#do the other characters count for the tags

[stayevildarling]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader- Russian Roulette

A/N: I know my followers and Sarah lovers will kill me for posting this before posting another Sarah fic but honestly I'm just lacking motivation for those characters right now 🫶🏻 I had this kinda enemy to lovers idea and I couldn't resist 🤷🏻‍♀️ thank you @billiebeanhoward for your help with this one <3

prompt: Natasha wasn't very fond of you and she couldn't hide it. Noticing the tension between you two, Tony ends up sending you two on a ,,mission'' causing for you both to get to know and love each other a little better.

tags/warnings: female reader, mention of cursing, mention of violence/fighting (mild), mention of guns/drugs (mild), Natasha being a little mean at the beginning, angst, fluff at the end

word count: 10k (I apologise for the somewhat rushed ending but I know some people hate reading long fics. I also apologise for any mistakes. I tried proofreading this twice)

taglist: (if you want to be added just sent me an ask/dm or comment)

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay, @whitelotus00, @ninaahs, @vintagepaulson, @isle-of-earle, @paulsonsratched, @stepintomyworld, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @lucyintheskywithxanax, @fanfics4world, @mymiraclewitch, @hazard-to-myself, @awritersometime, @ohrwurm26, @wastdstime

It had been an ordinary day at the avengers compound so far, the weather had been lovely today, despite some dark clouds lingering in the air. It even made training some new recruits outside today possible, which most of you enjoyed, sending them running across the fields, especially Steve who it often reminded of his earlier days in training for the army. For you, the day had been ordinary so far, starting with breakfast, before hitting the gym and doing some weights and cardio before joining some others in the sun and enjoying the weather outside. The only thing on your agenda today had been a meeting with some of the other avengers, including Tony who had called for the meeting.

The meeting started off normally, as it would always, some chatting and bickering before Tony interrupted you all by telling you what he wanted. Wanda had made some pastries for everyone and you couldn't help but chuckle at how most of them stuffed their mouths full and suddenly turned from intimidating and strong superheros to almost adorable beings. However you couldn't ignore the tension, reminding you of the weather before, sunshine and laughter before being replaced with some dark clouds and long faces. It wasn't really many long faces, it was Natasha Romanoff. As soon as Tony had mentioned the upcoming missions and that he was sending you on another one, the room had turned much quieter as her green eyes shot daggers at both you and Tony.

You had always been fond of Natasha, since joining the avengers almost a year back. You appreciated the thought of another woman on the team. Of course there was Wanda, but she was mostly around when her magic was needed, plus she still had her own things and didn't always join you. You appreciated the thought of another badass woman who definitely knows how to fight and you assumed it would make being on a team with mostly men a lot easier. However, you quickly learned that Natasha was either- just like those said men or she simply didn't care for you or anyone. You had tried to make friends with her, often offering to train some new recruits with her, bring her a meal after a long mission and she refused to join the others or even make light conversation. However, she was always closed off around you, never sharing any details- let alone a smile or polite gesture the way she would with the others.

In the end you had brushed it off, assuming she simply didn't like you or that it took a very long time for her to get used to someone. The thought of her being jealous or even intimidated had indeed crossed your mind once, however you had brushed it off before you could properly think about it, knowing Natasha was definitely more experienced, tougher and stronger than you are. And you had been confused, as to why Tony kept sending you on missions. Why he never paired you up with Natasha or made it even between you two. When he broke the news of the last mission, you had even thought about offering it to Natasha or her coming along but with her death glare, you didn't dare speak up to the redhead woman.

It took mere seconds after the meeting ended, Bucky sharing some details with you as he had been familiar with the country and area, the others chatting along before Natasha stormed out. Clint's eyes following her and him quick to follow behind. After some more chatting, you excused yourself, before making your way into the hallway, feeling the strange urge to follow the redhead as well, despite knowing it may not be a good idea and equally having to get going as one of the jets would be ready in about an hour. As you make your way towards your room, you notice the shadow of both Natasha and Clint in the hallway, her features tense and his noticing your presence. Despite feeling the urge to say something, you simply brush past them, unable to ignore how stern her eyes followed your every move and feeling slightly intimidated, despite the comforting smile that Clint tried to give you to ease the tension.

,,This is bullshit'' you hear her say, her accent thick due to her frustration, before you make your way into your room to gather your things and prepare for your mission.

----

The next time you find yourself at the all too familiar avengers compound which had also been your home for a while, it's about a week later. Your mission had been successful, gathering all the information that Tony had intented for this big operation they had worked on. Your work had been small really, working undercover in one of the labs they had managed to sneak you inside and gathering all the information by accessing their database but also talking to the employes. Somehow, despite not having powers like Wanda possessed, your gut always told you when someone was lying or was hiding something, equally when danger lurked nearby. You never managed to quite put a meaning or reasoning behind this but it had always been that way so you eventually stopped questioning it and simply went along with it.

As you exit the jet, rain instantly greets you as you hurry inside, wanting nothing more than to get in the shower before the debriefing and having to work on your mission reports. As you walk past some of the avengers, you do some joking with Steve, Bucky asking some questions and Wanda asking how you truly are. She often asked you, checking in with you and with her you genuinely feel like someone cared about your wellbeing, of course the others did too but she had a very different way of showing it. After eventually washing of the stress from the past few days, quickly braiding your hair as you aren't in the mood to dry it and throw on some clothes, you join the others in the meeting room. Your eyes dart around the room and search Natasha's for some reason and you notice that she seemed much less tense than the other week.

What you had missed the previous week was how Clint somehow convinced Natasha to speak up for herself, to tell Tony that she didn't appreciate you getting all the missions since joining, how she felt neglected and that her needs weren't met anymore. Some of the guys had overheard the conversation and simply shared knowing glances as they had noticed the tension between you two but also the undeniable attraction towards each other, despite both you and the redhead oblivious to the later feeling still. He had promised her to include her in missions more and that he had no intention of making her feel those things, despite cracking a few jokes here and there which the Russian definitely didn't appreciate given the circumstances.

,,Great work Clint, Y/N'' Tony tells you as he begins the meeting, both Hawkeye and you having been on separate missions but practically around the same time as he left a day after you and returned a few hours prior to your arrival. The team ends up chatting a little as you fill them in on the details and intel you had managed to gather. Your eyes occasionally find their way to Natasha who simply looks either through you or with her usual stern expression, you couldn't really tell. ,,Well, considering how things went'' Tony begins, trailing off a little as he walks around the table, eventually looking into the distance and overlooking the grounds. ,,I have another mission regarding another matter... top secret stuff'' he tells you and you truly hope he wasn't about to send you on another one considering you had just returned.

,,I think we need some girl power for this one, so I'm sending Natasha and Y/N tomorrow'' he begins and your eyes widen a little as your breath hitches. The redheads jaws drop, while the others simply share knowing glances, Steve and Bucky even chuckling a little and their eyes almost speaking silently as if they knew more about this. ,,That sounds great'' Wanda tries, lifting the mood a little but Natasha again simply looks at Tony as if she is about to kill him, clearly not what she meant when she said she wanted more missions. ,,And it's in a beautiful location too'' Iron man continues talking as your eyes keep wandering to the redhead who simply acts like you aren't present. ,,Which is?'' her voice rings through the air, her accent again thick due to her frustration. ,,Paris'' he exclaims almost cheerfully and this time the two of you fail to register the knowing glances and smirks from your other members. ,,City of love'' Steve exclaims with a chuckle ,,Sounds romantic'' Bucky teases which causes for you and Natasha to equally roll your eyes. ,,It's the city of light actually'' she mocks them, fake matching their giddiness.

A few minutes later, the meeting comes to an end and this time you are the one pretty much straight out, not minding the mission with Natasha, despite having a feeling it wouldn't be pleasant. You simply wanted to finish your mission reports and catch up on some very needed rest. As you pass the gym on the way to your room, you watch as Natasha walks in, preparing one of her protein shakes in the corner after equally storming out of the meeting. This time you listen to the feeling in your gut and linger by the door a few moments before knocking gently, not to startle the redhead. ,,Hi'' you exclaim quietly and she simply watches as you linger by the door. ,,How do you feel about the mission?'' you ask sincerly, ready to offer her to speak to Tony so he could maybe convince to swap you with Clint as you had a feeling she hated this.

,,How am I supposed to feel? it's a mission'' she exclaims, scoffing almost before continuing to mix her protein shake and the question makes you feel stupid, despite your best intentions. And somehow, something within you snaps, having been nothing but kind to the woman and her never repaying you in the slightest, not even with being able to have a normal conversation with you. And so the words following practically burst out of you ,,You know you don't have to do it with me, considering you hate me so much'' you huff in annoyance, trying hard to ignore the lump in your throat before turning on your heels and walking off, not necessarily in the mood to hear the words that would probably follow. To your surprise, Natasha turns around at your words, her eyebrows raised, not in anger but in shock as she certainly didn't expect you to be this forward as usually you are always kind, quiet around her and she knew you cared about her feelings and wellbeing due to the little acts you would do for her.

,,I don't hate you Y/N'' is what she really wanted to say, despite having some line ready about ,,Stop being ridiculous, it's a mission and we have to stay professional''. The words simply get caught in her throat as you leave and she can't help but feel bad for having sent you away like this. Truth to be told, Natasha didn't hate you, she felt intimidated by another female Avenger who shared the same abilities than her. You were clever, had some great instincts and you for sure could fight. She never minded the backup at first and she felt some strange connection between you two despite not really knowing all that much about you. However, she hated when it eventually turned into you getting all the missions she desired, despite the stubborn redhead deep down knowing that it wasn't your fault, that you never bragged, never asked Tony and that you probably wouldn't have minded giving some of them to her. With a roll of her eyes, mostly towards herself, she continues doing some of her training, trying to ignore the bad feeling in the pit of her stomach for how this conversation went.

Eventually the avengers find themselves in the dining room, it being pizza night everyone actually joining this time. The sun was slowly setting in the background, coating the room with several large glass windows in beautiful shapes of orange and yellow. As they all flow into easy conversation, your absence doesn't go unnoticed. Especially Wanda knows you absolutely adored Pizza night and the concern was practically written across her face as she hadn't seen you since the meeting hours before. Despite trying to tell herself that this was probably due to you wanting to get some rest, she still couldn't help but feel concerned. ,,Hey Wands, have you seen Y/N?'' the voice from Clint rings through the air, startling the witch a little as she almost clumsily drops her plate. ,,No I haven't'' she almost frowns and she misses how a certain redhead follows the conversation, also having noticed your absence and despite her not knowing about your adoration for pizza night, she had noticed.

,,I'll check on her'' Wanda announces and Natasha watches as she retrieves some slices of your favourite pizza before heading off. ,,You alright there?'' Clint asks as he takes a seat besides Natasha, gladly accepting one of the beer cans Thor handed him. ,,Yeah'' she absentmindedly announces, avoiding his gaze. ,,Ready for your mission then?'' he trails off, causing Natasha to meet his gaze as she simply nods. ,,You know what they say Paris is beautiful'' he begins as he takes another bite of his pizza. ,,And after all, maybe the two of you will actually get to know each other better'' he encourages which Natasha mostly ignores, not necessarily in the mood for this conversation and her being ever the perceptive one, having of course noticed the knowing glances and smirks from the others about this mission and your usual bickering.

Meanwhile a soft knocking startles you a little as you finish sending the last bit of your mission report, muttering a soft ,,Come in'' before laying eyes upon a certain ginger. ,,Hi Wands'' you chuckle a little as you watch her carry in a plate of pizza for you. ,,Are you alright? you're missing pizza night honey'' she announces, her voice soft but laced with concern nevertheless. ,,Sorry just finished these reports and was hoping to get an early night'' you exclaim, gladly taking the plate as she takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. ,,How are you feeling about it?'' she asks curiously, her eyes reading your expression before you huff. ,,I don't know'' you sigh before taking a large bite of your favourite pizza, your mouth instantly watering. ,,I'm sure it will be okay'' she announces softly, tilting her head a little as her green eyes meet yours. ,,She hates me you know'' you sigh again after swallowing. ,,She doesn't hate you darling'' Wanda assures, of course knowing who you are talking about.

,,She's always hated me and I think I hate her too'' you begin and you notice her shocked expression as this was quite unlike you. ,,Come on zlatko you don't hate her'' she tries as you really didn't feel hatred towards anyone or anything other than maybe the villains and scum you fought on missions and spiders. Of course the witch had noticed the tension between you two but she couldn't help and notice the connection you two have and having seen this type of thing a few times before. ,,I think I do Wands'' you sigh again, trying to ignore the anger bubbling out of you. ,,I have always been nice to her and she always treats me like I'm nothing'' you huff, chewing your pizza angrily which causes Wanda to giggle a little. ,,I think this mission will help you two'' she recalls, speaking as if she was very sure of her words. ,,Now get some rest'' she tries before giving you a reassuring smile and leaving you to rest.

Unfortunately rest never really arrived, as the whole night you ended up tossing and turning in bed, not being able to shake the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach and the ,,what ifs'' about the upcoming mission. And so to no surprise, you almost stumble into the kitchen the next morning, dropping your bags on the floor as you would need to leave any moment, before walking over to the coffee machine, barely awake before bumping into something. As you rub at your sleepy eyes, still yawning a little, your vision slowly fills with shades of black and red and your eyes widen as you realise you stumbled into the woman who you would go on a mission with in a few moments. ,,Shit I'm sorry'' you curse, taking a step back as she looks over your tired features with an eyebrow raised. ,,Seems like your well rested for this'' she sarcastically remarks, taking her coffee before leaving and you can't help but roll your eyes at her antics before making a coffee, grabbing one of the Iron man to go cups that Tony stacked in the kitchen and walking outside with your bags.

,,Good luck to you two, I'm sure it will be an epic one'' Tony remarks as you both pass him, Wanda giving you a reassuring smile despite frowning a little seeing your sleeping state. To both of your surprise, it's simply a quinjet with some supplies, no one is joining either of you and so as you two step inside, both of your eyes land on the seat with the controls and you knew this was gonna be one hell of a fight. ,,I assume you'll be flying?'' you remark, settling for the seat next to that one. ,,Yes, one I'm the better flyer and two I can't let you fly in this state'' she speaks before setting into her seat and strapping herself in. You simply ignore her words, before getting settled yourself, taking a sip of your coffee before glancing out the window and seeing the avengers compound slowly become smaller and smaller in the distance and with the increase of altitude.

Your eyes occasionally glance at the slightly older woman and you can't help but notice how badass she truly looked, already wearing her usual outfit and her red hair glowing. She looks very focused as she flies the jet with ease and despite the hatred you felt towards her, you couldn't ignore the feeling in your stomach, pushing it off for feeling hungry as you skipped breakfast. Eventually you lean back on your seat and Natasha glances at you, seeing you softly and soundly asleep beside her and she tries hard to fight back the little smile escaping her lips, seeing you so sleepy and adorable. Paris was for sure quite the distance and so it takes several hours before you make it remotely close, Natasha having eventually settled on auto pilot and equally relaxing in her seat. As soon as your eyes open, you stretch a little, feeling embarassed to have fallen asleep and already knowing this wouldn't have gone unnoticed by the redhead. As soon as she notices you awake, she stiffens in her seat, putting her hands back on the wheel and her eyes darting towards you. ,,You know if I had fallen asleep, we would be screwed right now'' she remarks and you simply take a deep breath, before walking towards the back.

,,Here'' you offer after a few moments, passing her a protein bar, assuming she also hadn't eaten since leaving. Her green eyes meet yours and she looks at the bar as if you had poisoned it. ,,Fine, more for me'' you huff as she hesitates before pushing one into your mouth, hoping it would fill you up. ,,You didn't poison it?'' she questions, jokingly before you roll your eyes. ,,No, here'' you offer it again and this time she takes it, taking hesitant bites. ,,So what is this mission exactly?'' you ask, really not having too many details about this. ,,No idea, I have an adress for the hotel and a target to observe'' she remarks as she looks at her Ipad, connected to the cockpit. ,,Okay sounds good'' you remark. There's a few moments of silence before you speak again ,,Ever been? to Paris I mean?'' you question before she looks at you for a brief second. ,,Nope.. you?'' she asks before you think back to your earlier days in europe mostly.

,,Yes'' you simply say, trying to fight back the flashbacks of your past. ,,Is it nice?'' she questions and you aren't sure if she's actually trying to make conversation or not. ,,I didn't really get to see a lot of it'' you trail off ,,I spent many years in europe, forced to work for an organisation'' you explain and her face grows a little serious, as your words remind the redhead of her own past and not remotely knowing about yours. ,,I'm sorry Y/N'' she speaks sincerly and this time for the first time in a very long time it feels genuine and if, even for a split second, getting to see the real Natasha Romanoff.

