🕯Hello Lovie🕯

The dress is beautiful and ornate. And you start crying actual tears of mirth and exhaustion when both you and Kyle struggle with all the fiddly little buttons. It takes ages, the two of you standing in front of the dressing table as he works the gown and you focus on the jewelry weighing you down from crown to collar bone. Through giggles, you have to tell Kyle to stop leaning down to kiss your back every time he manages to work a button open.

“You know,” he grumbles as you work on all the little pins. “Riley said he cut his bride out of her dress. I thought he was just being odd and uncouth, but maybe he was onto something.”

“Riley?”

“The Ghost,” he mutters under his breath. “His lady seemed charmed by him, and I hadn’t understood it. But now, I can kind of see why.”

Another giggle bubbles from your throat. “Oh! Do you know I thought I was going to wed him?”

That shocks another laugh from Kyle, which does not help you undress any faster. But eventually, the heavy fabric drops to the ground, leaving you in a simple chemise that feels light as a feather. You set the last of the hair pins and beaded flowers on the table in front of you before turning to face your husband.

Kyle has long stripped down to an undershirt and trousers, and you can’t help but admire the slope of his shoulders, the shape of his arms as he takes you in. His smile and laugh, the way he kept looking to you at the party, is all very much the boy you remember. But now, staring at you with hunger in his eyes, it’s hard not to see the man he’s become. But where other men’s eyes on you feel like something dangerous, Kyle’s eyes are a heat you want to throw yourself into.

“I think,” he whispers, “that tonight I want to kiss you, everywhere.”

You don’t have a chance to ask what he means before he’s sweeping you into his arms and kissing you with much more ardor than he had in front of the priest. When he starts kissing down your neck, drawing you toward the bed, you shiver at the ticklish sensation of his lips brushing sensitive skin.

It shouldn’t be a surprise when he lays you out over the sheets, but you can’t help the gasp that leaves your lips. His mouth drifts lower, pressing nibbling kisses to your collarbones and shoulders. A calloused hand smooths over your breasts until his fingers pluck gently at your nipple through silk. The way he chuckles at you makes the butterflies behind your sternum flutter.

The thin layer between you slides away as if by magic, and then his skin is really against yours. He groans as he cups your breast in his palm, and you echo the noise when his lips tease over the point of your other nipple. The appearance of his tongue surprises you, again, and you can’t help but grab at his shoulders.

“Kyle!”

He huffs a laugh and blows a cool stream of air over your skin. “Yes, my love? Feeling good already?”

Fabric bunches between your lower bodies, and he’s so hard as he rolls his hips into yours. You shiver as you open the cradle of your hips to him, have to drag him up to kiss him again, wet like you’ve only ever been after touching yourself for long minutes alone in the dark. You pant into each other’s mouths as he adjusts himself to shove away the last flimsy barrier between your bodies.

And then he’s pulling away to sit back on his heels, eyes hot as he takes you in. Whatever shyness you might have is overshadowed by your own lust as you drag your eyes down his body. He looks very different from when you were younger. All of the lankiness of youth has long been replaced, his time in the military turning him into a man capable of wielding a sword.

Your eyes dart down between his thighs.

A rather large sword. You giggle to yourself.

Kyle grins. “I never imagined how lovely it would be to see my wife smiling, naked, in my bed.”

Even as your face gets hot, you can’t look away from his eyes. “I had never dreamed I would smile at my husband in his bed.”

“Well,” he declares with a nod to himself. Shuffling back, he drops down until his shoulders are between your thighs. Strong hands arrange you until he can kiss the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs. “I’d better give you more reasons to smile.”

You think you will be ready when he kisses you where you’re wet, except you very much are not. He moans when you grip at his short hair, and then his tongue touches gently at your pearl and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’d read about this, but even the most flowery prose pales against the reality of him using his lips and tongue to explore you, savor you.

Your husband is ravenous, you realize, as one of his fingers dips into you. The sensation is startling in its intensity, and you can’t help the way your hips pulse into it. Moans you didn’t know you were letting out stutter with your breath. Tension starts to coil in your belly, tighter and tighter as one finger becomes two that stroke at something inside of you, sending lightning up your spine.

You trip over your tongue as your peak rolls over you. “Kyle!”

“Fuck,” he moans, and then he’s up on his knees again, fingers still inside of you as he strokes and thrusts his cock against your pearl with loud, slick sounds. The feeling makes your hips jump again, jostles his fingers inside of you until you’re shivering and moaning as he spills over and into you.

“Gods.” He kneels there, panting, and slowly keeps stroking his fingers in and out. The noise makes your face heat again, and he chuckles when you cover your face with one hand. “You’re so beautiful.”

He withdraws his hand, slow and easy, and then flops onto the bed at your side. You make a confused noise when he pulls you against his side.

“Are we not…?”

He chuckles, pulling you close so he can press a kiss to your lips. “Not done with you yet, love. Got all night, and the rest of our marriage to learn exactly how to please each other.”

