α―βπ ΛΛΛ NOW PLAYING: when itβs raining - borderline.
steve harrington | gator tillman | travis meacham | bob floyd | bob reynolds | miles miller | rocco | eddie munson | johnny storm | james cook | eric love | oliver mellors | remmick | adrian chase | jake martin
here you will find a collection of characters that i write for! my rules for requesting are easy! all i ask is; keep it clean!
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a sad sack laying on the surface (can you find me?); i dug my heels into the gravel as evidence for you to unravel.
cw; this is definitely not a fix-it writing at all, grief + depression, flashbacks, throw-up, mentions of blood, and mentions of eddieβs death
cherry speaking; i am so sorry for this π₯ it has been brewing in my head for a WHILE now, so yes, i went ahead and wrote it down and now i am posting it. (pls donβt hate me)
-
Waking in a cold sweat is nothing new. It hasnβt been ever since becoming involved with something you once wouldβve acted out in your young years with your friends - or even a good story that would leave you on the edge of your seat and gutted at every flip of the page.Β
Only, this isnβt fake. Itβs real.Β
The scars you have, the ones that wonβt fade - the ones that arenβt noticeable - is real.Β
The way your shirt sticks to you, drenched with sweat, the way your fingers claw at your sheets to grip ahold of something and calm yourself down, alone, in the dark, is real.Β
The sob that escapes your throat is raw, gasping. It hurts when it escapes and claws at the insides of your throat. You free one of your shaky hands, long enough to clasp around your neck to allow the pads of your thumb and fingers to press and try to smooth out the hurt thatβs still lodged inside. Your other hand remains tangled in the sheets, gripping the sheet until your knuckles turn a lighter shade.Β
Your eyes are blurry, heavy with unshed tears as you glance around your room thatβs been changed into a shrine. Rather than it being a place to relax, itβs become a grieving space thatβs enclosed all the sounds of sadness that youβve allowed yourself to let go of.Β
Eddieβs band posters had been hastily rescued from the dumpster by your own hands, along with the other items you had gotten to before the cops had a chance to toss anything they didnβt deem as evidence.Β
His flannel sheets are too big for your own bed, the top cover dragging across the floor of your room, yet you donβt mind a little piece of Eddie gracing a small part of your room.Β
Your chest rises and falls with quick breaths as you slowly turn and lie yourself down, knees pulling close to your chest as a tear slips over the bridge of your nose and lands close to your temple. Your hand remains wrapped around your neck, still, and though youβre tired, you canβt find it in yourself to close your eyes and fall back asleep.Β
The smell is still potent in your nose β blood, dirt, sweat. The way Dustin was hunched over Eddieβs body. The sight of lines in the dirt of where he must have been trying to push himself away.Β
The way nothing had left your mouth until Steve had to drag you away. The way your hand immediately shot out and your feet dragged in the dirt, Dustinβs own sobs becoming louder from behind you. The way acid crawled up your throat and landed by the rickety steps of Eddieβs trailer.Β
You had grown angry at Steve for dragging you away from Eddie, something you knew he had to do, something you knew you would eventually forgive him for.Β
Some days, you remain laying in bed, curled up until your spine hurts and you have to find a different way to turn. Other days, youβd force yourself to lift from the comfort of the sheets that swallow your bed and look at all the things that he had left.Β
Cassettes, shirts, sweatshirts since hoodies bothered him, little rubber bands, rings heβd traded in for the ones he had been wearing. The photos that had him frozen, that had begun fading a bit.Β
Itβs a mockery to you, almost. Even a still of him was fading away just as he did in Dustinβs arms.Β
The days you forced yourself to stand and push yourself to be a real human for the time being, youβd bathe. Try and soak away the guilt you continued to feel that left a hollow feeling heavy in your chest.Β
Youβd watch the water slip down the drain, sitting in the tub as you shiver, yet the feeling never stops. It never went down the drain like you hoped it would.Β
The unshed tears would begin to burn again as you stood up from the wet porcelain, reaching for the knobs once more and turning on the shower, letting the water pelt against your body. The steam would become suffocating, tightening around your throat as you work fast to wash your hair and body.Β
After that task, youβd change into some pants and a faded shirt that still smelled of his aftershave and the cigarettes heβd sneak to smoke on the back porch.Β
Itβs pretty when you make it to the cemetery, as crazy as it seems. A musk beginning - purple and blue, foggy - the birds just starting their day as well.Β
Eddieβs grave is under a weeping willow, the drooping branches grazing the ground thatβs overgrown.Β
And although his grave is new, words in red brand the cement.Β
BURN IN HELL.Β
You remember when you first visited him and saw those words. The anger had bubbled up in your blood as you had tried to clean it with hands that had started tingling from the force.Β
Hopper was the one to pull you away and allowed you to cry in his chest as he held you.Β
βI know, kid. I know.βΒ
You had stopped trying to clean the words when you realized they really would never come off - and a new gravestone would immediately be vandalized with the same harsh words.Β
You situate yourself in front of the block of cement, with a slight quiver of your chin as your hands brush along the grass when you realize - again - that there is no body below the dirt. Just a gravestone with his name and a spot for when they do find him.Β
Find his body.Β
You always try to talk to him, but sometimes you canβt.Β
Youβd like to think he would understand.Β
βCause then I'll know you're also there.Β
'Cause proof is in the adversere.
You found me.β
Your chin drips towards your chest, a small tear finally releasing and trailing down your cheek.Β
I need a sign.Β
Any sign that youβre still here.Β
Please.Β
After a moment, your head lifts as you pick at the grass below your hand. Your eyes stare at the etched letters that shouldnβt be there. A soft cooing noise makes you blink quickly before your eyes land on a small red creature β a small black patch around its beak, a belly that slightly pokes out.Β
A red cardinal.Β
It stares at you for a moment once itβs landed on the ground. Its small wings flap, lifting itself from the ground before lowering itself onto the top of the block.Β
Your heart flutters as you stare at it.Β
The wind gently passes through, brushing along the long branches to make them dance in the air, the sun that begins to rise in the sky beams through, the soft warmth it offers feels like a small hug almost.Β
Your eyes drift back towards the bird before a wavering smile pulls at your lips.Β
I love you still.Β
The bird coos softly, lingering there for a moment longer before flying away once again. Once itβs out of view, you turn back towards the gravestone, a hand reaching out and brushing along the top.Β
These will theme from angst, sadness, anger, & loneliness, but will also be nostalgic for a time, bittersweet, & learning forgiveness.
Down below are the songs I have chosen for this themed writing - if there is any you might be interested in reading, please comment below or even shoot me a message! There is no limit to tags! So, feel free to comment or message, how ever many youβd want to read!
(This idea comes from @lolalovesyelena!)
01 - End Of August; Ex-husband!Steve Harrington x Reader
02 - Doors; James Cook x Reader
03 - American Cars; Gator Tillman x Reader
04 - Downfall; Ex-Boyfriend!Eddie Munson x Reader
05 - Lighthouse; Eric Love x Reader
06 - Staying Still; Dennis Whitaker x Reader
07 - The Great Divide; Ex-Boyfriend!Travis Meacham x Reader
08 - Haircut; Frank Langdon x Reader
09 - Willing & Able; Dad!Colin Zabel x Reader
10 - 23; Johnny Storm x Reader
11 - Porch Light; James Moriarty x Reader
12 - All Them Horses; Steve Harrington x Reader
13 - A Few Of Your Own; Dad!Gator Tillman x Reader
Summary: James Moriarty x fe!Reader -> When you first meet James Moriarty, you're not a fan. Until Sherlock goes missing and things begin to simmer between you both.