,,Five minutes out'' the redhead eventually breaks the silence, causing you to nod and focus on your mission rather than the hauntings of your past. With practiced ease Natasha lands the jet in a remote area, where a car is already waiting for you, keys inside which Tony surely arranged. After putting the suitcases and gear in the trunk, Natasha glances at you before throwing you the keys. ,,Your turn'' she speaks and you simply nod before settling into the drivers seat. The car ride is silent for a while as you drive through the Parisian suburbs before eventually making it to the busier areas, having driven in europe many times and therefore knowing your way. Before too long, the two of you arrive at a fancy looking hotel, a white old looking building with a valet who is quick to take your keys and someone offering you a hand with the bags.

By the large swinging doors, both you and Natasha are already greeted, quickly handed two key cards with a room number and being pointed towards the elevator door. You are the first one to realise that they gave both you and Natasha the same room numbers and your eyebrows furrow whether this may be the hideout rather than where you would be staying. It takes a minute longer for Natasha to realise as the two of you find yourself in front of the same door, stepping inside and finding a spacious hotel room, however only one bedroom with a large double bed. ,,What is this?'' she huffs before the beeping from her tablet rings through the air. Before too long she accepts a call from Tony, before he appears through a projection in front of you both. ,,Hi girls, nice journey?'' he questions with a smug smile. ,,What is this Tony?'' Natasha questions, very much not amused by the hotel room. ,,This is where you'll be staying, more intel will follow'' he explains and Natasha simply rolls her eyes. ,,Tonight I need you both at a dinner, checking out the place''' and you simply nod, listening to his instructions.

,,For your undercover identity, you are newlyweds and this is your honeymoon, rings are in the bedside table draw'' he smirks before his projection quickly leaves a very confused you and very annoyed Natasha behind. ,,Great'' she huffs before setting her bags down on a nearby floor. ,,So married and only one bed?'' you question rhetorically, hoping to lighten the mood a little but the redhead is having none of it. ,,You can take the bed'' she announces stubbornly before slumping into the small and uncomfortable looking sofa. ,,No it's okay, you can have the bed'' you try but the stubbornness practically radiates from the black widow. ,,Used to sleeping on the floor'' she announces and you simply shrug your shoulders, knowing this isn't a fight you would be able to win. ,,Fine'' you announce before taking your bags to the bedroom, before reaching for your laptop and reading up a little bit more on the mission and trying to find out more about the dinner and your target.

After some reading and much needed rest, you eventually open one of the suitcases that was left in the quinjet, having your name written on it. Inside you find a small silenced gun, as well as a fancy looking black suit, a white shirt and some shiny shoes. It certainly wasn't what you assumed would be inside but nevertheless you get dressed, the Parisian sunset coating your room in shades of dark orange and red. After a shower, you get yourself dressed, hiding the gun inside the blazer jacket before stepping out of the bedroom and finding Natasha in the other room, adjusting her dress and the sight almost takes your breath away. The redhead is wearing a long black dress, some sparkly details on it, the matching heels, her hair perfectly styled. Subconsciously your jaw drops a little as she looked absolutely breathtaking, adjusting her hair one more time before turning towards you, having noticed your presence of course. A little smirk coats her features as the outfit choices were quite something. She simply looks at you before reaching for the matching purse before asking ,,Ready?'' for which you simply nod and follow the redhead towards the car.

Considering the heels, you opted for driving again and despite it not taking too long, you couldn't help but feel a little taken back by the scene, Paris lit up in beautiful colours as the sun had set a little while ago and the sky being filled with stars by now. You even manage to catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, the seine and countless people sitting alongside it and enjoying the night sky. Your eyes occasionally dart towards the woman sitting beside you and you simply act as if you tried to look out the window whenever she catches you, despite her green eyes equally darting towards you, as undeniably she also enjoyed the view. ,,Here we are'' you announce after parking and considering the outfit Tony had chosen for you and your undercover objective, you act gentlemen like, opening the door to the car for Natasha, as well as the door of the restaurant before stepping inside. She plays along of course, always staying professional, thanking and smiling at you almost in adoration, playing the role of your wife perfectly.

,,Bonsoir'' a waiter greets you, before you smile politely ,,Reservation for Smith'' you announce, wanting nothing more than to roll your eyes for the name Tony had chosen for this one. ,,Certainly, if you follow me'' he announces before walking the two of you towards the table. ,,After you darling'' you mock a little, letting Natasha follow him first and she simply smirks at you and you knew you would certainly hear about this later. ,,Would you like an appetiser?'' he asks after leading you to the table and you simply help Natasha to get settled in her chair before speaking again ,,I think Champagne sounds great, what do you think darling?'' you question and she simply nods before the waiter leaves with your order. ,,I'm going to kill you once this mission is over'' she speaks through gritted teeth and you can't help but chuckle as you place a comforting hand on her shoulder, quite enjoying this little game of this undercover mission supposedly your honeymoon.

The objective for this mission was somewhat simple, Tony and the others assumed some people owning or working for this restaurant belonging to some organisation that they had chased for a long time. And so both you and Natasha are supposed to explore the place a little, check for anything unusual, maybe even scoop around for a little bit tonight before some more objectives in the following days. ,,Cheers darling, to our first night in Paris'' you announce, holding your glass up after the waiter had brought over your drinks and taken your orders. ,,Cheers honey'' Natasha mocks you, staying in her role perfectly despite her eyes speaking a very different story. The two of you eventually settle into some easy conversation, trying to act like a normal married couple on their honeymoon, sometimes sharing fake loving glances, placing a subtle hand on Natasha's cheek or her hand lingering on your leg. As the meal progresses, neither you or Natasha had noticed anything unusual or out of the ordinary, it seemed like a normal five star restaurant, the staff friendly, other guests equally seeming normal and going on about their nights and tasks.

,,Noticed anything unusual yet?'' she whispers a little as she pretends to kiss your cheek, her mouth ghosting over your ear. You simply shake your head, your stomach greeting you with an unfamiliar feeling as you feel her lips ghost over your ear. Swallowing hard, you simply shake your head before speaking again ,,I'll go check downstairs'' you speak after a little bit and Natasha simply nods as she watches you leave towards the staircase and bathrooms.

Downstairs you find the bathrooms, inspecting those a moment before passing by some supply rooms and the kitchen, quickly checking out the place but finding nothing unusual and simply returning to your table. Natasha gives you a questioning look but you simply shake your head, causing for confusion to fill her features. ,,Can I offer you some desserts?'' the waiter returns and you glance at Natasha who reclaims her role of the loving wife perfectly, passing you the menu ,,You choose my love'' she speaks, almost in a perfect british accent. You smile politely before ordering you both some dessert and the waiter once again off. ,,Did you enjoy your food?'' you ask and she simply nods before asking whether you did too. The remainder of the evening goes by fast, the two of you finishing dessert before eventually getting the bill, deciding without words that there was nothing else to explore before eventually returning to the car.

,,Well that was..'' you begin speaking before she sighs ,,Exhausting'' she finishes your sentence which causes you to frown a little. ,,You didn't enjoy it? you for sure played the loving wife role perfectly'' you smirk a little but she simply rolls her eyes, quick to take off her heels that you assume hurt by now. ,,I don't understand what Tony's aim is here, there was nothing'' you sigh in frustration a little and she simply nods, her features stern, before the two of you return towards your hotel. Arriving there, Natasha is quick to storm towards the bathroom, soon after the shower running in the distance and you settle into bed after getting changed. ,,You sure about the floor?'' you ask as you watch her return with some sweatpants, a hoodie, holding a towel and drying off her wet hair. ,,Yes'' she huffs as she brushes past you, before you simply turn around, quickly drifting off to sleep as the day had been long and the lack of sleep from the night prior.

The stubborn redhead isn't as quick to settle however, she tried the sofa first, however it was so small that she couldn't keep her legs on it and they simply kept sliding down. Eventually, she decided for the floor, retrieving a mat from her bag and a pillow and blanket that you had left on the sofa for her. She ends up tossing and turning for hours, unable to sleep a wink as her back hurt, despite the luxurious hotel, the floor undeniably uncomfortable. It was no lie when she said she was used to sleeping on the floor, however she hadn't slept on a floor mostly since joining the avengers. Her pride gets in the way as she faces an internal battle before eventually muttering ,,Screw this'' and retrieving the pillow and blanket before walking into the bedroom, setting into the space next to you, making sure you are asleep, hoping if she gets up early enough, you would never notice. She makes sure there is enough space between you two as she lays right on the corner of the side that she had claimed.

By the time Natasha wakes next, the sun is already streaming through the windows and white curtains and her eyes widen a little as she notices your arm wrapped around her, as you lay on your side, your face buried in your pillow, a leg loosely draped around the blanket. The redhead remains quiet, knowing if she moved even an inch now, she would instantly wake you and therefore ultimately admit that she was too stubborn to sleep on the floor after all and joined you in bed a few hours ago. The sound of your alarm blaring, wakes you a few minutes later and as you open your eyes and realise what is happening, you quickly jolt away from her embrace. ,,Shit- I- I'm sorry'' you apologise. ,,It's okay'' she speaks almost softly before she makes her way out of bed and towards the bathroom.

,,Sofa or floor too uncomfortable after all?'' you smirk a little proudly as she returns before she simply rolls her eyes at your antics. ,,Not even coffee this is shit'' she curses under her breath, noticing the absence of a coffee machine. A knock quickly interrupts you two and Natasha is quick to draw her knife, in her usual spot by her ankles, before she walks towards the door. ,,Room service'' a friendly woman with a thick French accent announces, before handing Natasha a tray with some coffee and breakfast. ,,I hope you are enjoying Paris and your honeymoon'' she speaks softly before Natasha forces a smile, hiding the knife in her sleeves. ,,By the way if you.. you know wish to not be disturbed, the sign is just here for the maid'' she explains with a wink, glancing between you both. Natasha's cheeks burn red before smiling politely and closing the door and putting the tray on a nearby table.

,,Jesus Natasha it's only room service, no need to kill the poor woman'' you chuckle before taking one of the coffee cups and having a sip. ,,You can never be too careful'' she shrugs her shoulders, before reaching for a croissant and coffee before disappearing onto the small balcony and soaking in some of the sun, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near you, unless necessary for the mission.

,,I spoke to Tony, looks like a stakeout today'' you tell her a little while later as she remains on the balcony, dressed for the day by now. ,,Let's go then'' she announces, reaching for her things before you follow her towards the car. The next few hours are mostly spent in silence as the two of you watch the building that you are meant to watch, not remotely seeing anything unusual or the target that Tony had described and given you intel on. You could tell Natasha was growing impatient as this mission really hadn't given you anything yet, her fingers angrily tap against the wheel, her leg bouncing up and down ever so slightly. ,,I'm going for a walk'' you announce and she barely acknowledges your statement. You had spotted a little boulangerie nearby and so after a few minutes, you return with two coffees and some pastries. ,,Here'' you offer her and her green eyes suddenly meet yours as she takes the coffee and pastry. You could tell she was grateful as she relaxed a little, her legs having stopped bouncing by now. But you also knew Natasha lacked any way of showing you gratitude but you didn't mind, feeling like you know the redhead quite well after all.

,,Anything you want to talk about?'' you ask, feeling yourself grow a little bored as you finish the coffee and pastry a little while later. Her eyebrow raises as she glances at you, scoffing at first thinking you are joking. ,,Y/N, what do you think this is? girls talk and braiding our hair afterwards?'' she questions sarcastically before her eyes dart back towards the building. ,,I mean.. we could?'' you question, your expression almost adorable and she can't help but chuckle at your antics. Another half an hour of silence follows before she speaks again ,,Fine tell me something about yourself then Y/N'' she huffs, growing increasingly bored as the minutes pass and lack of actions. ,,Did you know that I'm an avenger?'' you joke, smiling at her almost smugly and she can't help and again raise her eyebrows and hide the smirk. ,,Oh really, no I didn't know that..'' she remarks ,,Tell me how is that going for you?'' she questions fake curiously and you think about it for a moment.

,,I'm not sure, I like it and I like the others'' you explain before her eyes meet yours ,,But?'' she holds your gaze as she questions you, noticing the hesitation in your voice. ,,I guess I imagined it differently you know? I never really belonged and I assumed being part of it makes me sort of belong? but I guess that's stupid'' you sigh before glancing out the window, some tears lingering in your eyes at the sudden admission and definitely not expecting those words to fall from your lips. Natasha is left speechless for a moment, over the last few days with you, having learnt that you equally didn't have a family, you were practically raised by a terrorism group and hence had quite the traumatic past, almost matching her own. ,,You do belong Y/N'' she reassures, the same feeling settling in the gut of her stomach, similar to some other incidents she had with you before. ,,Don't pity me Natasha, we both know you hate me'' you sigh biting your lips a little anxiously. Before the redhead can respond, she is again cut off, similar to the other time you had said those words to her as you notice a suspicious person exciting the building, wearing black clothes and a hood. ,,Watch out'' you quickly announce, pulling the redhead away from her thoughts, her expression turning from a serious one to a focused one.

Natasha doesn't say anything, simply starting the car and following the man slowly, until he eventually walks into a building, leaving both you and Natasha, once again camping out in the car and watching carefully. ,,Y/N- I-'' she begins speaking after a while but you stop her as your hand raises slightly, your senses quickly alerting you of something or someone present as you close your eyes and try to focus your attention on whatever your body was trying to tell you. ,,What is it?'' she asks seriously, having seen that same expression on your face on missions a few times and knowing what it means. ,,We are being watched'' you quickly announce before the redhead glances out the window, trying to find the source, before a few shots are being fired towards your car and both of you quickly ducking to avoid those.

In a swift motion, you exit the car, leaning your back against it before carefully glancing towards the building again. As your eyes scan the unfamiliar surroundings, they dart towards the front door of the building, the same man from before sprinting out the door, dressed in black, wearing a hood and carrying a gun in his hands as he walks away. The black widow watches as you sprint away ,,For fucks sake Y/N'' she mutters under her breath as she watches you chase him, without her. She is quick to start the car again, knowing from experience there was no point in you both chasing the suspect on foot. As you try to catch up with him, assuming this must have been the target Tony had mentioned, despite the description and clues not quite adding up, he occasionally glances behind, firing some sloppy shots in your direction but you are experienced enough to dodge them.

Approaching an alley, your heart practically beats out of your chest as he cuts into a corner, more shots fired in your direction and a bullet gently grazing your skin but not enough to enter you. ,,Shit'' you curse before collecting all of your strength and eventually catching up with him. You watch the familiar car stopping abruptly in front of him, cutting off all the ways for him to escape. Natasha glances at you, gesturing towards you whether you are okay and you simply nod before she is quick to exit the car and tackle him to the floor. As she does, he doesn't only drop his weapon but you also find several different drugs on him. Your eyebrows furrow as Natasha uncovers his secret, as Tony would have mentioned this if this was the mission objective. As the two of you have him cuffed on the floor, the redhead is quick to call Iron Man himself, informing him of what had happened. While she takes a few steps away, you glance towards your shoulder, noticing a piece of your clothing slightly ripped, assuming from the bullet gracing you. As you gently pull your shirt down your shoulder, you notice a scratch and some blood but nothing serious and so you quickly adjust yourself as Natasha finishes the phone call.

,,You won't believe this'' she chuckles sarcastically as she glances between you and the guy on the floor. She gestures you to walk towards her so he couldn't hear. ,,Not our target'' she mutters and your eyebrows furrow yet again. ,,So why was he shooting at us and why did we happen to be here?'' you ask slightly dumbfounded, having seen a lot in your line of work but never a coincidence of this kind. ,,I assume he figured we followed him and thought we were cops'' she shrugs before glancing at him again. ,,Feds are on their way'' she announces before you nod. ,,You okay?'' she asks, noticing how you are still a little out of breath. In return you simply nod and smile at her, before getting back to the car, wanting to catch your breath.

After another hour, the two of you finally make it back to your hotel room, the sun again having set by now and nothing else on your agenda for the day. The redhead agreed to let you use the shower first and as the cold water eloped your skin you felt a little at ease after the day you had. The mission so far really hadn't been bad, the encounter today nothing you aren't used to by now, given your past and work alongside the avengers. However it irritated you, still nowhere close to gathering any information, despite you and Natasha undeniable the best at this sorta thing. It infuriated you a little, even causing you to doubt your abilities that after several days you still had no clues, that the investigating and your abilities hadn't alerted you of anything so far. I mean there was no pressure, Tony wasn't pushing but you still feel a little defeated. As you get dressed, your thoughts travel to your partner for the mission and how it really hadn't been all that awful so far, despite Natasha clearly hating you but even after everything for some reason you couldn't hate her and you didn't understand why.