-

unsuspecting lorry drivers being sniped from miles away, brains splattering against headrests and spraying their passengers. a sopping wet cunt leaving a ring of cream around a thick cock. a man, wide eyed and screaming as his jaw hangs limply from his face, blood pouring from the wound like a faucet. your face, with eyes shining as kyle's cock sinks between your lips. half the remains of a burnt up infant. big broad arse cheeks held apart as cum leaks from a puffy and abused asshole.

it's worse now than it ever was before, and you're left pacing in your flat, wincing at remembered gore and trying desperately to think of a way out of this cage you find yourself in. luckily, there's no vacancies in your building- you'd found a single moment of unadulterated joy as kyle mentally bemoaned his inability to move in and get closer to you- but it hasn't stopped his daily patrols around your block as he searches for you. he lingers in the nearby cafe, skulks around the nearest chicken shop, and loiters near the closest book store- all in hopes of seeing you again. you've so far managed to dodge him fairly easily when you've had to run out for groceries and the mail, but there have been too many close calls that left you breathless and with your heart pounding in your throat.

as far as he knows, you haven't a clue he's nearby, and he's planning to 'run into' you in order to pick things up where he left off. he's already practiced how he'll comfort you when you tell him about your dead 'boyfriend', the way he'll loop an arm around your shoulder and reel you in when your words get watery and eyes go misty as you recount it. he's got it all planned out, step by step, like there's a standard operating procedure to be followed in order to soothe you through your grief and make you his.

for a week, you mostly stay inside, locked away in your flat, debating what to do next. the idea of allowing him access to you again is a total non-starter- you've seen his memories, watched through his eyes as he pushed hans off the subway platform, called and arranged for the cameras to be cut, and managed to giddily slip away without a trace. his violence is no longer contained to battlefields and missions- he brought it here, back home to london, entirely unjustified and unprovoked, and the crossing of that line just solidified what you'd already known: kyle garrick is a monster, a killer, and a war criminal who is capable of rationalizing anything to himself in his pursuit of you.

-but rotting away in your flat isn't sustainable. sure, you've got enough money holed away to last for a while, but it won't last forever, and this game of cat and mouse is wearing on your nerves. by day seven, you've had enough of your self-imposed quarantine. fuck your possessions, fuck your connections, and fuck kyle garrick- you're getting out of here, by whatever means necessary.

your best bet has always been to run, and you can't help but mentally kick yourself for not outright leaving london when you had the chance. it was stupid to think that simply moving to the opposite side of the thames would somehow save you, and now you're paying for that foolishness.

in a fit of desperation you pack your bags, sticking to only the necessities and irreplaceable things, consolidating your entire life to the contents of two suitcases and a backpack. sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your bags, you feel a strange sense of accomplishment. sure, there's no real plan yet, but packing up to leave feels like the first step of your escape strategy is complete- now all you have to do is formulate the rest of your scheme.

your full government name on a screen, filling the search bars of databases that kyle shouldn't have access to, cursor blinking at the tail end of your surname. voter records. police records. vehicle registry. phone companies. utilities. banks. all he can manage to find is your long-forgotten spotify account- the rest is a frustrating bust for kyle, who tabs over to a grid of street cameras, searching in vain for any recent movement from you- but there's nothing. yet. he's been down your street dozens of times by now, but hasn't caught sight of you. he saw the new hairstyle you've been sporting- it's a good look, babes- and he's keeping a weather eye out for that particular cut and color as he scans the sidewalks, windows, alleyways, and passing taxis.

"come on," he whispers at the screen as he watches hours-old footage of you ducking back into your building with a bag of groceries just before he sees himself round the corner. "come out and play, babes. i've missed you."

your cell phone is in your hand before you can even think about it, phone already ringing as you call the only person you know who might have the means to discretely and safely ferry you out of london.

"d, i need your help." the words pour out of you the second the line connects, and when there's a brief pause you wonder if you accidentally hit the wrong contact number.

"i'm listenin'."

"i need out of london. fast. and i need it to be discreet." you explain, swallowing hard. "there's a man- he's been following me, and he won't stop until he gets his hands on me. i- i can't let him. i can't let him get me. you know people- you know everyone- just get me in contact with someone who can get me out of london. i don't care where i go- just far away. somewhere no one will look. they can drop me off in bloody hull for all i care, just. please. i'm- i'm desperate. i've been hiding in my flat for a week, keeping the curtains drawn and staying away from the windows anyways. i can't keep living like this."

there's a long pause, and when you hear the responding chuckle, your stomach drops.

"and 'ere i thought you could 'andle y'self. managed the austrian olright, didn't ya?"

"i didn't. that's the thing, d. i didn't fucking kill him, but this guy? the one i need away from? he's who did." you swallow hard. "i can't prove it, but. i know. i know he did. he saw me talking to him and got jealous or something and- and now he's looking for me and i- please. d there's nobody else in this city that i trust to get the job done. i need out, and i need to leave no trace."

he's silent for a while before he speaks.