Disclaimer: dislike to lovers, slight canon divergence from the show, reader works for the Holmes family, platonic!Sherlock, discussions of marriage, wounds, blood. Hurt/comfort, found family, flirting, language of flowers, probably a lot of historical inaccuracy, light swearing, kinda a long fic.
It was quite clear to anyone who had functioning eyesight, as well as hearing, that you did not like Sherlock Holmesβ new friend; James Moriarty.Β
You didnβt know why. Whenever Sherlock asked, you would simply shrug and say, βI have my reasons.β
Neither one of you would point out that you didnβt have anything concrete. Only just a feeling.Β
But that didnβt stop you from seeing the good he brought into Sherlockβs life.Β
He challenged him. Pushed him. And, held him back when necessary.Β
Things you were thankful for.Β
You just wished it wasnβt him.Β
βNow,β you recognised his Irish drawl. βWhat did that loaf of bread ever do to you?β
Youβd been standing in the kitchen of the Holmesβ residence for just over three hours. Sherlock was on a case until six hours previous when you received word from his brother that Sherlock was, in fact, missing.Β
Unable to do anything to find him, you turned to the one thing you knew always seemed to calm you when almost nothing else worked; you baked.Β
Cakes, scones, cookies, bread; anything to help you with your frustration and fear.Β
When you didnβt answer, James spoke again.Β
βYouβre beating the thing as if it owes you money.β
βWhy are you here?β You asked, without looking up.
Not that you had to, to know how he was standing. Leaning against the frame of the open door, one foot crossed over the other with his hands crossed in front of him.Β
James paused for a slight second. βI was hungry and smelled a fresh loaf in the oven. Came to see if there was any available.β
You sighed. βBy the counter.β
He nodded his head, pushing himself from the doorframe. βThanking you kindly.β
You were that tense and wired, you couldnβt feel his eyes fixed on you as he walked across the kitchen. Nor could you see the way he was studying you β analysing you. The way you stood, the way you moved, the fact you werenβt yelling at him was his biggest worry.Β
Instead, you just kept kneading the bread over, and over, and over again.Β
Crossing the room once more, James stood beside you and laid a hand on your arm. You hesitated, but you stopped working the bread for a moment.Β
And a moment was all he needed.Β
βHeβll be okay.β
βHow?β You asked, not tearing your eyes from the wooden counter top. βHow could you possibly know that?β
βBecause I know him.βΒ
You sighed, closing your eyes.Β
βKnowing Sherlock,β James said. βHeβs probably halfway to the docks to ask some poor, unsuspecting stranger a random question. Without context. And get him caught in a two hour lecture aboutβ¦bees.β
That got a chuckle out of you, but rather than it being coarse and dry β like the usual sound of your laughter when you βlaughedβ at something he said. Your laugh wasβ¦wet. Held together by the tears you were too stubborn to shred.Β
βHeβll be okay.β
βYou should be out looking for him.β You said, your voice unarmed for the first time in his presence. βWhat if heβs hurt?β
βThereβs nothing I havenβt taught him, that I already know. Heβs prepared.β James nodded, before adding. βI just hope he listened.β
You nodded, trying to believe it yourself. But from the way youβd gone from pummelling the unbaked bread, to using whatever energy you had left to try and kneed, told James more than he needed to know.Β
For a second, he hesitated. βI-Iβm gonna do something, now, but I need your word that you wonβt try and stab with your bread knife.β
Swiping your hand across your cheek, quickly, you tried to steady your voice. βWhy?β
βBecause Iβm going to hug you.βΒ
Looking at James, the memory of your first meeting flipped through your mind as quickly as it took a few seconds to pass.Β
It had been around the time when Sherlock had thought of the bright idea to help his mother escape her asylum. Although you didnβt like her being in there in the first place, you would have thought he might have written to you to tell you before he came barreling into his home, sounding alarm bells in your head.Β
As Sherlock and James had searched a couple of the rooms, James had entered the one you were standing in. Rather than announce himself, however, he opted to lay a hand on your shoulder and proceeded to get flipped over you, his arm twisted and a bruise in his shoulder that was an identical match to the bottom of your heel.Β
Rather than flip him in the kitchen, you accepted the hug.Β
And when Sherlock came strolling in through the back door, the next afternoon, and found you and James Moriarty not only alone together in a room, but that room was also standing; it was safe to say he was more than shocked.Β
βSherlock!β
Laying the hot try down on the counter, you ran over and hugged him as tight as you could.Β
βI see youβre alive,β James said, taking in the muddy image of his best friend.Β
βI can see you are, too.β Sherlock replied. βYou bake?β
βMy mother taught me,β James smiled, leaning on a tea towel and crossing one boot over the other. βNot to say Y/n hasnβt taught me a thing or two in the last day or so.β
Standing back from the hug, you hit Sherlock as hard as you could in the arm. βWhere the hell were you?! What the fuck did you think you were doing?!β
He rubbed his arm, a little offended that it hurt him so much. βOw!β
βIβd answer her if I were you, Sherlock.β James chimed in.Β
In the last twenty four hours alone, Sherlock had been kidnapped, made friends with his kidnappers, helped them solve their case, cash in on their favour for him, solved the majority of his current case and picked up a new one.Β
And out of it all, seeing you and James beβ¦friendly? Was that really the best term? It was the strangest thing to happen to him.Β
βForgive me,β Sherlock said, leaning across the table hours after his explanation of his day. βButβ¦are you two friends? I go missing for several hours and you two decide to-β
βDecide toβ¦move on quite quickly and find a new best friend?β James asked before nodding proudly. βYes, I believe so.β
Then you hit his shoulder, hard.Β
βOw.β Mostly, he laughed.Β
βWeβre civil,β you corrected, before laying a tray of biscuits in front of Sherlock. βEat up. Thereβs plenty more.β
Looking across the kitchen, Sherlock made a mental tally of the baked goods. More than likely, youβd be wrapping them up and handing them out to the people in the village.Β
βIβm sorry I worried you so much,β Sherlock said, sincerely. He wasnβt always the best at apologies, but looking around, he had no choice but to give you one.Β
You nodded. βNext time, send a telegram. Better yet, take James with you.β
Sherlock and James looked at each other with slightly knowing smiles. βIβll be sure to do that,β Sherlock said just as James said, βHe can survive without me.β
You didnβt notice, but a look crossed between the boys as you turned away. Sherlock knew what it meant and James wasnβt one bit embarrassed to be caught in his crush.Β
*~*~*~*~*
βTell me something,β Sherlock said, keeping his voice quiet.Β
Youβd fallen asleep on the sofa just over an hour into the whiskey filled conversation between the boys. James was sitting beside you, letting your feet rest against his thigh, whilst his hand absentmindedly fell to your ankle and traced against the soft skin.Β
βDo you like her because sheβs the first woman to not flirt back? Or because you actuallyβ¦like her?β
James looked at his friend, a tired smile on his face. βCanβt be giving away all my secrets, now.β
Sherlockβs face didnβt change. βSheβs my friend, James. I wonβt see her get hurt.β
βI think she can take care of herself, donβt you?β
βThe sentiment still stands.βΒ
James watched Sherlock for a quiet moment, but Sherlock was unwavering as usual.Β
βA bit of both,β James answered, honestly. βSheβs beautiful, and smart. She can keep me on my toes, thatβs for sure. I suppose she intrigued meβ¦when she didnβt flirt back.β
βYou mean when she told you to fuck off?β
James chuckled. βYeah. That.β
During your first meeting, after asking who he was, heβd tried flirting with you a little just before Sherlock walked in and properly introduced you both. With his arm still twisted, youβd rolled your eyes at the fact the guy you were physically standing on still had the gall to try and flirt.Β
That had been when youβd told him to fuck off.Β
βBut, truthfully, I canβt deny that having her argue with meβ¦well,β James smiled. βItβs certainly a highlight of my day.β
Sherlock smiled, briefly, too. But watched as Jamesβ eyes fell onto your sleeping frame. His friend didnβt have to ask his question out loud.Β
Sitting forward in his chair and laying down his empty glass, Sherlock let out a small breath. βItβll take time. But- and this is only if youβre serious about your feelings for her. I suspect that somewhere behind all those walls that Iβve seen her buildβ¦sheβs willing to lower them. For the right person.β
Sherlock bid his friend goodnight before leaving you in Jamesβ hands, which became the physical embodiment of the truth.Β
After downing the rest of this drink, James stood and gently pulled the blanket from your frame.Β
βCome on,β he whispered. βLetβs get you to bed.β
It took him a try or two, to try and get his arms around and under you without jostling you too much and waking you up. But he succeeded and lifted you from the sofa, before carrying you up the main staircase and towards the general servants area of the house.Β
Mostly, it was out-of-date guest bedrooms that Cordelia had told you to stay in when she returned with Sherlock since she didnβt like the idea of the cold and dreary room youβd been sleeping in since sheβd hired your parents to work in the kitchens and on the grounds.Β
βSleep tight,β James told you, though he suspected you couldnβt hear him since you were lost in a dream.Β
Either way, once heβd closed your door with a soft click, he couldnβt help but hope that his friend was right. Would you be willing to lower your emotional barricades? Would you be willing to lower them for him?