As soon as you finished, you collapsed into bed, despite the busy and loud streets outside still filling your hotel room with the occasional noises, the days and thoughts had tired you out, causing you to quickly fall asleep. Natasha had missed you slipping out the bathroom and pathetically knocked a few times before finding it unlocked and eventually finding you in bed. At first she gave the sofa another go, quickly regretting that choice before trying the floor. However, her thoughts kept circling, first about the mission and how it was failing so far, eventually about you, what you had told her about your past, what it was like for you being part of the avengers and she couldn't help the guilt consuming her. She couldn't help but feel like she made you feel that way, the constant bickering, the constant distance towards you and her being cautious and vary of you at first. Over the last few days she feels like she has really gotten to know you, the fact your past and pain was so similar and undeniably that you had impressive abilities, catching the guy today and connecting the pieces. If it wasn't for you, there would have been a high chance of her getting hurt today as she missed the guy, missed the shots and if it wasn't for you noticing and ducking both her and your own head, she knows it could have ended very differently.

And so after several hours of her thoughts circling, she again mumbles the same words ,,Screw it'' before walking towards the bedroom, finding you already asleep on your stomach, your upper body exposed as you are wearing a tank top, the red scratch on your shoulder visible and some faded scars. Natasha carefully crawls into the same positions she had slept in the night before, closing her eyes and soon drifting off to sleep, the thoughts finally quiet, the circling having stopped after being near you. Your presence made her feel safe tonight, even though she would never admit it, not to you or herself.

A few hours later, you shuffle slightly as the sun coating your hotel room, softly wakes you from your slumber. At first you feel how stiff and tired your body still feels from the day prior, feeling the scratch on your shoulder throbbing a little before feeling an unfamiliar weight on your body. As you carefully open your eyes you see red hair first before realising. Natasha was laying on your shoulder, her arm draped around your stomach, almost as if she was holding onto you, shielding you from something. Realising the situation your eyes quickly shoot open, eyebrows furrowing as if to figure out whether you are dreaming. Next you feel the familiar sensation in your stomach, your heart fluttering in your chest a little and you can't help the slight smirk playing on your lips, considering this was the second night of finding Natasha in your bed and undeniably loving the fact that the roles are reversed and she is now the one sleepily cuddling into you. If you could, you would take some photos as proof as she would undeniably never speak of this and act like this never happened, probably even threaten to kill you if you ever dared mention this to anyone or her. But nevertheless you enjoy it and so you close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the warmth both from the sun drawing in from the curtains but also the redhead still sleepily holding onto you.

A knock on your door startles you a little while later and you quickly shuffle and escape Natasha's grip on you, as you walk towards the door. The redhead is quick to wake as well, of course having seen and felt glimpses of her holding onto you before she is quick on her feet, knowing it was room service but not necessarily trusting this mission. ,,Breakfast Miss'' the same woman informs you and hands you the familiar tray and you simply thank her and smile before taking the tray and closing the door. As you take it towards the little table, you find Natasha standing by the door, watching you carefully.

,,Captain America Boxers really?!'' she remarks and suddenly your face goes bright red after setting the tray down, noticing how you never changed into any pyjamas the night prior. ,,Um yeah they are comfortable'' you try to play it cool, hiding your face as you reach the coffee and take a sip. ,,Wait so you are staring at my ass'' you smirk amusedly, you now the one making the Russian's cheeks glow red. ,,No I- it's just'' she huffs, rolling her eyes at your antics. You watch as she shoves one of the croissants into her mouth before you speak again ,,If it makes you feel any better, there are no Black Widow ones, you really should talk to your marketing team'' you chuckle causing her green eyes to meet yours. ,,So you're telling me you would wear those?'' she asks with a raised eyebrow. ,,Course I would'' you smirk, enjoying this a little too much. ,,Just imagine how much nicer it would be to stare at my ass if it was you on it'' you smirk before she throws the other croissant towards you. ,,I'm so going to tell Steve about this'' she remarks with a grin.

----

Within the next few days in Paris both Natasha and you have grown more frustrated by the minute, you had returned to the restaurant, the building from the day before and following up with the compound for any leads but there was nothing. Nothing suspicious, no clues and pretty much no objective. At first Natasha had doubted whether Tony may have gotten the whole location wrong, insisting for him to check again. Eventually the two of you simply fell into the same routine, checking out the same places throughout the day but equally taking breaks. One day, the two of you decided to walk alongside the seine and sit by the river for a while, despite it mostly being in silence you enjoyed it. Another day, Natasha managed to get a motorbike for the night and took you to the same restaurant again, on the way back going a different route so the two of you would pass the sparkling Eiffel tower. And undeniably it had been magical, you couldn't help but feel closer to the redhead and you aren't sure what happened exactly, maybe the fact that she didn't throw sarcastic remarks at you every two seconds, instead actually allowing conversations with you.

There was that one moment however, the night prior to this one when you knew. Natasha was zooming past the lit Eiffel Tower, the lights illuminating the city and people and cars around you. Despite the speed, everything seemed to have stopped for a moment and while you held onto the redhead you knew for some reason. You felt it in your heart then and in that moment as everything stood still your brain knew. Suddenly it all made sense to you, why you felt so comfortable around her, why you had always tried to be so nice to her, always taking how she feels seriously despite her being so closed off. Why you didn't and really couldn't hate her because you cared about the redhead deeply. It felt bittersweet as the realisation rippled through you, knowing the redhead could and would never see you this way, her having made her intentions with you quite clear in the past and despite the little moments with her and feeling like you had gotten to see some real glimpses of the woman and the person behind the walls and facade, it killed you a little, the sudden realisation almost paralysing you as you drowned in the intensity of it all.

Your last night in Paris and this time you couldn't sleep a wink, eventually leaving bed and settling with a blanket on the little balcony, watching the city at night and you finally understood then why they had called it the city of light as despite the darkness of the night it felt alive. ,,Y/N?'' the voice of Natasha startles you, causing you to jolt as you had sat there in the cold for what feels like hours. As your tired eyes look up, you find her standing next to you tilting her head slightly as if to observe you and figure out what you are doing. ,,Are you alright?'' she asks, her voice laced with concern however, the coldness you are feeling draws that bit out. ,,Fine'' you remark, still staring into the distance. The black widow remains there for a second, thinking whether to give you space and leave you be, knowing if the roles were reversed she would want to be alone, however something within told her to stay. And so she simply sits beside you, the small balcony causing for your shoulders to touch as she stares into the distance with you. ,,What's on your mind Y/N?'' she asks after another moment of silence.

,,I'm okay'' you try again, not meaning to sound cold or to send her away but you had no idea how to voice your feelings or how much you both hated and loved this mission at the same time. ,,You don't seem okay'' she remarks, still staring into the distance with you. ,,It really doesn't matter'' you huff, trying to fight back the tears forming in your vision both from frustration and lack of sleep. ,,It does to me'' she almost whispers and at first the words don't register and when they do you can't help but chuckle almost bitterly. ,,Why would it?'' you exhale before adding ,,You hate me''. This time Natasha paused, feeling a pang of guilt in her heart as this was the third time you had repeated those words and the redhead didn't have a chance to set things straight even once. ,,I don't hate you Y/N'' she whispers and this time its barely audible as the avenger didn't enjoy these things, deep conversations, admitting feelings and laying emotions out openly. This time Natasha glances at you, wanting to see your reaction as her green eyes try to find any sign of you believing her words as the thought of you truly thinking so killed her deep down.

However she is met with silence again and so the words flow freely from her lips ,,I care about you no matter what you think''. This time your head snaps towards her, her green eyes locking with yours and you hold her gaze, almost getting a little lost in her eyes as you find nothing but honesty in them. She watches as your eyebrows furrow, trying to understand how closed off and distant she had been at the start, why she had been mean at times, the sarcastic comments when in reality she cared about you. It doesn't add up and not only can Natasha see it in your eyes, she can feel it too as her feelings both overwhelm and confuse her. ,,So.... does that mean you like me after all'' you joke, trying to lighten the mood a little and in return she nudges your shoulder, rolling her eyes in a playful matter. ,,Wouldn't go that far'' she jokes, causing you to giggle which the redhead can't deny was quite adorable.

,,Ready to go home tomorrow, wife?'' you grin at her, offering her your hand and helping her balance on the small balcony. ,,Yes darling'' she jokes putting on the british accent from days before. ,,Let's go to bed then'' you invite and this time Natasha simply follows you and settles on her side. Despite your best attempts in the last few days, Natasha always remained stubborn, you either found her on the small sofa, her legs dangling down the sides or the floor, offering her to join you but she always refused. Yet, every morning when you woke up you found her in bed after all, either you subconsciously holding onto the Russian or her holding onto you and both of your faces startled as you realised, as if it wasn't obvious by now. ,,So am I cuddling you tonight or are you cuddling me tonight?'' you break the silence after a while and if it wasn't so dark you could have seen the smirk spread across her face and the rolling of her eyes yet again. ,,Shut up or I will actually kill you'' she warns.

,,I'd like to see you try, wife'' you chuckle and before you know it, she throws a pillow that had separated the two of you, your way, causing you to squeal a little at the sudden sensation. ,,You're an idiot Y/N'' she remarks. After your giggling quietens down, you turn to face the woman and to your surprise she is already looking at you, her green eyes quickly meeting yours. For some reason you can't help but smile, never thinking for a single moment that this trip would lead to you two not killing each other and ending up in bed with the black widow herself. Natasha watches as your eyes grow heavy, it now being the middle of the night and you barely getting any sleep. She can't help the smile as she watches you try to fight sleep but failing, before soft snores fill the room. ,,My idiot'' she whispers before moving a little closer and wrapping an arm around you.

----

After one last breakfast in Paris and several hours on the quinjet, the two of you finally make it back to the avengers compound, joining the others. Despite the flight being spent with the usual joking and giggling by now, the two of you walked into the meeting room with long faces as the mission really hadn't been all that successful and you both felt like you had failed a little. ,,How was it?'' Wanda asks both concerned and a little excited as she watches you follow behind Natasha, noticing the redheads features almost a little softer around you than usual. ,,It was so great, I can't wait to tell you all about it'' you giggle, causing the witch to smile before following you. As you take a seat beside Natasha, some of the other avengers lingering nearby, you wait for Tony to walk inside. ,,So, Paris?'' he questions, taking some steps around the large table. ,,Not a success'' Natasha remarks sternly, having been upset with Iron Man and the lack of information regarding the mission. ,,I mean come on, you caught a random drug dealer'' he remarks, causing you to glance at Natasha.

,,Did it work?'' Bucky suddenly bursts out, Steve punching him in return, causing you and Natasha to glance towards him confused. ,,Did you finally kiss?'' his words follow after, causing Natasha's features to grow serious. You watch as she connects the pieces, pretty much seconds before you connect it. Hastily she pushes away her chair, her fists banging on the table as she approaches Tony. ,,Don't tell me you sent us on a fake mission'' she hisses before his guilty eyes meet hers. The black widow remains silent, his glance enough to confirm her suspicion and then she walks out, leaving the people in the room behind, stunned and guilty expressions on their faces. They had no bad intentions of course but they had noticed the tension between you two long before you had figured it out, wanting to give you the necessary push but only now realising that maybe making up a whole mission across europe may have been a bit much.

,,Natasha.. Natasha'' you try as you speed out of the room, quickly catching up with her after finding her in the hallway on the way towards the elevator. ,,Are you okay?'' you ask concerned, meeting her features. ,,This is bullshit, a fake mission really?'' she questions, her accent thick as she sighs in frustration. ,,Come on.. it's not too bad, we got to be wife and wife for a week and in Paris of all places'' you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood a little. ,,And we established that in fact you do quite like me'' you add, glancing into her green eyes. Time seems to stand still for a moment as everything around you blurs, Natasha's green eyes suddenly the only thing mattering and the only thing you focus on as her eyes lock with your own. Within seconds you are suddenly much closer than you had originally intended and the lack of distance causes you to stare at the only other thing on your mind, her lips. The redhead studies your features carefully, knowing by now she hadn't read this wrong and after a moment of hesitation she mutters ,,Screw it'' before closing the gap.

As soon as her lips crash onto yours, you again knew. The all too familiar sensation in your stomach, the fluttering of your heart, it all suddenly made sense to you. This was all you had dreamed of, ever since meeting her and despite hating Tony a little you couldn't be more grateful, considering this was due to Paris and getting to know her better. Natasha's lips felt surprisingly soft, despite not taking her for a chapstick kind of girl. The kiss wasn't rough, wasn't needy, it simply felt like everything you two had been trying to tell each other all along. Natasha put everything into the kiss, her longing for you, apologies for how she had treated you at the beginning, realisation that this was what she wanted all along and wanting you to be hers, her idiot, her detka. To hold, to kiss and to cherish for the foreseeable future. ,,My idiot'' she chuckles as you both pull away in search for oxygen, your eyes meeting again and communicating in silence.

[ghosty-writes-23]

Let Me Be Your Inspiration. - Leon S Kennedy.

!TAGS!: Fluff, Leon being husband material, !CONSENT IS KEY!, SoftDom!Leon, Praise, Hints Of Degrading, Cockwarming, Blow Job, Eating Out, !WRAP IT, BEFORE YOU TAP IT!, Mating Press, Choking, Spit Play, Aftercare.

Pairing: DI!Husband!Leon + Writer!Fem!Reader.

Rating: Mature.

Summary: “Want Me To Fuck You Like The Characters In Your Books.” After a cozy night in with your husband editing your books, you decided you want to recreate the smut scene you had written early in the back with your darling husband Leon.

Word Count: 4.5k

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

----------

18+ Content // Minors DO NOT Interreact // 18+ Content.

On a cold winter’s night you were snuggled into your comfortable and cozy marshmallow couch, with Oreo curled up by your side purring softy as she enjoyed the warmth of your warm blanket and affection. You were wearing one of your husbands’ oversized hoodies since the weather was a little chillier than usual tonight and you couldn’t be bothered lighting the fireplace, you had been engrossed in your story writing for your next coming book project, that you had been working on for the past couple of months.

It was a spicy enemies to lover’s dark romance about a girl that is a rookie agent that falls in love with a higher up government agent that is her boss, they don’t get along at first but after a steamy training session things get a little more heated between the pair, and yes you did use your husband Leon for inspiration with his consent of course.

Finishing your final sentence, you glanced down at the time on your computer seen it was almost 6pm, which meant you had to start making dinner soon, since Leon had cooked last night even when it wasn’t his turn, but just as you stretched your arms above your head, your back popping slightly as some of your bones moved back into place, you heard the front door open and the familiar heavy boots on the hardwood floor that belonged to your darling husband.

Ace your German Shepard came flying into the room excitedly but panting, before he disappeared into the kitchen to get a drink, turning your head your eyes landed on Leon as he was taking off his jacket and placing Ace’s leash on the hook beside the door.

You didn’t say anything but you let your eyes run along the curves of his body, his t-shirt was tight around his biceps, showing off his muscles he worked hard to maintain for the sake of his job and bedroom activities, since he liked to go for multiple rounds especially after a stressful day, or being away for long periods of times because of missions. Sometimes you wonder how lucky you were to meet Leon when you did, you will admit it wasn’t the most romantic setting and was in the middle of a zombie outbreak, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

*Flashback.*

September 30th 1998 was a night you would never forget, it was night filled with unspeakable horrors, zombies and other creatures, the smell of rotting flesh and gunpowder and even an unexpected romance between yourself and a young rookie cop, you were at university and an English major with a love of book and writing even your own stories. You lived in raccoon city at the time of the incident; you had headed to the RPD as they were promising shelter and medical care for all citizens and you didn’t have much option since your university dorm room had been over ran with your classmates who had now been turned into flesh eating monsters.

When you had reached the police department, having had to go through the back and through the back fire escape and into a bloody hallway with bodies everywhere, you tried not to gag as you headed to what you hopefully thought was an unlocked door, luckily it was and you found yourself in the east office area on the first floor.

You were surprised to see some of the sections had already been opened, almost as if somebody had been through, you had armed yourself with a pistol you found on a desk and you decided to go and see if you could find anybody alive. You had walked around looking for anybody, but there was no sign of life expect for zombies and these gold awful creatures that looked as if they had been skinned alive, you had found out they were very sensitive to sound so you had to tread very carefully, you were on guard the whole time.

It wasn’t until you were on the 3rd floor balcony when you meet the man that would make this night of horror a little easier to bare. He wore a police uniform that was currently soaked with rain, his dark blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, he was an officer and was trying to make the same sense of this situation as you were. for a moment you both where speechless as if you were studying the details of each other’s face.