"olright, listen- i like ya, i do. but if wot y'sayin' is true, i don' want mixed up in it none of it either."

grief chokes you, and fathomless despair makes your chest and sinuses ache with the threat of oncoming sobs.

"d-"

"shh, now. listen. you know me, yeah? you know i'll take a risk if i think it's worth it. so make it worth it, sweet'eart. five thousand for a trip out of london, not a quid less."

fuck, that's a lot of fucking money- but it's not an outright no. it almost feels stupid to be surprised, you should've known d would ask for payment. after all, you're not friends, not really. the closest approximation you can think of for your relationship might be 'friendly-ish work rivals', at best.

"two up front, three when i'm settled for three months without sight of him." you manage to say, sounding altogether more put-together than you currently feel.

"nah, other way 'round. three up front, two when you're settled f'two months." d isn't one to barter, you won't get a better bargain than this. there's no repressing the annoyed sigh that rolls out of you- it's too much money for a job like this, but there really aren't any better options available. you're stuck, and he knows it, that motherfucker.

"fucking- fine. all right. deal." you relent.

"attagirl. you 'old tight, an' i'll get it oll arranged." big d assures you.

"how long?" you ask, desperation leaking into your voice.

"day. maybe two. wait f'my call, an' don't do nothin' stupid, yeah? don't tell nobody you're leavin', don't go anywhere 'e might pick you up, and don't go phonin' the bobbies 'bout any o'this."

"course not." you spit back indignantly, and big d rumbles a laugh on the other side of the line.

"attagirl. talk soon." the line disconnects, and a deep sigh rattles it's way out of your lungs, releasing the tension in your shoulders until you slump back onto your mattress, sending over the money you'd stored away for a rainy day over to d's bank account before dropping your phone onto the bed. once you get settled you can worry about getting him the rest, but for now, your focus is getting distance and time away from kyle.

"it's going to be okay." you whisper to yourself, staring up at the ceiling. "i'm going to get out of here. i'm going to get away from him. i'll never see or hear him again. i just have to be patient. it will all be over before i know it."

as you repeat the words to yourself over and over until you finally start to believe them, which slightly soothes your frayed nerves. as you soak in your new mantra, you find yourself wishing that your gift was seeing the future instead of reading minds. it sounds like a quieter, more peaceful existence, in your opinion- but the more you think about it, the more grateful you are that you've been able to see him for who he truly is, to use your abilities to outmaneuver and outsmart him.

god knows if you didn't have a clue what was going on in his head that you'dve fallen for that handsome face and practiced charm. there's a good chance that, in another life, you'd be in his bed right now, keenly unaware of the murders and atrocities he's committed. maybe that version of you would even be happy- but it would all be based on lies. in some ways, even though you're scared and tired and fucking miserable at the moment, this is still better than not knowing. you'd rather be alone and on the verge of leaving everything behind than make your bed with a wolf in sheep's clothing.

the black car rolls around your block again- but instead of the usual mental cacophony of gore and sex, there's music playing in kyle's ear, and his focus entirely on the lyrics. it's a track you recognize, one you've loved since forever- and when the music fades and another familiar song begins, it dawns on you that he's listening to one of your playlists, searching for more insight into the kind of person you are as he parks his car and prepares to skulk around your block for the second time today.

kyle's quick pace down the street keeps relative pace with the beat, steps punctuated by manic-sounding piano strokes, and you watch through his eyes as he takes yet another glance into your building's lobby, checking in vain to see if the evening security guard is potentially asleep or on break as the sound of nick cave's voice rasps around in both of your minds.

i wanna tell ya 'bout a girl / you know, she lives in room twenty-nine / why, why? ah, that's the one right up top of mine-

the same dark eyes that haunt your worst dreams scan your building, taking note of which ones have lights on and which don't, crossing a few off his list of potential places you could be holed up in. he's narrowed it down to maybe fifteen flats, and with time he'll narrow it down even further. he knows you're in there, and he'll figure out where you're hiding. he's got a sniper's patience, after all.

manic guitars grind away in both of your ears.

i read her diary on her sheets, scrutinizing every little bit of dirt / tore out a page and stuffed it inside my shirt / i fled outta the window and shinnin' it down the vine / outta her nightmare and back inside mine, mine, mine

he rounds the block, checking for what feels like the hundredth time for weaknesses in your building's security; a propped open door, an open window, or even a scale-able fire escape. still nothing this time- but that doesn't mean there never will be. he'll keep trying over and over and over, waiting until something gives. he'll play this game of hide and go seek for as long as it takes- after all, he's got a lot of free time now, and there's nothing he'd rather do than fill it in pursuit of you.

from her to eternity / cry, cry, cry / from her to eternity / cry, cry, cry

you should've run further. you should've kept the phone off and tossed it. you should've avoided kyle instead of letting him talk to you at that coffee shop-