It took six months, eight days and fourteen hours for James Moriarty to get his answer.Β
All because some stuffy, upper class gentleman who had been a long-time friend of the familyβs decided to stick his nose into business where he wasnβt wanted.Β
Heβd arrived one afternoon with Mycroft.Β
Considering he had nothing else to do that afternoon, a simple carriage ride out with his friend to see the people he cared for sounded like a lovely idea.Β
βMichael,β you had smiled, almost friendly, before accepting his hug.Β
βOh, him youβll hug,β James said, quietly, as you stood back again and stood just in front of him a little.Β
βShush.β
As Mycroft introduced James to Michael, he got an uneasy feeling. Though he couldnβt be too sure it wasnβt because youβd hugged him, rather than flipped him and nearly broken his arm.Β
βMrs Holmes,β Michael smiled, gracing the lady of the house.Β
She blushed, just a little. βMichael, darling. How are you? When Mycroft told me you were coming I was almost certain it was a practical joke! I thought youβd forgotten all about us.β
βOh, I couldnβt forget about you Mrs Holmes.β
βCordelia, please.β
He nodded, politely. βCordelia.β
Raising your chin just a little, you cleared your throat. βTea, Mrs Holmes?β
βThat sounds delightful,β she smiled, warmly at you, before she took Michael by the arm.Β
βYou will be joining us, wonβt you, Y/n?β Michael asked.Β
Cordelia jumped in quickly, nodding her head. βOh, yes, darling do!β
You smiled and nodded your head. βIβll be right out.β
βFantastic.β
Meanwhile, as you went to fetch the tea tray, Michael was led outside by Cordelia. But, rather than follow them, James followed you.Β
βOh, Michael,β he said, mimicking your accent. βMichael, how much I have missed you.β
βShut up,β you told him, hitting him in his diaphragm.Β
James just laughed. βIs he seriously the kind youβre mooning over? I thought you didnβt like the guy?β
You didnβt look at him. βWhat gave you that impression?β
βUh, I donβt know.β James pretended to think. βThe tight lipped smile you gave Cordelia when she told you he was coming, the way you stand back in the hallway rather than beside Sherlock like usual. Or how about-β
βYes,β you said, clipped. βJames. I think I get it.β
βSo?β James asked, leaning against the counter in front of you.Β
βSoβ¦what?β
βIs it that sort you like?β
You looked at him longer than you usually did before tearing your gaze away and picking up the tray. βI have no idea what youβre talking about.β
James watched you as you walked away and for the first timeβ¦something didnβt make sense to him.Β
Outside in the garden, Sherlock could practically feel the heat radiating from his friend as he sat down beside him. And it all made sense once he started listening to the rather boring conversation that was taking place between his brother, mother, friend and Michael.Β
It was the most words, in a calm tone, that either Sherlock or James had heard you utter. And then came the inevitable question of romantic relationships.Β
Cordelia pressed Michael, against Mycroftβs wishes. Apparently he was yet to find a suitable woman whom he could love. But he was certainly on the market.Β
James watched as, within a split second, all the attention around the garden table turned to you.Β
And you hated it.Β
Surprisingly, you managed to sit incredibly still. James (and even Sherlock) were expecting you to at least fidget with your hands as you spoke. Well, rambled.Β
βWell, IββΒ
That was the second surprising thing. You were lost for words.Β
The third and final surprising thing was where you looked. Rather, who you looked at.Β
It was just a split second. Nothing more than that. But James saw the look in your eyes. And Sherlock saw the exchange.Β
βDarling, I was just speaking to your mother,β Cordelia smiled. βShe was saying youβd only just spoken to her about this?β
If your eyebrows could have hit the sunshade above you, they would have. Awkwardly, you barked out a laugh. βOh, um, well, yes!β
God, you wanted to die.
βYouβre looking for a husband?β Michael asked, leaning forward in his chair.Β
Sherlock and James looked at one another rather quickly. They both knew how you felt about getting married so young.Β
βIβm not against it.β
βYouβre just not for it.β
βItβs not that simple.β
βIs it marrying me? Is that the idea youβre not fond of?β
You groaned. βFor the last time, weβre not getting married! Andββ You groaned. βNeither of you would understand what being married actually means! It means giving up the very little part of me that isnβt owned by anyone else! Marriage, for centuries, has been nothing more than a business contract between families. Men have the ability to do as they see fit, even in marriage. But not women.β
βBut Iβm not asking you to give that up.β Sherlock clarified. βIβm just asking you to pose as a couple getting married. You donβt actually have to go through with it.β
The context of the conversation was something different, but even after Sherlock's case of The Missing Wedding Dresses, heβd asked you to expand on your views on marriage.Β
βUh, well-β
βWell, Iβm certain you are,β Michael announced. βIsnβt it what every young lady dreams of?β
βNot always, Michael,β Cordelia jumped in. βBut it can be a rather big adventure. With the right person.β
With the right person.Β
As James cleared his throat, rubbing his temple and you stood up quickly. βHow about some fresh tea?β
James watched your every movement. The lack of eye contact, the speed at which you cleared away the cups and saucers.Β
And the slight tremble in your hand as you did so.Β
Plastering on a fake smile, you excused yourself and started making your way back over towards the house.Β
Finally able to place the tray down and start a fresh pot of tea, James came carefully bounding through the backdoor.Β
βAre you alright?β
You nodded. βIβm fine.β
βIβm sorry I didnβt stop them when-β
You looked at him for the slightest moment, before looking away again. βYou didnβt have to.β
βI should have. We both know you hate the spotlight being on you.β
βItβs fine, James.β
βAre you sure youβre okay?β
Slamming down the teapot in the sink, you closed your eyes. βPlease just-β You took a breath. βIβm fine. You should get back out there.β
Only, he didnβt.Β
Instead, he remained fixed in place between the table and the door, his gaze doing nothing but analysing you.Β
βWould you stop that?β You asked, noticing him. βWhat? What is it?β
βWomen have confused meβ¦for a long time,β he said. βBut youβ¦you areβ¦β
βI am what?β
You continued moving around the kitchen. Pulling biscuits out of the oven, boiling the water, setting the tray back up β all of it done within a fraction of the time it normally took you.Β
βUtterly confounding.β
βWhy, thank you,β you replied, dryly.Β
βI canβt tell if you like the fella, or if you want to see him dead.β James said. βAll I know is that youβre holding something back. And since you didnβt know your mother spoke with Cordeliaβ¦thereβs something else youβre not telling me.β
βI donβt have to tell you anything.βΒ
James nodded, moving around the kitchen towards you. βFair point, you donβt. But I can read you.β
For the first time, you stopped moving and turned to look at him, placing one fist on your hip as you gripped the tea towel in your hand.Β
βYou can read me?β You almost rolled your eyes. βNow I know youβve been spending too much time with Sherlock.β
James nodded. βProbably, but itβs true. And Iβm trying to work out if thatβs because Iβve known you longer than I expected to. Longer than you expected to, I imagine.β
You nodded without feeling guilty.Β
βOr if itβs becauseβ¦β
βBecause of what?β
James, again, studied you before standing tall and keeping his hands in his pockets. βOr because you want me to. See, Iβve known you for, what? Almost a year? And in all of that time, you havenβt shown anything to anyone you havenβt wanted to. You donβt talk about things, and youβre hyper-aware of your actions.β