“I’m Y/n.” you say softly breaking the silence between you too, the male reached up and tucked some of your fallen wet hair behind your ear. “I’m Leon.” He says causing you to smile softly at his gesture, you felt yourself blush slightly and you could see him smiling as well, you were covered in zombie blood, creature gut juice and god knows what else and yet Leon looked at you as if you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

You two had survived the night together, not leave each other’s side and fighting side by side, when you finally got out of the police department and where on the outskirts of the city you breathed a sigh of relief, even though you had gotten injuried in your leg by landing on a piece of broken glass after you and Leon where chased by the sewer monster that was an alligator but that was no normal alligator.

You had been leaning against Leon for support as you both walked down an old dirt road. “you know this would make a great story.” Leon says as he helped by supporting your back, he had offered to piggyback you but you knew he was just as exhausted as you were and you didn’t want to be a burden on him.

“I am not writing the horrors we witness into a book.” You laughed shaking your head at him. “come on you could write an amazing story.” Leon says making an embarrassed blush to come onto your cheeks, you had told Leon about your passion for writing stories and he wanted to read your work.

“If I write something I will send you a copy.” You tell him and he gave you a smile, the same one he gave you when you two had meet not even 24 hours ago. “I look forward to it.” He says as you both traveled to the next city and you could finally have the shower you so desperately wanted.

*End Of Flashback.*

It was one hell of a night, and as perfect as your marriage seemed now, there were times that isn’t wasn’t so easy and balanced, you were there when Leon used to drink himself to sleep because he couldn’t deal with the trauma of Raccoon city, you where there when he blamed himself for every person that he loved and cared about dying, he pushed you away thinking all he ever brought you was bad luck, there where times he would purposefully not come home after a mission because he didn’t want you see him in the state he was in.

you were both nearly driven to a divorce because that is what you thought Leon wanted, you even had the papers mailed to you, but after a dangerous and life threatening mission and when he saw the signed papers that were on the kitchen counter when he returned home, he knew things needed to change, he made a vow to get better to be the husband you needed and deserved, he went to therapy and you both went to marriage counselling and now you were in the best possible place you could be and are even stronger as a couple now.

You also knew that your pets had an positive impact on your marriage as well, Ace was like your younger son, even thought he was an older police dog he acted like a big puppy, always full of energy and wanting to play games especially around Leon when he was home, but he loved affection from the both of you and he was a handful, then you have sweet but slightly temperamental Oreo that mostly keeps to herself and will only show affection when she wants too, but she like cuddles on a winter night or staying around either you or Leon when your home.

As your eyes meet his blue ones there was a small smirk on his lips. “What sweetheart.” Leon asked as he walked over to you and placed a gentle kiss on your neck, his slight stubble softly scratching your neck causing you to giggle softly. “just happy.” You replied before feeling another kiss being placed on your neck this time you could feel his teeth softly grazing your neck making you shiver in delight. “Well, I’m going to shower and then I will make dinner for us.” Leon says as he moved away from you, but quickly you reached out and grabbed his hand before he got too far.

“its my turn to cook tonight, you cooked last night.” You tried to argue with him as you gave your husband’s hand a soft squeeze, but Leon shook his head as he leaned down and gave your lips a soft kiss. You could still taste the faint hint of his sweet sports drink he takes when he is working out on his lips, it was berry flavoured.

“I rarely get to cook for you, please let me tonight.” He says resting his forehead on yours it was true Leon rarely cooked for you since he was rarely home because of his job and never getting time off work, the only reason he was home at the moment was because after his last mission to Alcatraz, he insisted on having some vacation time afterwards which was luckily approved.

Once it was approved Leon rushed home like an excited puppy, finally gets to spend some time with his beloved wife. His callous hands gently cupping your face and his thumb softly caressing your cheek, it always melted your heart when he did something like this, you knew you weren’t going to be able to argue with him.

“Fine but I’m cooking tomorrow.” You tried to playfully argue with him, but he just smiled and gently kissed you again. “whatever you say sweetheart.” He mumbles cheekily against your lips before kissing you again then pulling away going upstairs to the bathroom.

Shaking your head at his goofy antics you couldn’t help but grin slightly to yourself, as your head rested on the back of the couch, even after all of these years Leon still makes you feel the same butterflies you felt all those years ago on the RPD balcony, even thought you where both older and more wiser to you he will always be the man that saved your life and for that you were enterally grateful for meeting him.

*Later That Night.*

After eating the dinner Leon made, it was a simple pasta dish since he asked you what you where craving and you said carbs, he always knew exactly what to make you, it was a chicken and cheese pasta. Currently you were in the living room, a random movie playing on Netflix in the background so it wasn’t dead quiet.

Ace and Oreo were sleeping together on the large pet bed in the living room since it was big enough for the both of them and fluffy, while Leon was reading over what you had written today, as you wanted his approval on it and for him to proof read it since he can always find mistakes where you can’t and his grammar skills were slightly better then yours.

Leon edited your chapter from today, one of his hands was on your laptop his blue eyes scanning your words and fixing a few grammar mistakes, his other hand was in your hair as he gently massaged your scalp as your head rested on his sweatpants covered thigh while his cock rested perfectly in your mouth as you cockwarmed him, you wanted to show your husband how much you appreciated his help and what better way then to let him use you for his own pleasure for a while.  

You used your tongue softly to feel every bump, vein and ridge as you made a soft slurp noise, so you weren’t drooling everywhere. He was heavy on your tongue, but the weight brought you a sense of comfort as your eyes were closed happily. When you felt a gentle tug on your hair your eyes fluttered open before you looked up at Leon through your lashes. “you really do spoil me doll.” He softly praises you as his hand moves from your hair to your face, his callous hands gently stroking the soft skin of your slightly blushing cheek.

Instead of replying you took him deeper in your mouth causing you to gag slightly, but you pushed that through aside when you heard Leon’s deep groan, the sound alone was enough to make you clench around nothing. “Fuck princess.” He grunts before he moved your laptop onto the couch beside him and gives you his full attention, with his now free hand he used it to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail to keep your hair out of your face.

There was a slight pain in your jaw, but you pushed that thought to the side and lifted your head up slightly to give yourself some room to swallow the precum that was already in your mouth, you gently sucked on his cock tip causing a soft whine to leave his lips before you started to bob your head at a steady pace as you sucked in your cheeks.

You could feel him moving his hips slightly to the rhythm of your head as you tried to take him deeper, but it caused you to gag slightly, you could feel his thumb gently caress your cheek wiping the stray tear. “don’t push yourself to much sweetheart.” Leon tells you causing you to look up at him.

You could see the lust in his eyes but also the love and affection, you wanted to make him feel good like he had done for you countless times, You used your hands to pump what you couldn’t fit before you felt him twitch on your tongue, you knew he was close by the pitch of his moans, breath a deep breath through your nose you decided to push Leon’s cock deep into your throat until your nose was touching his pubic area. “Fuck Y/n.” You heard Leon curse loudly as you felt his body tense up then a thick steam of cum filled your throat and mouth.

A few tears ran down your cheeks as you tried your best to swallow what you could, pulling off with a soft pop you placed your hand over your mouth as there was quite a bit of mess, you swallowed the rest before coughing slightly.

Leon looked at you worriedly as if all the pleasure was gone from his face and he was worried about you. “I’m okay.” You reassured him after you coughed a few times and caught your breath. “you sure?” Leon asked you as he gently rubbed your back, you nodded your head before you felt his thumb on your bottom lip.

“as pleasurable as that was, it was very stupid of you.” Leon says looking into your eyes, you could hear the seriousness in his tone, but also the worry and care. “I know I’m sorry, I just wanted to make you feel good.” You say to him with a soft pout, but Leon couldn’t stay mad at you felt him press a soft kiss to your lips as he rested his forehead on yours. “knowing your happy and comfortable makes me happy.” Leon says making you playfully roll your eyes. “that’s not what I mean.” You say as you look up at him to which he just grins at you.

Getting off the couch Leon picked you up with ease causing you to giggle softly as you clung to him. “where are we going?” you asked as he started to walk upstairs to your guys shared bedroom. “to bed sweetheart.” Leon says but there is a smirk on his lips, he was up to something, and you knew it. On the way to your shared bedroom, you started to kiss and softly bite your husband’s neck to tease him, you could tell he was smiling and even felt a gentle smack on your ass.

Once in your bedroom he kicked the door closed and laid you on the bed, his neck was covered in little love bites done by you which caused you to grin as he hovered over you. “my turn.” Leon says as he pressed a kiss to your lips and then one on your jawline then your neck, his hands going under his hoodie you’re wearing and gently caressing the soft skin of your body.

His touch alone made a shiver run down your spine as he started to trail his kisses down your neck to your chest, then pushing his hoodie you were wearing up and placing more kisses down your chest trailing down to your stomach.

When he reached the top of your shorts Leon’s loving blue eyes looked up at yours, nodding your head he hooked his fingers into your shorts and carefully pulled them down, leaving you in your panties on your bottom half, you could see the hungry and lust clouding his eyes as he licked his lips when he saw the wet patch on your panties.

He gave your clit a soft kiss through your panties causing you to gasps soft and grip the blanket under your body. “Leon.” You whine his name softly causing a deep chuckle to leave his lips.

 “I know baby I know.” Leon says smirking to himself before he pulled your panties to the side and ran his tongue up your wet folds in one swipe, causing a sweet moan to leave your lips as you bucked your hips slightly, your fingers finding their way into his dark hair and softly tugging, pulling him closer to your wet heat.

Getting your message Leon used his index finger and middle finger to spread your pussy, before sliding his tongue inside and slowly thrusting it as his nose gently bumped your clit, as his stubble gently scratched your inner thigh with every movement.

You where withering under him, your toes curling as your thighs trembled against his head. “Fuck.” You cursed slightly as your back arched slightly but he didn’t stop, only gripping your hips slightly harder keeping you steady for him. You could hear him softy slurping and even feel him suckling, it was getting to much for you as you felt a knot forming in your stomach.

“I’m cumming.” You moaned sweetly as you gripped the pillow under your head, you could hear Leon groaning against you as he doubled his efforts and pulled you closer to his face as he buried his face in your wet core.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” Leon groaned against your core, his deep and raspy lust filled voice alone was enough to push you over the edge, the knot in your stomach finally snapped you came with a loud cry of Leon’s name, your back arched off the bed as you felt your whole-body tremble.

When you finally came down from your high you gently pushed Leon’s head away with how sensitive you were, when he reluctantly pulled away his face was wet and there was a wide grin on his face.

“seem after all these years, I can still leave you breathless.” Leon says as he licked his lips, you playfully roll your eyes but there is a laugh on your lips as well. “it seems you do, now are you going to hurry up and fuck me.” You say back at him with a smirk. “yes ma’am.” He says before reaching into the bedside table draw to grab a condom and some lube.

As Leon ripped open the condom packet with his teeth and placed the rubber protection around his cock, you had grabbed the bottle of lube and applied some to your soaked heat. You knew you were wet enough but this was just a safety precaution to not cause you any discomfort.

“You ready darling?” Leon asks as he tapped the tip of his cock on your pussy a few times, you nodded your head biting your bottom lip as your legs rests on either side of his hips, slowly he began to push in the familiar starching making you moan softy and slightly dig your nails into his muscular shoulders.

He always stretched you perfectly like nobody else could. One he had fully bottomed out and you had adjusted to his size comfortably Leon leaned forward and gently kissed your head. “you okay?” he asks looking down at you.

Looking up you gave him a smile and leaned up and softly kissed his lips, as you gently kissed Leon you could feel his hips start to move slowly and steady, pleasure ran through your body causing you to moan against his lips as you both moved with each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

But as slow and sweet as his thrusts where you needed more, you needed him to be rougher with you, reaching over you grabbed one of his hands there was gripping the pillow by your head you placed it around your throat.

“be rougher with me Leon.” You moan softy wanting him to choke you, he stopped for a second his hips stilling, you through you had said something wrong and possibly made him uncomfortable, but before you could ask him what’s the matter, both of your legs are placed on his shoulders in the mating press position as his hand that was currently around your throat slightly tightens.

“Is this what you wanted doll, for me to fuck you like the characters you write about in your books.” Leon asks as he leaned down to your ear and gently bites the lobe as his once gently thrusts where hard and deep causing the deep to creak slightly.

You wanted to argue with him, but you couldn’t deny it you loved it when Leon fucked you like this, you liked it when he was loving and gentle, his touch careful and delicate, but other times you liked it when he was like this rough and slightly mean, when he bent your body for his pleasure, but you knew his ultimate goal was to please you. “Yes.” You choked out as your eyes started to roll back as Leon’s cock was hitting your sweet spot perfectly causing you whines and moans to leave your lips.

“then I’ll give you some inspiration.” Leon groans feeling you tighten around him as he picks up the pace, he pressed your legs closer to your chest and tightened his hand around your neck slightly more causing you to hear your heartbeat in your ears, as you start to feel lightheaded. Your moans were getting whiner and higher pitched, soon you felt Leon’s other hand came up to your face as his thumb was on your bottom lip as he gently pulled your mouth open.

Knowing what he was going to do, you laid your tongue flat for him before you felt him spit into your mouth causing a whine to leave your throat as you swallowed. “dirty slut.” Leon grunted as he grinned down at you, he knew how dirty you liked things, he had read all your books and he knew you used your bedroom activities for inspiration for them, he was just glad that he could bring these scene you had written down to life for your pleasure.

“Leon.” You moaned loudly feeling the familiar knot in your stomach, you knew there was a mess of lube, precum and your juices on the bed beneath your ass. “I know sweetheart, I know.” He grunts moving some of your sweaty hair out of your face as he thrusted into your soaked pussy, your gummy walls sucking him in and never wanting him to leave.

“You going to cum for me baby?” you heard Leon ask and you nodded your head quickly feeling the familiar tightening in your stomach. “Yes.” you choked out in between moans; your thighs were trembling, and your head was feeling light and hazy. “Cumming.” you cry out as you let out a high pitch moan and came around Leon, you felt him soon follow filling up the condom.

After a couple of moments, you both found yourselves laughing and smiling with each other as you leaned up and brushed some of Leon’s wet and sweaty hair from his face. “so, I take it you like what I wrote today.” You say with a grin as this was exactly how you imagined the chapter you had written today.

“I did but maybe next time we can do some roleplay, I might even dress up as this government agent you seem to love writing about.” He says with a soft smile before he slowly and carefully pulls out of your now oversensitive pussy and discards the condom on the bin beside your shared bed.

“now that would be a treat.” You say before you move over and nuzzle into his side, your head resting on his chest as his hand is softly running down your back. “I love you.” You say to Leon as you looked at the matching black bands on your fingers, the sight of them still brings a smile to your face.

“I love you too sweetheart, did you want to shower or cuddle.” Leon asks as he kisses the top of your head. “a shower can wait.” You said closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth and feeling of Leon’s body next to yours. “okay honey.” Leon says pulling you closer to his body as you both just enjoyed the company of each other…

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Bonus Head Canons for Writer!Fem!Reader.

Leon will take you on his motorbike to bookstores for dates, you can pick as many books as you would like.

He will carry all of the book he purchased you not wanting you to strain yourself.

Leon will listen to you rant about your favourite fictional characters.

He likes it when you use his head as a pillow while you read your books, or cuddle together on the couch while you are writing, he just likes being close to you.

Yes he will recreate your favourite smut book scenes.

He is your number one fan of your books and comes to every signing when he can, if he isn't working.

He will talk about you at work and even recommend people your books.

Leon is the model for some of your book covers, but you kept his face hidden for privacy reasons.

He doesn’t get jealous when you have a new fictional husband from a new book you read.

If he can’t find you, he knows you’re in the in-home library he built you for valentines day. (!One-Shot Link Below!)

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©️2024 - GhostyWrites23 All Rights Reserved. ❌Please don't repost, translate or copy any of my work without permission.❌

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[sansaorgana]

maybe i’ve been watching too much GOT/HOTD shit but…tttw au where reader decides to seduce paul into p much being her servant (kinda like what cersei did to jaime except she still does actually care for him a bit). and lady jessica pushes for the marriage between reader and feyd to get her away from paul. i just feel like that’d make the fight between feyd and paul just that much more personal 🫢

THROWN TO THE WOLVES MASTERLIST

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hello! I hope you still remember my multichapter fic 🥴 It's been a long time but I needed a break from it to create other stories and finally it's time for me to write the requests that were about this universe. For the start I went with this twisted AU and be warned because I have abandoned all my moral compass while writing it lol 😳🙈 I mostly explored the dynamic between the characters here and I don't think you have to know "Thrown To The Wolves" to read this story but it surely will make more sense if you do! 😊 Also, since it's an AU – and a wicked one as well – I didn't tag anyone from this fic's taglist. I also didn't tag anyone from the Feyd-Rautha's taglist because it's an AU of already existing fic that not everyone has read, so... I didn't want to bother anyone 😅

WARNINGS — INCEST, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), Reader is NOT a good person (as we already know... but she's even worse here)

WORD COUNT — 5,380

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

Watching your half-brother train, you only pretended to read a book in front of you. You couldn’t focus on the words because you were still rethinking the argument you had with your father earlier. Now, when Paul was officially an adult, Duke Leto Atreides signed a document that only solidified your brother as the heir and the next Duke.

