other as more than merchant and hero. “Is something bothering you?”

The champion nodded stiffly. For all of her trust and confidence in their friendship, she couldn’t help but wonder—

“Ah, I do beg your pardon,” said Volo, having traded his smile for a chillingly neutral expression. “I suppose I must seem to be behaving strangely!”

He didn’t sound like himself. He put a hand on his hip.

“I daresay you deserve to know what I’m really after by now,” he told the champion, and her heart sunk.

She found herself stepping backwards, filled with incomprehensible dread. It didn’t matter what it was, it only mattered that she hadn’t possessed the sense to avoid this situation altogether. And now she had no choice but to accept that she was wrong about the only person in this world who’d ever felt right.

Volo chuckled darkly, his one visible eye noticeably changed. He looked… manic, was the only word for it. She’d seen hints of this before, but had chalked it up to passion. It had even been sweet, in small doses. But this was concerning. She wanted to reach out to him, and she wanted to leave this place before she learned exactly how foolish she had been.

The conflict left her rooted where she stood. The conflict, and the fear.

He seemed to sense that fear, his expression shifting back to an easy smile. He spoke clearly, thoughtfully, just as he had during countless discussions of history and ruins and oh, Arceus, this man might actually be insane.

“Ever since I became convinced that Arceus really does exist,” said Volo, “there has been one question that consumed my thoughts: How can I meet such a being myself?”

The champion struggled to understand the implications of his words. All things considered, that was a perfectly normal Volo thing to say, so why did everything feel so—

"It was in an attempt to answer this question that I originally sought out Giratina and had it tear open that rift in space and time,” Volo told the champion. “After all, Giratina wished to stand against Arceus.”

She blinked.

He…

He’d brought her here.

She was here, because of him.

And when she’d been banished…

“But that didn't do the trick,” Volo continued, still smiling. “So then I had you gather the fragments of the all-encompassing deity, just as the murals of the ruins directed.”

He had her.

He’d had her.

Volo closed his eyes and lifted his head to the heavens, eerily peaceful in his confession. “Eighteen plates said to be the fragments of the all-encompassing deity. You hold in your hands seventeen of them. So, you must be wondering: Where is the last one?“

He opened his eyes and removed something from his apron. A purple plate, shaped exactly like the others. “Why, it’s right here!”

That was not a customer service smile, it was a smirk. She’d seen it last when he’d playfully challenged her to battle, but nothing was playful about this challenge.

The champion stood, slack-jawed, as Volo reached for the shoulder of his Ginkgo Guild uniform. In one smooth motion he removed the jumpsuit and his hat, revealing…

Oh, he was definitely insane.

"Now hand over the plates you gathered!” Volo commanded, dressed in the most bizarre outfit the champion had ever seen in her life. He wore a chiton-shirt with a cold shoulder, a pendant with a teardrop-shaped stone, gladiator sandals, and green capri pants. Had he assembled this look in the dark?

And the hair. He had done something with his hair. His beautiful hair that the champion had always longed to see at its full length, gelled up in a deranged imitation of God itself.

It was too much. All of this was too much.

Volo’s gaze burned into her, his visible pupil having grown noticeably smaller. “I will be the one to bring them all together!"

The champion gripped the strap of her satchel. How dare he make commands, when he was the reason Arceus had brought her here? He should be begging for her forgiveness!

Volo was ranting now, seemingly to himself more than the person he’d just betrayed. "My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is! I must know what it is!"

When the champion was banished for Volo’s actions, he had comforted her. He had cared for her. Why would he have done that? Why would he have done any of this?

He stopped smiling. He spoke to her now, although part of her wished he wouldn’t. "If I can meet Arceus myself, then I may also be able to subjugate its power. And using that, I will attempt to create a new, better world!"

His words at the Celestica Ruins echoed through the champion’s head:

Ever since I was young, whenever I met with something painful or heartbreaking, I couldn't help but wonder why life was so unfair. Why I was cursed to live through such things. Of course, I imagine we all go through something like that.

The champion was pretty sure she was currently going through something like that.

“Of course,” Volo continued, “if I create a brand-new world, then the Hisui region that we currently exist in will be undone and returned to nothing. You, everyone you know, and all the Pokémon living here will vanish in an instant, as if you'd never been."

He’d brought her to this world, and now he wanted to destroy it.

Destroy her.

The champion wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound at Volo’s chest and demand that he admit that their connection was real, that she wasn’t a fool, that he regretted what he’d done to put her in harm’s way. She wanted him to be cured of this divine madness and come to his senses. She wanted him to be the person she’d grown to love—because of course she’d grown to love him, of all the people in this stupid world, instead of someone normal and unremarkable and disinterested in becoming a god.

Because that was what Volo wanted, right? To become a god? To subjugate God, and take its place?

And then he would destroy everything. This entire reality, gone. The people and pokémon within it, gone. Her, gone.

Did he really care for her so little, that he would erase her along with the rest of them?

And how deranged was she, to be more upset by the loss of his friendship than the loss of everything and everyone else?

Volo crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the champion as if he saw right through her. As if she wasn’t a person at all, but an obstacle in his way. The final barrier between him and Arceus, between his destiny and desires, in which she would have no part to play.

She would have given him the damn plates, if he had just apologized and explained. After all, it had been Arceus—not Volo—to bring her to this godforsaken place.

"If you want to keep this world from disappearing,” challenged Volo, “then face me in battle!”

She would not be giving him the plates. He didn’t deserve them, didn’t deserve to be God any more than God itself deserved to be God. Arceus and Volo—a deity and its unfashionable imitation. Honestly, in that moment, the champion despised them both.

“Not that you have a choice,” Volo taunted, grinning widely because he was insane. “Even if you don't wish to battle me, I'm not above using force to take those plates from you."

He held up a pokéball and stared down at the champion. With the slightest of nods, she removed her samurott from her satchel.

She had Arceus’s blessing and Volo clearly did not. She was going to defeat him, just as she’d defeated every other enemy in her path. Only once she’d sufficiently humiliated him in front of his god would she allow herself to process everything she’d learned.

Volo tossed out his first pokémon with a knowing smirk, his form surprisingly confident and precise. For all of his intellectual strengths, the champion had never known him to be a particularly skilled trainer.

A spiritomb emerged from his pokéball.

Clearly there were many things the champion did not know about Volo.

─────────────────

NOW

“Please,” the champion repeated, motioning to the bench beneath the heavens. “I really think you should sit down.”

The challenger scowled at her, crossing their arms over their chest. “You know why I’m here.”

She rolled her eyes. The outsider had no memory of meeting her before, but her behaviors felt familiar all the same. “Yes,” the champion sighed, “I know that you’re here to fight me.”

“And then Lord Volo.”

She smirked at that. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

Her attitude enraged the challenger. A wicked traitor to the god that had chosen her—unfathomable, really, in her irreverence.

“Seriously,” said the champion, looking the challenger up and down. “Sit down.”

“Why?” the challenger said, suspecting a trap.

“You look exhausted from your climb.”

She was uncomfortably earnest in her explanation. And she was correct.

“How old are you now, anyway?” the champion asked as the challenger sat. To their surprise, she sat down beside them immediately.

“Old enough to finally defeat you,” said the challenger, avoiding her searching gaze.

She chuckled. “Fair enough.” And then, thoughtfully: “It’s been quite some time since we last met. I was beginning to wonder if Arceus had decided against sending a senior citizen in its stead.”

The challenger, naturally, took offense at the insult. “How old are you, then? I assume that your lack of humanity implies a lack of mortality as well.”

She nodded with a face that appeared far too young for the person wearing it. “I do not age conventionally, that is true.”

“Can you die at all?”

“Not by natural means,” the champion said. “Although I suppose I am still flesh and blood, just like you. But you are old and frail, while my youth has been preserved. Your remaining time in this world is incredibly limited, and yet you’ve come here again—do you not have other things to do? Interests, passions? Family? Does your entire life revolve around your mission from God?”

“Does your life not revolve around your Lord?” the challenger deflected. “According to Arceus, you chose him over the entire world.”

“In a manner of speaking, I did,” admitted the champion. “Though I don’t expect Arceus to ever fully understand my decision.”

“Decision? You lost.”

Something flashed behind the champion’s eyes. It felt good to drag her down from the heavens.

“It was once said,” she told the challenger through gritted teeth, “that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.”

It was an odd response. The challenger did not care to understand its purpose. They were indeed old and frail, and this was their final chance.

“Today,” they told the champion, “I will win.”

“Very well,” the champion said, withdrawing an ancient-looking pokéball from her fine silks. She stood up and offered her challenger a hand. They glared at it. The champion sighed, withdrew her hand, and watched as the challenger struggled to their feet.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Her final pokémon was on low health when she finally defeated Volo’s Togekiss. She had refused to speak a word during the fight, despite his taunting smiles and various confident poses. In addition to being insane, Volo was apparently also an incredibly skilled trainer. Not quite as skilled as the champion, though, as his final and most beloved pokémon returned to her ball.

Volo shook his head, still wearing that deranged smile, as he returned the pokéball to some unseen pocket in his ridiculous Arceus outfit. The champion sighed with relief, grateful that this would be over soon. He’d abandon the temple in defeat, and she would mourn his betrayal in peace. Short of physically attacking her, he had no other way to take the plates by force—and she still could not believe that Volo was capable of such brutality, when his entire goal was to create a better, fairer world.

(Honestly, if he hadn’t hurt her so profoundly in the process of achieving that goal, she thought she might admire him for his idealism.)

She shook her head. He was a hypocrite and out of his right mind. The last thing he deserved was admiration, or even an attempt at understanding. She would return to the village and forget all about him, and try her best to find someone else in this world who made sense. Maybe if Arceus saw her success, it would even return her to her world. Defeating Volo had been her ultimate mission, right?

Which…

If Arceus had sent her to correct Volo’s disturbance of the natural order, it had always known about Volo’s hidden intentions. This entire time, it had watched its chosen champion find comfort in her destined enemy, without so much as a word of caution.

It must have been intentional, then, for Arceus to keep her in the dark. But why?

“Why?” Volo demanded, now despondent in his defeat. “Why you?! Why do you have the blessing of Arceus?”

She didn’t know. He knew that she didn’t know.

“I’ve devoted myself to Arceus beyond any other!” Volo ranted, seemingly towards the heavens themselves. “I worshiped it as the creator of our entire world! I bent all of my passion and interest and study! All the time I’ve spent poring over the legends.. Everything that I’ve done—!”

The champion had served Arceus’s mission dutifully since her arrival in Hisui. Although reluctant at times, she had quelled the nobles and assembled the Red Chain. She had immediately opposed Volo, who sought to destroy the world Arceus created. This mission was her entire life—her job, her hobby, her singular purpose upon being transported to Hisui without her consent.

“You outsider!” Volo hissed, now glaring directly at the champion. “It’s almost as if you were spat out of the space-time rift just to get in my way!”

She felt a lump rise in her throat.

Volo had been the one thing, here, that she’d chosen for herself. To her, their friendship had been disconnected from her holy mission or crushing responsibilities—in fact, it had been a much-needed relief.

But the entire time, he had only viewed her as Arceus’s chosen hero. And he despised her for it.

Silent tears ran down the champion’s cheeks. He seemed not to notice, or not to care.

“No,” Volo told himself, “no, this isn’t finished yet.”

Please, she almost begged, but didn’t. She didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. But she couldn’t leave, either, not when he still posed a threat, not when she deserved answers but couldn’t yet bring herself to ask—

Volo grinned again, his derangement reaching its apparent peak. “Can’t you feel it? The chill creeping through your veins—the eldritch presence icing your heart?”

She felt something, as dark shadows began to appear behind Volo. A massive void, from which a large creature began to emerge. It screeched as Volo began to laugh, its wings unfolding and its body taking material form. The champion recognized Giratina at once, well-primed by Volo’s lecture in the Celestica Ruins.

Volo regarded her in the throes of his mania, unwilling and unable to recognize her as anything but his enemy. Perhaps that was too charitable an interpretation, but—

“GIRATINA!” Volo shouted, clenching his hands as if they already held the plates of Arceus. “STRIKE HER DOWN!”

He laughed again, his eyes wide and his body hunched, as Giratina roared.

The champion released her final available pokémon, which only possessed a quarter of its health. She then turned on her heel, summoned Wyrdeer, and headed for the temple exit, using the ill-fated battle as a brief distraction. She ignored the sound of her fainting pokémon and Volo’s confused yelling as she pulled her Arcphone from her satchel and held it to her ear.

“You have to stop him,” the champion demanded as she entered the passageway beneath the peak of Mount Coronet. The cave was cool and blessedly quiet, and she only stopped moving when she received her response.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

─────────────────

NOW

As always, the challenger had put up a very good fight.

“Will this be the last time I see you?” the champion asked, almost bored in her victory. The challenger just glared at her, returning their fainted pokémon to their pocket.

“One can hope,” they said, and revealed their knife. If repetition with the expectation of different result was insanity, then they were no longer insane. Because this approach, this last-ditch effort, was entirely unprecedented—even to Arceus itself.

Using their last reserves of energy and strength, the challenger seized the woman. Short of stature and physically softened by ages of casual godhood, she could show little resistance to even the oldest of heroes. And, of course, there was the matter of the blade held to her throat.

“He will lower himself from the heavens and face me,” the challenger said between gritted teeth. The champion swallowed.

“Arceus has driven you to this,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Lord Volo has driven me to this. Arceus has only ever encouraged me to be better.”

“Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.”

The challenger’s eyed widened. “How do you…?”

The champion sighed. “I heard it too. Every single time.” She was infuriatingly unfazed by the threat to her life. “How relieving it must be,” she said, “to lose the memory of each of your losses.”

“I find it rather inconvenient, actually,” shot back the challenger, holding the blade closer to her throat.

The champion smiled sadly and shook her head.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Eventually, she found herself trying to lose.

The fight with Volo had become like second nature to the champion, who since her first attempt had assembled the ideal team to counter his specific pokémon and fighting habits. Arceus knew she had been given enough attempts to observe him, some of which ended before Giratina even appeared. Volo was undeniably skilled, and dedicated to his own victory in a way that consistently astounded the champion. But while each new battle seemed to be Volo’s first, his memory struck of previous victories and defeats, the champion remembered everything.

At this point, she knew Volo almost entirely as the man she’d truly met atop Mount Coronet. Memories of their previous friendship lingered in small instances, but she had lost much of her attachment to his formerly comforting presence. This made it easier for her, as Arceus’s champion, to study and practice and try again and again and again.

She was confident, now, that she could defeat him. Him and Giratina, and then she would finally witness the world after such events transpired. Would he give up immediately, or try to harm her further? Would they finally speak as their true selves, or would he just disappear? If he did disappear, would he be gone forever?

The champion was still far from completing the the Pokédex and meeting Arceus, who only potentially could send her home. In the meantime, she would still be stuck in Hisui, alone. Almost certainly without him.

The outfit was not… irredeemably ill-conceived. With some modifications, she could understand the vision. And it would be easy for Volo to take down the Arceus style, allowing his hair to flow naturally. When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure.

She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again.

As she approach the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

There had been a few close calls, where she’d almost won. Especially against Giratina, she often stood a very good chance. But then she would remind herself that this was not fair in the slightest, because she had been given infinite chances to practice and strategize. Yes, Volo had technically cheated as well, but abusing Arceus’s blessing in such a manner simply felt cheap.

That was what she told herself. Eventually, someday, she would see an opportunity for victory that she could truly call fair, and she would take it. But until then, she would just have to lose.

And he would still be here. Insane, but here.

Insane.

She was going insane.

“I think I’m going insane,” she told Arceus after yet another loss.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“I know I’m going insane.”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“Why don’t you try, for once?” the champion challenged, gripping the phone tightly.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

And then, she thought it. For the first time in what felt like an eternity of repetition, she finally thought something new:

“Why can’t I lose?” the champion asked, her voice shaking as tears ran down her cheeks. She did not understand what she was asking, exactly—she could not lose because Arceus had blessed her, that much was already obvious. The world, this world, worked in her favor in some unearned and unwanted way. Yes, she could retreat from the mountain at any time to train her team, but that still left Volo up in the temple, nearly indistinguishable from the person she had grown to love. He would not follow her, would not attempt to seize the plates by any other means, seemingly frozen in time and place by divine circumstance. She would never have her former friend back, and if she moved forward, Arceus would never allow her to befriend him as he was now.

And she—

She would just keep going, in Volo’s absence. If not this battle, she would be fighting another. Again and again and again, until Arceus deemed her worthy. Arceus, who had lied to her, manipulated her, taken her from her home without her knowledge or consent. Who had created this world and its mysterious mechanics, blessing—no, cursing—her to endure.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

God’s champion hung up the phone.

─────────────────

NOW

Much to the challenger’s surprise, Lord Volo had not immediately arrived to save his champion.

“He can see this, right?” they demanded, as their arms grew increasingly tired around her.

She scoffed. “Of course he can.”

“So why isn’t he coming? Perhaps he cares less for you than you believed.”

The champion met the challenger’s gaze. “He knows that you would never actually murder me. That is not becoming of the world he designed.”

The challenger narrowed their eyes. This had always been a possibility. “Fine,” they said. “But would your Lord stand by while you are in pain?”

For the first time, the champion looked afraid. “I—”

The challenger plunged their knife into her fine white silks.

─────────────────

BEFORE

The champion surrendered.

It was not a victory, nor was it any sort of defeat she had experienced before. Instead of intentionally losing the fight, she had refused to even allow its commencement. She had approached Volo where he stood, suspended in space and time, and offered him her satchel containing the plates of Arceus.