You nodded, just a little. βWell, I grew up with Sherlock. He could be quite the taddle-tale, if you werenβt careful with your secrets.β
βHow come I know yours then?β
For a brief moment, you paused. You could admit the truth that had been growing inside of you β developing over the last few months youβd gotten to know James Moriarty. But you still werenβt convinced your answer to that question was correct.Β
Not yet at least.Β
So, rather than tell him (and probably satisfy his ego), you shook your head just a little.Β
βI donβt know.β
From the look in your eyes, James saw your truth; it wasnβt ready yet. You were still working it out. But something was clear.Β
You didnβt know. Not really.Β
βDarling, itβs starting to rain,β Cordelia said as she entered, followed by Mycroft who was carrying the sunshade. βSo weβre going to take tea in the living room. Is there anything I can bring in to help?β
Before you could answer and tell her you had it handled, James turned around with his cheeky but charismatic smile. βItβs alright, Mrs Holmes. Sheβs already ordering me about.β
On instinct, you hit the back of your hand into Jamesβ diaphragm. But he surprised you and caught it. And once the others had left and passed through the kitchen to the other door, he turned to you.Β
Lifting your hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to your palm.Β
βWhen you figure it out,β he said. βTell me.β
You had a feeling by the time you figured it out, heβd already know.Β
Another few months passed and before you knew it, Sherlock was raising a toast to the year anniversary he and James had met and become friends.Β
Meanwhile, you were helping Cordelia set up a charity centre that would help children in and around Oxford and London an education, the ability to find apprenticeships easier, and hone their crafts.Β
βKnock, knock.β You heard the Irish tone say before the English followed.Β
βWeβve come to make sure you havenβt died.β
βI am very much alive,β you called out with a tired smile before seeing the pair open the door and walk inside. βI was just going over your motherβs diary. Sheβs got a busy week ahead of her.β
βOf that, I have no doubt.β Sherlock nodded before he took a tour around your office. βMycroft told me you had been granted your own office.β
βYour point?β
βHe wants to know how his brother knew before he did.β
βAh,β you nodded, peeling your eyes from James to Sherlock. βWell, if youβd answered the telegraph your mother had sent you, you would have seen whose office it came from.β
Sherlock turned to you. βYou know I never check my mail.β
βYou should at least check it from your mother, Sherlock.β James told him.Β
He just hummed, continuing to pace and take in every inch of your new office. Meanwhile, James took a seat on your desk and started rifling through your notes.Β
βWhat are you doing?β
βJust checking.β
βWhat?β
James hummed. βSecret love notes, cipher keys to your beloved. The usual.β
βAh, and who would this beloved be?β
βWell, I was hoping it would be me.β
You hummed, narrowing your gaze at him playfully, letting him continue. βBut since I hear youβre such an independent woman these daysβ ah ha!β
βAh ha?β Sherlock asked.Β
βThere is a lover!β
Despite wanting to throttle the pair of them for prying, you couldnβt help but laugh as James took a turn around the room, reading out the supposed love letter.Β
James feigned a gasp. βY/n, this is practically a scandal sheet! Oh- he wants to do what?β
βWho is this man? I must defend your honour!β Sherlock played along.Β
James turned around, laying a hand on his chest and shaking his head. βNot with your fighting skills, dear.β
βAh, I suppose you're right. How about you, then?β
James shrugged. βI donβt see why not.β
You chuckled. βAre you two quite finished?β
βWe must make a plan.β
βYes, a plan!β
Groaning a little, but hiding your laughter, you held your head in your hands but continued to watch the Shakespeare worthy performance in front of you.Β
As the pair discussed their βplanβ to send a fake letter to your lover, then move under the cover of darkness-Β
βHow well does he know the court yard?β
βAt the university?β
They both nodded.Β
βLike the back of his hand.β
βDrats.β
βChange of plan?β
βPerhaps we can blindfold him.β
When theyβd finally finished their plan, you had tidied up your desk, put your coat on (with Jamesβ help as he continued to plan with Sherlock), managed to get both of the boys out of the building and locked the building up behind you all.Β
βThereβs just one solution left,β Sherlock said.Β
βWe must take you away.β
βAway?β
They both nodded, letting you loop your arms around theirs as you walked between them both. βSomewhere far away. Far enough to help you and this Barnabus character forget all about each other.β
βBarnabus?βΒ
Sherlock nodded. βWeβve renamed him.β
βRather fitting, donβt you think?β
βIf you think so,β you chuckled.Β
The story continued all the way back to Cordeliaβs London home where it was recounted to Mrs Holmes in full detail over a warm meal and some tea.Β
βCome on, sleepyhead. Iβm practically falling asleep watching you,β James said before he scooped you up in his arms.Β
You called his name but he barely flinched.Β
βPut me down! Where the hell are you taking me?β
He paused in the doorway, still holding you in a bridal carry. βTo bed.β
From the grin on his face, his words landed exactly how he wanted them to. So, rolling your eyes, you hit his shoulder.Β
βYouβre pathetic.β
βOnly for you, dear.β Then he started walking again.Β
βI can walk by myself, you know.β
βAnd let you twist your ankle on the stairs? Or fall from being unable to lift your weary limbs.β
By the time he was finished listing the amount of unlikely accidents to happen, he dropped you down on your bed and bid you goodnight in a less gentle manner than he had done the first time heβd carried you to bed.Β
βWell, here we are.β Then he hummed. βI suppose you're right.β
βThatβs a first, coming from you.β
And, despite the laughter from behind the door that had you rolling your eyes, you couldnβt help but feel the faint burn against your palm.Β
A sensation that only seemed to happen when you were around James Moriarty.Β
*~*~*~*~*
βDo you ever plan on staying still?!β
Through the darkness of the discontinued factory, you looked at James as he finally joined you behind one of the barrels.Β
βThey were shooting at us! What the hell did you want me to do?β
βSherlock told me to look after you!β
βI donβt need looking after!β
Another bang from a gun sounded somewhere behind you both before a forgotten barrel on a shelf exploded.Β
βAt least theyβre a shit shot.β
βDoesnβt matter how bad they are if theyβre close enough!β
Running again, James groaned and ran after you. No doubt Sherlock would scold him if he didnβt β not that he planned on leaving you behind. If he was being honest, he was rather hurt Sherlock thought he had to remind him.Β
Until he told him the reason why.Β
You both ran as quickly as your legs could carry you, through the building and out of the back, narrowly missing the flying bullets. But, aside from your lives remaining intact, all that mattered was that you were holding the evidence to prove a bossβ misdeeds against his employees who, no doubt, were probably in the same pickle with Sherlock.Β
They were just in the town square rather than by the docks.Β
Taking as many back streets as you both could, eventually you both made it to a street with a carriage. Hailing it down, you handed over the address and made sure the curtains were closed as the horses began trotting in the same direction youβd both ran from.Β
The men with the guns ran past the carriage, none the wiser.Β
Meanwhile, inside the carriage, you were still trying to catch your breath.Β
βAre you alright?β
You nodded, swallowing hard. βIβmβ¦Iβm-β
βYou canβt breathe.β