He might not have been from a legal union like you were, but he was a boy. However, you had a feeling it was about more than that. After all, if your father wanted to change the law and allow women to inherit, he would do that. No, it was about Paul being his favourite. It was about Paul being prepared for this role from the moment he was born. It was about Paul being born from a woman that your father truly loved. Unlike your mother whose cold grave you had visited earlier that day. You were the only one visiting her.

To think that you were supposed to be born a boy. Paul was supposed to be a girl. Yet, the cruel universe played a joke at your expense. And now you were a burden of the Atreides family instead of an heir. Unless…

The book you were reading was a history one, telling stories of ancient times and the ways of the noblemen in the past. It mentioned gross and yet fascinating acts of the forgotten practices to keep the royal bloodlines pure. Incestous relationships between cousins… and even siblings. At first, reading the book late at night in your room, you had felt disgust at the mention of a sister-wife. But now, watching Paul training and reliving an argument with your father, you began having second thoughts.

The only way of getting the title of The Atreides Duchess would be to marry Paul. And he was of gentle, soft nature. He was not only devoted to you in his brotherly, naive love but also innocently easy to manipulate. You had done that multiple times before already; making him take blame for something you did or do something for you that you didn’t feel like doing yourself.

Would he be easy to seduce, though? You wondered, trying to shake off a small wave of guilt and disgust at the thought. You had to be stronger than your moral compass to survive. You knew already that Lady Jessica was plotting behind your father’s back to send you away, to marry you off to some awful, insignificant lord and get rid of you. Seducing Paul was your only way of staying at home and of getting the power you wanted.

To have an apple and eat an apple, you thought, biting on your lower lip.

Paul was inexperienced with women. Not that you were very experienced with men yourself but you were observant and interested in the subject. You studied books, interactions, gossip. Paul was not interested in such affairs at all. His whole life was studying and training, being moody and sad about his future role of the Duke.

Oh, the irony. He didn’t even want to bear this title that you so badly craved.

You closed the book loudly, startling him a little and getting his attention. He raised an eyebrow at you but you only smirked and gathered your things to go back inside.

At the supper table, you were acting moody and annoyed. You watched from the corner of your eye how it was catching Paul’s interest. When you excused yourself in the middle of the meal and left, visibly pissed at something, it didn’t take him long to follow you.

“Sister, wait,” he called for you in the corridor when you were near the doors leading to your chambers. “What is it? Talk to me,” he pleaded and grabbed your arm from behind.

“Oh, sweet Paul,” you smiled and turned around to face his confused face. He was sweet indeed. And he was a pretty boy, which you hadn’t been thinking of before for obvious reasons. But it wouldn’t be that difficult to force yourself to kiss him and lay with him. “You’re so adorable for worrying about me,” you sighed. “You’re the only one here who cares for me.”

“That is not true, (Y/N), you know that,” Paul fixed a hair strand on your face to push it off of your cheek. “Our father loves you and my mother… She cares about you, too. In her own way. I know that.”

“Your mother?” You snorted, looking up to meet his worried gaze. “She’s plotting already, don’t you know? She wants to marry me off and… And you as well,” you lied, looking away and pretending to get all shy.

“What?” Paul furrowed his brows as he let go of your arm. He was shocked to hear your revelation. “Am I not too young to get married? I mean, I know I could but… Shouldn’t I get older and wiser and…”

“I know,” you interrupted him and looked back into his pretty hazel eyes. “But what can I say? They want you to have a future Duchess already, so she can come here and be trained how to be a great leader one day by your side… To replace me…” You faked a shiver of your voice. “That was the reason behind my argument with our father. What did he tell you?” You bit on your lower lip.

“That…” Paul swallowed thickly, not wanting to anger you or offend you, “That… That you are angry about me inheriting. I wanted us to talk about it, actually. I wanted to explain to you that it is not my wish. I would love to give the title to you. I do not wish to rule,” Paul assured you and took you by your hands.

All those sweet, gentle gestures that you had been giving no second thoughts until now since they were innocent. But now, you savoured each one of them, coming up with ideas how to use them against him.

“He lied,” you sighed and looked down, sadly. You felt a small sting in your heart but you had to ignore it. “The argument was about me not wanting to leave Caladan… Not wanting to leave my home and my family. I don’t want to be sent away… I will miss you, you’re all I have,” you faked a sob and hugged him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck so he couldn’t see how fake your crying was. You sniffed a few times to make it more authentic.

Paul was surprised and a little petrified. However, he put his arms around you to pull you closer and rub your back.

“Oh, sweet (Y/N), my dear sister… I won’t let them send you away if you don’t want to… And not to anyone you wouldn’t desire yourself,” he assured you.

“I don’t want you to get married yet either… I… I…” You were looking for the right words as you took a step back to look at him again, faking a shivering lip and glossy eyes by blinking a lot. “I wish we were children again. Just you and I, always together. I don’t want anyone to ever come between us.”

“No one will come between us, (Y/N),” Paul squeezed your fingers. “I promise you that. You’re my sister, you forever will be. I love you,” he nodded and gave you puppy eyes.

“You… You don’t understand,” you pulled away and opened the doors to your room. “Go away, I shouldn’t be near you,” you took a deep and dramatic breath in. “It’s bad for me, I… Oh, I shouldn’t tell,” you sighed and walked inside your room, hoping your weird reaction would intrigue him.

And indeed, Paul followed you inside. He caught you by your wrist and made you stop as the doors closed behind him. You had him trapped between the wall and your body even though he was the one holding your hand. But his grip was gentle as usual.

“I don’t understand, (Y/N). Please, what’s wrong? I hate to see you like this,” he was worried and desperate to help you. You bit on your lip and smirked, changing the atmosphere quickly as you took a step ahead and got free from the grip of his hand.

Taking a step ahead, you forced him to retreat and his back hit the wall. Your faces were inches away and you batted your eyelashes innocently as you stared at his lips hungrily.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Paul swallowed thickly.

“You wanted to know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered seductively. “It’s a sinful disease, Paul, and believe me, I’ve tried to get rid of it but I can’t. You’re all I can think about,” your words were so soft and quiet, almost inaudible, for his ears only.

“We…We shouldn’t… “Paul whimpered pathetically. However, he didn’t even try to push you away. You raised an eyebrow at him, genuinely surprised at the lack of more definitive reaction.

“So, you want me to stop? Tell me then, sweet brother. I don’t want to hurt you,” you assured him and caressed his cheek with the fingertips of your right hand. He closed his eyelids and breathed in your scent. “Want me to stop?” You repeated the question teasingly.

Paul didn’t dare to say it out loud. He only shook his head as a no.

You had expected this task to be easy but you didn’t suspect it to be that easy. When you pressed your body closer to his, you felt how hard he was between his legs. Poor sweet Paul, so desperate for any girl’s attention, so inexperienced. He would really let his own sister take care of him. You chuckled and finally joined your lips together in a gentle kiss, not wanting to scare him away.

It was your first kiss, too, after all. And, for some reason, you really liked it. You liked that your first kiss belonged to your own brother, to your own flesh and blood. Even if Lady Jessica sends you away one day to marry another man, he would never possess you with his first marriage kiss for your own brother had the honour.

“I know you love your mother,” you whispered after breaking the kiss. Paul’s cheeks were flushed, his lips parted. He opened his eyelids slowly, looking at you in awe. It was adorable. “But she hates me,” you reminded him. “You must change her attitude towards me, you know. You don’t want them to send me away, don’t you? Who else is gonna kiss you so sweetly when I’m away?”

“I… I must leave now,” Paul swallowed thickly and pushed you away before running out of the room.

It left you confused but you knew that your confusion was no match with his. He was turned on and scared, he needed alone time. So, you gave him that and went to sleep yourself, a little anxious but also excited since the plan seemed to be working better than you had been expecting.

At first, Paul was ignoring you. Shyly looking away, blushing like crazy, avoiding your gaze. But you were relentless, always around him, talking to him with other people around, forcing him to answer and look at you. Eating by the same table, you would find moments when no one paid attention so you could treat yourself with fruit and honey in the most seductive manner while looking into his eyes. And you made sure to touch him briefly every time you walked past him. The poor boy was in physical and mental torture, you could see that and you only waited for him to snap.

You began to wear more revealing dresses and show off your body. But everything changed on the day you walked inside his bathroom, pretending it was an accident. He was in the bathtub, you just wanted to borrow a towel – a stupid and unbelievable excuse.

However, you didn’t walk in on him relaxing or taking a nap in the embrace of  warm water, no. You walked in on him being busy with himself with his lips parted, head thrown back and eyes shut close. The name he was moaning out loud was yours.

Gently, not wanting to startle him, you helped him to finish. And even though at first he was terrified of you seeing him like that he quickly gave in, too desperate to have any shame left in his body.

That act sealed your sinful union. He finally gave in to the ill-natured attraction and began to follow you around like the most loyal servant. And whenever you were left alone, he was like an overexcited puppy, wanting to kiss and be kissed, wanting to touch and be touched. Just in case – aware of the norms noble women were supposed to live by – you didn’t allow him to actually spoil your innocence. But everything else was allowed.

You were not only pleased with your seductive skills and the fact you had the future Duke wrapped around your little finger. Some twisted, wicked part of you was also happy from the fact that you managed to spoil your father’s favourite child; his little precious toy was broken now. Paul Atreides was rotten forever now. There was no going back from such sin.

You were damned already anyway. But it felt nice to drag someone down with you just for the sake of annoying your father and Lady Jessica.

Your own pride made you less attentive and careful, meanwhile Paul’s mother was very observant when it came to her son. He was the apple of her eye. She knew that his relationship with you had always been close but she noticed the sudden odd mood swings of Paul. First, he avoided you nearly shyly, only to follow you around even more than ever before again? You two had always been hugging sometimes, sharing an innocent kiss here and there but now Lady Jessica felt like it was getting more and more often for you to share affections. And she felt bad for suspecting a weirdly sexual energy behind those acts but after some time she stopped feeling guilty as she realised something had been going on behind her back indeed.

One time she decided to follow her son who went straight to your chambers after the training. Her footsteps were light and quiet, she took her time and gave you an opportunity to develop the situation. She pressed her ear to the doors and heard soft moans, sweet praises. Even though she had been suspecting it, she still felt shocked and disgusted to find out the truth.

Your heart stopped in your chest as the doors were pushed open and you spotted Lady Jessica catching you kissing her son. His cheeks went crimson red in an instant.

“Mother…” He swallowed thickly, standing up and clasping his hands in front of himself, trying to hide his erection.

Lady Jessica was speechless. Her eyes widened at first and then they squinted as she laid them on you.

“You little witch,” she hissed at you. “You twisted, evil minx. What have you done?”

“Me?” You acted innocent but you couldn’t hide a smirk.

Yes, it was scary to be found out. But it gave you satisfaction that she now was aware of how you had spoiled her sweet, precious son.

“Mother, don’t blame her!” Paul sweetly defended you, he was truly adorable. But he was ignored by the both of you. It was between you and her. He was only a tool.

“Have you got any idea what you’ve done?” Lady Jessica asked you harshly.

“What about it?” You asked and clenched your jaw.

What was the worst punishment anyway? You realised suddenly that even being sent away wouldn’t be so bad… The victory of spoiling Paul was the most delicious part of this situation.

“I will not tell your father,” Lady Jessica approached you to put her hands on Paul’s arms to walk him away gently. “For his own sake. He would be devastated. But this will be over. You better start packing,” she gave you a contemptuous look.

“Mother, no!” Paul pleaded. “I love her, I do. Can’t I marry (Y/N)? That’s what our ancestors were doing, why can’t we?”

You chuckled at him. He was so sweetly naive. Lady Jessica slapped his face.

“Stop talking nonsense!” She pushed him out of the room and then gave you one last look. “You look proud of yourself for bewitching my son. I’ll make sure you’ll pay for that.”

“And you’re not proud of bewitching my father?” You asked.

“I will send you to the Harkonnens, you spoiled brat. Their rot matches yours. But good luck with bewitching any of them,” she threatened.

The mention of the Harkonnens made you scared indeed. But you didn’t want to show it. Not in front of her.

But she was right. Wrapping Paul around your finger had been easy. Too easy. Doing the same to a Harkonnen would not.

However, you decided to keep your head high. You would never show fear or defeat in front of Lady Jessica.

Because of Lady Jessica’s words, you treated the marriage with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen like a challenge. With many attempts, you finally managed to tame him and it was your biggest pride.

Now you laughed at the memory of how proud you had been for spoiling Paul. It had been meaningless and too easy. Taming Feyd-Rautha to be your pet made you feel invincible.

Paul had been so naive and innocent that in the beginning of your marriage, he had still been sending you secret letters about his love and devotion. The news of his death had been nearly relieving – there would be no more pathetic, desperate letters, you had thought, while burning the last one.

Your husband knew about your past. Feyd-Rautha loved everything sick, twisted and rotten to the core. You had told him about Paul to impress him and it had worked. You had even allowed him to read some of the letters from Paul before burning them.

Finding out that Paul was alive after all, and he had gained power on Arrakis that you and your husband could only dream of, felt like a punch. You could see a switch in Feyd’s behaviour while you waited for the confrontation. He was observing you quietly and battling with his own thoughts. Feyd-Rautha had never been insecure before. But now he had a feeling you might still feel attraction to Paul Atreides. Especially now, when Paul was a powerful leader, too. After all, what spurred you on the most was power and influence.

What would Paul do seeing you again? You both wondered silently, without sharing your thoughts with each other. Would he want you back or would he toss you aside? Feyd feared that Paul still wanted you. You hoped he would. It would provide you safety no matter what outcome of that day would be.

Not that you didn’t love Feyd-Rautha. In the process of taming him, you had found yourself enamoured with him. You were two halves of the same rotten apple. But the most important thing for you was your own survival. Your own and the child’s under your heart.

The guards took you and other prisoners of the Arrakeen Palace to see the mysterious Muad’Dib but you all had already known who he truly was. The Reverend Mother, Princess Irulan and you – all the women amongst the prisoners – had known it for sure that the brave Fremen leader had to be an Atreides. You shared a connection with Paul, you were of the same father, the same surname, the same blood, the same flesh… Each other’s first lovers.

He looked different now; more mature. His hair was longer and curly instead of being neatly combed. His eyes were harsher and blue from the spice. You were nearly petrified at the sight of him because he… He looked handsome and attractive. You suddenly remembered all the shared kisses and affections and it made your cheeks burn.

“There you are, sweet sister,” Paul’s eyes sparkled at the sight of you. “I’ve been missing you,” he pointed out but you could spot harsh irony in his words.

From the corner of your eye you spotted Lady Jessica. Her power and influence had grown as well those past few months. She was a local Reverend Mother with her face covered under veils, chains and tattoos. She looked like the most intimidating and the most powerful person in the room. She probably was, even though you were standing next to The Emperor himself.

Lady Jessica had to already turn Paul against you. She had to tell him that you had been doing nothing but manipulating him for your own gain. You suddenly realised that you were in deep trouble and you instinctively searched for Feyd-Rautha’s hand to squeeze it. He was your husband, the father of your child, your perfect match made in hell. You had to keep him close, stay with him. Paul was never an option after all. He had been nothing but a game.

“Brother,” you greeted Paul with a nod of your head. “I thought you were dead.”

“You hoped,” Paul fixed you with a smirk.

“No,” you only answered.

“Come here,” he ordered. You felt the eyes of everyone watching intensely, wondering what was really going on. After all, the only people who knew about your unusual connection were Lady Jessica and Feyd-Rautha. Although you were suspecting that the Reverend Mother knew, too.

Feyd’s hand squeezed tighter around yours. He didn’t want you to leave his side. Walking up to Paul meant exposing yourself, you could be easily harmed. And it was not only about you at the moment. You were carrying the Harkonnen heir. The future Baron was growing under your heart.

“Come here,” Paul repeated the order, more harshly now. You let go of Feyd’s hand and walked away, feeling him move uncomfortably. However, he granted you personal freedom to make your own choices. He only watched carefully, like a guard dog that he was.

“I am here, brother,” you announced, standing right in front of Paul, facing him bravely. One of your hands rested on your abdomen.