He stared at it, pupils shrunken and hungry. A smile crept onto his face. “How precious,” he said, almost tenderly. “You only needed a moment to think, before deciding to see things my way.”

The champion scowled. To him, it had been only a moment.

“You’re insane,” she said, showing no resistance when he began to take the satchel from her. He paused, though, upon hearing her first words towards his true self.

“Did you not listen in the ruins?” he asked, slight irritability piercing through his mania. “My reasoning is entirely rational. If God did not want to run the risk of its power falling into our hands, it should not have created its plates on our mortal plane. It is my right to seize them, and use that power to create a better world.”

“You could make this world a better place.”

Volo shook his head, smiling sadly. “Can’t be done. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“You made it better for me.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She was so, so tired.

Volo narrowed his eyes, pupils still tiny but slightly more focused. “Whatever could you mean by that, hero?”

“You know my name,” said the champion, cursing her voice for cracking at the last word.

Volo looked properly confused, now. Especially as the champion began to shake. “What are you—”

“Just take it,” the champion said, feeling that lump in her throat again. She had felt so strong, when she’d hung up the ArcPhone in the cave. Self-assured, energized by the notion of ending this vicious cycle. It had seemed, if only for a moment, that she had found a way to truly win.

This did not feel like winning.

“Just fucking take it,” the champion repeated, shoving the satchel towards Volo. He did without further comment, but did not immediately dig inside. He only watched her, still far from sane but seemingly calmer at least.

Volo furrowed his brow. “You said I made the world better, for you. But I was using you. I am the reason for your existence here. You should hate me.”

The champion shook her head as a tear ran down her cheek. “I don’t hate you.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

She winced.

Volo studied her carefully. “What,” he said, “do you think your god would say of this?”

The champion shut her eyes. “Arceus doesn’t care about me.”

“Of course it does. It has chosen you to receive its blessings. It loves you, as it will never love—” Volo cut himself off, though of course she understood how the sentence would have ended.

The champion felt pathetic as she met his eyes. “I love you.”

He blinked. “How?”

“I just do.”

Volo began to pace, shifting into a paranoid state. “A trick from Arceus,” he muttered to himself, clutching the satchel close to his chest. “A test? No, a safeguard—a temptation…”

A temptation?

“This is all by design,” Volo continued to ramble, “If I allow for this endearment, for this enduring desire—”

Enduring desire?

“I must be strong. There must be a better world. I must not allow myself to—”

“Was any of it real?” the champion asked, point-blank.

“Yes,” Volo said at once.

“Which parts were fake?”

“The parts that mattered.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to understand. Volo sighed.

“The parts vital to my mission,” he clarified, “were false. The merchant charade, the search for the plates.”

“And that’s what mattered?”

Volo avoided her eyes. “Nothing else can matter in this world,” he told the champion. “Nothing else will remain.”

He looked haggard, as if this was a truth he’d refused to admit to himself before having it forced from his lips.

“It has never been my intention to carry over unwilling parties,” Volo reluctantly explained. “Involuntary acquiescence has no place in my better world.”

“What about lying and manipulation?” the champion asked. “And erasing everyone and everything that came before it?”

Exhausted, Volo gave his response: “I said ‘better.’ Not perfect.”

After a moment, the champion replied. “It mattered,” she said quietly. “To me.”

“Your mission?”

“Us.”

Volo regarded her as if for the very first time. “Us.”

She stepped forward slightly, reaching for his hand. He allowed her to take it, using the other to clutch her satchel.

“Do you want them to remain, in your new world?” the champion asked, looking into Volo’s wide exposed eye. “The parts that were real?”

He gave the slightest of nods.

She could not have him in this world. She could either continue this endless loop of suffering, or defeat him and likely never see him again. And it wasn’t just Volo who mattered, but the champion herself—with Arceus as her god, she knew that she would never truly be free.

“Is this the right decision?” she asked Volo, squeezing his hand tightly. He gently leaned down to place her satchel on the temple floor, then used his other hand to stroke her face.

“Must there always be a right decision and a wrong decision?”

“I should be ashamed.”

“I disagree.”

“What if I’m insane?”

“I would say that you are just as sane as I am,” Volo reasoned, “if you wish to remain by my side.”

The champion frowned. “That is not a reassuring statement.”

“It is all I can offer,” Volo said, holding her hand to his heart. Then, with a small smile: “That, and—”

He kissed her on the lips. When he pulled back, his eyes were almost back to normal.

“So?” Volo asked, eager and curious just as the champion had remembered him. Her heart ached with the comfort of familiarity—lost in the cycle of repetition, she hadn’t even realized how much she missed her former friend.

“It’s not perfect,” she said, “but it’s better.” She allowed herself to finally relax as Volo held her close.

Keeping one arm around his champion’s waist, Volo leaned down to retrieve the satchel once again. Despite her divine mission, the champion did not intervene.

“Very good,” Volo praised. His voice was warm and earnest, lacking the condescension one would usually associate with such a statement. “Now, rest. You’ve done more than enough already.”

And with that, at least, the champion could wholeheartedly agree.

─────────────────

NOW

Lord Volo appeared at once.

The challenger stepped away from the champion, their hands shaking as the knife clattered to the temple floor. Violence was a rare occurrence in this world, and murder was almost entirely unheard of—yet here they were, resorting to the former and possibly the latter as a desperate final effort.

“This was my mission,” the challenger prayed to Arceus as a figure descended from a shimmery stairway to the heavens. “Now please, give me strength...”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“No, I haven’t! I’ve won—look, he’s coming now!”

Lord Volo was a tall man, appearing much as he’d been depicted in historical records and famous works of art: blonde, pale, draped in white silks resembling those of his champion. He reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the world he had created, barely giving the challenger a glance as he walked right by.

Thou hast been defeated in battle, the voice of Arceus said. Thou shalt try again.

But the challenger was not beaten yet.

They reached for the knife, even as their joints ached. Lord Volo disappeared the weapon with a flick of his wrist. He then took his champion in his arms and placed her onto the bench, speaking words that the challenger could not hear.

She seemed to be speaking, as well. Alive. Despite everything, the challenger felt relief at that.

There was a sort of peace, in knowing that this was the challenger’s final try. Their pokémon were fainted, their god had seemingly abandoned them, they had compromised their own values out of desperation after a lifetime of repeated failures. Now, Lord Volo would disappear them just as he had the knife.

At least in oblivion, the challenger would finally be able to rest.

The champion muttered something more to her god, who then turned to face the challenger. He did not look happy, but seemed to be exercising some kind of restraint.

He looked back at the champion, who nodded. Lord Volo sighed.

“Very well,” he said, and flicked his wrist again. The challenger inhaled sharply, and then they

─────────────────

In the heavens, he saw to her healing.

“I’m sorry,” Volo said for what felt like the millionth time, although it would never truly be enough. He held a hand over his champion’s wound, glowing gold with healing light. “I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the champion said, kissing the side of his other hand. “The rosiness had begun to return to her skin, her deific attire now clean of the blood that had stained it. “I understood the risks of going down there undisguised.”

“That isn’t supposed to happen, though,” Volo said, trying to mind his temper as he channelled healing towards the champion’s wound. “Violence and murder, they’re not—not a part of our world.”

“Neither is the voice of Arceus,” the champion countered. “But even from within its containment, it still finds a way to haunt its champion.”

She glanced pointedly towards the pokéball on Volo’s hip. He had wielded its power to destroy the old world and create this one anew, to grant himself and his partner endless life and a home in the heavens above. He supposed it made sense that if Arceus’s power still existed in this world, its voice could never truly disappear.

“What will happen now?” Volo asked, shifting slightly against the headboard of their bed. “Will there be another challenger?”

“Probably,” said the champion. “Eventually.”

“But the one who…?

“I think they’re safe. An infant without memory of their past life, reborn free of Arceus’s influence. Of all the people in this world, why would it choose them again?”

Volo frowned, thinking of the recent confrontation. “I wanted to destroy them, for what they did.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” teased the champion, “to make sure you don’t repeat old patterns.”

He smiled fondly, thinking of the many way they’d helped each other create this new world from the ashes of its predecessor. Not only was his champion beautiful, but she was also brilliant—always had been, although he’d been rather slow on the uptake. In Volo’s defense, he’d very much written her off as a loss before her surrender on Mount Coronet. It had been a matter of strategy, to avoid considering her inner life.

“Can I ask you something?” said Volo, watching his champion with endless interest. She nodded. “What changed your mind, in the cave?”

She looked surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“On the day that the old world fell, you initially ran away,” Volo recalled. “Disappeared into the passageway for only a moment, then emerged again to hand over the plates. Why?”

The champion appeared conflicted, which was not the desired outcome of Volo’s questioning. He had his suspicions, based on previous reactions around the subject, that this was not a memory she often wished to revisit.

“I felt defeated,” the champion said, “so I tried something new.”

Volo couldn’t help but think of the challenger, who his champion had always seemed to care for despite the annoyance they caused. Even after their unfathomable act of violence, she had insisted that Volo reincarnate them rather than destroy them entirely.

“Something new?” he asked the champion, as he felt her pain ease beneath his fingertips. “Had there been… something before?”

She nodded. “Over and over again. And I remembered everything.”

A chill ran down Volo’s spine. With this revelation, the champion’s requests to borrow his spiritomb while facing Arceus’s challenger made an entirely new sort of sense.

“You never told me,” he said.

“In a way, I did,” she replied with a soft smile. “When you suggested that we were both insane, I didn’t disagree.”

Still so very cryptic. Volo kissed the champion’s forehead, vowing to someday learn every secret within it.

“And how do you feel now?” he asked as the stab wound faded entirely from her skin. Good as new.

His champion regarded him knowingly, lovingly, shamelessly.

“I feel better.”

[meetmeatthecoda]

Halcyon by meetmeatthecoda Fandoms: The Blacklist (US TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Chapters 2/7 Words: 38,032 Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington, Elizabeth Keen, Raymond Reddington, Agnes Keen, Dembe Zuma, Harold Cooper, Charlene Cooper, Alina Park, Donald Ressler, Aram Mojtabai, various OCs, Lizzington - Freeform, Agnesgate, AU, post-8.22, Fix-it fic, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Angst, Lots of Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, briefly, in the start of chapter 3, and an equally brief discussion of them in chapter 5, some sexual content, Nothing too explicit, and last but not least, no Redarina, no relation at all ever between red & liz, obviously

Summary:

Halcyon - adjective:

denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.

noun:

a tropical Asian and African kingfisher with brightly colored plumage.

a mythical bird said by ancient writers to breed in a nest floating at sea at the winter solstice, charming the wind and waves into calm.

origin:

from Greek alkuōn ‘kingfisher’ (also halkuōn, by association with hals ‘sea’ and kuōn ‘conceiving’).

An AU post-8.22 fix-it fic, wherein Liz survives her shooting - unbeknownst to everyone - & flees the country in an effort to protect those dear to her, living a solitary, lonely existence on a loch in Scotland & coping with the only outlet she has, a hobby begun as a coping mechanism during a traumatic childhood & kept since then as a closely-guarded secret: art.

“As with all things in her life, it was born from fire.”

☕️ Buy Me a Coffee ☕️

🎶 Playlist below the cut! 🎶

Meant To Be by Ber & Charlie Oriain

Rockland by Gracie Abrams

Walking On The Moon by Ruelle

graves by Purity Ring

32 Floors by Lapsley

Rolling Like a Ball by Ludovico Einaudi

Brush Fire by Gracie Abrams

Much Too Much by Lennon Stella

You Hold Me Up by The Bones of J.R. Jones

As The World Caves In by Matt Maltese (cover by Sarah Cothran)

Men On The Moon by Chelsea Cutler

you broke me first by Tate McRae

Games by Lennon Stella

Save Us by Lennon Stella

Takeaway by The Chainsmokers, ILLENIUM feat. Lennon Stella

Best by Gracie Abrams

Where do we go now? by Gracie Abrams

Amelie by Gracie Abrams

85mm by Ludovico Einaudi

ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine

Through the Eyes of a Child by AURORA

Edge of the Dark by Emmit Fenn

Blinded by Emmit Fenn

Memories by Emmit Fenn

Spectrum by Andrew Belle

I Can’t Believe I Had You by Emmit Fenn

Far from Here by Emmit Fenn

In Between Breaths by SYML

Two people by Gracie Abrams

[squshymarsh]

DCxDP Prompt #5

For the bit(we’ll be cultists)

When Danny won the title of Ghost King, he wasn’t expecting some of his more ghostly attributes to seep over into his human form.

Or to be unable to control his powers like at all for a month or two after gaining his new title.

He’s still 14-15 though and has to be in Highschool to make sure his grades don’t fall any further. Even if he did just save the town with only his piers in his grade know about him.

It’s no surprise when he accidentally walks through a door after trying to open it only to find himself intangible or to start floating away with no way to control it and need one of his classmates to save him from floating into the stratosphere.

It’s all fine for a while, people help him. Those who used to bully him now lend a hand when he needs it. They aren’t kind about it but they aren’t shoving him into lockers anymore.

But that doesn’t last.

People start to notice the strange things that keep happening as his powers grow and become harder and harder to hide even with help. He had made an entire class take place on the ceiling one day. Another he made half the town float.

The Fenton parents and the GIW start working together to figure it out. It’s only a matter of time if no one does anything

So what is Danny, his friends and his class going to do to hide the real reason of what’s going on?

They pretend to be a cult. Full on cartoonishly cult like. The chanting, the robes, the sneaking out to an old building on the edge of town to have a ritual kind of cult. Playing off Danny’s fluctuating powers as the results of their work.

This gets the opposition to back off a bit. Not their circus not their monkeys. And the rituals release some of Danny’s pent up power.

Danny just had to lay in a circle, surrounded by the faces of friends and classmates while they chant and his powers gets released a little at a time.

It’s a great deal.

Until Danny is found out one day unable to use the cult as an excuse and has to bounce out of town. And the rest of his Casper High Class, ever committed to the bit, follow him since the GIW and the Fentons are laying waste to the town and it’s just not safe.

Where do they go?

To the Crime Capital of the world of course!

Gotham is the perfect place to continue the bit. Their ‘cult’ runs all the way to Gotham, looking out for one another and the such. Not because they care about each other, of course.

They all tell themselves that but there’s only so much chanting in ghost speak and Latin a frenemy relationship can take.

They are tight knit by time they settle in a collection of old buildings on the edge of Gotham. Danny’s powers are starting to settle, but he still has bad days. Those days the cult gathers and ‘performs a ritual’ but really they just have a little get together, sitting in a big room set up with a circle with Danny laying and meditating in the middle and chat in Latin or Ghost speak.

For the bit, they preform a fake ritual. Headed by Sam since she has all the knowledge on what cults do. For the bit, the give offerings to Danny in exchange for him protecting them both back in Amity and in Gotham. For the bit, they make it a monthly thing or as needed.

Sure Danny doesn’t realize he’s given each of his friends and classmates blessing from a literal King of Gods and Beings Beyond Human Comprehension.

It was for the bit.

What wasn’t for the bit was getting caught by the local furries.

Danny hadn’t had a ritual in a month, his powers were building up but he was stressed with work and school.

His cult of friends decided he needed a ritual and pseudo-kidnap him to sacrifice his own power to himself.

Don’t ask them, it just works.

Mid ‘ritual’ Danny is trapped in the circle while they keep his powers contained as it’s released. He could destroy the building if he so much as blinks. They are nearly through with it. Can return to the party after they’re done and he’s ‘normal’ again.

So when the Bat and Co. crash the ritual, right before the end. Danny can’t do anything while his classmates both defend him, each other, and those trying to finish the ritual.

It’s looking bad but the ritual finishes. Danny is freed from the circle and starts helping his friends defend themselves and escape. Of course, he knows what this looks like. And he knows that the Bats and Birds are just trying to keep their own city safe from a perceived threat.

So he apologizes to them while he takes down the Bats and Birds then absconds with his Cult&Co. hoping they would understand. No one was hurt and there was no loss on either side. Alls well ends well?

To the Bats and Birds.

They find a group of robed cultists that established themselves quickly and then they see the cult gather, having a party until another group come in dragging Adoption Bait behind them. They start the ritual. Bats and Co. think kid is getting sacrificed and step in. Only to be nearly fought off and the ritual to complete.

They then have to watch as some entity controls the kids body to fight them off. The kid looks terrified, apologizing while he is forced to fight for the cult.

Then they all get away.

(I have the flu, have this lil idea/drabble while I try not to die)

[stellewriites]

PART TWO

summary: by chance you and your emotionally unavailable husband meet a friendly couple that invite you stay at their farmhouse in scotland. however the time spent there with johnny & kyle has you questioning if there’s a dark side to them you didn’t see before.

a speak no evil au - series masterlist

notes: manipulative johnny & kyle, piv, noncon, somno, never explicitly acknowledged abusive relationship between reader and her husband (financial, physical, emotional, coercive control), drinking, murder, it’s dead dove horror people!! heed the warnings

despite your best efforts, elliot’s words had gotten to you the night before and it had made you cautious to sit downstairs for breakfast; hyperaware of yourself and what kyle and johnny must have thought of you.

you decided to nip down to say good morning - it was only polite - and while you were there you could grab two coffees for yourself and elliot.

you ran into gaz as soon as you got down the stairs.

“morning, sleep ok? johnny said you weren’t hungry last night,” kyle said as soon as he saw you walk into the kitchen, a little concerned frown and pout pulling at his pretty face. “can i make you an omelette? pancakes?”