βI just need a minute.β
In that moment, James fully understood what Sherlock had meant when he said it scared him.Β
In recent weeks, youβd begun to suffer with breathing difficulties. Mostly, they stemmed from anxiety or panic attacks.Β
Only, rather than fall down and back yourself into a corner, you worked through them. Rather, rammed through them. It was bad enough not having your own body know what it was going through; but the thought to have to sit with that feeling?Β
It churned your stomach.Β
βCβmere.β
A little panicked at where James was reaching, you stopped him. βWhat are you-β
βYou need to breathe. That corset canβt be helping any.β
You were still struggling to catch your breath and, although you knew he was right, something in the back of your mind was panicking for a whole other reason.Β
You trusted him. You didnβt think heβd take advantage of you, or use your vulnerable moment against you.Β
But it was still a vulnerable moment.Β
βTurn around,β he told you, his voice calm.Β
You found yourself complying whilst he fiddled with the hooks on the back of your skirt, pulled up your blouse from the back and started pulling at the strings holding your corset together.Β
βAlways thought these things were like torture chambers.β
You hummed. βTheyβre usually not so bad.β
βBetter?β
For the first time, you managed to let out a full breath. βYes. Thank you.β
You could feel his hand gently pressing against your back. βJust try and take some deep breaths, yeah?β
You nodded, bracing your hands against the frame of the carriage as it rattled over the potholes in the street. Meanwhile, you tried to focus on Jamesβ calming voice as he focused on keeping your breathing.Β
βHow long have you been like this?β
βA while,β you admitted as you finally caught your breath and he helped tie everything back up again, though not as tight. βI donβt know what started them.β
βStress of the job?β
You shook your head. βItβs the only time I can feel like I can breathe. I donβt know what they are. They justβ¦come out of nowhere.β
βHave you consulted a doctor?β
You laughed. βWhat? Just so they can tell me Iβm being hysterical?β
βFair point. Maybe you are.β
You hit him in his diaphragm.Β
βJoking. Joking. Iβm just messing with you.β
βBetter be.β
James nodded before continuing to hypothesise what could be causing your sudden inability to breathe at random moments. Though neither of you had much longer to talk since the carriage was coming to a stop.Β
βNot a word about this to anyone. Do I make myself clear?β
βCrystal.β
And, to his credit, he didnβt. He didnβt tell anyoneβ¦who didnβt already know.Β
βHow was she?β Sherlock asked as you headed to bed on Sherlockβs orders.Β
βExactly as you said,β James replied. βBreathless. Constricted.β
βConstricted? I never said constricted.βΒ
Rather than panic, he remained calm.Β
βWhat do you mean constricted?β
James let out a controlled breath. βShe needed help. I helped her.β
βIβm aware you care for her, James. But you really need to be careful-β
βSherlock, nothing untoward happened. You have my word on that.β
βDo I?β
βYes.β James nodded, his voice firm. βHave I really given you a reason to doubt me now?β
Sherlock studied him for a long time. βNo. I suppose not.β
James nodded with a little thanks. βIβm gonna go check on her.β
βNo, let her be.β
βWhy?β
βShe needs rest.β Sherlock said. βSheβs been swept off her feet since coming to London. I highly doubt sheβs had the same rest to balance it out.β
James sighed, pausing by the door. And, for the first time, Sherlock truly saw his friend in a vulnerable state. βIβm worried about her.β
βI know,β Sherlock laid a hand on his shoulder. βSo am I. But sheβll only get agitated if we hover.β
James knew his friend was right. He didnβt like that he was right. But he was right nonetheless.Β
Though it didnβt stop him from worrying about you.Β
Or checking on you when he woke up in need of a glass of water.Β
Your bedroom door was wide open, but you werenβt inside.Β
James found you sitting in front of the fireplace in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, and far away in your own head.Β
βAre you alri-β
You nearly jumped out of your own skin. βJames.β
He held up his hands as he stood by the door. βSorry. How long have you been awake?β
βOh,β your gaze narrowed on the mantle clock. βI donβt actually know.β
James looked around. βWant some company?β
βArenβt you tired?β
Walking inside and taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, he shook his head.Β
βToo much excitement from the day.β
You let out a small chuckle. βI suppose youβre right.β
For a while, James and yourself talked. He tried to keep the conversation away from the case or anything that would get your brain fully tuning in and working.Β
And, after a solid hour, it worked.Β
βRest now,β he said, softly, running his hand through your hair as you laid your head down against his thigh.Β
And somewhere between the feeling of his hands running through your hair and the soft hum of his voice, you fell into the first deep sleep youβd had in weeks.Β
James woke up to a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. βJames, darling.β
βMrs Holmes,β he said, a little shocked. βIs everything-β
βOh, yes, yes. Everythingβs fine. A telegram has come for you, from Sherlock.β Cordelia held it out to him, keeping his voice in a hushed whisper. βIt seems rather important.β
βThank you, Mrs Holmes.β
βWould you like me to wake her?β
James almost forgot what she was talking about until he looked down and saw you still fast asleep, his hand on your arm.Β
βOh,β he shook his head. βNo. Let her sleep.β
Cordelia smiled. βI thought that would be the answer. I just wanted to make sure. You go ahead. Iβll stay with her.β
James nodded, carefully moving you without waking you. And, just as Cordelia took his place, she turned to him as he stood at the door.Β
βJames, dear.β
βYes, Mrs Holmes?β
βThank you for helping her sleep,β she said, her tone soft. βI knew she hadn't been resting as much, so this was a delightful sight to see.β
Laying a hand over his heart, he bowed a little. βIt was my pleasure.β
You woke up a little over an hour later. At first, you were a little embarrassed. And then worried. But the reassuring smile and hug from Cordelia calmed you.Β
Your job wasnβt in jeopardy, and neither was your standing within her home.Β
By the time the boys returned, with Mycroft in tow, they were bleeding.Β
βJesus,β you breathed, standing quickly from your place at the kitchen dining table. βWhat happened?β
βSherlock! Oh, my- James!β Cordelia called out as she took in the sight of them both.Β
Mycroft was the only one unharmed.Β
As you were gathering spare, clean rags and some warm water, Mycroft and his mother helped the boys into their seats.Β
Apparently one of their suspects didnβt like the idea of getting followed. But, at the very least, they knew they were on the right track.Β
βLook at me,β you instructed as you turned Jamesβ head to look at you. Not that you needed to force him all that much.Β
βYou look well rested,β he told you.Β
You nodded, quickly. βAnd you look like youβve just lost your first fight.β
βIβll have you know, I won this one, actually.β
Sherlock nodded, trying to escape his brotherβs attempts at cleaning his wounds. βHe actually did. Saved my bacon, too.β
βThank you, James.β Cordelia said, reaching over and squeezing his hand, briefly.Β
βAt least someone has thanked me.β
βI had it under control.β
From the back of his head, Sherlock felt you hit him.Β
βOw.β
βThank him. God only knows youβre terrible at fighting.β
Sherlock sighed, βI suppose I do owe you thanks, James. Soβ¦thank you.β
βThatβll do.β
Holding Sherlock still, you placed a separate cloth against his wounds before handing him back to his brother. Meanwhile, you returned to James.Β
And you tried to ignore the way he was gently holding his hand against your thigh.