“I am wiser now,” he told you. “I know that your intentions with me were never pure nor driven by your uncontrollable desires. You planned it all. Calculated.”

You remained silent, keeping your head high. You only heard the whispers of other people, wondering between each other what the conversation was about.

“And despite that knowledge, I must admit, I remain infatuated,” he confessed. “But you’re spoiled for me now. Your stench is one of the Harkonnens.”

“For I am a Harkonnen,” you nodded.

“Apparently, so am I,” he raised an eyebrow and you furrowed yours.

“How is that so?”

“The Baron… The late Baron,” Paul explained. “The one your husband slayed last night. He was my mother’s father.”

Everyone went silent. Those were two secrets that he had revealed – you didn’t want people to know that it was Feyd killing his uncle.

“You might have the Harkonnen blood flowing in your veins, dear brother, but you are no Harkonnen. You’re weak like an Atreides,” you spat out.

“Me? You, dear sister, you are weak. All your power, all your successes, they all only come from the men you have managed to wrap around your pretty little fingers. But you have achieved nothing yourself,” Paul’s jaw clenched as he reminded you with hatred burning through his eyes. “The only thing you actually did was to open your legs for the Harkonnen and carry his spawn,” Paul looked down at your womb with contempt.

There was so much jealousy in him, you spotted. He was not angry at you for manipulating him. He was angry at you for carrying another man’s child. And there was nothing more dangerous than a rejected lover.

Paul grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand away, exposing your swollen abdomen.

“You cannot touch her,” Feyd barked and Paul looked up behind your shoulder to meet your husband’s gaze.

“There he is, my sister’s new pet,” Paul’s words were braver than you expected. No one would dare to speak to Feyd-Rautha like that.

“It’s a nasty thing to be jealous,” your husband spoke. “You see, she is my wife, she lays with me every night. You are nothing but a tossed aside toy who has only been given a taste but never a full meal.”

Paul was right, you suddenly realised. That you held no real power, that it only came from the men you had associated yourself with. Because now they were talking about you as if you were an object.

“Are we here to witness some wicked family drama? Spare me that,” The Emperor’s voice made you all turn your heads to look at him. He was disgusted and annoyed.

“You are here to pay for what you’ve done to our father,” Paul left your side to approach The Emperor and you took the opportunity to hurry back to Feyd. You stood behind him, clinged to his muscular arm, feeling protected by his strong, armoured body.

“Stop your pathetic show, Atreides,” The Emperor smirked. “There is a massed armada in orbit. You’re facing a full invasion.”

“How can you be so sure the Great Houses are here for me? They may be curious to hear my side of the story, don’t you think?” Paul asked him. “I am Paul Atreides, son of Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis!”

“He’s a fraud,” Feyd chuckled ironically. “My wife is the Duchess Atreides, I am the Governor of this world.”

“And so it is,” The Emperor nodded. “You’re nothing but a Fremen terrorist.”

“Gurney,” Paul called out the name you recognised. But when you looked at the man, he had no love nor sympathy in his eyes for you. So, you showed none as well.

“My Lord,” Gurney nodded at your brother.

“Send a warning to all ships. If the Great Houses attack, our atomics will obliterate all the spice fields,” Paul threatened. 

He was a madman now, you thought as Gurney nodded.

“You’re out of your mind,” The Emperor pointed out what everyone was thinking,

“He’s bluffing,” your husband spoke up as you clinged to his arm even tighter. You had a feeling already how this confrontation would end up like. It was either you and Feyd or Paul. There was no other way. And Paul’s behaviour was worrying. You were starting to suspect he had higher chances of winning than you had been predicting.

He wouldn’t kill you. He still cared for you, perhaps he still craved you. He would never be nice to you, but he’d keep you close, of that you were sure. But he would never let your husband or your child live. And that was the moment when you realised that you didn’t only care about your own self.

You cared about Feyd and you cared about your son. Way more than about your life. You’d rather die alongside them than live a few more decades alongside your brother without them.

“Consider what you’re about to do, Paul Atreides,” The Reverend Mother warned him.

“Silence!” Paul screamed, using The Voice, startling everyone in the process.

It was no secret that this ability was reserved only for the Bene Gesserit. For the women of the order. A man possessing this knowledge was not only dangerous but also extremely powerful.

You were doomed, you thought, covering your abdomen with one of your hands again. Your unborn son was your only hope. The Reverend Mother had mentioned before that he was out of control. The Harkonnen medics had outdone themselves with their genetic manipulations while helping you to create life. His abilities could interfere with Paul’s.

But it was only an unborn baby with its brain not even yet fully developed. You couldn’t possibly count on him to save you. Right?

“Abomination,” The Reverend Mother muttered to herself.

“Message sent, my Lord,” Gurney announced.

“On what authority was this message sent?” You spoke up again, finally gaining the courage although it was easy to do so when you were still hiding behind Feyd. “I am the Duchess Atreides. The leaders of the Great Houses know that, too. They will not listen to the threats of terrorists!”

“As a servant of the Imperium, you will bow at my feet!” The Emperor snapped. Paul’s behaviour was getting out of control.

“Your feet?! You’ll be lucky to keep your head!” Paul yelled at him and walked up to all of you as he took a contemptuous look at Princess Irulan. “I’ll take the hand of your daughter,” he announced and you swallowed thickly at his plan.

So… He did not want to marry you anymore. Perhaps you wouldn’t be as safe as you had suspected before.

“She will remain safe,” Paul’s voice softened as he spoke. “And we will rule together over The Empire. But you…” he looked at The Emperor again. “You have to answer for my father.”

“Do you know why I killed him?” The Emperor squinted his eyes and despite feeling very detached from your family those past few months, you felt a little sting in your heart at the mention of your father.

You realised that now you were standing by the side of a man who was responsible for his death. What a twisted world you lived in. And what twisted things you had been forced to do to survive.

The Emperor approached Paul now as well, they were facing each other and you had to admit that despite his age, he was a brave man to do that. Everyone claimed he was not in his best shape anymore and that was true but the strength of his mind and spirit was still visible.

“Because he was a man who believed in the rules of the heart. But the heart is not meant to rule,” The Emperor explained. “In other words… your father was a weak man.”

You had this conversation before. With the Baron Harkonnen. Late Baron Harkonnen, you remembered. Now your husband was bearing the title. But yes, a few months earlier, in a dark room, you had this conversation with the Baron. You had agreed with him then. And despite the pain in Paul’s eyes, you had a feeling he was agreeing with this, too.

And Paul agreeing with such a statement could only mean that he no longer wanted to play nice. He had discarded your father’s ways and chose the path of violence.

“You will be defeated and your Empire will be mine,” Paul drawled out through gritted teeth before laying his eyes on you and Feyd. “And the cancer of this Empire that is The Harkonnen dynasty will be erased,” he added. “I will tear your spawn out of her body and take your wife as my concubine,” he told your husband. You felt his muscles tensing.

“The only thing you take, will be your death at the end of my blade,” Feyd warned him and took a step ahead, ignoring the way you were clutching onto his arm, trying to make him stay.

“You don’t even have one on you,” Paul pointed out.

“Then spare me a weapon and stand to fight me like a man,” Feyd dared him.

“Accept mine,” The Emperor offered and you stiffened at the realisation that it was not only the blade he was giving your husband but also the fate of the outcome of this day, the fate of the Empire, the fate of his and his daughter’s life. Feyd nodded and you approached him one last time before the duel.

“Do not fail me,” you pleaded harshly.

“You want these to be the last words you tell your husband before his death?” Feyd teased with a smirk. Fearless as usual; he never feared the end of his life. Not in combat at least. He had told you already that this sort of death was everything he had been wishing for. To die like a warrior.

“No,” you shook your head with a nervous smile. “So make sure they won’t be.”

MASTERLIST

[netherfeildren]

FABLE OF THE DOG : 1. The Two Headed Calf

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: Welcome home and buck up, cowgirl.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol & Drug Use; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting; Description of a Dead Body; Death of a Parent; Parental Neglect; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Past Teenage Crush; Unrequited Pinning; Yearning and Longing Galore; Boss’s Daughter; Complicated Family Relationships; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: Disclaimer, I know nothing about Wyoming and it’s geography, ranching, or being a cowboy and just made all this up. Any and all misrepresentations are fallacy of my laziness.

The FMC tag was decided because she has a last name. It was just too difficult for me to speak in depth about her father without giving him a name, and thus her one too. After that decision was made, she kind of went away from me and devolved into her own person who I have come to be quite obsessed with. It’s still written in ‘you’ format, anyhow.

I’ve been having a whole lot of fun with this, I hope you do too.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

1: The Two Headed Calf

“She’s been shut up in that house for goin’ on three days now, Joel,” Tommy says as the two brothers make their way across the lawn. 

The ride had been long and hard, and Joel is tired—he levels a dark look at him. “Just sayin’. Nothin’ you find in there’s gonna be pretty to look at.” He raises his hands in surrender at the brooding glare, that non-confrontational shrug that’s set Joel on edge since they were boys. 

“One of you’s should’a gone in there. Made sure she’s okay.”

“The housekeepers’ve been keepin’ an eye. And Frank tried to go in there and check on her himself, but she’s angry as a barn cat. Hissin’ ‘nd yowlin’, and just bein’ downright scary as hell, to be honest. You should be prepared is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Her father just died, Tommy. I’m not expectin’ pretty sights right now,” Joel gruffs, trying to swallow the panic that flutters in his throat as they crest the final hill up to the big house. 

The beautiful stone, oak, glass monstrosity that’s stood as monument to this place, this home that is not truly his, for over a decade now. The Kelly Ranch. The sky above is still a sultry, yawning blue, deep and tired, basking in the throes of dawn as the sun just now makes its way over the crest of the Tetons in the distance so that the house sits for just a moment longer in its pool of shadowed blues. 

Joel pauses on the border of that somber darkness, afraid suddenly of what awaits him inside; boots glued to the ground with the gum of cowardice. He doesn’t want to see her broken. He doesn’t want to see her hurting. But there’s no other recourse, he knows this. The death of the estranged father she’d fought with all her life, the inheritance of this world that seems suddenly too big for just one orphaned girl, all alone now. 

He’s afraid that he’ll walk into that house he’s always seen as other and home all wrapped into one—that Olympus that was so far removed and out of reach even when he walked through it’s halls to the man who’d given him sanctuary and salvation, to the man he knew mistreated her sometimes, didn’t love her enough—and not have the capacity to recognize her, this girl who’d always been familiar and stranger all in one also. 

Joel Miller suddenly feels afraid of the memory she exists as in his mind, in the face of the woman he knows she is now. 

When he lets himself in the back kitchen door, it’s still nighttime within. The cool dryness of the AC cranked up to inhuman temperatures makes him shiver once while sprouting a damp sweat along his nape. He should’ve showered before coming, should’ve washed the ride and the days of camp off his skin before walking into her presence, but all he’d managed were his hands and face. There’d been panic to make sure she was well, if not then alive, at least. But he should be more presentable for her. 

Hell, he should’ve been here for her when she came home for the first time in two years to the house where her father had died. He should’ve been here when the man died. 

But the herd had needed moving. He hadn’t thought it’d all happen so quickly, thought he had more time, that they all had more time. He’d hoped she wouldn’t return at all, if he was being honest. There was nothing here for her. Nothing except memories of a gilded and loveless, already motherless childhood. The reality of all she was set to inherit. The truth of an aloneness Joel didn’t know if she was prepared for. 

He moves through the house slowly, afraid to disturb the ghosts and the silence. The interior, immaculate and beautiful and solemn. Something out of a movie picture or the gloss of a magazine. Something covered not in dust but in sadness. The stairs are silent as his spinning mind makes up for the creak, the boots she’d sent him on his last birthday hit the richly piled rug at the top, and the hallway to the bedrooms yawns long and frightening in front of him. Two grand a pop, the boots—Lucchese, he’d looked them up on the iPhone she’d sent him the year before. A gift giver, generous to a fault, kind to a detriment. She sent something to all the ranch hands that’d worked for her father since she was a girl. Something for the entire ranch at Christmas. And all he managed each time was a perfunctory thank you card, like he did every year because he remembered, years ago, in her little voice, polite people send thank you notes, Joel, my grandmother told me so. Last year he’d written that they were too much, that she shouldn’t have, that he was grateful. There wasn’t much else to say. 

That was the extent of their communication, familiar and stranger in one, the far removed golden child of the Kelly. They’d all called him that, the Kelly, for as long as he’d known the man. As if he was some Scottish laird of old, ruling over his clan and half the world. Egotistical, was what it really was. He’d thought himself a god among men, in the face of his only child. Ridiculous was what Joel saw it all for, a put on play, a farce.

And wonder of wonders, she was entirely unlike him because of course she would be. Of course a man ruled by nothing more than ego and narcissism had been sent his polar opposite in the form of his only child. Kind hearted, was what she was—sending him a birthday gift every year. Remembering them all here always no matter how far she’d gone. He sent her a thank you note for each benevolence in return, a word of respectful gratitude for the fact that a person like her could ever remember a dog like him. 

Sometimes, Joel had wanted to go to him, the old man, Oswald Kelly, and ask him where his daughter was, why he wasn’t looking for her, keeping her closer, caring for her. He wasn’t the sort of man that could’ve ever understood such callous behavior towards one’s child.

The last time she’d been here, over two years ago: less than forty eight hours that had ended in screaming so terrible they’d all heard it down from the barn, sitting in uncomfortable, swollen silence, the spinning of tires ringing as she yelled at her father that he was never going to see her again, the man’s echoing laugh as she’d fled him. 

Joel hadn’t seen her on that visit, it’d been so quick and angry. Flying down on the jet from New Haven for her father’s seventieth birthday and not even making it long enough for the festivities. This was what her life was, as he’d observed it from a distance for all these years, the singular daughter of this great house, coming to her father, attempting joy and finding nothing but disappointment at the end of him. 

She’d been right, a knowing streak running through her. Kelly had never seen her again, and Joel didn’t know if the old man had regretted it or not, the anger and the estrangement and the lack of love. But the last time he’d spoken to him, hours before setting off on their move, the herd always came before everything else, the ranch was all that mattered is what the man had always said, with death scratching at the window, his frail and withered body licked down to almost nothing from the austere and imposing figure Joel had always known him as, he’d asked for her. His only child. Do you think she’ll come, Joel? The dying man had asked him. My daughter, do you think she’ll come see me? Joel had lied a lie he hadn’t known was one, said she would, that he’d call her as soon as he was back. 

In the end, he hadn’t even afforded her that decency, a personal call.

He comes to her open bedroom door now, pitch dark as grief within, and the stench of sorrow and liquor seeping from the living grave. He looks down the long and empty hall for a brief second, wishing it didn’t have to be him, that again, he didn't have to see her any way other than okay. And he realizes that there’s something about her, as she will exist now, that makes him cowardly. Something about this house without the man who’d granted him the absolution of a hiding place all those years ago, who’d understood and sheltered Joel in the midst of his own past grief, that makes him cowardly. The house feels wrong without Kelly within it, wrong with only her as its holder now. 

Joel steps into her dark, and it’s a battleground—

—You are silent and motionless in the blue room. 

Nothing of the gleaming splendor that dresses the rest of the home sleeps in here. There are clothes everywhere, an exploded suitcase lies open and massacred in the middle of the plush white rug, a turned over bottle of red wine bleeding into your clothes. Shredded pages with scratched on writing slashed across them, the dusted white mounds of crushed pills, as if you’d smashed each one individually beneath the thumb of your grief. The sight makes him more afraid, the scent of weed and cigarettes heavy in the air, as he takes the final step towards the wrecked bed, and a single small foot hangs limply from the edge.

He stares at it long and hard for a second, afraid, afraid again, still, of what he’ll find. He says your name once, short and gruff like a dog’s bark. It’s what he feels like. Animal, bestial, lacking any sort of cognizance amidst this minefield. His heart beats against his spine, and he thinks he should do something else, shake you, check for a pulse, his bones throb inside his skin. He needs to fucking move, but the smell of smoke is so cloying he’s choking on his own tongue. 

Your ankle twitches.

And Joel sucks in a sigh of relieved air without panic, saying your name again. His voice is level now, maybe gentle, no more barking dog. His eyes move up the length of one pretty leg, and then quickly, he averts his gaze when he gets high up enough he’s met with soft-creased asscheek covered in silk. Swallowing his tongue, his eyes roll in their sockets, looking for anything else to look at besides the sight of panty clad ass. He steps closer again, gripping the edge of the sheet to pull it over your scantily clad body, eyes flitting to the silver spun clock on the nightstand, the warm glow of the hall light shows that they have two hours to get you sober and presentable before the funeral. 