“pancakes?” you couldn’t help but ask with a smirk.

“johnny likes ‘em.” you snorted.

“an omelette would be good, thanks.”

kyle immediately got up and got to work in the kitchen, letting you take his seat so you were sat closest to the kitchen counter he stood at.

“where is johnny this morning?”

“out with the donkey, loves the early mornings. don’t think his body can get out of the habit of them,” kyle said with a fond roll of his eyes. “means i get to stay in bed and extra thirty though, so i don’t complain.”

he grabbed a mug from the cupboard when the electric kettle clicked off and made a quick drink.

“coffee?” he slid it onto the table next to you. “husband can’t knick this one, eh?”

“oh, thanks.” you took a long sip despite the heat.

“how’d you sleep?” kyle asked again, watching you.

“yeah, good, slept right through,” you lied. you’d tossed and turned all night with elliot groaning in his sleep and you knew you had bags under your eyes to prove it.

kyle nodded and turned back to the eggs he was scrambling in the pan alongside the grated cheese and chopped vegetables he’d chucked in.

“johnny had a great idea last night, and i don’t say that often,” kyle joked. “we thought we could take you out to this little restaurant, up near ballo reservoir and the ruins. it’s ran by an old mate of ours.”

“that sounds fun, yeah,” you agree. you smile a little wider when he turns around with your omelette and sits next to you. you look down at the plate and gawp. “bloody hell, that’s a big omelette.”

kyle laughed. “yeah i figured why make more pots to wash when we could just share,” he said and revealed two forks.

“oh.” you blinked. “…ok.”

kyle didn’t wait for you to change your mind before he was using the side of his fork to cut a mouthful of the omelette off.

“second day in the highlands, what were you thinking of doing?”

you finished chewing your own bite before answering. “elliot will need help during the day i think. hopefully he’ll be able to get a stable enough wifi connection to check his work emails.”

“fuck that,” gaz scoffed. “you should help me in the garden. johnny will sort out your husband if he needs a hand; soap’s got odd jobs around the house he’s doing to keep his hands busy anyways, so it’s no trouble for him to keep an eye on elliot.”

you hesitated, knowing elliot wouldn’t appreciate johnny’s rough handling, but you found it nigh impossible to say no to kyle’s big kind eyes. especially when he was leant in so close.

“then i guess i’m gardening today,” you said bashfully.

---

he showed you around the chicken coop first, let you throw a bit of grain down so the hens would swarm closer as you squatted down among them to pet lightly at their feathers.

“made the henhouse myself,” kyle told you smugly, his chest puffing out further when your head snapped towards him.

“no you fucking didn’t,” you said, your eyes raked over it as if seeing it fresh.

“alright, maybe i had a bit of help from a friend, john - not my johnny - was always handy in his time off during the service. gave him a call an’ he helped me figure it out when my first attempt didn’t go so well,” kyle admitted sheepishly.

you snickered and walked up to the small shed-like structure. you could see it was lovingly made, each decision during its creation had a practical use.

“you and johnny ran into any hobbies or skills you’re not good at?” you joked.

kyle huffed a laugh and tugged you out towards the vegetable plot across the garden. “can’t say we have, love.”

“oh, fuck you,” you laughed and shoved him as you came up to the first raised bed, knocking him of kilter.

“hey, hey watch for the onions,” he laughed as his knee bumped into the wooden side holding the budding vegetables.

“god, this place is huge,” you said wistfully as you rounded to the next bed and noticed the handmade markers.

carrots

tomms

tatties

gaz’s awful radishes

you grinned before running your hands gently along the beans growing high intertwined with the arches joining the raised beds to create a path down the centre towards the greenhouse.

“have some if you’d like,” kyle said and gestured to the pea pod resting on your fingers.

your gripped it tighter and tugged, pressing at the seam gently until it popped. the peas inside were huge, but it was always the crunchy casing that you enjoyed. you took a bite as gaz led you to the greenhouse and let out a deep hum at the refreshing taste.

“just wait until you try the strawberries,” he said teasingly, sliding open the the glass door.

he grabbed a clean empty bowl from the side and handed you it as you crouched to look at the strawberry plants lined up to the right of the spacious greenhouse.

“go ahead.”

you grinned and started picking the ripe ones, sneaking one or two to eat when kyle leant over your shoulder to steal his own.

you dropped the bowl off in the kitchen to rinse later on your way down to the barn.

“weren’t we gardening? why are we going to the barn?” you asked as he led you across the gravel and around the back of the garage.

he pulled open the barn doors with a grunt.

“to grab an extra pair of gardening gloves, but also to check up on marmite. she’s been a bit ill recently, caught her foot on something sharp in her paddock the other day so we’ve been trying to keep her still while she recovers,” kyle said and led you to the stable on the right.

you frowned before you saw the sweet little donkey stood, chomping at its bucket of hay.

“oh my god,” you whispered. “you actually have a donkey.”

kyle frowned at you, confused. “said so earlier didn’t i?”

“i couldn’t tell if you were pulling my leg or not.” you reached out and she slowly lumbered over to you, an obvious limp in one front leg. “will she be ok?”

“oh yeah, vet said she just needed to rest it, nothing major,” he reassured you. “plus she’s been through worse, she’s tough.”

you made an inquisitive noise as you gently petted between her ears and down to her nose.

“when we first found her she was pretty sick, left to rot in a field nearby, so we took her in. took a while for her to get back to full health, but now marmite gets to relax in her own paddock with the few sheep the neighbours let roam. sometimes we take her to the farmer’s market on the weekend when it’s good weather. she likes the work and the kids like to pet her, increases sales when people realise we’re authentic.” he scruffed roughly, but lovingly, under her ear before patting her neck. “give her another month and she’ll be back pulling her cart.”

you cooed, heart melting at the thought of her pulling her own cart with kids petting at her sides. “wait you called her marmite?” the donkey lifted her head at her name.

you bit your lip trying not to laugh as kyle turned an offended look towards you. “it’s a good name,” he defended.

you shook your head.

“this place is so fucking wonderful, kyle,” you said. “i think i could stay here forever,” you whispered.

he pulled you into his side and kissed your temple. “could if you wanted.”

you laughed at his joke and rolled your eyes. “oh yeah the commute to elliot’s work would be fine,” you teased.

kyle shrugged. “i’m sure we could find a solution to that.” you grabbed the gloves and a trowel and headed back towards the garden on a slow walk, waving to johnny through the kitchen window as you passed. “let’s get started on the garden, johnny’s wanting the rhubarb up.”

“making pie?”

“we were planning on going to the market in a couple of days time, if you wanted to come with us,” kyle offered casually. “it’s not like the overpriced shit they do in the city.”

you grinned and nodded. “do they always run it mid-week?”

“mid week every other week and the first weekend of every month,” he said. “you’ve missed the weekend one, which is a shame because it’s always busy and more vendors come.”

“i’m sure i’ll have a blast either way,” you reassured him. “will i be given free cheese like at the place des lices?”

kyle grinned, sharp and teasing. “i’ll bring a block with us if it keeps you hovering by me and johnny’s stall.”

you snorted and elbowed him as you reached the garden again. “behave.”

you dropped to a squat and started rustling through the large green leaves of the rhubarb until you found the base, twisting and pulling until it popped loose.

you chucked it into the bucket between you and gaz and grinned as he started to work beside you.

---

you spent the rest of the afternoon with him in the garden, only stopping to have lunch on the outside table - sandwiches johnny brought out with a teapot and two mugs on a tray - and gathered all of the vegetables and fruit that needed picking, whether to cook for themselves or for the market.

“do you go every week then?” you asked as you finally headed back to the house with your hands full and mucky from the soil.

your forehead was sweaty from the hard work but you didn’t feel uncomfortable, it felt good to have been useful and busy again.

“the market?” you nodded. “nah, we don’t have a big enough plot for growing. and it doesn’t bring enough in to make it worth it to expand. we just find it fun, enjoy getting out and seeing the locals every so often.”

“yeah you could probably go crazy staying out here alone for too long,” you laughed as you walked ahead of him into the house. “with sheep as your closest neighbours.”

kyle bit the inside of his cheek but you didn’t notice his silence.

“hey, good day?” you called out to your husband sat in the next room as you placed the vegetables on the table. when he didn’t reply you went through, careful to take your shoes off first so not to track mud inside. you leant over the back of the sofa and kissed his cheek, frowning when he sharply pulled away, glaring forward at the tv. “elliot?”

he stayed silent.

you slowly stood back up straight and waited for any sort of reaction for him before heading back to the kitchen. you knew how he got when he was in a foul mood, and you could see this one a mile off, there was no reason to push your luck.

stuck in your own head you were taken by surprise when johnny suddenly grabbed you by the hips, his bright eyes and toothy smile an inch too close to be casual as you looked up at him.

“fuckin’ hell, yer glowing, lass,” he boasted. “farm work looks good on ye.”

he patted one hip and winked before letting you go to clung to his husband. leant over kyle’s shoulder at the sink where he was rinsing the soil away from his hands and the root veg you’d picked, johnny pulled his husband’s chin towards him and kissed him.

you felt rooted to the spot as the pair opened their mouths wide enough to slip their tongues against the other’s, spit slicking lips and connecting what little space was given in thin strings as they swapped soft moans and heavy breaths. it was a private moment, intimate, but you couldn’t pull yourself away even as your stomach tightened and your throat became dry.

they pulled away, barely an inch, but enough for gaz to speak.

“don’t forget about that restaurant tonight, love,” he directed at you. “dress up a little, it’s like a chef’s table.”

your husband perked up from the other room at the mention of a chef’s table - never one to pass on an opportunity that made him look rich and important like the man he worked for, always searching for another story to brag about to his mates.

“what time? is the chef anyone i’d have heard of?”

johnny stifled a mocking laugh into kyle’s shoulder, one hand wandering beneath gaz’s jumper.

“nah, mate, he’s a bit lowkey this guy. doesn’t do social media or the like. invite only to his place.”

elliot’s eyebrows raised and he leant further over the sofa arm to talk. “and we’ve been invited then?”

“aye. we have.”

“do you want help changing, elliot?” you asked, but before your husband could find fault in your offer, johnny interrupted.

“i’ll help the wee injured lad, hen. you go get all bonnie for the meal, take your time getting all fancy f’r it,” he said, finally detaching himself from kyle.

“oh, ok.” you nodded when elliot didn’t immediately complain and headed upstairs, grimacing at the soil beneath your fingernails that you still hadn’t washed off. you sniffed yourself and grimaced at the thin layer of sweat clinging to you. you grabbed your towel and headed to the bathroom.

“fancy,” you’d scoffed to yourself in your bedroom after a quick shower.

you weren’t sure you could count anything you’d packed for the week as fancy or pretty enough for an invite-only restaurant.

you pulled out a black dress you’d packed in case you and elliot got some time alone. now that you were here you knew how unlikely that was but you were appreciating the foresight now.

the dress wasn’t anything special, not something you’d have chosen to eat out in if you had access to your other clothes at home; it went below your knees but the plunge of the neckline would have elliot grinding his teeth if you wore it around gaz and soap.

you bit your lip before making the split second decision to wear it anyway. a voice at the back of your head whispering insistently and repeatedly that kyle and johnny would love it.

you finished getting ready before considering the shoes you’d brought with you.

your hiking boots, trainers, and a pair of floral patterned wellies. “fuck.”

hadn’t thought that far ahead when you’d packed the dress, clearly. you sighed and headed down the stairs anyway. smiling when you caught johnny and kyle’s eyes.

“trying to kill us, hen? where have ye been hiding this little number?”

“give us a spin,” kyle ordered, and you followed suit without a second thought.

“yer a lucky man, elliot. very lucky indeed.” johnny patted your husband’s shoulder. “go get yer shoes on, hen, and we’ll set off.”

you felt your cheeks heat. you pointed down to your trainers next to the door. “i don’t have anything i can wear with them except my trainers,” you winced.

“oh that won’t do, what size are ye?” johnny asked, waiting by the door until you answered. “same size as my sister then. she’s left a few bits here when she’s visited before, i’ll see if i can find anythin’ in storage. she’d nae mind.”

he was gone and back again in a flash and you were handed a pair of black heels to step into. you thanked him and shakily stood, the heel far taller than what you were used to and the strap thin and barely providing support.

“oh god,” you huffed as you wobbled in place.

“need a hand?” johnny offered his arm and you clung on as you headed towards the door.

“christ, it’ll take all night to get to the car with her like this,” elliot complained behind you, kyle supporting him under his arm.

“i don’t think you’re one to talk right now since she’s still looking steadier on her feet than you,” kyle said bluntly. elliot’s ankle had lost the swelling and was simply wrapped beneath his socks and shoes for support, but he’d never been good with pain and you knew he’d take an extra few days to make sure his suffering was known.

you were inclined to agree with kyle that the injury was small, just needed a bit of rest to heal, but the bruising around the bone had you worrying about elliot driving at the end of the week and wondering if it had been worse than gaz had figured, and whether a sprain - or god forbid, a break - would need seeing to sooner rather than later.

johnny’s arm had gravitated to hold you around the waist as you drifted in your thoughts, leaving you to grip his wrist and his other hand for stability as he led you towards the car over the gravel. you felt your life flash before your eyes a handful of times as your ankles struggled not to cockle and keep you upright on the short walk, and you sighed in relief when you finally got in the car.

next time you’d wear the bloody wellies if it meant not having to wear shoes like this. god knows how johnny’s sister managed it.

---

kyle and johnny took the time during the drive to boast about simon - the chef and an old friend of theirs - and his restaurant; focusing on his cooking skills and mentioning only that he was a take-no-shit type of bloke, so not to be offended when he wasn’t particularly chatty.

“think the most i’ve ever heard him talk was when i asked what was in that soup he made last time,” soap snorted.

kyle parked up next to the single car parked by the side of the road, his headlights shining on the ruins a few hundred yards ahead of them.

to the right along a small cobbled path was a two story building that looked more like a house from the outside than a restaurant.

behind it sat the reservoir, black and still in the low moonlight.

the location was gorgeous but solitary and you wondered how he kept his lights on without foot traffic before laughing at your thoughts. it’s invite-only, this guy - simon, you reminded yourself - obviously didn’t need foot traffic to get by.

you held on to johnny tightly once more as you walked towards the building and found that its outside looks deceived you when you stepped inside and found the front room had been renovated into the dining area. it sat only one table in the centre but it was cosy, welcoming, professional. you assumed the back section of the old house’s ground floor had been adapted into a professional kitchen and storage space.

johnny led the group towards the lone table, big enough to seat four, and pulled out your chair, taking his seat opposite you after.

you’d been sat barely a minute before the door to the back swung open and a large, hulking man wearing a surgery mask and an apron walked over. he untied his apron once gaz stood up, holding it in one hand when the shorter man leant in for a hug, slinging his trunk of an arm over kyle’s shoulders.

“good to see you again, simon,” gaz said as he pulled back. “how you been doing?”

“good,” simon grunted, with a nod. he waved johnny forward with a weary flick of his wrist, but you could see the fondness in his eyes when johnny clapped his back and clung on.

“cannae wait ta see what you’ve got planned fer us t’night, si,” johnny said as he pulled back.

“wait ten minutes an’ you’ll find out, won’ ya?” simon said.

johnny huffed.

“simon, this is the couple we were telling you about that we’d met last month,” kyle said.

“french riviera.” simon nodded.

“nice to meet you,” you said. “these two were singing your praise on the way over so i’m excited to be here.”

simon smiled at you before flicking his towards kyle and johnny with a raised eyebrow.

you felt like you were being made fun of, talked about despite the silence, and you didn’t like it.

“when’s first course then simon?” johnny asked.

simon sighed. “was waiting for you to turn up, wasn’t i?” he said before slinking off to the back, barely sparing a glance for your husband during the entire exchange.

you’d quickly forgotten the uneasy feeling when the food came out; stuffed mushrooms for the starter and lamb served with smoked aubergine and caramelised onions and a robuchon-style mash that you’d practically inhaled after the first bite for the main. now you were just eagerly awaiting dessert.

it was overall one of the best meals you’d ever had, only highlighted by the fruity cocktails simon had impressed you all with and the silly jokes he’d told when he poured them. you didn’t know how he managed it all alone; or you assumed he was alone, with no conversations bleeding out from the kitchen when the doors opened and no face other than simon’s seen.

you slouched in your chair, wholly satisfied with the evening, and reached to hold elliot’s hand on the table at the same time that gaz looked to johnny lovingly.

he leant in and gently kissed his cheek, pulling back to stare in one another’s eyes and share the moment just between the two.

elliot sniffed at the display, looking down at his plate. “so you two, how’d you meet again?”

“met officially when we were put on a mission together, but i’d see johnny around base and at the nearest pub on our days off before that,” kyle said.

“he didnae have the time of day fer me at first,” johnny laughed, his arm moving under the table as he rubbed at kyle’s thigh.

“saw him strike out with half the men and women in the bar, gave me the ick,” gaz joked. “asked me out more than a dozen times.”

“an’ yet he was the one that got down on one knee all teary eyed in the end,” johnny disclosed.

“realised thick-headed scot’s were my type after all, came to my senses,” kyle cooed.

“sorry, you said men and women?” elliot asked, suddenly visibly invested in the conversation.

his eyes were sharp and you new he was thinking back to your conversation in france when you’d reassured him neither man would be interested in flirting with you. you were still convinced they were just tactile people, especially given how they had greeted simon, but you had to admit that the last few days had been filled with odd moments that had you questioning your own feelings. either way you knew elliot would be like a dog with a bone after this, would try and use it to cause an argument after such a great evening.