βAnd you should know,β James told you. βI lost my first fight ages ago.β
You hummed. βReally? When?β
βAgainst you.β He smiled. βDonβt you remember?β
βI just remember you being an arse.β
βSeems the only time Iβve actually lost a fight has been against you. Sadly, multiple times.β
βYou donβt sound so beat up over that,β you said, because he didnβt.Β
He seemed happy. Amused, even.Β
Then you finally looked him in his eyes, and not at his wounds. And he was practically beaming.Β
βNo,β he said. βI guess Iβm not.β
Thankfully, Mycroft broke the tension that was growing quicker than usual between both yourself and James Moriarty.Β
βWould you stay still?β
With a heavy sigh, you rounded behind James and shoved Sherlock back into his seat.Β
βIt hurts!β
βJames?β You asked, looking at him.Β
He just nodded, placing both of his hands on Sherlockβs shoulders, anchoring him into his seat. βStay still.β
Β βI regret ever going missing now,β Sherlock announced. βIf I hadnβt, you two wouldnβt have become friends.β
βDonβt feel too bad, Sherlock. Iβm sure Iβd still be holding you down to help her if we werenβt friends.β
βDid anyone ever tell you- Ow!β
You smiled, briefly, holding up the shard of glass that had lodged itself in Sherlockβs arm. βItβs out.β
βNow Iβm bleeding.β
James leaned down. βYou were already bleeding.β
βBut, now, Iβm bleeding more.β
βStop complaining,β you told him.Β
James smiled. βListen to the woman, Sherlock.β
βAre you well, James?β
βIβm less beat up than you β Iβd say so. Why?β
Sherlock lifted his head to look at his friend. βBecause you never agree with Y/n.β
You didnβt look at either of them as you cleaned out the bleeding wound. βHeβs open to learning, unlike some people I know.β
βIf you mean me, I am open to learning.β
James leaned down, again. βAh, but do you listen? You might find you learn more, that way.β
βIf us being friends bothers you so much, Sherlock,β you sighed. βMaybe you should have sent a wire to tell us where you were.β
βYou still havenβt forgiven me about that?β
James stood tall, crossing one boot over the other. βDidnβt you know her grudges have an excellent shelf-life?β
βAll done,β you announced.
James smiled, lifting his hands from his friends shoulders. βSee! It wasn't so bad.β
βAh, I believe itβs your turn, James.β
Sherlock stood, with a proud smile. Though James didnβt need any help being held down to stay still. He was rather pleased that, despite the pain, he got to stay within your vicinity β even if you did take to scolding him every once in a while.Β
βDonβt they give you a headache, mother?β Mycroft asked, leaning over.Β
βNo more than you boys did growing up,β Cordelia smiled. βBesides, it reminds me of being at home. Thereβs never a quiet moment. I canβt stand the quiet anymore.β
Mycroft gave her a reassuring smile, taking her hand in his.Β
In the meantime, Sherlock ran over everything that had happened whilst working the case and you cleaned the cuts across Jamesβ face, arms and hands.Β
That case was cleared up within the week.Β
Though it wasnβt long before Sherlock was sticking his nose in somebody else's business and dragging James with him. And, by proxy, yourself and eventually Mycroft.Β
*~*~*~*~*
βIβm home, dear!β
Without looking up, you continued writing out your letters that would be sent to every wealthy friend who couldnβt say βnoβ to Cordelia Holmes.Β
βIs there a reason youβre bothering me in the middle of the day?β
βI thought I might check in on you,β James said, looking around your office, though his eyesight always landed back on you without fail. βMake sure you aren't overworking yourself.β
βAs you can see I am perfectly fine,β you smiled, still not looking up. βBut still rather busy.β
βDo you ever actually leave your office?β
βYes,β you told him. βIn fact, Iβm due to meet Mrs Holmes at the Charity House. We have another shipment of sheets and general medical equipment coming in.β
You could hear the smile in his voice. βA baker, a maid, a secretary and nowβ¦a nurse?β
You chuckled. βSherlock and yourself arenβt my only patients.β
βDonβt you have to be medically trained to help?β
βThatβs why Mrs Holmes has hired a resident doctor,β you said. βWe all help out where we can. Anything major gets an appointment at the hospital. You might think about volunteering at some point.β
βOh, I might?β
You nodded, looking at him. βYou might. It would keep you and Sherlock out of trouble.β
βDo you really think you can keep me and Sherlock out of trouble?β He asked, leaning forward against your desk.Β
You hummed. βProbably not. I figure by now itβs soaked into your bones.β
James hummed, too. βSouls, you might say.β
βThat would figure you were born into it, would it not?β
He shrugged. βMaybe. Maybe not.β
You kept your gaze fixed on his. And whilst his eyes searched yours, a smirk started to develop on his face.Β
His voice dropped a little lower. βDβyou know what I think?β
βWhat?β
βI think you like me,β James said, rather confidently, though quietly. βAnd I also think you want to see more of me.β
βIs that so?β
He nodded. βYes, I believe it is.β
βSoβ¦going ahead with your theoryβ¦if I asked you to come with me to the House and help outβ¦what would you say?β
He smiled, his eyes landing on the small vase of flowers by your desk. A small vase of cornflowers and babyβs breath.Β
Hope in Love. Purity and Innocence.Β
βIβd sayβ¦β James leaned over, plucking a single stem of babyβs breath and a simple bloom of cornflower, before leaning closer to you and tucking the small bunch behind your ear. βAnything for you, my dear.β
In the two afternoons a week he spent volunteering at the Charity House with you, helping entertain the children with stories, and helping hold patients steady as the doctor helped clean their wounds; you got to see his vulnerable moments.Β
And he got to see yours.Β
Whilst he simply collected visual evidence of something he already knew, you caught passing glimpses of his softer side.Β
βYouβre good at this,β you smiled as yourself and James walked down the street and towards the carriage.Β
βGood at what?β He asked.Β
βEntertaining,β you clarified. βTeaching. Keeping people calm.β
βAh,β he chuckled, lowering his gaze to his feet. βThe art of distraction.β
βCall it what you want,β you said. βIt works. Do you have siblings? Iβve never heard you mention any but the way you are with the kidsβ¦youβve got a natural talent.β
James scratched the back of his head. βJust a brother. But my ma tended to a couple of the local families in the village. Believe me, Iβve cleaned more scraped knees and stopped fights than you could count.β
βAnd I suppose, taught them how to properly defend themselves, too?β
James chuckled. βI suppose. But if my mother ever asks, you donβt know that.β
You nodded. βDuly noted.β
Helping you into the carriage, quickly followed by Cordelia who had finally said goodnight to the doctor, James sat beside you.Β
And when the carriage shook from the pothole in the road, and James held out his arm to steady you, you werenβt quick to throw him away from your reach.Β
*~*~*~*~*
Later that evening, as Sherlock balanced the needle of the gramophone to his motherβs favourite song collection, James held his hand out to Mrs Holmes before leading her to the make-shift dance floor in the middle of the living room.Β
Somewhere between the laughter and slightly out of time dancing, as Sherlock tried his best to avoid stepping on your toes, Mrs Holmes whispered something to her own dance partner.Β
βI believe someoneβs feet are in need of saving.β
It didnβt take much for James to catch on to what Cordelia was telling him. Stepping across, Cordelia pulled her son away and into her arms, laughing about how he used to dance as a boy.Β
Meanwhile, James held out his hand and, despite the pull you felt in your gut β that awkward, yet excited feeling that usually would have had you pulling your hand away and politely saying no β you went with it.Β
Taking his hand in yours, over the next thirty seconds, you came to realise just how much James Moriarty had been keeping from you.Β
Because he was rather an excellent dancer, despite the context. He didnβt step on your feet, led you rather than you leading him; all whilst being light on his own feet.Β
And you had never known.Β
But it was a relatively nice surprise.Β
βI shall bid you goodnight, my darlings,β Cordelia's soft voice smiled before she kissed each of you on the top of your heads.Β
The dancing had long been put to rest, but the conversation had followed far into the evening.