Joel should have been here. He does not feel that he is even here now. And the guilt eats at him like acid. The fear too. 

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta get up now,” he says softly, taking hold of your shoulder, scalded by the feel of fragile skin, realizing with the suddenness of a gunshot that you’ll be the Kelly now. He gives you a gentle shake, “We’ve gotta get you ready,” and his heart pumps blood like a machine. The sight of the dry liquor bottle toppled on the nightstand, the shattered glass glittering the floor in crystal, the empty pill bottles, it all taunts him. His guilt is a cacophony in his mind. He knows he’s going to have to stick his fingers down your throat, make you spit it all up, that you’ll hate him for all of this afterwards, but when his gaze meets streaked rust, dark and shocking against the white sheets, he’s kicked into terrified action. 

He turns you over, your head lolling sickeningly in unconscious stupor, hair a tangled mess strewn about your face so that he has to dig for your eyes, parting the curtains of your fringe to uncover you. He focuses on your closed eyes, the too long lashes clumped together, lips cracked and parched. 

He should’ve fucking been here. 

Smoothing his fingers along the lengths of your arms, he keeps his eyes on your face and averted from all the skin that keeps peeking out below, searching the divots and slopes of your arms for hurts. When he gets to your right hand, battleground of a long ago broken hurt, he finds the drying crust of blood, the ragged split in the soft, small palm, thankfully shallow.

 His eyes smart, looking down at the broken glass, feeling the tear in you. 

Gripping you gently below the elbows he pulls you into his arms, cradled like a child, light as loss. Your head lolls again, neck crooked at an unnatural angle as he carries you into the restroom, careful of your head, knocking the lights on and putting you down in front of the toilet bowl. He pulls your camisole to rights, making sure everything is covered, and gathers your mess of hair as carefully as he can, trying his best to not snag the fragile strands in his too rough hands, but gripping you firmly in position. And ignoring the sound of your awakening cry, he sticks two fingers into your slack jawed mouth and down your throat until he feels the hot rush of vomit. 

Crouching behind you, his thighs bracket you, keeping your form from slumping over as you empty the poison from your belly, flushing the alcohol soaked bile as you struggle. He wipes his messy hand on the leg of his jeans and rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers woven through the soft silk of your hair to keep your head in place and your face clear. His heart thumps in rhythm with your heaves, your too quick, panicked breathing. There seems to be not enough oxygen for the two of you and your grief in the too small room of the commode, and Joel gasps like a dying fish, trying to swallow calm breaths. 

When you finally stop your heaving, you rest your arms at the edge of the gleaming porcelain, head hung low, defeated, wracked with shivers or silent sobs, he isn’t sure, a strange and horrible keening noise, so small he barely catches it, held in your throat. There’s the finest down of peach fuzz that covers the tender slope of your vulnerable nape, and it makes Joel feel suddenly, just as vulnerable, just as unprotected. At a complete loss for how to help you. 

“Finally decided to show your face,” you croak, voice ragged with your sick. 

His fingers tighten once around your shoulder, a panicked tick of reminder that he’s here now, that he’s him. “I was moving the herd. It had to be done. Your father, he—” he stutters, trying explain, tripping over his own guilt ridden words. “I didn’t think it’d happen now, so fast, that you’d get here so soon. I thought we had more time.” 

We. 

Your skin seems to cool by the second beneath his fingertips, and then you’re shrugging his touch away, huddling closer to the porcelain bowl, further away from him. 

“Get out.”

“Let me explain. I—” And he’s begging now. He can hear the note of it in his voice. Begging for forgiveness. For a chance. 

“I don’t want to see you.” You don’t say his name. “Get out.” It feels worse than anything. 

“I’m here now. I didn’t know— I didn’t think.” He reaches to grab for you again, but you turn to face him suddenly. Wiping the back of your hand against your mouth, pushing your heels at his shins to kick him away. Your eyes are red rimmed, the hollows beneath bruised with lack of sleep. But fire spits from the deep color, all anger and hurt. 

“Go deal with your fucking ranch,” you fling the words at him. “It’s all you care about anyways.” And they weren’t shivers, he sees now, they’re tears tracked as proof of all his guilt, all his lacking, along the slopes of your fine grained cheeks. 

Your, you say. As if this place and anything in it has ever been his. He’s never wanted any of it like that, only ever seen a thing that needed taking care of, and him, with the ability to care for it. 

“I needed you,” you whisper as if the thought comes along on a second wind of anger, a realization that sends your voice breaking, hitching, your chest caving in on itself as the tears come faster and faster now. “He’s dead, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks now too. He thinks he’ll cry now too, for the man who he also lost, who despite it all meant something to him, as well. For you, who’s lost even more. For Joel’s own guilt. 

But he doesn’t think you see any of that, not his apology, not his regret, not his own grief. You turn away from him again, laying your temple down again on your forearm. “Get out. I’ll be ready soon.”

And so he goes.

-

Your father is made small and withered in death. 

One of the wealthiest men in the entire world. A stranger, a titan, a nightmare of a man. 

It wasn’t something you’d ever considered, that a human body could look so colorless and frigid and not alive. Like a shock or a ringing bell, it’s a realization that you’re an orphan now. That you’re all alone. 

You feel something like a memory of regret. Or something that’s like the idea that you should feel regret, that you should feel guilt for how it was between the two of you. But all that is overshadowed by the reality of what you weren’t. All you feel even more, or in actual reality, is the old loss of what you’d never been to each other. That, you realize, is the seed of your grief. That long ago wound, that child’s understanding that he wasn’t like all the other fathers, that he’d never care for you the way other children were cared for. 

Looking down at the frozen face that looks nothing like the one he’d worn the last time you’d seen him, the wispy thatch of hair that hadn’t been so jarringly white before sickness had ravaged his body, you realize that this is no new loss, it is only a continuation, a reopening of a very old one. 

The cavernous cathedral at your back is silent, vacated by the sea of people that had congregated here earlier. And with sickening curiosity, you uncoil an arm from where you’ve got it wrapped around yourself, reaching out to press a finger against the ice cold back of his hand. Shockingly not alive; he feels made of rubber. 

Everyone that’d been here to bid farewell to this behemoth turned slip of a man, to catch a glimpse of you, packed like teeth into Jackson’s grandest cathedral; business men and heads of state from around the world, the oldest family names in the country, figures of the highest echelons of wealth and society, vipers circling the barrel—half the world here to see this person who was supposed to have been your father but was really only a stranger. 

You take your hand back, and you don’t say goodbye as you turn away from his body. There’s no farewell to really tell. 

And at the back of the church, hiding in a bright ream of sunlight, Joel stands propped against the face of a saint. Dark and silent and maybe even more far removed than your dead dad. Watching sentinel. Oswald Kelly’s hovering man—come to watch over him one last time. 

The silk of your stockings slide against each other at the junction of your thighs, the hiss of your skirt around your calves as your reed thin heels click against the stone, and you pull your armor as tightly around yourself as you can. There’s a hollow echo inside of everywhere and everything, your mind like a gong, reverberating, and his gaze is so steady, hazel bright, deeply shaded by the lip of his dark hat, beckoning you towards him from beneath the brim. 

Large and strong and steadfast, your heart gives a painful, longing thump—stupid, writhing thing—and you can only bear to look him in the eye for a second, and if you were to really think about saying goodbye to that father that never really was, lying behind you, slipping further and further away, you’d say it to the man that always stood as his shadow before the world, before you ever said it to the man himself. 

-

The drive back home is cast in frigid silence and made all the more uncomfortable because you can practically hear Joel’s brain clicking and ticking away with worry. 

He’d sent your car and driver away with a harsh word while you collected your final goodbyes and words of respect from the last smattering of people congregated and waiting for the newly birthed heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the world. 

Hovering over your shoulder, he’d kept anyone from stepping too close or getting too friendly, so close you could feel the heat of his chest through the silk of your blouse, and then going suddenly full on aggressive when a reporter from the New York Times had approached, fishing for a quote on the future of the Kelly empire. Ushering you away with a hovering hand at the small of your back before the man could get half a question out, he’s opening the truck’s door for you as a haze descends over your eyes, the distant shutter and flash of cameras bursting in your peripherals, a latent hangover and sleep deprivation and not enough to eat in the last forty eight hours causing you to sag in his hold. Then it’s only his big fist wrapping around the span of your wrist as he lifts you into the truck, your eyes downcast and unable to take in sight or sound, vision all a blur. You murmur a barely there thank you with his hand fitting at the dip of your waist, big body blocking yours entirely from prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse or a stumble, and for a single second, your entire weight is suspended in his hold, allowing you to bypass the struggle of balancing your high heel on the step up, and then you’re sliding onto the leather of the seat, the whisper of your cashmere and silk rustling around you as he handles you like a child being spirited away from the scene of a crime. 

The door shuts gently behind you, face turned away from the flashing lights, the watchful eyes of the whole world, and worst of all, the assessment of his concerned gaze. All you’re afforded are thirty seconds of privacy to let out a single gasping sob. 

And now, an hour and a half of silent purgatory. 

You slip your heels off, flexing your smarting toes against the damp of your stockings and tuck your folded legs beneath you on the seat. Paying the frantic energy of his anxiety and lodged words no mind, you consider instead: your new reality. The burden of it all means very little to you now. The last of your worries is being readied for entombing as the two of you speed down the eighty nine, zinging past the bright Wyoming green. The thrum of his truck drowns out your thoughts, brand new, probably over a hundred grand, only the best for your father’s right hand man, and the Kelly Ranch insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides. A brand for the whole world to see just who exactly is being whisked away to her old home turned brand spanking new grave. 

You might be feeling a little bit dramatic. But then again— you’d just put your last remaining parent in an actual grave, surely that provides you some allowances. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his big paw gripping the leathered steering wheel in a death clutch, knuckles white with his frustration at the dilemma you pose, his own discomfort. You’re sure if he thought you wouldn’t catch him, he’d be squirming in his seat. 

You do something to him sometimes, you know this. Not in any way you’d like, not in any interesting way, that of a woman affecting a man, but something respectfully harrowing. Maybe something a little bit like fear. 

There has existed between the two of you, always, that strange intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, and yet, have always remained at a far removed, arms length distance from one another. 

A professional intimacy of sorts. Your father’s foreman, shadow, fixer. The man who guarded that treasure trove you’d inherit one day, today; the thing your father loved most in the world. Two people who’ve known each other a long time, and yet, don’t really know each other at all. 

There has always been, however, the fact of the birthday. 

The birthday. Your birthday.

The way you’d latched onto that small, immense, detail when you’d first discovered it at fourteen, when he’d newly arrived at the ranch and the true weight of your first real crush had really hit you, it was probably not entirely healthy. But you’d thought yourself in love with your father’s man, the first figure of the male species who’d ever drawn your attention in such a way. 

He’d never paid you any mind; you were the boss's daughter, a figurehead or a responsibility, maybe a nuisance, although he’d never ever treated you as one. But the day someone had let slip it was his birthday, on the same day as yours, your teenage heart had swelled with the naive hope of fate. It was meant to be, the two of you were connected, so on and so forth, swallowed by girlish innocence and made buoyant by fantasy. 

But you’d had something to share with someone, which was what really mattered. Something tangible, even if only in your inexperienced little mind, something to wield as comfort so that the first time your father had forgotten your special day, fifteen, and what a tender age it had been, you’d had something to cling to. That's when your gifts to him had started. It was your way of making sure there was at least one person in the whole world who’d remember that was your day too. That you were alive, that you mattered. A reminder of yourself. And as the years and birthdays passed, sometimes, when he sent those coldly gracious notes of his, you’d wished you could’ve written back with honesty. Said something like, I’m so lonely, wish you were here, wherever it was in the world you’d found yourself at the time. 

And of course, he was gorgeous and older, strong and patient and capable, entirely unattainable. Impossible to forget. You’d gone so far, traveled wide, gotten yourself an overpriced education that would probably serve you for nothing, had lovers and parties and splendor, and always, you remembered your gifts for him, you remembered him. It was the single most important detail of your birthday every year. 

The leather creaks beneath his fist again, chapped knuckles set to burst before he flexes his fingers out, long and straight. Thickly built hands, strong, made for working or hurting, on a man who you’ve never seen be anything but stoically patient. 

He was strange in that way, neither wholly impulsive nor purposefully premeditated in his mannerisms. More so, it was that there was something extremely neutral about him, a middle buoyancy of personality. Strict with the cowboys, exacting, wielding his title as ranch foreman with an iron fist and your father’s blessing, and yet still, quiet, serious, with that patient gentleness about him. You’d seen it in the way he’d handled Ellie when she’d first come to the ranch, young and skinny with that hollow look of trauma kids who’d seen things they shouldn’t have shamed adults with. She’d been a little older than you, and with an air you’d not understood, a sort of lived past you’d been naive to the existence of, frightened when confronted by it, and yet inevitably, the two of you’d become fast friends eventually.

You’d even experienced it yourself, on two treasured occasions, that gentleness that you’d held onto for years. Nurturing the memory of him in your mind like a delusional bloom. 

He stretches his hand again, wheel caught between his thumb and forefinger, cinching it there, back and forth. His nails are meticulously clean, cut to the quick, and you imagine he must spend a great deal of time cleaning himself up when he works so hard at getting himself so dirty most days. 

You can see him sneaking glances at you, and he coughs once, a clearing of his nervous throat. Averting your gaze, you turn your face away so that you’ll be able to watch him through the reflection in the window. He monopolizes the space in the cabin of the truck, broad shoulders and hulking form, all the fine leather smell washed away in the scent of him. That bay rum aftershave he’s always worn, the one with the distinctive notes of bay leaf, cloves and citrus. An old fashioned scent, masculine and crisp. 

You’d snuck into the bunk once with Ellie, before he’d moved into the foreman’s cabin, before Switzerland, when the two of you were still girls running rampant and free through the ranch, clutching desperately at the last vestiges of any sort of happy childhood you could scrounge up for one another. You’d peeked in his things, found a whole world of Joel shaped curiosities. The glass etched bottle of aftershave, a hole spotted t-shirt with a burnt orange longhorn across the front, Flannery O’Connor’s The Complete Stories—something you found comforting, knowing he could read about the small, the freakish, real life; thinking that perhaps he was homesick for the comfort of the South, hungering for a taste of the life he’d had then, through books. And then, in a spine cracked copy of Suttree, the pages almost falling apart beneath your fingertips, dog eared and well loved, her picture tucked between the pages.

It had been the first time you’d done something you knew you shouldn’t have and actually regretted it, looking down at that green eyed photograph. 

You’d run back to your room after that, ashamed and something a little bit like jealous, desperate to know who she was, desperate for someone to keep a picture of you like that—as if they loved you. And years later, you’d found the scent for yourself. The little molasses glass bottle you still have and pull out on occasion, when you’re feeling extra bad, extra lonesome, extra far away from the whole world, just for a reminding of home. 

Beside you, he sighs again, coughs again, brings you back to himself and the present. Just spit it out already, you think exasperatedly, say something, anything else besides how sorry you are. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he starts, and you roll your eyes, scoffing quietly. 

“You already said that.” Sullen. Mullish. You wish you were a child who could still throw a tantrum and get away with it. Letting your eyes go unfocused from his reflection in the window, you brood at the sight of everything that’s yours now as he turns off the highway, passing below the iron eave of the Kelly Ranch entrance. Eight hundred thousand acres of pristine Wyoming land nestled into the deep valley surrounded by the Grand Tetons mountain range. 

“Well, I’m sayin’ it again.” He’s driving too fast, and you refuse to turn and look at his face. Your heart beats blood in your ears, and you screw your eyes shut to the dizzying blur of green legacy, not wanting to see any of it—him. 

Your belly swoops, going slightly nauseous and gurgling. 

“I didn’t think you’d get here so quick.” He swallows, “Hell, I didn’t think it’d all happen so damn fast.”

“I was already in New York,” you tell him, voice clipped with breathlessness. “I left Paris last week.”

“What? I didn’t know— I—”

“Why would you?”

“I would’ve called you. I would’ve gotten you out here quicker.”

“Ellie called. It’s better like this, Joel.” Finally letting yourself say his name out loud, it feels wrong and molten on your tongue, a heaviness being spit up from the depths of your stomach. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s dead now.”

“There’s no pretending. He wanted to see you—”

“Please, stop.”

But he urges on unheeded: “He told me so before I left. Told me—”

“Stop,” you snap. Finally turning to look at him and hating him for it. For how gorgeous he is, for all the things he’s always made you feel for as long as you can remember what it was to feel something for a man, for all he did or did not have with your father when you had none of it or so much of an entirely different thing. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any of it. It doesn't matter anymore, Joel.”