“aye. he did.” johnny nodded.

“so you’re not… gay then,” elliot hedged.

you kicked his leg beneath the table and gaz snorted.

“nah mate. we’re not,” gaz said.

“so then…”

“elliot,” you hissed. “stop prying.”

“i’m bi,” kyle said with an easy shrug before elliot could react to your reprimand.

your eyes flickered to johnny, meeting the bright blue head on as he was already watching you before he looked at your husband.

“i don’t put labels on things, limits me,” johnny sniffed. he looked back to you as he spoke next. “i like pretty people with bonnie accents and big doe eyes. like gaz here.” he turned to his husband with a cheeky grin.

gaz snorted again, mirthfully this time.

“cannae say no to him ever, jus’ ask him,” johnny said and you silently agreed.

“like you ever want to, i’m full of good ideas.” gaz pouted.

“why ye asking anyway, elliot? feeling the urge to join us?” johnny licked at his teeth, predatory as he stared down your husband.

elliot choked out a startled ‘no’ and shook his head, making the couple laugh at his urgent insistence.

“for the best i think. i dunno if you’d be able to keep up, no offence,” gaz said condescendingly. “we don’t tend to play vanilla.”

your eyes widened as a sudden slew of scenarios involving the two handsome men in front of you flashed before your eyes. you did your best to keep your face straight even as elliot frowned and scoffed.

“what, you like to tie each other up?” he rolled his eyes with a huff of a laugh.

kyle didn’t rise to the bait. “we do all sorts. don’t think there’s much we haven’t tried at this point.”

johnny grinned at him.

“even like… gags and spanking?” you asked, sudden and unbidden, the words needing to be answered even as you felt your entire body heat in embarrassment.

“yeah, hen, we’ve tried those a few times,” johnny said gently but eagerly. his foot knocked against yours beneath the table and you fought not to jump or flinch. “what we’re into at the moment though is roleplay.”

“can have a lot of fun with it,” kyle agreed.

“you’re kidding me,” elliot said, disbelief colouring his voice.

“not at all, watch,” johnny said before standing, hooking his napkin over his arm and holding it in front of him like a waiter. he cleared his throat before lilting his voice slightly higher, like he was using his ‘phone voice’. “was everything to your satisfaction tonight?”

“it was fantastic,” kyle said, immediately playing along. he slouched into his chair. “the dessert though, was a little lackluster. i wanted something with a bit of a bite.”

johnny raised his eyebrow. “i might be able to help with that, sir.” he leant forward as though to grab his plate, but instead knocked his fork to the floor. “oh no, silly me.”

“you better grab that, hm?” kyle asked, spreading his legs as johnny immediately fell to his knees, crowding close.

kyle looked over at you and elliot and grinned at your shocked, engrossed faces. he lifted the table cloth and covered johnny’s head and curved back. he hid one hand beneath, resting it on the back of his husband’s head, scratching through his mohawk.

your breath started to come short as you heard the fly of kyle’s trousers go and then suddenly it was all you could do not to squirm and add to the noises coming from the other side of the table. the room was silent, not a word from your husband for the first time in years, and the kitchen seemed to have stilled while johnny hummed and gagged.

kyle groaned and huffed, his smiles tilting the breathless noises into half laughs as johnny seemingly sucked the life out of him.

you’d never held yourself so still, not daring to check what elliot’s reaction was as you stared between kyle’s pleasured face and johnny’s bobbing head beneath the cloth.

suddenly the pair stopped, and johnny threw the table cloth up with a grin, laughing alongside kyle as you and you and your husband tried to catch your bearings at the reveal of the unconventional joke.

“just fuckin’ with ye,” johnny said as he sat back in his chair.

you shakily laughed along, avoiding eye contact as you pressed a hand to one cheek, hoping to ease the heat you could feel emanating, knowing that between your legs was no better.

“don’t worry we’d ask before including you in anything,” kyle said. “even if we just wanted you to watch.”

“though when we open up the relationship it’s usually to get the third person involved. cannae help but touch, watching’s nae enough,” johnny added, heated as he glanced at you.

“i’ve never done that before,” you said softly, too brusk to be a whisper. “be with two people at once that is.”

you hadn’t realised elliot had spoken at the same time, his words only just registering as you watched johnny’s gaze simmer.

“we’re not interested.”

we.

there he went answering for the both of you again.

“right?” he pushed.

you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, fearful of what his reaction would be until johnny’s foot knocked yours again. you felt a sudden surge of confidence.

“i think this might be the first time you’ve ever said no to having sex with someone that wasn’t me, elliot.”

your husband sputtered, only embarrassed further when gaz whistled low and soap shook his head, privy already to the failings of your relationship and at a loss as to why your husband could have ever made the choices he had.

“well, if yer not up to it, elliot, we wouldnae push,” johnny said. “in fact it’d mean you’d have the entire bed to ye’self while we kept bonnie company for the night. more room fer you to spread out as ye sleep.”

you felt your body run cold as you thought back to your first night; you’d thought perhaps one of them had overheard elliot’s thoughtless comments but you hadn’t realised they’d heard the entire conversation.

you laughed awkwardly at johnny’s suggestion as elliot insisted a little too seriously that nothing of the like would be happening.

simon thankfully interrupted the stand off between the three men at the table as he brought through dessert; a light chocolate sorbet with fresh raspberries.

you thanked him and took the opportunity to share the joke you’d been trying to remember since simon had shared his first pun when he’d brought out the starters.

“how does a french chef respond to bad egg jokes?” you asked and waited for simon’s shrug. “oeuf..."

you saw his eyes crinkle and assumed that was as close to a laugh that you’d get, feeling quite pleased with yourself.

“that’s a shit joke,” he said, but the amusement was clear in his voice. “enjoy your dessert.”

“thank you.” you took a big bite, groaning deep at the rich taste and tartness of the fruit. the prospect of brain-freeze unable to slow you down.

“fucking hell, would you behave?” elliot hissed in your ear.

gaz dropped his spoon with a clatter, and sniffed harshly, looking across at elliot with clear disdain.

“you need to stop disrespecting her, mate. she’s an adult, she’s enjoying a meal; leave her alone.”

“was i talking to you?” elliot said back, eager for the fight. “you don’t see me interfering with your relationship.”

“yeah, exactly. your lips were sealed when you thought johnny had my dick in his mouth at the table, but now you think you can get snappy?”

“she’ll learn her manners even if she does insist on being friends with you two,” elliot said.

you felt anger bubble at being ignored, talked about as though you weren’t there by both men.

johnny noticed your discomfort and nudged gaz, his posture loosening when he saw your lowered head, jutted jaw and the embarrassed purse of your lips.

“maybe we’ve all had too much to drink,” johnny said appeasingly. “more than we’d realised. simon’s always been a strong pour.”

“i agree. not that the cocktails weren’t lovely, but they must’ve gone to everyone’s heads quicker than expected. they were moorish,” you laughed, though it sounded thin and fake to your own ears.

gaz huffed through his nose heavily. he nodded and looked at you as he spoke. “i’ll go settle up with simon. if you need a hand walking back to the car you could wait with me?”

you nodded when elliot didn’t protest and johnny got up to help him.

you waited with gaz near the back of the room where simon had set up a little till station, a bowl of mints to the side that you felt swell of fondness for as you looked at them.

simon picked up on the awkward air immediately when he came out from the back, watched with keen eyes as you shuffled from foot to foot and sent anxious glances out the window in between compliments to the food.

“‘m making a cake soon,” he said out of the blue as gaz tapped his card, and you turned back to him, interest piqued. “any recommendations on flavour? bit tied at the minute.”

“oh.” you blinked. “i had a lemon poppyseed cake a few years ago that was to die for.”

simon watched you steadily for a moment before humming. he handed kyle his receipt. “tell johnny it was good t’see ’im.”

“you too, si.”

kyle offered you his arm to walk back to the car and you took it gladly, letting him help you to keep your footing until you were situated in the back with elliot.

the drive back felt exponentially longer in the silence. the lack of music, johnny’s chatter, or even your own ramblings had you on edge.

the silence from elliot continued into the house as he winced and hobbled up the stairs alone, refusing any more help than he’d already been forced to rely upon.

you followed behind him dutifully, mouthing a soft ‘thank you’ to gaz and soap at the stairs before disappearing into your room.

elliot waited for the door to close before he rounded on you.

“‘i’ve never done that before’,” he simpered, pitching his voice higher to mock you.

“elliot, i—“

“go ahead try and explain your way out of that one, hm? practically threw yourself at them,” he spat.

you scoffed.

“its not like i said yes to fucking them,” you reminded him, not mentioning the urge you’d felt at the time to do just that.

“didn’t say no either, did you?” elliot asked, his voice raising. “i think they were planning on bloody bedding you tonight in fact.”

“fucking hell. you’re being dramatic and- and silly,” you said in disbelief. “they were playing around. christ knows if i can get over what you did, then you can deal with them flirting a little.”

he moved swiftly despite his ankle and grabbed your arm tightly, ignoring your sharp gasp as he glared at you. “you need to start listening to me. we’re married, if you remember? so start behaving like it.”

“you’re hurting me, elliot.” when he didn’t let go you nodded quickly and spoke again. “i understand.”

“good.” he nodded and bent down to kiss your lips chastley. “then let’s go to bed.”

he let you go and limped over to the bed. you joined him a moment later, shaken as you tried to calm yourself enough to lay next to him and pretend to sleep.

---

johnny had set up breakfast outside the next morning while kyle had sorted out their few animals and checked for any stray sheep that needed to be shepherded closer to their neighbour’s land; taking their truck around the edge of the property.

“hey, got some brekkie outside if ye want to join? kyle’ll be back any minute now.”

you nodded and helped elliot across the garden as johnny brought the fresh orange juice with him for the table.

you thanked johnny for the broad spread and plated yourself some of the mixed fruit. when you heard a door slam, you turned to the driveway and saw kyle making his way down the side of the house to reach the garden. he waved when he caught you looking, readjusting his cap so his face wasn’t hidden by the brim as he came closer.

he bent to kiss johnny’s scarred temple before taking his seat and stealing a sip of his coffee, wincing at the bitterness.

“you tell ‘em yet?” kyle asked johnny in a low tone, putting the mug back and pouring himself a juice.

“not yet,” johnny replied. he cleared his throat when elliot lifted an eyebrow in question, having stayed stubbornly silent with johnny and now kyle. still moody from the evening before.

johnny sighed, almost awkwardly. “look, we didn’t mean to overhear, but conversations echo in an old home like ours,” he started. you immediately went cold. “there’s been a few things we’ve both heard over the last few days—“

elliot jumped in, finding his voice suddenly in the face of his reputation being squandered, even if it was just johnny and kyle. “whatever you heard was between myself and my wife. it’s an old mistake and we’ve worked through it to heal any wounds caused. we’re happier than ever now, aren’t we?” he threw his arm behind you to rest in the back of your chair, the picture of a perfect couple. you nodded placidly. he turned back to them. “our therapist is fantastic.”

“therapist?” kyle asked.

“yes, a couple’s therapist, but you see her a couple times a month alone too, don’t you, darling?” elliot said.

“we needed someone impartial to help us see through the fog,” you said, repeating the words elliot had used over a year ago to convince you to stay. “we were just running in circles about it.”

kyle nodded. “how’d you find this therapist then?”

“elliot found her,” you said.

“lucky she was such a good fit if she was the first one you tried,” kyle said mirthfully.

“well she’d helped me before so i knew she was good at her job,” elliot let slip.

you stiffened and slowly turned to face him. “what?”

“she just gave me some advice, helped me out of a few toxic relationships when i was younger, darling. nothing serious like us. i haven’t been married before if that’s what you’re thinking,” elliot tried to joke.

it was not what you were thinking. it was not what you were worrying about.

“when you were ‘younger’? you’ve known her for years?” you questioned. “she was meant to be fucking unbiased and you’re telling me you’ve used her to get you out of relationships before? what the fuck, elliot?” you seethed, your voice raising.

“darling—“

“you told me she was trustworthy!” you laughed mirthlessly as you thought back to your first session. “you said you’d never met her before, just another fucking lie for the tally is it? it’s feeling pretty endless at this point,” you scoffed.

elliot’s lips thinned as he pulled his arm back and looked at you, debating his next move.

“we went to university together,” he admitted. “we’re just friends.”

“oh christ, ‘friends’. good to know the woman i’ve been telling my deepest, darkest thoughts to has more personal loyalty to you and whether or not she’d keep my secrets is one too many drinks away,” you spat.

“she takes her work very seriously, she wouldn’t break confidentiality like that. she’s never told me anything you’ve said in a session that i wasn’t there for,” elliot pressed, reaching to hold your hand.

“and why should i believe you?” you yanked your hand back and stood, storming off towards the woodland at the back of the garden.

“always with the dramatics.” elliot shook his head. he stood and took a step to follow you but winced when the pressure on his ankle spiked a sharp ache up his shin.

soap and gaz stayed seated, watching him struggle silently.

when he slumped back into his seat johnny spoke up. “why don’t we take ye back inside? give her some space.”

elliot bit the inside of his cheek but knew disagreeing wasn’t an option. he jerkily nodded once.

kyle kept an eye on you as you stopped near the tree line, smiled, amused, when he saw you kick at a nearby tree trunk. you weren’t going any deeper into the start of the trail so there was no need for them to bother you, you needed time to process and work through your initial anger.

he grabbed a plate for himself and started to eat, grabbing bits he knew johnny would want when he got back. there was no point in wasting a dewy fresh morning and good food just because elliot was a moron.

they’d finished majority of their share of the food when they heard your footsteps heading back. you hadn’t lingered at the end of the grass for long, deciding to join them once more with a ducked head and an embarrassed hunch to your shoulders.

“are ye ok?” johnny asked carefully.

“yeah, yeah. fine. just annoyed, more than anything. embarrassed i made such a scene.”

“don’t be, if it were me ah’d ‘ve gone bananas hearing all’a that.” johnny waved you off.

“there’s only so much someone can take,” kyle added.

you nodded and felt a stray tear slip and in a flash the pair of them were tugging you out of your seat to wrap you in a warm hug.

“thank you, guys,” you said as you squeezed them back. you sent a weary look towards the house as the one thought that had been going around your head for the last half hour - the last year if you were being honest.

you were going to divorce elliot.

“you’ve done so much for us, for me, these last couple of days. how about i cook for you guys tonight? i make a pretty mean lasagne if you’ve got the stuff?”

the couple grinned. “i think we could find what you need.”

you finished your breakfast and headed back inside after the couple waved of your offer to help clear the table.

“we’ve got a bit to catch up on around the farm that we’ve put off since you arrived,” kyle said. “we’ll be back later on, but feel free to go where you like on the property, do what you like.”

“make ye’sen anything from the fridge if ye get hungry,” johnny added.

which left you with a slow day to entertain yourself. with kyle’s. words echoing in your mind you headed to the large bookcase on the living room and grabbed the first book that caught your eye. sitting in the armchair diagonal to the sofa where elliot was watching their tv from, you curled up and silently began to read. you weren’t ready to talk to elliot yet, but you knew he’d need a hand throughout the day and you didn’t want to add onto johnny and kyle’s already long list of things to do.

you caught gaz and soap nipping in and out throughout the day and when it timed right, you refilled their flasks with steaming tea before they were off out again.

the book lasted you the day, thoroughly engrossing you in the story, and elliot played nice for once, giving his p’s and q’s when you handed him a fresh cuppa and even cautiously squeezing your hip in appreciation when you passed by towards the end of the day.

“i’m making lasagne,” you said as he waited for your response.

“sounds lovely, darling.”

you were still angry at him, but it turned to despondency when you saw that johnny had taken the time to set the ingredients aside for you on the counter and in the fridge. elliot had never done that for you.

such small things were missing, it wasn’t just his cheating, but that had been the linchpin for this longwinded realisation that you just weren’t happy together.

you lost yourself in the preparation of the meal, not noticing your company as you started layering the sauces and pasta sheets. johnny and gaz came lumbering in, clearly tired but obviously satisfied with the work they’d completed in the day and hovered by your side.

“ah hen, that looks good. think i could eat the lot t’ ma’sael,” johnny groaned.

“you bloody dare,” kyle threatened, leaning ober his shoulder to see what you were doing. “we’ll clean up upstairs and leave you to it.”

“it should be cooked in the next 40 minutes, so take your time,” you said, gently elbowing them away so you could put the tray in the oven.

they nodded, and you got to cleaning up after yourself.

a nudge at your hip what felt like only a few minutes later had you looking up in surprise and smiling at kyle as he dried the dishes you’d washed. it was painfully domestic and you looked over your shoulder to see johnny wiping down the countertops.

“has kyle told ye ‘bout the market?”

“yeah, in two days’ time right?”

“aye, you should come with us when we go. will be a right laugh,” johnny offered.

“i’d love to,” you agreed, not sparing a thought for how elliot would deal with the journey or get around the market once he was there with you. you wanted to be selfish about this. “what are you thinking of taking?”

“got a fair bit of fruit and veg lined up, some pickles stuff i’ve been working on, a few woodwork projects gaz brings along,” johnny listed.

“you sell your work?”

“just small stuff like fence signs, ‘welcome home’ plaques, small coffee tables,” kyle said bashfully.

“you should bring your charcoal drawings too, johnny, i bet people would love to see their countryside lovingly captured,” you suggested.

“ah, maybe,” he hedged. you huffed, surprised that this was what got the pair shy. “should’ve brought some’a yer own paintings to sell, bon.”