βDonβt stay up too late,β she told you. βAnd do try to stay out of trouble.β
βOf course, mother.β
Sherlock soon followed his mother, James saying he wouldnβt be long behind him. But, finally being left in silence together, yourself and James cleared away the glasses and half empty decanters.Β
βI have a question Iβd like to ask you.β James said, breaking the silence.Β
βShould I be worried?β You asked, looking over your shoulder to him, finding him already looking at you.Β
βMaybe,β he answered with a grin. βProbably.β
βThen I await your question in trepidation.β
James chuckled, feeling the warmth of the dying fire. βThereβs actually a few questions Iβd like to ask you, but Iβll stick to one for now.β
You looked at him, and nodded. βOkay then.β
βHave you been sleeping? Well, I mean.β
Taking the short stroll from the window to the mantel, you nodded again, placing your hands behind you. βI have, if you must know.β
βGood.β
βI believe the reason for that isβ¦down to you.β
βDown to me?β
You nodded. Again, you felt that pull inside of you. But rather than excusing yourself and locking yourself in your room for the rest of the evening, you decided to follow it.Β
βWhenever I canβt sleepβ¦I think of you.β
βOhβ¦right.β
βNot in that way.β
James chuckled, a little nervous. βRight. No, I suppose not.β
βBut certainly the memory of you,β you told him. βThat nightβ¦in hereβ¦it was the first time I feltβ¦β You took a breath, unable to break your gaze away from his. βSafe. At ease.β
James took a small step closer towards you. βThatβs a lotβ¦coming from you.β
βI suppose so.β
βWhat was it that you called me, when we first met?β James looked away and down at your waist before looking back to your eyes once more.Β
βA half-wit?β
βNo.β
βA reckless one?β
βCloser.βΒ
James took another small step towards you.Β
Then it hit you. βAh, a reckless idiot?β
James nodded. βActually, I think your specific words were βreckless, untrustworthy, idiotβ. Have to say β you were pretty spot on with that insult.β
You bobbed your head. βWell, you did think the best course of action was to sneak up on a woman.β
βWell, I did learn my lesson.β
You chuckled. βYou did.β
βWhatβ¦what Iβm trying to ask youβ¦β Never in his life had he been this nervous to talk to a woman.Β
βDo you still believe that?β
βThat youβre reckless? Or untrustworthy? Or an idiot?β You asked, quickly, with a confident tilt of your head. βBecause I have a different answer for each.β
The feeling of Jamesβ heart sinking in his chest when you asked him the specifics of his question, came to a grounding halt when you finished your sentence.Β
This time, you took a step closer towards him. Instinctively, his hand came to your waist, trying not to hold onto you for dear life but also trying to keep you tethered to him so he had at least one memory of holding you close; in case everything blew up in his face.Β
βI do think that youβre still reckless,β you told him. βBut only when you have to be. I still do worry about you and Sherlock from time to time. Sometimes I wonder if one morning Iβll find your names printed in bold in the paper.β
Your hands pressed gently against his waistcoat and the sleeve of his shirt.Β
βIn terms of you being an idiot, well, for as long as I live both you and Sherlock will both be idiots to me. Stupid? No. Well, unless weβre counting the time you two thought it was wise to pose as policemen to break into a jail.β
James chuckled a little. βEven I have to admit, it wasnβt exactly our brightest moment.β
You smiled gently, before making sure he looked you in the eye for what you were about to tell him.Β
βBut if youβre asking if I think youβre untrustworthy?β You took a breath and shook your head. βNo. I donβt think youβre untrustworthy. Not anymore. Iβve seen you with your friends, and with the people closest to you. Iβve seen how youβve treated strangers in their lowest moments, and in their highest.β
Gently resting your palm against his cheek, you continued talking.Β
βBut most of allβ¦I have seen how youβve treated the moments Iβve shared with you. I donβt trust easily, James. But rather than judge me for thatβ¦you listened. And you learned. And youβ¦you made a safe space for me to beβ¦me. Without judgement and without fear.β
βThere have been plenty of times where you could have used something against me,β you continued. βSadly, Iβve known people who would have. But you didnβt.β
βIβd never. Not for anyone I care for. Especially you.β
With his hands anchored at your hips, he pulled you closer to him before he lowered his head against yours.Β
βI know,β you smiled. βI know. And that is why I trust you, James.β
Closing his eyes, James breathed you in, solidifying a memory of you both that in his darkest moments, he would use as a lantern to guide him home.Β
You could feel his straining resistance as he tried not to ruin the moment. One of his hands anchored themselves at the base of your skull, under your hair; either to pull you in and kiss you, or to keep you away from him in case the reality of kissing you was more than his existence could handle.Β
But you trusted him.Β
Gently, you swiped your thumb back and forth against his cheek.Β
βI trust you, James,β you said, your voice soft and calm. βI trust you.β
Looking at you, his gaze flickered over yours, searching for a physical answer. So, you nodded a little and repeated yourself.Β
βI trust you.β
Finally, he kissed you.Β
He kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever be able to do in life. As if he was begging with God Almighty to let him live just a moment longer, just so he could kiss you.Β
Your hand circled to the back of his neck, in order to pull him down closer to you.Β
By the time morning rolled around, neither of you spoke about what had occurred the night before. You knew you would, eventually, when the room was safe from prying eyes and ears.Β
Ultimately, when the time did come for people to find out, the only one who didnβt seem surprised was Cordelia.Β
After all, she knew what it looked like when two people who had grown to love and care for each other. Even if you didnβt have the most conventional start with one another.Β
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Why Am I In Love - In Love With The One Who Holds The Gun?
warnings; gator pushes people away (lol), no happy ending with this one guys π, heβs a bit mean.
cherryβs notes; hey yall β¦.. long time no see. i hope you all are doing well. β€οΈ and yes β¦. this is based off of βbuffalo 66β by nessa barrett.