“oh fuck, i forgot my paint set at home,” you said, deflated. “i was really looking forward to painting sometime. in fact today would’ve been perfect for it.” you pouted, annoyed at yourself doubly.

“ye can just borrow some of my stuff,” johnny said easily. “what’s mine is yours, yeah?”

you blinked. “uhm, sure.” you cleared your throat. “thank you, johnny,” you said a little more gratefully.

“think that lasagne might be finished,” kyle said as he stood. “i’ll set the table.”

you nodded and went to help elliot while johnny pulled out the dish and scooped it onto four plates.

“looks delicious, you’ve outdone ye’self here,” johnny cooed. you grinned and felt pride bloom when all three of the men sat at the table groaned at the taste.

“can i make a toast before you all finish in one bite?” you asked playfully. kyle was quick to nod and put down his fork, swapping it for his glass of water. “to lasting friendships and new starts.”

elliot frowned but lifted his glass.

“cheers tae tha’,” johnny said, taking a quick swig before shovelling another spoonful off his plate.

---

with dinner a certified success and your mind made up about your marriage, you found it easier to forgive your husband for what he’d let slip at breakfast.

you headed to bed, peaceful in your decision, and smiled at elliot as you changed into your pyjamas.

“darling…” he started, hesitant for one of the first times in your relationship. you sat next to him on the bed, ignoring the way it squeaked beneath your weight. “i truly am sorry for not telling you— for lying to you about sarah. she’s the most qualified person i know in the field, i just wanted the best for you, for us. i didn’t think about how it would look in the long run.”

of course he didn't, because he never thought about how you felt. you took his hand and rubbed your thumb over his knuckles.

“i forgive you, elliot. mistakes happen,” you said simply.

“yeah?” he asked, his grin and confidence growing. he slipped his hand free to cup your face and pulled you in for an eager kiss. “thank you, darling. i knew you’d understand.”

his eyes darkened as he looked at you, his hand dropped from your cheek to your shoulder and trailed down the long sleeved shirt you slept in.

“you know, you were right at dinner the other night,” he said, and plucked at the bottom of the shirt. “we haven’t had much time for each other recently. maybe we should rectify that.”

of everything you could've guessed elliot would have said to you after everything, that wouldn't have been one of them.

“your ankle,” you reminded him stiltedly. “you’re meant to rest .”

“i’ve been resting,” he said impatiently. “but either way, i’m sure we can work around that.”

“the walls are thin,” you said, hoping it came across as shy instead of reluctant. you were disinclined to fuck your husband now that you’d accepted you wanted better, more.

but you supposed you could give him a quick handjob and call it a night, his complaints be damned. you saw the frustration bleed clearer in his expression with each excuse.

you pushed him back into the pillows and climbed over him to settle in close at his side. guiding his chin up you kissed him in soft little pecks that led across his cheek until you could nuzzle along his jaw and gently nip and lick at his neck. you lifted your palm up and licked a broad stripe across before slipping it beneath his boxers, soaking up his groan as your slick palm wrapped around his base.

you always were a sucker for knowing you were doing a good job, even now when you weren't too invested.

you pulled him free from his boxers and tightened your grip as you moved in deliberate, slow pumps. keeping your eyes low, you watched the first spurt of pre dribble down before it was quickly gathered by your fingers and spread laxly over his head and back down the shaft.

“oh fuck, that’s it, darling. just a bit quicker and tighter for me, go on,” he encouraged.

you did as he asked, twisting your wrist and pressing your thumb to his slit. you felt him shudder and the arm he’d wrapped around you tightened incrementally.

“feel good?” you asked and squeezed tighter on your next pump. he was leaking enough that the glide was slick and easy, the friction causing him to groan.

“fuck, i think im gonna- gonna cum,” he whined and you took that as a hint to focus on his head, swirling your palm in tight motions until his hips were lifting off of the bed to push into your sticky grip. he came with a low gasp, his breath hot and damp across your forehead.

you waited for him to hiss in sensitivity before you let him go and sat up, keeping your palm away from your clean pjs.

“just let me wash up then we can go to sleep,” you said.

elliot sleepily nodded, his eyes already half closed. you sighed.

---

with a jolt, you suddenly woke with elliot hovering over you; he was already dressed, though the lack of light itching to burst past the curtains let you know it wasn’t yet morning. you were disoriented and confused as he whispered rushed mutterings.

“elliot?”

“shh,” he held his finger to his lips, eyes flickering to the bedroom door. “you need to pack, we have to go.”

“what? no, what time is it?” you sat up and brushed his hands away from you. he stopped tugging at your arm and instead pulled away the duvet.

“there was an emergency, we have to go. now.” elliot repeated. “please darling, quickly.”

“an emergency?” your ears pricked even as you read the time, 5am, on your phone. “what emergency?”

“i’ll explain on the way,” he said vaguely, finally pulling you out of the bed and hissing when he pressed too much weight on his ankle.

“elliot, slow down. just tell me what’s happened, im not leaving here without saying goodbye to—“

“shut up. for once just do as i say,” elliot rounded on you suddenly and gripped your neck tightly. you reflexively pulled at his wrist to ease up the pressure and nodded as best you could with his broad palm pressed snugly against your throat, his thumb and fingers hooked at the edges of your jaw. “we’re leaving. we have to go, and i mean now.”

he let you go and you stayed quiet, muffling your coughs into your elbow. he was hasty in his own packing, rushing you along all the while and stumbled with his bag on the stairs, irritating his injury enough to let out a sharp gasp.

you ducked under his arm and helped him hop to the car, sending pensive looks behind you the whole time, guilt churning in your gut.

“are you sure you can drive, elliot?” you asked finally, hesitating to put on your seatbelt once you were sat in the passenger seat.

he shushed you rudely and gritted his teeth as he pressed on the clutch.

the drive back down the winding lanes towards the main road was rough, the car stuttering every time elliot’s ankle succumbed to and crumbled under the pressure he needed for the clutch, his leg flinching up and the seatbelt catching you before you jerked too far forward.

“where’s my phone? i need to call work, i need— where is it?” he hissed, patting his pockets and checking the holders in the car, hardly watching the road.

“you don’t have it?” you asked, confused.

“it was charging on your side of the bed,” he reminded you impatiently.

“then how did you know about the emergen—“ you realised with a sudden sick roll of your stomach, that he’d lied. again.

he was pissy you had a few days left of the holiday, that he wasn’t enjoying himself but you were. you had two days left but he he didn’t want to be around them anymore so he faked an emergency, because surely he’d have had his phone if that were true. fuck, no wonder he was being vague about it all, he wanted time to make up something detrimental at work or perhaps even to do with a friend that would be fine with lying to you. he certainly had his pick of them.

he span the car around angrily and you held on to the door handle as the tyres squealed. “you’ll need to go in and get it as quickly as possible.”

“sure,” you said blandly. you were sick of trusting him and getting fucked over for it every time. would you ever learn?

yes. the divorce would make this the last time you let him walk all over you.

you didn’t bother trying to quieten your steps along the gravel back up to the house. part of you hoped johnny or kyle heard your steps and came down to stop you leaving while the other half worried what elliot would do if you dawdled.

you mumbled to yourself, pissed off and chuntering, as you walked into the kitchen, expecting it to be empty and to be able to nip upstairs and grab elliot’s mobile and be gone again, an apologetic text already drafted in your mind for johnny and kyle.

however the pair of them were already in the kitchen, a third man stood with them. johnny jumped from his chair and wrapped you in his arms immediately, causing you to squeak when he squeezed tight.

“we were worried you’d left,” gaz said from where he leant against the kitchen counter, the mysterious man stood silent opposite him. “fretting we’d done something wrong.”

johnny let you go finally so you could reply, his big blue eyes staring down at you intensely.

“oh, uhm, i’m sorry,” you started, stuttering through an explanation. an excuse. “we uhm, we did go but it’s because i woke with bad stomach pains.” you felt yourself retreat into your shoulders, hunched and embarrassed with such focused attention on you. “elliot was worried, said we should go to the hospital maybe, uhm, so we left without saying goodbye. in a hurry. sorry.”

you noticed the third man staring at your neck and reflexively lifted a hand to cover the area, hoping to feel whatever he was staring at, thinking your shirt might've had the tag stuck out at the front given how dazedly you'd dressed earlier. instead you sucked in a thin breath when your hand pressed against sensitive bruising.

you broke eye contact immediately and dropped your hand to your collar bone, felt your cheeks heat in a putrid mix of anger and humiliation.

“we found his phone in yer room still,” johnny said and pulled elliot’s mobile from his back pocket. “glad ye came back fer it, but if yer ill was it really so important?”

you floundered for a moment, eyes glued to his hand, before gaz spoke up.

“might’ve just been the booze from last night, yeah? sometimes it doesn’t settle well, simon forgets what the average person can stomach,” kyle said. he winked. “it’d be especially rough for lightweights.”

you rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t deny it.

“it still hurting?” johnny asked, his free hand drifting close so his fingertips could trace your stomach lightly in the opening of your jacket.

you clamped your own hand over your soft tummy and nodded, feigning a stomach ache.

“let me make ye some chucky eggs and a chamomile tea to ease it off,” johnny offered and dropped elliot’s phone on the table roughly. “a light hangover cure coming right up, don’t figure you’d want a hearty, greasy brekkie like what i do fer me an’ gaz when we’re hangin'.”

gaz pushed off the side and gently corralled you into a seat, pushing it in for you afterwards and letting his hands linger on you shoulders. you couldn’t help but nod and go along with their sweet touches, even as you thought of elliot sat waiting in his car. they were being nicer than anyone had been in a long time when you’d been ‘ill’.

it felt like they were being careful with you. it almost made you feel even guiltier for lying to them.

the third man coughed and looked at kyle with raised eyebrows, his heavy facial hair hiding any mirth that might have hidden around his mouth.

“ah, where are my manners? love, this is price, our pest control guy,” kyle said as he hovered by your chair. “sometimes when we’re too busy to handle it, we get price in to shoot the foxes that are eating the hens. we’d called him last week since we’ve been having a few issues, completely forgot after you arrived.”

you nodded along, though you couldn’t remember seeing or hearing any foxes over the last few days, even on the late evenings.

“he’s a good man, won’t be a bother,” johnny added. “in fact it was good that he arrived when he did or we’d have had no clue ye were gone.”

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said, and took his meaty hand when he offered it. as you looked into his pale eyes you saw something mean to him. hidden behind his soft, placid smile and easy nod there was a sharp glint in his eyes he couldn’t hide.

you knew without asking that he enjoyed his job, enjoyed hunting, and you were suddenly glad you wouldn’t have to witness it going by johnny’s promise that he'd be out of the way.

johnny handed you a earthy smelling cup and you slowly sipped and watched him hover by the toaster as the eggs boiled in their pan, waiting to butter then slice the toast into dippable pieces.

he’d just scooped the eggs into their little cups and played them beside the toast when your husband limped in, stumbling at the unexpected sight of gaz and johnny. he sent you a baleful look as he took in the scene before him and you ducked your head back towards your boiled eggs.

“we were wondering when you might turn up, mate,” kyle said, finally taking his seat next to yours. “was just introducing the missus to price.”

“poor girl said she was ill?” price said and elliot clung on to the excuse.

“ah yeah, she’s always been a drama queen this one. wanted to head home as soon as she started feeling a little under the weather,” he said. he looked down to your plate. “feeling better now, though, i see.”

price’s gaze turned frigid as he stared at your husband. he looked to johnny for a moment, who nodded once, before turning back to your husband.

“you ever gone hunting before?” he asked. “do a bit for the lads here when they’re tied up in more important things, could take you out when i go looking for foxes today.”

elliot jumped at the chance, even with his ankle.

watching price, you felt rude for the voice in the back of your head that was telling you this man was not to be trusted. he was nice from what you could tell, charming even, if not commanding. you assumed he perhaps had a similar background to johnny and kyle with how he held himself, that his gruff exterior was likely earned from years in the service, but despite that something in you bristled all the same in a way it hadn’t so far. looking at elliot however, you realised he felt far differently; price’s casual dominance had managed to bring your husband to heel.

“great, we’ll keep bonnie company for the morning and if she starts to feel faint again, we’ll look after her,” johnny said and clapped elliot on the shoulder.

---

the couple hardly gave you time to let your breakfast settle before they whisked you off onto a trail behind their house again and after a short walk you got to see the view kyle had shown you on his phone originally in france.

“said you wanted to try painting it, so here we are,” kyle said.

“i don’t have my stuff with me.” you frowned, remembering speaking about it before.

“ahh, we came prepared.” johnny took off his bag and rooted through it, pulling out three small drawing pads and a water colour set. “no wine this time,” johnny teased. “an’ we’ll have tae share the paints.”

“then what’re we waiting for?” you asked excitedly.

barely twenty minutes in you quickly found that this was the one thing the pair of them couldn’t do.

gaz struggled the most, claiming after barely ten minutes that he was going down an abstract route with his, and despite his teasing, it didn’t take johnny much longer after that to admit that his skill lay in charcoal.

you had spent the better part of the morning on your painting, but at the last minute painted over the same branch until the colour was too dark, overworked and leaking a little into the leaves.

“fuck,” you huffed and dabbed it with your sleeve. elliot would scowl at the mess but you were distracted, worried about what johnny and kyle thought of your lie earlier that morning and your rude almost-exit. “i’m sorry about this morning,” you said finally.

“there’s nothing to apologise for,” kyle said immediately. “you’re still here, right?”

“still, i just—“

“hen, please. you’re fine, you’re forgiven if that’s what ye need t’hear.” johnny smiled. “maybe we should head back, ahm craving a hot choccy like nobodies business sat out here in the cold.”

"we can get lunch started," gaz suggested before turning to you. "What are you craving, love?"

---

you had reached the garden when you heard a shot echo from the woods.

“must’ve found the den,” kyle said in response to your tense shoulders, but your husband's scream following a moment later had your head whipping across the lawn.

with wide eyes you watched the tree line, stubbornly still even as kyle and johnny tried to encourage you further down towards the farmhouse. you felt your hands twitch as your husband burst from the overgrown bushes, pushing out of a trail you’d have never known was there otherwise.

at his desperate, fearful face you turned to kyle for support automatically, johnny nowhere to be seen, but found his eyes were dark and hooded where he watched elliot struggle to hobble over to you. his stance was lazy; you’d almost think he was uninterested if you hadn’t noticed the way he’d not blinked since your husband’s running figure had breached the bushes, but you could tell he was entirely focused on elliot.

as he got closer you noticed the blood streaking down his face from a large cut across his forehead and his broken nose; evident from it's quick bruising.

he looked like he’d been hit with the solid flat side of something head on. at the sight of tears in his eyes you suddenly jumped into action and met him halfway, helping hold him up as he tried to move quickly away from the forest behind.

“he’s trying to kill me, he’s going to— he attacked me, he wants to kill me, we need to leave,” he babbled, nasally. “we have to go, please.”

“let’s take a second to breathe, mate, yeah? come on, sit down inside and tell us what’s happened,” kyle said reasonably.

“no! i’m not fucking staying here, you’re all crazy,” elliot said and tried to pull you along passed the kitchen door. “he’s a fucking psycho, he attacked me with the fucking— the thing, the gun!”

“i’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” kyle insisted, but you recognised a hint of impatience to his tone and it had you continuing to walk with elliot to your car. “if you slow down, we can figure this out.”

“kyle… even if this was an accident, i think someone should look at the cut,” you said. the blood had dripped far enough to begin to soak into elliot’s collar and stain the material.

“no, no, no,” elliot suddenly mumbled and you turned forward to look at the car. your eyes locked onto the flat wheel and you felt your stomach drop.

“elliot…” you whispered.

“get in the fucking car,” he ordered and pushed away from you to round to the passenger side.

dread spread like ice to your fingertips and toes and you flinched out of kyle’s hold when he reached for your arm from behind. you span around to face him and stumbled back a step towards the car, only breaking eye contact with kyle when you saw movement from the garage.

johnny. he was dusting off his hands as he walked and you felt your panic rise and thrash. you’d not lent a thought as to where he’d gone when elliot had appeared bloody and frantic, but in the back of your mind you supposed you’d thought he’d continued on to the house; whether for a first aid kit or to start those hot chocolates you didn’t know.

looking at him then, trousers freshly scuffed on one knee with mud where you supposed he must’ve knelt to slash your tyre, your head suddenly felt heavy and your breath came short.

you were just confused. they were so kind to you, understanding, and now elliot was hurt and something in your gut told you they were involved, too casual in the face of such a graphic injury and accusation.

kyle was eerily quiet as you slowly started to piece it together. you swallowed nervously.

“what— what’s going on, kyle?”

“it’s nothing you need to worry about, love,” he said softly. “come on, come inside with me and johnny’ll sort out elliot.”

it felt weird hearing him say your husband’s name for the first time, especially in this situation. it raised your hackles when you’d have thought it would ease your worry.

“aye, just a spot of bad luck, nothing we can’t fix,” johnny said as he edged closer.

“get in the fucking car, what are you waiting for?” elliot yelled.

“don’t do it, love,” kyle warned.

you shook your head and scrambled for the front seat, locking the door behind you. it had been years since you last drove; moving to london meant it wasn’t necessary and on the odd trips you took with elliot he’d always insisted on driving. pushing on the pedals now felt like learning anew, especially with the flat.

kyle and johnny watched you reverse with frowns on their faces, arms crossed and stood tall.

“speed up, fucking hell, get on the main road already before they catch up,” elliot hissed, eyes wild.

the gears grinded as you tried to speed up down the short road that led to their house, the steering wheel fighting against you on the uneven road and flat tyre. you glanced in the rear view mirror at elliot’s words, worried they were already on your tail but they were still stood still.

you wondered briefly if they really were just trying to help when you suddenly spun out on the gravel leading up to the barn.

your head smacked into the wheel as the car slammed to a stop against the fence and you groaned as you sat up, panting and clinging uncomfortably tight to the steering wheel as you tried to blink the stars from your eyes and gather your bearings. everything was going too fast, the afternoon turned upside down so quick.

elliot clambered out of the car, limping towards the barn without giving a second look back towards you. with weak hands you pushed open the door and followed him, shaken but uninjured.

you followed him into the barn and he slammed the door behind you, slotting the latch down as though that would do much good to keep anyone out for long.

“that man, price, he tried to shoot me,” elliot whispered, fresh tears mixing with the blood on his cheek. “when i fought him he punched me and then hit me with the gun. i had to run for my life, i think ive bloody broken this ankle, if it wasn’t already.”

“what do we do?” you asked, voice wobbly and quiet. “where can we go? they’re— they’ll be outside already.”

“we need to hide,” he said. you clenched your eyes shut. that didn’t sound like much of a plan.

“what if kyle and johnny aren’t in on it?” you asked hopefully. if they weren’t that gave you more options to escape price at least.

elliot went to speak but the sound of another door opening had you freezing in place like deer. you’d not thought about other entrances, not thought about how you’d come in a completely different door when you’d visited marmite.

hide, elliot mouthed before diving behind a pile of boxes, covering himself with the loose corner of tarpaulin.

you moved further back into the barn and watched as johnny came in to view. he whistled as he let his eyes wander around the large barn, winking across to marmite.

“where could he be, marm? eh?” he asked rhetorically, stopping beside elliot’s hiding spot. you noticed belatedly that the awkward way your husband held his ankle to ease the pain meant it stuck out glaringly, his expensive trainers clear as day.

you wanted to call out, give him a chance to make a break for it, but your voice failed you and you watched as johnny stomped his heavy boot onto elliot’s ankle.

you sobbed at the scream he let out as it echoed in the barn. shivering at the pain in his voice as you muffled your own cried behind your palm.

johnny yanked him out of his hiding spot and dragged him back outside through the open door, laughing at elliot’s gasps and whines of pain.

you spotted a shovel opposite you and grabbed it following close behind, careful not to make any noise. you raised the shovel high with gritted teeth, ready to swing, when kyle’s arms wrapped around you, tight and restricting.

he stole the makeshift weapon from your hands too easily and threw it out of reach as johnny watched with wide, impressed eyes focused on you, elliot whimpering at his feet.

one second you were struggling in kyle’s grip and the next you were winded, wrestled to the ground at johnny’s feet with kyle pressed to your back.

“ready t’watch, hen?” johnny asked gleefully, kicking elliot out of his feral position before kneeling over him. he glanced at you to make sure you were watching and kyle’s broad palm came up to cup your chin, his fingers digging into your cheeks to make sure you were facing towards them.

“doin’ this f’r you,” johnny said earnestly before bringing his fist down in a heavy punch, hitting elliot’s cheek hard enough it recoiled into the solid ground below him.

you watched with bleary eyes as johnny beat your husband until his face was sunken, didn’t blink as he grabbed a nearby rock to continue until elliot’s arms stopped prying at johnny’s chest and face and his breaths eventually stilled.

“please stop, please, you’re hurting him, please stop.” you hadn’t realised you’d been mumbling, begging and pleading, while johnny’s hands dripped red.

“you’re ok, pretty,” kyle cooed against your temple, his lips brushing softly against your skin like light kisses.

he nuzzled your cheek where his thumb dug into the squishy flesh as you heard footsteps.

“need help cleaning up?” price asked.

“only this one as planned, sir,” johnny said as he pushed himself back onto his feet, groaning at the pressure on his knee.

“could’ve been a bit cleaner about it,” kyle complained.

“you saw how he was treating her?” price confirmed. “right then. and you’ve both spent time with him alone, know he’s fucking insufferable.”

gaz huffed a short breath through his nose. “being polite with that one, cap.”

“i think i did well lasting the full mornin’ with him,” price said haughtily, grabbing your husband by the collar and hefting him up halfway off the ground while johnny grabbed one of his arms to help. “let him run this far, did ya?”

“was fun watching him tire himself out,” kyle said and you clenched your hand trapped beneath your body.

“doesnae matter now, the jobs done,” johnny said. “we can fix this.” he waved to you and kyle and you shivered.

kyle eased up on your back and let go of your face as you watched them drag elliot’s body towards the back garden and the woods, presumably where the shallow grave they'd prepared for him was.

“right, love,” he started, and you took advantage of his slip in concentration and the looser hold to swing your elbow up and back into his face. he reared back and you rolled him off of your hips the rest of the way, scrambling up onto your feet and sprinting away as soon as you were free.

“fucking hell,” he swore loudly.

you didn’t dare look back, already feeling like your steps were too slow already as you aimed for their car instead of your own.

you imagined finding their keys magically in the ignition or in the drivers seat visor and being able to drive off without a bump, find help and—

you were suddenly hit from the side, johnny's full weight heaved into yours as he shoulder barged you against their car door so roughly your head bounced off of the truck’s window with a crack.

your knees crumbled on impact, all strength leaving your body and replaced with pain as you slumped to the floor.

your vision swam as he laughed excitedly and crouched before you. “fucking’ wily one, you, hen,” he crowed and reached out to pat your face. “c’mon, up ye get.”

he hefted you up, gripping you under your arms even as you tried to wiggle away, pain flashing across your eyes when you moved your head too quick.

“christ almighty, yer stunning,” he gushed. he opened the door with one hand and slipped in backwards, leaving his feet planted on the edge of the door as he dragged you to lean over the seat and his lap until your toes were just scraping the ground. “such a beautiful wife.”

you whined at the uncomfortable position, the pressure the edge of the seat put on your tummy, but you couldn’t move due to how harsh his grip on your arms was as he rested your head in his lap. “lemme go,” you groaned.

he scratched lightly at the back of your neck and grinned at the goosebumps that flared up.

he’d only just gotten you settled fully into position when you felt a second pair of hands at your arse. you jolted in his grip, but the firm body behind you stopped you from moving too far. pressed completely between them like a pinned butterfly.

kyle didn’t hesitate once he saw you were unable to move far, didn’t bother to ease you into it, snaking one hand to your front to release the button on your jeans and then pulling both your jeans and pants over your arse to tangle at your knees. he palmed at the bare skin revealed, nudging a knee between your thick thighs when you tried to kick back at him.

“fuck you,” you seethed. “get the fuck off of me.”

“you don’t have to play pretend anymore, love, elliot’s not here to get mad,” kyle said. he squeezed your hips and groaned. “fucking hell, bet you’re wet already, drooling in johnny’s lap like that.”

you gritted your teeth and tried to gain some firmer footing but the shift of your legs only encouraged the pair and the breeze against your pussy had you tensing.

“oh baby, you’re really desperate for it, yeah?” kyle cooed meanly. he lifted his hand to johnny, sticking two fingers out. “get these wet for me, eh, soap?”

you couldn’t look up from how johnny held you close, but you felt him lean forward, heard the eager, wet noises as he sucked at kyle’s fingers with abandon.

kyle pulled them free with a slick pop and trailed them between your legs, slipping one inside your pussy even as you winced at the too-dry stretch, johnny's spit not lending enough give to kyle’s long finger.

“gonna thank us for getting rid a’him?” johnny asked, squeezing your neck.

you felt your lips wobble and hid further into his lap. feeling humiliated as they laughed. endeared by your cowed behaviour.

gaz was quick to get with the program, knowing he wouldn't get much further and slipped his finger free with a gentle shush in your ear. he tilted your hips up and wedged his arm between you and the car seat, planted his spit-slick fingers over your clit instead and rubbed in sharp circles until you were squirming.

“there ya go,” johnny said. “that’ll do ‘er.”

“shh, be a good girl for us,” kyle grunted. “c’mon, don’t fight it, love, make it easy on yourself.”

you felt your hips twitch against his hand as he focused meanly on your clit until your pussy was clenching and creaming around nothing.

you let out a ragged gasp, your voice breaking as kyle continued to pinch and play with your throbbing clit for a moment longer until you felt a whine build in the back of your throat. you clenched your teeth to hold it back and pushed your face into johnny's solid thigh.

when kyle saw your resistance he ran his fingers lower until they met the hot slick leaking from your cunt and grinned with accomplishment up at his husband.

“don’t worry love, it’ll feel good. i’ll make sure of it,” kyle promised against the sensitive skin of your neck.

he slipped his finger in again, easier this time, and followed it too quickly after with a second. you groaned at the stretch, your hot panting breaths damp against johnny’s tented trousers. the instinct to bite his cock through his jeans and not let go like an untrained dog flashed through your mind as the start of an escape plan, but johnny gently stroked the apple of your cheek and it distracted you enough to lose the thought and chicken out last minute.

“no need t’worry, bonnie. ahm no’ gonna make ye take my cock at the same time, not today,” he said soothingly. “ah know how overwhelming two at a time can be.”

you felt sick as you identified the feeling blooming in your chest as relief and gratefulness. felt worse when you thought it could just be pure pleasure as kyle’s fingers learned the shape of you.

“so bloody tight, don’t know how i’ll fit, johnny,” kyle complained good-naturedly, a sly smile plastered across his face.

“she’s made fer it, gaz,” johnny insisted, mumbled a gruff, our good girl as he looked down at you. “test her out already.”

“no,” you whined, knowing he’d barely gotten his third finger in.

kyle took johnny’s encouragement as blanket permission and pulled his fingers free, chuckling at the rhythmic clenching of your pussy.

“christ if you could see this, john,” he said with awe. “look at that pretty pussy, just begging for me. eager to please, aren’t you?”

you tensed at the sound of a zipper, thrashed when you felt the head of his cock push between your glistening lips, slicking it up not nearly enough before he prodded a little more insistently.

your hands gripped at johnny’s leg and the car seat as he pushed the head in, your brows furrowed as he panted behind you.

“there ye go, hen, give it all t’him,” johnny cooed, eyes molten as he watched kyle fuck into you for the first time.

“need to try your arse next time if this is how tight your pussy is,” kyle moaned. he pushed in a little further and you whined, sucking in a sharp breath when he pulled back out again. johnny chuckled, lifting one hand to wrap around kyle’s neck, his thumb petted softly at his adam’s apple as kyle bit his lip and leant into the pressure.

he thrusted in and out slowly, going deeper with each push back in and testing your resolve as you tried to bite back your sounds.

“let us hear ye,” johnny pouted, pulling his hand back to push two fingers into your mouth. he held it hinged open on kyle’s next thrust and you let out a deep gargled noise.

kyle huffed, his cock leaking pre inside you.

“how’s she feel, garrick?”

“like sin,” he sighed. “tightened up as soon as you got your fingers in her mouth.”

“dirty little slut,” johnny said, delighted. “maybe not so much our good girl after all.”

your orgasm crept up on you, focused as you were on staying quiet and still, when kyle’s hand drifted from where he’d been palming your arse it barely took a moment of attention to your clit to have you reeling.

“there we go, fuck. look at that,” kyle groaned as you tightened up, a flood of slick leaking out with every pull of his cock and gathering at his pubes on the thrust back in. “give it to me.”

you gasped and moaned around johnnys fingers, drooling down his palm and into his lap. you saw through hazy eyes how his cock jumped in its confines, eager for attention and the pleasure gaz had described.

kyle moaned, his thrusts getting rougher, uneven. “keep cumming, love, take it.”

“fucking temptation incarnate,” johnny whispered as you pushed back into kyle’s hand and cock trying to prolong your own pleasure.

kyle folded over you and thrust in his cock hard and shallow, hips bruising your butt cheeks as he groaned. he stilled and you felt the flood of his cum settle deep and heavy, a sudden spark of anxiety kicking through your afterglow.

you didn’t acknowledge the part that gleefully thought of the possibility of a baby, finally.

you shivered, slumped in johnny's lap as he held you up when gaz slipped out, whistling in appreciation at the sight of the pair of you. you felt gaz lightly tap his cockhead against your butt cheek with a wet plap before he tucked himself away again.

“don’t let it drip,” johnny reminded gaz before too much of his cum could dribble out of your puffy hole. kyle was gentle as he tugged up your pants, even when he patted the gusset crudely before bending low for your jeans. he pulled you back up against his chest as johnny shuffled forwards and out of the truck cab, plastering himself to your front once he was on the ground.

you ducked your head to avoid his kiss and he chuckled. “still so shy after tha’?”

they shuffled you back to the farmhouse, pressed so close to your sides that it made it impossible for you to lose your footing, both of them keeping you upright even as your legs felt like jelly.

they got you laid down in their bed, the room closer to yours and elliot’s than you’d realised.

it felt like a herculean task keeping your eyes open despite the mid-afternoon sun shining through the window. if you could bring yourself to string more than two thoughts together you’d think it was the shock or the adrenaline crash. but for the moment you could only think about how pretty gaz looked stood at the corner of the bed smiling or how warm johnny felt kneeling between your legs.

at the feeling of your jeans being removed again, you frowned.

“what’re y’doin’?” you slurred, a second away from passing out.

“shh, bonnie,” johnny whispered. “y’r fine.”

you felt his fingers tease at the opening of your cunt, playing with the cum trickling out, tacky and sticky where some had dribbled down your thighs.

he groaned and stuck his fingers in his mouth as kyle laughed.

you drifted in and out, barely registering the feeling of his cock rubbing through the mess and nudging at your clit, his own leaking pre only adding to the smooth glide.

you passed out finally to the feeling of his teeth at your neck, his groans in your ear and kyle’s eyes watching over you both fondly.

---

you woke up slowly, your head thumping and it took you a moment to recall where you were and what had happened. you sat up slowly and saw you were alone in their room.

you cringed at the dried cum between your legs and the way your skin stuck to itself and the sheets. if it wasn’t for the physical proof crusting on your skin and the smell of their aftershaves on the duvet, you think you might’ve been able to convince yourself none of it had happened.

your threw back the duvet when you were sure they weren’t about to jump out at you and grabbed your trousers from the floor.

you hesitantly pushed open the door to the left of the room and found an en suite bathroom.

with a sigh of relief you closed and locked it behind you and started cleaning yourself up in the sink with hurried movements. a shower would've been preferable but you weren’t willing to risk the noise or the time, so scrubbing away the cum, sweat and tears with your hands and some soap would have to do.

it took all of your energy to keep yourself calm as you felt sticky globs of cum drip from inside you and replace what you’d just cleaned on the inside of your thighs.

you got dressed hastily and peeked out of the window to try and spot johnny or kyle prowling outside. when you saw no sign of either, you held your breath and cracked open the bedroom door. when they didn’t appear from nowhere waiting to catch you trying to leave, you crept down the creaky stairs, sucking in a tight breath as if it could make you lighter and the stairs any quieter.

you cringed as you made it down and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw the kitchen empty.

your eyes zeroed in on the knife block and you scampered over to it and grabbed the biggest one, sufficiently sharp.

you snuck out the back way to avoid the sound of your trainers on the gravel out front; given your last escape attempt you figured they’d have their car locked and keys kept safe so there was no point attempting the cars again at the front and you weren’t sure you’d be able to outrun them all the way to the main road out in the open. whereas the forest out back would provide enough cover for you to make your way to… well, you didn’t really know where, part of you thought you could maybe find their elusive neighbour while another thought you’d more likely get lost in there trying.

better the devil you know, the traitorous voice whispered.

you shook your head and looked around frantically, your head on a constant swivel as you jogged across the garden, eyes peeled for a hint of any of the three of them. you slowed as you neared the veg plot to the right and the open grass and shed to the left.

you headed left, despite the lack of cover it proved, it was closer to the woods trail you knew and although there was nowhere for you to hide it meant there was also nowhere for them to be lying in wait, unlike all the tall climbing veg you’d originally been impressed by on your first day.

“think we should probably ring him later to see—“

you span around at the sound of their voices drifting on the wind, and saw them making their way from the front of the house. panicking, you jumped towards the nearest hiding spot - the little shed.

it was unlocked, but you were too worked up to wonder were the thick lock you’d seen days prior had gone. despite the sun shining through the little windows, it was dark in the little shed. you cursed not having your phone on you for the light but figured you’d have not wanted to garner the attention either way.

you could tell it was clean from the smell, whatever was stored in there was well looked after. shelves were pushed against the back and right side of the shed, full of boxed items.

johnny’s sister’s items, you remembered.

you stepped forward quietly, dropping the knife onto a lower shelf when a stack of photo albums caught your eye. you picked one up at random and flicked it open to find a picture of soap and gaz, younger and stood in their fatigues. You flicked further in and saw another of them in their civvies, then a third of them in their wedding suits.

why wouldn’t they keep this in their house?

the next book answered your question as you looked at kyle and johnny wrapped around a woman in a wedding dress. you paused, your breath hitching before you looked at the next few photos quicker, the unknown woman was dressed casual for a few pages, then replaced by a third unknown man in a suit.

there were less photos of him dressed casually before he was replaced by another woman in the same dress as before; then another, a man in a suit. they kept changing, never lasting more than ten pages in the albums as kyle and johnny got older through the photos.

their third never reappeared once they’d disappeared.

you breathed in shakily, understanding that you weren’t their first, likely wouldn’t be their last if they caught you trying to escape again. christ, how many were like you that would be killed before they were forced to put on the wedding dress or suit.

you put the book back with shaking hands and grabbed your knife again. you weren’t going to sit there and wait for them to come looking for you, but you’d foolishly gotten distracted and hadn't heard where they’d gone when you were looking at the photos. you pressed close to the door and held you breath while listening out for them on the other side.

when it had been quiet for long enough for your legs to feel tired, held rigidly still in the cold shed, you pushed opened the door slowly and stepped out. you stopped mid step when you saw kyle and johnny sat patiently at their garden table just opposite, staring at you with wide smiles.