With Gator Tillman, itβs on and off again.Β
Push and pull.Β
Days where heβs radio silent; days where heβs blowing your phone up so much, you end up turning it off only to hear heavy knocks at your door twenty minutes later.Β
Itβs sickening, truly.Β
Yet, so enthralling.Β
You love Gator. You truly love him so much to the point it hurts physically; that tug you feel in your chest when you see him give waitresses that same cocky grin, the way he leans back and keeps his big eyes on them - long lashes fluttering slightly as he tilts his head.Β
What he says is something you canβt hear, not with the ringing in your ears that grows louder the more his mouth moves and the sound of whoever giggles.Β Β
You could leave.Β
Could truly pack up and leave since thereβs not much holding you back here. Not much besides him.Β
Someone who smells like axe body spray and artificial blue-razz from the vape he repurchases within two days. Someone who tastes faintly of stolen whiskey from his fathers liquor cabinet and regret.Β
But thereβs no way you could truly leave Gator; not yet. A small part of you - one you shouldnβt listen to - believes thereβs something soft inside of the man thatβs hardened by a shell and youβre willing to crack it open, be there to catch the pieces and discard them when heβs ready to open himself up fully and feel.Β
Thereβs a small part in you that believes he loves you even if heβs given you plenty of reasons to believe he doesnβt.Β
The fabric of the flannel on your skin meets your thighs, brushing as you pad through his small apartment - one close to his childhood home so he can still feel at ease and still feel close to Roy.Β
He needed his own space, yet still craved that closeness that he never had with the older Tillman.Β
Heβs gone to smoking as well.Β
The smell is already in the walls and carpet from the last tenant, but worsens since Gator had taken up another self-destructive thing. He stands by the window, shirt off and checkered pants hanging low on his hips. The glass slid up just enough for the smoke to roll out into the night sky.Β Β
You pause for a moment, taking in the way he stands. Still tense even in the quietness of his own place; no matter how small it was. The way his free hand twitches at his side, thumb and pointer tapping against the side of his thigh.Β
There's nothing much to take in from the view, just another building and the night sky, but you suppose Gator might enjoy it anyway.Β
You step closer, hand reaching out and resting gently on his back. He flinches from the touch, turning his head to the side slightly. βThought ya were asleep.β He mutters.Β
You shake your head, but speak when you see his head swivel back towards the window to inhale more smoke. βNo. I felt you get up,β you step closer and lean your cheek into his spine, your hand gently sliding around and wrapping around his side in a gentle hug. βWhatβs wrong?βΒ
βNothinβ. Why do ya always ask that?β He flicks ash out the open window, eyes drawn down towards it as he watches it fall.Β
βI can tell,β you turn your head and rest your chin against his spine instead. βI know you, Gator. Somethinβ is on your mind.βΒ
He scoffs, the sound sharp as he takes his hand and wraps it around your wrist, pushing it off; not rough, just pushing. Your hand slips from his stomach and you step back as he bends to tap the cigarette out before slamming the window shut.Β
You flinch and step back another step, bringing your arms up to your chest as a protective hold. You knew Gator would never harm you in any way, despite how Roy told him the βrulesβ and what he saw growing up.Β
But there were times when Gator was still scary.Β
βYouβ¦you keep doinβ that. Sayinβ that.β He shakes his head.Β
βDoinβ what?β You watch him. His back muscles tense as he drags a hand through his ungelled, unkempt hair.Β
βActinβ like you know that somethinβs wrong - when itβs not,β he turns to give you a pointed look. βYou donβt know me.βΒ
A small part of you feels the weight of the words heavily, because truly, who is Gator Tillman? Who is he without the attention he so desperately seeks out in anyone; the approval?Β
Who is he without the way he pushes people away when heβs tired of that attention, yet pulls them back in so he wonβt end up alone?Β
βYouβre beinβ mean again.βΒ
βYeah? Whoβs fault is it that they keep cominβ back when they know itβs gonna end up the same way everytime?βΒ
Your chin quivers slightly, but you inhale deeply and shake your head. βYouβ¦you donβt mean thatββ
βI do.β
βYouβre justβ¦Youβre just tired and-and need someββ
βI donβt need anything from you,β his voice rises slightly, cutting off your words as you stare at him with glassy eyes. βThat only thing I need is for you to leave me alone. Youβre too much.βΒ
Your heart plummets and a small sound leaves your mouth as you feel the world shift under your feet, almost causing you to fall to the ground.Β
Your eyes drop finally; the longer you keep looking at his face makes your stomach churn. Finding the will to finally push yourself to walk away, you do.Β
You donβt realize how quick you're moving until you blink and the tears have finally begun to fall, your cheeks wet. The light burns your eyes as you take everything you can find of yours and stuff it into a bag.Β
Gator hasnβt come to stop you - and you sure arenβt going to stop yourself this time.Β
The last pair of pants you pull from a hanger, you slip into them and grab a coat, slipping it on over the flannel. The zipper almost gets caught on some fabric, but you donβt stop.Β
Your hands are shaking, your legs are shaking, yet you canβt find it in you to stop as you rush down the small hallway of his apartment. You donβt give him so much of a glance; silent as you shove your feet into some shoes that rests by the door.Β
βWhere are you goinβ?βΒ
The audacity of the question punches out a humorous laugh from you. The keys in the bowl get yanked up. βIβm leavinβ.βΒ
βI didnβt say to leave. You always do this. You take my words andββ
βAnd what?!β you turn and look at him, heart beating wildly in your chest as it heaves up and down. βJust βcause you didnβt say you wanted me to leave doesnβt mean you make it any less known by your words and actions, Gator,βΒ
You go to turn but stop, fingers grazing the brass doorknob before you turn once more and step closer to where he sits on the couch. The sight angers you more than it should. βI love you so much it hurts me; yet, you donβt seem to care or feel the sameββ
βI do love you!βΒ
βNo, you donβt! If thatβs your way of lovinβ me, then you have a funny way of showinβ it,β you scoff. βIβm sick of waitinβ for you to hopefully change. That one day youβll wake up and realize how much I love you and thatβ¦that would be enough,βΒ
Your face morphs from heartache to clear disgust as your eyes travel up and down. βClearly, itβs not.βΒ
Without another word, you turn and walk back towards the door, letting it slam behind you. The door to the truck creaks as you open it and sling your bag into the passenger seat, before climbing into the driver's seat and starting the engine.Β
The lights flip on and you see Gator standing in front of the vehicle. Your fingers grip the wheel as your jaw tenses and a shakily exhale leaves you. Putting the truck into drive, you inch out careful not to hit Gator - even if the thought crosses your mind.Β
Itβd been 3 hours and youβve only stopped at a diner that stays open 24/7 and has mediocre pancakes. Your phone keeps buzzing, but you donβt answer any call or text. The waitress had sent you a worried look each time she passed, but you only gave her a small, tight smile in hopes she wouldnβt ask any questions; her company is enough.Β
After leaving a tip, you stand from the booth and make your way out of the diner and get back to your truck.Β
You sit in the parking lot for another thirty minutes, listening to the constant buzz of your phone. After the last one, you quickly grab the device up, going to Gatorβs contact, scrolling down until you see βBLOCK CALLERβ in big, red letters.Β
The feeling of your heartbeat picks back up, your jaw ticking as you blink and stare at the phone quietly.Β
Thumb hovering over the letters, it finally descends and clicks, officially blocking Gator. You toss the phone back into the seat and buckle up, starting the engine once more.Β
Youβre not for sure where youβre going, but wherever it is, it will be far away from Gator Tillman.Β
series warnings; mentions of murder, mentions of past & present abuse, roy tillman, follows the same story as fargo season five (besides reader & evelyn & when that older woman died), mainly readers pov - but there will be one special part thatβs dedicated to gator, this does contain gatorβs fate as well.
β ; Pack and Get Dressed Before Your Father Hears Us (Before All Hell Breaks Loose).
β ‘ ; Take The Noose Off; Wrap It Tight Around My Hand. | DNA Guarantee. (gatorβs chapter)
β ’ ; I Will Let You Down, I Will Make You Hurt.
β £ ; Just One Single Glimpse Of Relief To Make Sense Of What Youβve Seen.
please write more longer gator fluff!! lovee your writing
hi lovely! i just seen this! but i will be writing for gator soon! i have like, three others i want to post for first since the gator one will be a mini-series (three-four parts!)
i am sad to report though that thereβs β¦.. only a small amount of fluff (if any) and it will only be at the ending - the rest is angst because i simply live and breathe it.
BUT if you have a fluffy request for gator at any point, please feel free to send them in! i would love to write it for you! β€οΈ
hellooo!!! iβm so glad you could really feel how much i truly appreciate and marvel at your work <333
youβre too sweet for bringing up the eric thingβ that jacko characterβs basically the loml ! if you do end up writing something for him (NO PRESSURE AT ALL OFC, PLS ONLY DO SO IF YOU REALLY WANT TO <333) then i think itβd be really cool to see your take on him and the reader ! youβre extremely creative, all i ask is that you enjoy your time writing with him!
Thanks so so much for all of your hard work!! Hope to read more from you soon !!!! <33333
babe! iβm so sorry for answering late!
but i am going to be working on an angsty eric post JUST FOR YOU (and because ive been meaning to!!!) so im excited!!
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β disclaimer -> just because you are not added to the list (at the moment) doesnβt mean i donβt enjoy your work! there are a looooot of talented people that i follow and havenβt added just yet!
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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