“mornin’,” johnny called across and you reflexively brought up the knife in front of you.

“what’s the knife for?” kyle asked, amused, his lips pulling up at one side as he glanced at it lazily. “got the jitters, love? it’s normal, i still get butterflies and we’ve done this how many times now, johnny?”

“countless. but ah’ve got a good feeling about this one.” johnny’s grin turned salacious as he looked you up and down.

“me too.” kyle let his smile spread.

you stared for a moment, debating running. “what are you going to do to me?”

kyle’s grin stretched and he dipped his head to take a drink of his tea to hide it, laughing a little at your shaking hands.

“it’s our wedding day hen, you forget already?” johnny cooed.

you frowned, gripped the knife tighter.

“price was good enough to agree to officiate today instead of the end of the week, last minute changes cannae be helped though,” he added with an easy shrug. “hopefully simon’ll be able t’make it too.”

“the cake…” you mumbled, feeling betrayed at how many people they had in on it. how long they’d planned this and played pretend with you.

“she caught on quick. smart one this time, think we’ve made a good choice.” gaz stood as he spoke to johnny causing you to stiffen in unease. you lifted the knife up high in front of you again where it’d dropped to your side.

“now now, come on. you think you know what you’re doing with that, love? think you could kill me if you had to? johnny too?”

you stared at johnny behind kyle’s shoulder; the picture of relaxed, but you could see how sharp his eyes were as he watched you threaten his husband.

“sas, remember? even if you did manage to knick me, and that’s a big if, love, johnny would have you laid flat before you had a chance to blink. he’s broad but he’s bloody quick even with the knee.” he pointed to your bruised temple as he took another step. “but you’ve already experienced that. let’s just think about what you want to do here, yeah?”

frustration welled inside you and you blinked as tears ran down your cheeks. “i want to go home,” you whispered.

gaz smiled softly, the mean glint in his eyes gone when he nodded. “we can do that.”

“you just have to put down the knife first, hen.”

you shook your head, working yourself up as you felt your fight or flight turn to freeze as you stared them down another minute longer, desperate to find a way out.

gaz took another step and you swiped desperately to stop him from getting too close, but flinching back yourself when johnny barked out a sharp, “hey!”

gaz ducked out your reach but lifted his arm under yours to control its trajectory, elbowing you in the nose with his other arm. you felt a crunch and stumbled back, the knife falling from your grip and into kyle’s.

“guhh!” your hands flew up to your aching nose as you gasped, the pain sharp and ferocious, pinpointed to your sinuses as you bent forward to instinctively protect your face.

“ah shit.” you heard kyle sigh.

“bit bloody rough, garrick,” johnny chastised as he finally came closer, kneeling before you, keeping one hand tight on your calf to keep you close as the other gently, but insistently wheedled your hands away from your messy face.

“used to manhandling you aren’t i, soap?” kyle groused, but sending you worried looks all the same. he stepped away to drop the knife on the table, grabbing the small tea towel they’d had folded next to their plates and handing it to soap when he got close again.

you hissed as johnny cleaned you up as best he could with the scratchy cloth, sucking in a ragged breath through your mouth and gagging at the rancid taste of your own blood.

they herded you back to the farmhouse and sat you in kyle’s lap in the kitchen.

you took a sick satisfaction when he grunted at your weight on his legs, but the firm squeezing of your hips had you wiggling away. his grip was firm however and he kept you from hovering above him as johnny wiped at your nose with a wet rag.

“this is gon’hurt, cannae lie t’ya,” he said as he cupped either side of your face, his thumbs pressed along your nose. “wee bastard broke it, but i’ll make it good as new.”

kyle grumbled and johnny huffed, corrected himself. “wee bonnie bastard.”

you whimpered and jerked in kyle’s hold when johnny pushed it back into place, wiping it down once more.

“ye play nice and forgive each other, now, yeah?” he ordered. “close contact always helps w'that i've found.”

gaz nuzzled in close at that, hummed against your cold skin. “i’m sorry, baby. been a while since we played with someone so delicate.”

you stayed silent and johnny tilted your head to get a better look at your nose with the bleeding slowed down.

“looks good as new, bonnie,” he confirmed, ducking down to kiss you.

you winced when his nose knocked yours and felt his grin against your pursed lips.

suddenly, deliriously, you thought of the wedding photos they’d want to take. they’d be ruined, you thought with glee.

you told them so and watched as gaz pouted over your shoulder. johnny hummed.

“we have plenty of time to make memories together,” he settled on saying finally.

“you’re better than they were,” gaz agreed. “you’ll be better.” last longer, went unsaid.

you shook your head but they ignored it as they pulled you to stand up between them.

“now, you better start getting ready, price will be here soon and so should simon. we want to get this done quickly so we can get to the good part,” gaz said.

“consummating the marriage,” johnny winked.

you let them guide you back to your room where you saw the wedding dress laid on the bed, matching shoes on the floor set neatly.

sat on the bed next to the dress you ran your hand over the silky material, the intricate sewing and beading.

your head pounded, the injury from what you now knew was the day before and now the nose had your ears ringing. you grabbed the glass of water from the side table and downed it, uncaring if it was from two nights ago, suddenly parched as you thought of the amount of tears you’d shed.

when you could finally bring yourself to put on the dress you marvelled at the fit, the way the material looked draped over your curves.

like the sisterhood of the travelling pants but for two psychos’ fucking wedding, you thought and snorted.

you were truly connected to all their victims before you now.

you slipped on the shoes and let yourself hide your face in your hands as your hope finally crumbled. this was happening and you weren’t sure how to feel about it.

christ, whether it was the bump to the head or maybe elliot’s treatment for the last few years had done a worse number on you than you’d realised, but you couldn’t help but wonder if this would still be better than how you’d be living in london.

you wiped your face and headed for downstairs. it was like a sick repeat of the night you’d all gone out as they cooed and fawned over you when you got to the bottom. and once more you liked it.

liked it the same way you’d liked their attention every time they focused on you, complimented you. a slut just like elliot had spat. like johnny had moaned.

you swallowed thickly and hid your shaking hands behind your back.

they led you outside and you took the time to try and think of elliot’s face as he was beaten to death not twenty-four hours before; hoping to get a wake up call from these tumultuous, traitorous feelings. but you could only think of the lipstick mark on his neck and the photos of his cock on his phone that you knew he’d never sent to you, the texts he’d hide, the video you’d finally found of him fucking another woman.

you thought about how kind and gentle kyle and johnny had been over the last few days and bit your cheek harshly. switched to thinking of johnny using you while you slept, kyle taking you half inside their car, but it didn’t horrify you like you’d expected it to.

the gut clenching panic you’d expected to feel was absent as you remembered the feeling of their hands on you and instead you were ashamed to feel yourself grow wet.

were you so fucked up, so lonely and starved that you were going to willingly ‘marry’ these men and let them treat you like that?

if you took a moment to think about it, were they even a step up from elliot?

you looked up and ahead and saw price get out of his car, a genuine smile puffing up his cheeks as kyle waved. you assumed the ceremony would be starting soon enough.

kyle leant in to kiss your temple and johnny removed his hand from your shoulders and instead took yours in his own with an excited squeeze.

well, you knew the answer to the first question at least.

want to email johnny? click here

[gothamite-rambler]

Batman and his 2nd Robin chat during a boring patrol

Batman and Robin were perched together on a rooftop, scanning the city for any signs of trouble while engaging in lighthearted banter.

Robin!Jason: So, are Chicken McNuggets actually made from white chicken meat?

Batman: That’s a mystery I’ve pondered for years.

Robin!Jason: And are chicken nuggets just the chicken version of hot dogs, but all breaded and deep-fried?

Batman: …No. The processes for making hot dogs and nuggets are vastly different. I can see why you might think that, though. Do you consider a hot dog to be a sandwich?

Robin!Jason: Nope, it’s a taco.

He chuckled at his own joke, not expecting Batman to find it amusing. To his surprise, he soon heard Batman’s deep laugh echoing in the stillness of the night.

Robin!Jason: Hang on, if a taco is a hot dog… does that mean melted ice cream counts as soup?

Batman: That’s disgusting… and maybe.

The two shared a hearty laugh, basking in the rare tranquility of the night. With crime low, it was the perfect opportunity to enjoy each other's company.

[stump-not-found]

Stan and Ford have a conversation, Mabel and Dipper get a bit absurd, and something gold is given meaning.

If you don't look, you won't see it fading.

[donutdraws]

been rewatching Hannibal with a friend and once again in full brainrot mode for Them 🥰

[disguisedcheezed]

Backlogs from last year, inspired from the fic puppet loosely strung by nutrimercenary.

I also have an older post that looks awfully the same as the 2nd image....

[violetsastrocytes]

whenever i write rosekiller the vibes are 🍴🔪🫀🫦🥀💥🥩🧨⛓️ but i'm listening to 'this love' by taylor swift

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@rosekillermicrofic may 4 — hopeless — 1233words — cw: mildly pervy and sexual thoughts, nothing explicit though

no thoughts, just line cook! barty

A miracle.

The gods have heard Barty’s wishes and granted him this blessing.

Evan usually gets set up for dealing with the bar or counter but on rare occasions his lovely name gets jotted down in the column of servers/busboys. Today is one of those fateful occurrences which means Barty has at least 30% longer time windows of flirting his jolly ass off and burning food he’s not paying attention to curtsy of Evan’s slutty narrow hips in those damn aprons. Obscene things, those are.

Barty is currently staring at them as he blindly flips the burger patties one after the other, the stove sizzling animatedly. Barty is pretty sure he hasn’t blinked once since Evan has entered the kitchen again a minute ago to help sort dishes.

“So how’s your day been so far, Evan darling?”

“No,” comes back immediately. Not even a look thrown over his shoulder.

Barty’s grin widens. He puts more meat on the stove.

“Aw, c’mon. People been scant with tips already or what?”

Evan doesn’t reply, instead ripping off the notes from his pad and wordlessly striding over to Barty’s station, pinning them up.

Two of today’s specials, one cheesesteak and one portion of chicken for a caesar salad. And a little dick scribbled in the bottom corner.

“More people coming in than usual. Get a move on,” Evan says before briskly walking off again. Barty just so manages to get a whiff of spicy deodorant and whatever shea butter coconut extract beauty shit Evan uses for his curls before he’s gone again.

Barty sighs, looking after his pert little ass and long legs all the way until he’s around the corner. Then he readjusts his grip on the spatula and finally picks the patties off the grill, calling for Lily to collect them and assemble.

“They’re burnt,” she hisses, punching him in the arm with vigor. It hurts but Barty is too busy thinking about what type of underwear Evan might be wearing today. “Stop getting distracted by Rosier and do your damn job, chef.”

Barty hums, “What you think it’ll take to trick Evan into following me into the freezer room?”

Another hit. The same exact spot and Barty can’t help but hiss in pain this time.

Lily simply shakes her head, muttering Hopeless as she leaves.

Rush hour comes and goes.

Barty doesn’t let himself be bothered by the frenzy of it, bobbing his head to his playlist jamming over the old, staticy speakers while servers bustle around him like worker bees.

It’s meditative to him in a way and usually he sort of snaps out of it once it all calms down.

It’s when Evan asks him for leftover containers that Barty is brought back down to earth today.

The other boy is flushed in the face, slightly sweaty and hair messy with what can only be described as the final quarter of an eight hour shift look. It looks unfairly sexy on him.

The take out containers are in the cupboard over Barty’s head to his left side which he made sure to push all the way back during his break earlier.

“Yeah, they’re right here,” Barty says, nodding to the shelf.

“Grab two for me?”

Barty turns back to his meat again, teeth digging into his lower lip, grin straining his cheeks. “Nope.”

There’s nothing for a few seconds, only the background noise of the restaurant, the sizzling oil and Barty’s music.

When he turns again Evan is standing in the middle of the kitchen, rooted to the spot, blinking at Barty once. “‘No’?”

Barty hums, “Yeah, ’m pretty busy right now in case you can’t tell.” He shuffles a strip of bacon around as if to prove his point.

Evan’s eyes narrow, lips twisting into an obscene little pout, “You just have to lift your arm!”

“Sorry, no can do, Rosie baby.”

“You-” Evan huffs, “Hand me the fucking boxes, Crouch.”

“Can’t,” he replies airily, shrugging. “They’re pretty high up, too,” a hum, “I might not even be tall enough. I think you’ll have to walk your devilishly tall ass over here and grab them yourself.”

“Branleur,” Evan spits before reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His amber eyes glower dangerously at Barty and he has to suppress a deeply satisfactory hum, gut tightening and blood thrumming.

Evan yanks at the handle, opening it up to the ceiling before stretching up on his tiptoes to peer into it. He lets out a grumble, presumably at finding the containers to, in fact, be there but pushed all the way to the wall.

He’s only taller than Barty by a bit, an inch or two, maybe three, which means he’s struggling to reach the boxes too.

And it’s glorious and heavenly and so very tempting because Evan’s shirt is riding up in the back and, oh god, he has dimples there. Fuck, Evan has back dimples and they’re approximately half an armslength from Barty’s twitching fingers and it really requires visceral effort not to reach out and dig the pads of his thumbs into them. Push and maybe fold Evan right in half over the counter all together. Lick along his spine and bite into his hip bones, the smooth skin of his stomach, nibble at that one little mole right next to his navel that Barty was once fortunate enough to make acquaintance with and has since rubbed one out to more times than he could count.

When the other boy lifts back down he catches him staring, their eyes snapping to each other instantly.

“Don’t be a perv,” Evan comments, giving Barty a derogative once over and christ, no, don’t do that.

Barty laves his tongue along the corner of his own mouth, collecting spit that was threatening to drool, and uses a quick hand to adjust himself in his jeans.

Evan’s eyes follow his movement, arms crossing in front of his chest and a heavy breath punches out of Barty. He can’t help it, his mind is a powerpoint of all the different things he wants to do to Evan to make him lose this put-on condescending demeanor. Glimpses of the prettiest pair of eyes rolling back, eyebrows scrunching pitifully as Barty sinks into deliciously tight heat.

He desperately needs to get Evan alone with him. “Wanna smoke a blunt with me after closing?” he blurts.

And then Evan suddenly smiles. A downright cute little thing, all coy and syrupy sweet, poisonously candid. So viscous saccharine Barty feels it immobilize him like a glue trap and he groans in anticipation of the fatal blow Evan is about to deliver.

“Sorry, B,” he murmurs innocently, clicking his head, “no can do.”

It glides over Evan’s lips all strained and faux and with the most erotic little pitch Barty’s ears have ever heard.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his semi straining so heavily against the denim it would surely be visible without his own apron.

From one moment to the next Evan’s smile falls, having fulfilled its purpose, and he gives one last snootily look before he whirls on his heels and marches away, takeout containers in hand.

Just over to the other end of the kitchen where he bends down to grab some cutlery with which he will scrape the leftovers from the plate into the aluminum containers.

Doing so, Evan’s shirt rides up again, his ass jutting out and Barty vaguely registers the smell of burnt pork as he commits the muscle shift of Evan’s thighs and back into his memory for later.

[transthatmasc]

I get so bummed in fics when Cas introduces himself to Dean as Cas and not Castiel. That’s the name DEAN gave him!!!! Not Gabe, not Hannah, not anyone else, DEAN!! Dean goes “oh I’m gonna be sayin this a lot gotta cut it down” and then REMOVED THE “OF GOD” FROM THE NAME OF AN ANGEL??? Cas coming to terms with that new identity and how it ties him to dean and not his family is soooooooooo juicy.

[little-ghostgirl-31]

I FOUND PEACE IN DROWNING

Jason grace x y/n

Warnings : 100 yo+ , level 9999999999+ spicy level 🥵🌶️ not for the non sigma

Jason walked into the room, he was wearing his usual twink wear; black skinny jeans that were so tight that they actually cut off circulation to your legs for a good 7 hours, and a crop top that made sure you could see his rock hard 21 pack. He ran his hair through his short blonde hair, popping one of his legs and putting his left hand on his hip, making sure he looked extremely zesty.

“ DID YOU TASTE THE NEW STARBUCKS DRINK. ITS UNICORN FLAVOURED “ Jason said, making sure his voice was as high as humanly possible, just for the effect of making sure you know he’s ‘not gay’

“ no not yet… “ y/n said, raising on of their eyes brows at Jason. What the fuck was in that drink to make him sound so bad, and to scream at the top of his lungs. “ I don’t know if I want to either…your acting funny” y/n said continue to their sentence.

“ ITS REALLY FUCKING GOOD “ Jason said, taking off his lightning McQueen glasses and rubbing them on his shirt. Is this mother fucking man wearing lightning McQueen Birkenstocks?… WITH SOCKS!?!? Oh hell no. That’s not fucking Jason. No way in hell would Jason get caught dead wearing Birkenstocks. What the fuck happened to y/n’s boyfriend?!

You looked at Jason. Trying to figure out what was going on. “ uh, Jason…? “ you said, scooting away from this…thing. Something wasn’t right here. Jason was supposed to be on a quest,,, that’s not-…how-? Y/n, knowing they did not take SHIT, immediately grabbed their dagger.

‘ Jason ‘ not realising what was going on walked closer to you, ‘glitching’ slightly. “ John pork eye of rah Tiktok Blue tie kid is not eye of rah fanum tax 😂😂😂😂 Kai cenat is not gigachad diddy party Boom boom boom quandale dingle Quandale dingle thinks he locked in alien quandale dingle Locked in alien when I let mango mango mango mango is not locked in alien ive played these games before ishowspeed “ Jason said, his head twitching as he started crawling up the walls on all fours.

And this is where we bring out the big guns, literally. You took the shotgun off the wall and shot that wanna be spider ass thing down.

‘ Jason ‘ payed in the flor, his body turning into something else as green goo spilled out. Of course it wasn’t Jason. It was no other than your crazy ex Fortnite boyfriend ‘ Oi larva thinks he freddy fazbear let him cook now quandale is W freaky mog ’

“ please…I just want to be with you… “ Oi larva thinks he freddy fazbear let him cook now quandale is W freaky mog said pleading as he slowly withered away, looking up to you

“ BITCH WHAT THE FUCK “ you said, stomping him before walking away from that thing 💀💀💀

Next chapter ->

[stellewriites]

by chance you and your emotionally unavailable husband meet a friendly couple that invite you stay at their farmhouse in scotland. however the time spent there with johnny & kyle has you questioning if there’s a dark side to them you didn’t see before.

a speak no evil au

pairing: soapgaz x reader

notes: manipulative johnny & kyle, piv, noncon, somno, never explicitly acknowledged abusive relationship between reader and her husband (financial, physical, emotional, coercive control), drinking, murder, it’s dead dove horror people!! no one’s particularly nice, heed the warnings

chapter 1

chapter 2

email guidelines

completed.

[leiascully]

Fic: Heaven Is A Place On Earth (M, MSR)

1300 words; M for sexual situations; no if, ands, or bees or: what if the outtake FTF kiss was the sex we had along the way

Scully’s panting on his lap, her face flushed and her blue eyes wide and hungry. Her knees are deep in his couch; her thighs quiver outside his. He’s trembling too, with anticipation and need. He’s pressing his hips down into the couch, fighting the urge to surge up into her. The latex-clad head of his cock is pressed against her entrance.

“We don’t have to,” he says. It might be the single bravest act any human has ever committed.

He watches emotions flicker over her face: lust, anxiety, delight, desire, love. “Mulder, I want to. It’s just been a while.” She takes a deep breath.

He reaches up to touch her face. “You’re in charge here.”

Ten minutes ago, they were in his hallway. It feels like a lifetime. He told her what she meant to him, that she saved him. She kissed his forehead. And then…and then they reached for each other, inevitably, as if this has been their logical destination all along. He couldn’t remember who had initiated it. Her mouth opened against his and he melted into her. She moved against him and he slipped his hands under her ass and hefted her. Her legs wrapped around his hips as they stumbled backwards into his apartment, lips still locked.

Five minutes ago, they were peeling each other out of their clothes. He’d been hard since the first brush of her lips. He couldn’t let go of her, couldn’t stop touching her. Her hands were all over him, deft and urgent. When he slipped his fingers between her folds, she was soaking wet. He’s not ashamed to admit he moaned out loud. Her eyes widened. She touched his cock, her fingers suddenly tentative.

“I knew you were…substantial,” she said. “But I can’t say I expected this.”

He knows. Phoebe used to drag her palm down the length of him when they were out with friends. Showing him off, she always said, but it was embarrassing. He’s not embarrassed when Scully touches him.

“Guess I’m a grower and a shower,” he teased.

She bit her lip as she considered him. There was a hunger in her face he’d only glimpsed before. Now she was letting him see it. It made fire lick through his veins.

“You on top,” he suggested. “Control the pace.”

“On the couch,” she told him, and he was halfway there before he realized he’d moved.

And that brings them here: to Scully, naked, hovering above him. Somehow in the haze of need, he found a condom and a bottle of lube. She’s so fucking wet, but lube doesn’t hurt. His hands drop from her face to span her waist, holding her steady. Her tits, fuck, her tits are so close to his face.

“Mulder, I want this,” she says. Her voice only shakes a little. “I want it so badly.”

“Go slow,” he says.

She sinks onto him. His cock presses into her, just the head, just past the tight ring of muscle at her entrance. She gasps.

“Oh God,” she says.

He’d agree, if he could say anything. But he’s forgotten every word he knows but her name and the word yes.

She rises, ever so slightly, and he slides out again. She whimpers and so does he. But then she’s sinking onto him again, a little deeper. This time she just stays there, a look of ravenous bliss on her face. He can feel her adjusting around him. Her knees tighten and then relax. He can’t help himself anymore. He leans forward to kiss her tits. He takes one nipple into his mouth, pulling at it with his lips and tongue until she groans his name.

Inch by inch, she takes him. He tells her how brave she is, how gorgeous. He worships her tits the way he’s always longed to. He loves the way she hisses when he scrapes the edges of his teeth across her nipples or sucks at the delicate skin under her ear. She’ll have love bites later, unmistakable marks of the things they’re doing. He thinks she’ll be proud of them.

Finally he’s deep, deep inside her. She’s so goddamn tight around him. Her eyes are closed and her face is a Baroque painting. The urge to pound up into her is so strong that he’s shaking holding back. Scully undressed is so delicate and so strong. He wants to overwhelm her with pleasure, make her eyes roll back in her head again. But he stays still. He waits for her. He needs her to take what she wants from him. He needs her to get what she needs.

“Fuck,” she says. She opens her eyes. “Mulder.” His name is a prayer.

He rubs his face against her chest, drags his lips over her flushed skin. She shifts, groaning as the pressure of his cock inside her changes. She rises a little, sinks again, splays her knees to take him even deeper, and then does it all again. He sees God, and he isn’t even close to coming.

She rides him, so slowly at first and then faster, and he watches her. There’s an expression on her face he can’t quantify. It’s beyond pleasure. She’s so hot and tight and wet around him. He can feel the way he fills her up and it only fuels his pleasure. He reaches down to thumb her clit. He has to make her come. He has to feel her come. He has to feel her come around his cock, because of his cock, because of his fingers and his lips and the rough edge in his voice that he can tell she likes.

He plays her by ear, tuning the pitch of her moans higher and higher. He’s moaning too, and she likes that. Her muscles clutch around him when he gets loud. She’s dragging him closer and closer to the edge. The curls around his cock are absolutely soaked with her wetness. His fingers are slick with her as he draws quick circles around her clit.

“Come for me,” he begs her.

“Fuck me,” she says, and God, he can’t help himself after that. He presses his hands around her hips and surges into her, up and up and up while she cries out and her tits bounce. And she’s coming, her cunt fluttering around him. He fucks her through it and then slows down to let her catch her breath.

“Don’t stop,” she says.

“Never,” he promises, picking up her hand and kissing it. She rises and sinks, gazing into his eyes, and it’s slow and sweet and everything he imagined. He’s close, he’s so close, and the slick of her, the heat of her is astonishing. He can feel every vein in his body as his heart thuds. He loves her. He loves her so fucking much. And he loves her most of all in this moment as she holds him with her stare, fucking herself deliberately with his cock and letting him see each nerve light up with the pleasure his body gives her. There are sparks in her smile and fireworks in her eyes.

“Do it for me,” she croons to him and he comes apart, shivering under her.

He makes her come again, after, on her back with her knees by his ears. She tastes like latex but he licks her until her body shakes and shakes. She pulls him on top of her. He’s still half-hard, worried about the condom but unable to deny her his weight if that’s what she wants. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close. He buries his face against her.

“I could never have left you,” she says into the hollow of his shoulder. “Not really.”

He kisses her temple. “I would have followed you.”

Across the room, a bee staggers out from under the collar of her jacket, topples over, and goes to bee heaven. They don’t notice. They’re in their own private heaven.

[josephquinnswhore]

the devil is real and he’s a besotted outlaw - micah bell x female reader

summary: Micah bell can be a twisted man, and you’re complacent in his actions.

word count: 1.7k

content warning: micah bell, LOL. micah uses a gun to get reader off, p in v, raw sex, creampie, f and m orgasm. use of degrading words. Karen slander (just for the plot I swear I love her.)

At this time in the evening, generally everyone around camp had retired to their tents, the sun had set many hours ago. But the orange hue from the fire burning around the empty campfire still flicks embers into the sky, you watch them disappear.

Your boyfriend had been stoking the fire every so often before tossing the stick with his usual carelessness beside the seat he had leaned backward in to find a comfortable position. As comfortable as he could with you sitting on his lap, cradling the warm metal mug in your cold palms, sipping occasionally.

“Shouldn’t be drinkin’ that right before bed,” he chastises softly, but there's no real scolding behind his words.

“It don't seem like you're gonna head to bed anytime soon.”

Not now that he’d picked up one of his twin revolvers. The custom piece featured a unique dark grey steel frame, one that had been polished only the evening prior. The grip was also custom created, black skulls engraved and delicately painted contrast against the red grip.

He pours some gun oil onto a cloth, and wraps his arms around your hips to your front as he begins his chore of cleaning the weapon, movements precise and meticulous. After a few moments, he feels a strain in his neck trying to gaze over you, so he simply rests his chin on your shoulder, stopping the task for but a moment to press a delicate kiss to the exposed skin.

A small hum escapes you, and he gets back to his task at hand. One thing you liked about him, he didn’t favour small talk, he preferred these moments of tranquility with you where there were no peering eyes and stout whispers.

When you finish your cup of coffee, your attempt to stand was intercepted by Micah’s hands gripping onto your hips. “Where do you think you're going? Weren't you stayin’ up with me?”

“I am, just going to Pearson’s wagon to clean my mug and I’ll be back.”

You let out a noise of surprise when he pulls you back down onto his lap, taking the mug out of your much smaller hands to set it carefully on the ground beside him. It was sweet, seeing how he cared for your things with a delicacy that he held private for the things most important to him.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere without me, an’ I ain't ready to get up yet.” His tone is quiet, but you know better than to disobey what he asks when it's not reasonable. The mug could just be cleaned later on.

A small yawn escapes you, regardless of the mug of caffeine you’d finished moments before, and Micah sets aside his guns at the noise. “Tired?” The soft murmur against your skin created a demand for goosebumps on your neck. Coarse hairs of his moustache tickle your neck as he begins to kiss the raised skin.

“Partially,” you reply in a quiet murmur.

“Well, I best wake you up, hm?” Pulling away from your neck, all of your attention is now drawn to his large hands on the skirt of your dress as he bunches it at your waist to expose your legs underneath. “Now ain’t that a sight?”

“Micah–” a soft protesting whine is about to deny him, and he interrupts.

His hands trail upward, making you forget what you were about to scold him for, fingers trailing up your thighs over the sheer material of those pretty drawers you always wore. His thick digits were moving the piece to the side delicately to get where he wanted without much resistance from you, to his delight.

“Christ, girl, ain’t fair keeping this all to yourself.”

A protestful noise escapes your throat when his hands pull away from your need, causing you to rut your hips in search of his thick fingers. “Tsk, so impatient,” he chastises.

But it's not his hand that returns to caress your swollen clit, it's cold, and you flinch backwards against his chest. When you look down to see what it was that he was using on you–a part of you stills, perhaps in curiosity, fear or need. You weren’t entirely sure what you felt.

Before you could say anything he runs the already oiled up clean gun against your sensitive nub, causing your back to arch further, head resting on his shoulder behind you. “Oh.. Micah..” you trail off, unable to deny the pleasure from the crude act. “This.. is so twisted.”

His chuckle is deep and causes another demand of goosebumps to rise against your hot skin, rubbing the sleek barrel of his revolver agasint your clitorus at an agonisingly slow pace. “I don’t see you pulling away from it, girl.”

The sensation is incredible, ending up in you resorting to seeking more friction by rutting against the weapon sloppily, the increased pace makes your thighs tremble against his own. “Seems like my desperate girl is just as twisted as I supposedly am.”

Unable to control yourself, selfishly ravishing his weapon for your own sake, the orgasm you experience has you crying out softly into the still air of the evening, a smirk plastered on Micah’s face as you tremble against him. Your hips finally still from your greedy seeking ruts.

Micah partially lifts you off his lap, unzipping his cream coloured jeans before lowering you back down onto his hard cock. Your hole was perfect, the kind of pleasure that a man would seek salvation in. His hands are guiding you in a repetitive motion, a low groan coming from Micah that only allows his cock to slide easier into you.

“Micah..” there's not much more you can think to utter other than his name. Completely unable to make any sense after that absurd orgasm he caused moments before.

There's one thing about him, his impatience, the need for you. In his greed, he tires of slowly guiding you down onto him, and prospers to drill into you harshly as he raises his hips to thrust into you. No coherent words leave your lips, merely the strangled sounds of pleasure as you struggle to catch your breath against his cock pummelling into you. Hands sliding underneath the bodice of your gown to grasp roughly onto one of your breasts.

With a few harsh and desperate deep, sloppy thrusts he is spilling into you, pulling you closer to him as he bites down into your neck. His breathing is uneven and hot against your shoulder, giving your breast one last squeeze he removes his hand, and a wince of overstimulation he pulls his cock out of you.

Offering one of his hands, he helps you to stand, fixing your dress and helping smooth it out at the bodice. You're still in a daze, confused and your entire body feeling the aftermath of the explosive intimate encounter.

You didn't say anything as Micah led you to his tent, a hand resting on your lower back to guide you, but you didn't need to. “You did good, girl. Real good.” At his praise, your skin warms, flushing with your entire body at the sweet sentiment.

Of course you're having troubles the next morning, because why did you think that no one heard your performance with Micah last night? Karen is the only one with enough gall to confront you, the look of pure disgust she gave you, and the way she tried to stand over you like she was trying to intimidate you. “You’re disgusting, Micah of all people. You must really be some desperate kind of whore.”

This infuriates you, they didn't know micah like you did, how sweet and consolable and caring he really could be. “No, I guess you don't understand, do you? You’re being sour toward me because you know no man wants you at all!”

The blonde woman saunters closer to you, with a tone of threat. “What did you just say?”

Micah hears the commotion and intercepts, changing his course as he starts walking towards the scene.

“Oh look, it's the sack of shit himself.” Karen gestures towards Micah and you sneer at her.

You’re quick to lash back to defend Micah. “Get back on the bottle, you miserable cow.”

Things are heating up between the two of you, Micah standing tall beside you.

“Back off you drunken wench,” Micah snarls, finally stepping in front of you.

But Karen does not allow this to deter her rampage directed at you, looking past Micah to spit drunken insults. “I mean seriously, sleeping with Micah Bell? You’re making a damn fool of yourself. Micah is the last person you should trust. He’s no better off than the devil, you’d do best to stay away if you had any mind!”

“I didn't ask for your goddamn opinion, now shut the hell up!”

“You stupid little girl,” she spits, pointing a finger at you. “You think you're safe with the likes of him?”

But this had gone on long enough and Micah had finally had enough of Karen and her drunken tirade against you. “Enough outta you.” Glowering down at Karen, “say another word that insults her, and I promise I’ll make use outta that gun I cleaned last night, y’hear me?”

“Now back off.” He threatens, standing tall in front of you, creating a barrier between the women as he protects you from any further in slew of insults.

Finally, karen gets the message, albeit muttering as she walks away from the scene she had created.

“You alright? She didn't touch ya, did she?” He murmurs softly as he glances at you, inspecting you to make sure you are unharmed.

“I’m fine. I.. I mean I’m not hurt.” You correct yourself.

He grips onto your chin softly. “Don’t listen to her nonsense, y’hear me? I ain’t about t’let her get in your head.” A frown forms on his face at your silence. “It don't matter what she, or any other folk think about us. You trust me, don’cha?”

“Course I trust you,” you utter in promise.

“Good.” His murmur is soft, meant for only your ears. As is his gentle caress as he runs his thumb over your cheek, his frown fading into a more neutral expression. “Then don't you pay no mind to what folk say about me, especially when it comes to my involvement with you. They don't know the first damn thing about me, none of ‘em.”

His words sink in, and a crack of a smile finally reaches your lips, to which his expression mirrors your own. “There's my pretty girl.”

Yeah, it was worth it.

[feyd-meowtha]

Gale woke up the next morning relaxed and blissfully warm, a comforting weight draped over his shoulder. He dozed for a while in the dreamy half-light of a frosty dawn and curled closer into himself, snuggling against the solid mass that had settled behind him. After a little while he felt a soft lapping at his ear, the sounds of sleepy kisses sending shivers down his spine. He sighed involuntarily as he let himself be kissed. There was a soft tongue in the shell of his ear and a strong arm around his waist, long fingers entwined with his own.

He was so caught up in his sleepy pleasure that he didn’t think anything of it until he adjusted himself, squirming backwards and feeling an unmistakable hardness press into his ass. The hardness responded, rutting into him as Gale heard a soft groan. Gale’s eyes shot open, fixing on the ugly wallpaper of their motel room in Kansas. “Uh, John?” He asked, still not moving, his entire body tingly and strange and his cheeks starting to burn. “What?” John asked, his voice was rough with sleep and his breath was hot on the back of Gale’s neck. That was when Gale realised he was also painfully hard. “Why are you kissing my ear?”

Ch 2/4, 15,242 words. Ch 3 and 4 coming on the 18th and 25th!