“But you should know. You deserve to know that—”

“What?” Because that one hurts. “I deserve to know what?” That he actually had loved you but had just never been able to show it? That now it was too late? That the only person the great Oswald Kelly had ever been able to speak to of the supposed care he had for his only daughter was the hired help? You’d read once that one should never let their parents anywhere near their real humiliations. You’d tried your damndest to follow that as soon as you’d grown up. “It’s not your place,” you seethe with teeth bared, an animal shoved into a corner and made to fight for its life, deciding you won’t ever let Joel near them either.  

He spits a cursing, growled sound of frustration, but doesn’t continue. The two of you find yourselves at an impasse, and you turn back to your windowed mirror of him, eyes pinching hot, filling with tears. One of the things your father disliked most about you, your easy tears, and a single salt marred inadequacy tracks down the slope of your cheek, dripping off the edge of your jaw into the bandaged cup of your palm, and you breathe slow and measured through your open mouth, watching the fog cloud grow and shrink against the glass obscuring your vision of him. 

-

The last time you’d missed your mother, the one you’d never known, in any sort of real and true way, you’d been eighteen. Returning to an empty house after celebrating your high school graduation in a far off school, alone. 

In the midst of your sophomore year, you’d been sent away to a Swiss boarding school. It had been something worse than devastating, losing your life in Wyoming, the only home you’d ever know, Ellie, the other people on the ranch… But it was far removed enough that you couldn’t bother, where you couldn’t ask for things like attention or consideration. The education had been excellent, the upbringing desperately lonely ending on a whimpering sigh despite your many accomplishments. You’d wanted her very badly then indeed, your mother. To have been there, to have helped you pick your dress, kissed your cheek after watching you walk across the stage. To have wiped your tears when she told you that your father wasn’t there because he was busy managing the whole world, but that he was proud of you, that he’d have been there if he could. You’d wished she could’ve been there to lie to you so that you wouldn’t have needed to lie to yourself. 

Peering down from your balanced perch atop the deck’s bannister, you survey the deep bed of Lily of the Valley, destroyed beneath the vindictive soles of your bare feet. He’d planted them for her all around the house after she’d died, her favorite flower. 

You’d always hated them. 

And that was the thing of it all, which you’d learned when you grew old enough to recognize such things like disdain. He couldn't stand you because you reminded him of her. Clichéd and old and tired. An excuse for being a neglectful father. The daughter who was too much like her dead mother, and thus did not deserve to be loved. 

You tip your head back, nursing at the lip of fine aged Macallan, and the sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks. You’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended. 

You’re certain you’re painting a pretty picture right now: tipsy on a bottle of your dead dad’s sacredly hoarded whiskey that probably cost as much as someone’s house, staring up at the stars in your newly inherited home with a whole unappreciated life full of possibilities ahead of you. Basking in the title of your newly minted— orphan-hood? Orphan-ness? A peer of the orphans. 

You snort softly, sucking on the bottle again, letting the heat of it settle in your belly, smolder in your heart. Your head feels full of bubbles and sugar and sad. 

There’s a part of you that feels a little ridiculous, despite the circumstances. You’re good at compartmentalizing, good at being objective of your realities. Obviously: sad because your father is now dead, and it’d been nine months and eleven days since you’d last spoken to him. Sad because he’d never given a shit about you. Sad because you’re alone, dumped by the stupid French jockey boyfriend who you’d not even liked very much, just a few days before this whole pathetic ordeal of acquiring your orphan-hood, yeah, that’s what you’re sticking with, had occurred. Not to mention the army of looming lawyers and financial advisors and various heads of business vying for your attention, waiting for the what next?

And Joel.

A one man army of looming Joel. 

So you’re feeling morose, blue, maybe a little spoiled, but brought low and cut short. Depressed and unsatisfied with your life thus far. 

Poor little rich girl. Poor little orphan. Poor little me.

What you want? 

Someone to care. 

Someone to love you. 

Hard to come by. Impossible to buy. 

The stars gleam purple silver, winking at you. The bracketing black so dark it swallows the eye. Another taste of the nutty bouquet of smoked apple oranges, and soon you’ll be tipsy enough you won’t be able to balance your butt on the bannister’s ledge anymore. Maybe you’ll go humpty dumpty over the edge and crack your skull against your mother’s valley of destroyed Lily’s. 

You laugh again with sound now, not crazy, only an orphan, ha, but you think that it’s only that it feels shockingly as if you’ve fallen through the surface of your life. As if you are still falling with nothing and no one to grab on to, to help stabilize you. A really terrible, shit-out-of-luck feeling. 

Your eyes continue their infernal leaking, and you blow your nose loudly on the inside of your sweater. You’ve given yourself three days to do whatever the hell you want, be as disgusting as you may. When the three days are up you’ll plan to get your act together, take responsibility and hold of your life and become the woman you should be. 

Who that is? Still being decided. 

You think that maybe you’ll buy another jet before that time’s up. Or an island. Something ridiculous. Maybe you’ll sell the goddamn ranch. 

You eye the dark rolling hills of the valley with seething suspicion. Let’s see what Joel says about that. You, marching up to the highway entrance and spearing a For Sale sign in the dirt of the largest privately owned cattle ranch in the continental United States. Way more than that God forsaken surly frown is what you’d get. 

So long, Joel, it’s been swell. I’m done with this place. It’s time to pack it up and find some new hunk of land to care about more than you care about me or anything else. 

Maybe you’ll be real funny and put up a Craigslist ad. 

And it isn’t that you don’t love this place, the only home you’ve ever known. You do. In a way that is passionate and consuming and irreconcilable. Everything about it, the serenity, the guarding mountains and the deep woods, the home you’d been born in, that both your parents had died in. You do love it in your way. 

It’s only that every man you’ve ever loved—loved—had always cared more about the place than he’d ever cared about you. 

For the longest time, most of your youth until you’d decided that you officially felt an adult, you’d thought you’d hated your father. There was just so much anger and resentment and the resound of his ever furious words and insults and endless disappointment. The echo of no mother ringing so loudly in your ears that the confounding feelings had all been mistaken for hatred. But with age and distance and life, you’d realized you didn't hate him. You never had. You thought, actually, and this was a very good and mature thought of yours, that you were the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him as only a man and not a god. 

He was only a man, full of greed and grief and missing the mother of the child he’d probably never wanted. Nothing more or less. 

Maybe it was that you felt sorry for him. Not in the way of pity, but in the way of one person feeling empathy for another in a clinical and helpless sort of manner. And a numb, detached sort of sadness. A longing for something that you’d never had and had always wanted but eventually learned to live without. 

Ultimately, his disappointment had turned on him, and now it was all you felt you had for him at the end of it all. 

But, for some reason, and an annoying one at that, you do think that, if you try very, very hard, you could bring yourself to hate Joel Miller. There’s satisfaction in that possibility, vindication—resentment that even now, as practically strangers, you know he’d be able to pull that sort of feeling out of you which could result in hatred. Something strong and overwhelming and not easily escaped. 

Your stomach rumbles, and you smile blithely at all your inherited legacy, filling the hollow with more drink. Three days to behave very badly, as badly as you can. The whiskey is so good, and swishing it around in your mouth, you tip your head back further, gurgling it loudly at the back of your throat. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jerk, scrambling to keep your balance, choking a little on smokey apples and your own spit. A trickle of the golden amber liquor drips out of the corner of your mouth as you find him hiding in the dark across the deck. Accustomed to drooling over him, you wipe it away with the back of your hand. 

“Having a party. Would you like to join?”

“Are you drunk again?”

Tough crowd. Ugh.  “Never mind. You’re not invited. Go away.”

“You need to go inside and go to bed.”

You tip your chin at him, putting on doe eyes. “Alright. And are you going to be my new daddy also?” You say in a baby voice.

Fucking Christ, you hear him whisper under his breath, turning away to run an exasperated palm over his mouth. Frustration seethes off of him like sulfur. He’s tired. Of you maybe. Of the whole circus this place has become in the past few days—and rightfully so. 

“What do you want? I’m extremely busy, if you can’t tell.”

“Just thought I’d check on ya.” Courteous, always the gentleman, bullshit. You roll your eyes at him. 

“I don’t need you to check on me.” And you, ever the child. One day you swear you’ll grow up. 

But it can’t be said that you’re entirely selfish either. You have considered the fact of Joel’s own grief at the loss of your father. After all, they’d been much closer than you’d ever been to him for many years. And maybe, in his own cold and removed and superior way, your father had seen this man who you’ve thought yourself in love with since you were a teenager, as something like a son. 

Probably, that’s just your own wishful thinking: that Oswald Kelly had ever been capable of such tender feelings.

Maybe the fact of Joel’s own grief is the thorn beneath your nail bed that’s making you so angry with him, so needing of his attention. Maybe it’s that he’d failed to fulfill your silly and girlish fantasy that upon receiving the news of your only remaining parents death, he’d have been here waiting for you, at this home he’d guarded for you for so long, ready to take you into his arms and console and care for you. 

When instead, he’d been off doing what he’d always done for as long as you’d known him. Protecting your father’s interests, his legacy. 

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How?”

“You, being difficult.” Driving me fuckin’ crazy— he adds again under his breath. 

“I’m an orphan now, Joel.” You’re becoming quickly addicted to the word. “I think I should be afforded a tiny bit of leeway to drive people fuckin’ crazy,” you mock his Southern drawl. Enough of your time has been spent in Europe over the past two years, kissing Europeans, that you’d sloughed off the last of your America twang; something of a vaguely European lilt peppering your words every now and then that Ellie likes to tease you for whenever the two of you speak on occasion. 

A muscle under his left eye twitches at the jab, and you take another deep swig of the bottle, provoking him with your gaze. Wishing you had whatever it is a woman needs to entice this man. Like the fucking vet. Fucking world renowned, brilliant, highly coveted, beautiful veterinarian. You know about her. You’re sure he thinks he’s been discreet over the years with their whatever they’ve had, Tess, but you know. 

Maybe you’ll be insane and irrational and possessive, taking advantage of your three crazy days, and fire her with your new found power. See what he has to say about that. Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha. 

Obviously not. 

Despite your current hysteria, your goal is not to send the ranch head over heels into a tailspin.

But the imagining is soothing. 

“Want some?” You hold the heavy crystal out towards him in a peace offering, held precariously between two sweaty knuckles. “It’s probably worth as much as your truck. Would be a waste for me to finish on my own.” You eye what’s left of it, about half, and give him a sheepish grin. It really is very good. 

He looks at you for one long, solemn moment, always so silent and pensive, this strange enigma of a man. You get to watch in real time as he loses whatever fight it is he’s trying to fight against you, victorious when he shrugs and comes over slowly, resting his butt against the bannister—a carefully respectful distance away from you. 

When he takes the bottle from your swinging clutch, gripped from the base, careful not to touch you in any way, you see the real sad in his eyes. The dim lights bleeding out through the big windows of the family room without a family shine on his face in strips and bursts. A shadow here, golden warmth there. He’s got more lines around his eyes than you remember from the last time you’d been this close to him. Smile lines made bright white in the center and gold burnished at the edges from too much sun. There’s little bursts of silver threaded at his temples now too, a gleam here and there in his dark beard. Forty four years old, he’d turned on your last birthday. 

You dig your nails into the soft meat of your palms, and your belly smolders as he brings the bottle to his lips, tasting the exact place your own mouth had just been moments ago. You press your knees together as hard as you can, head a little woozy with the color of his eyes; the most gorgeous green, caramel hazel. 

You’d graduated two years ago with a degree in art history and had done absolutely nothing with it since. It was just that everything appeared boring and pointless and shallow. Your whole life had one day suddenly seemed just a little silly. Useless, overpriced degree, nothing to be done with extensive knowledge in color theory when your world is expecting such different things from you now. 

But you sure as hell can appreciate the color of his eyes in extensive and meticulous detail. There is that. 

Watching the slow slide of the amber liquor down the bottle-neck, the long pull of his lush mouth, the ripple of his strong throat, and the way his eyes go a little wider, shocked at how good it is. You laugh soft: “I know, right.”

He takes another pull, another swallow. That’s what you want to be—swallowed just like that. “Damn, that’s good.” His mouth is a little wet, bottom lip shiny with thousands of dollars worth of your father’s favorite whiskey, and his eyes are sad. 

You’d said you were going to be bad, but you don’t want to be bad to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He swallows again, tipping his head towards you, trying to catch your too soft words—he’s got a bad ear, you know why—and turns to peer at you from beneath his low pulled brow, the tip of his tongue peeking out to swipe at the drop of liquor you wish you could suck off his tongue. 

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

The first time he’d shown you that gentleness of his: You’d fallen from your horse at school in your junior year. Something had frightened the beast, and she’d bucked you, sent you flying ten feet in the air, ragdoll-like, before you’d landed badly on your right arm, a comminuted fracture in your radius that you’d needed surgery to fix. At your insistence, and with only a few weeks left to spare, you’d been sent home for the remainder of the semester. Your father had been incensed but eventually allowed it. He’d been away from the ranch on business, after all, at no risk of being truly disturbed by you. But when you’d been readying to return to Switzerland at the end of the summer, arm healed, courage not, you’d not been able to get back on a horse no matter what you tried. Joel had helped you, before they’d shipped you off again. Trotted the corral with you for hours and hours before you’d finally been able to relax and sit on your own without tears and vertigo. No questions or admonishments, nothing but the quiet burr of his deep voice, guiding you and the mare along. 

It had been a kindness unlike any you’d experienced in maybe your whole life. 

“I’ve been bad.”

“Nah. You couldn’t ever be.”

The second time: “Did today make you think of Sarah?” Years after you’d found that green eyed photograph, he’d shared her with you. 

His gaze turns suddenly sharp, but you’re not worried you’ve stepped in unbreachable territory. “Yeah.” The echo of her name rings around the two of you. 

“In a bad way or a good way?” He takes another long swig, a low whistle through his teeth and a shake of his head before he’s handing the bottle back to you—again, carefully. 

“Both.”

You take your own swallow, slicking your tongue all around where his just was, and you’re drunk for real now. Drunk on a man. 

“Do you ever regret telling me about her?”

“Nah.” He tips his head back, looking up at the thick beams of the deck’s awning. He’s got the longest lashes you’ve ever seen on a man, thick and curling. The deepest voice you’ve ever heard too, sultry, a bedroom voice. A voice for fucking. Your belly swirls and dips, and you want so much you’re dizzy with it. 

Heart beating like it’s about to burst, out of breath on the verge of hyperventilating, you can taste his mouth in your mouth, the imagination flavor of it. This is what it must feel like to die. This is what your father must have felt like three days ago, this agony. 

His Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s so pronounced, the skin of his throat sun pebbled. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t all rough-hewn man. “You needed to hear about her then, I s’pose.” 

Yes. “You told me when I needed you to.” After that lonely graduation, the last time you’d missed her really very badly, longed for a mother. Alone, alone, alone little girl. 

“You were missin’ your momma somethin’ fierce. Needed to know you weren’t the only one that felt like that sometimes.”

You laugh a not-laugh, butt scraping against the railing, slipping off your perch, socked-feet thudding beside his gifted boots. The pleasure you feel whenever you see him use one of the things you’ve given him is indescribable. 

“Silly,” you say with barely any sound, his bad ear reaches for your voice again. “At the time it felt like I was the only person in the whole world that had ever felt like that.”

“We all feel like that at one point or another, I reckon.”

“Will you miss him a lot?” You ask looking up at him, the beautiful profile, the strong jaw. You’ve always wondered how he sees you. If he’s ever thought you were beautiful. Other men do, it’s a common thing, a nothing sort of thing. There are always men, there will always be men. But this singular man—this one is not like the rest. 

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet, don’t think. But it felt wrong earlier, walking through his house without him in it.” His house, not yours. 

“Do you wish he’d been your father?” And he turns to look down at you at that, gaze snapping, and you can tell you’ve shocked him with the question. But you’d always wondered. 

“No. Never,” he says with such assuredness, an uncompromising shake of his head. 

And the answer doesn't necessarily shock you in turn. You don't think anyone could have ever wanted a father like that. But it also doesn't help you understand what it was that lived between them either. 

He sighs, perhaps reading the confusion in your gaze. “He helped me at a time when I needed it real bad. Gave me a place and a purpose and a thing to do and take care of. You get me? It was gratitude—maybe. He saved me in a way, after Sarah. Nothing more.” He thinks for a moment, and then, “Perhaps it was that we understood each other about certain things.”

You gaze across the sprawl of dark land as far as the eye reaches, that point of no return where the earth shoots up into the sky, purple blue behemoths in the shape of mountains. 

From this spot, rooted to the deck of your family home, it seems like the whole world is yours to keep. Also, like you’ll never be able to touch any of it with fingers or taste or meaning. 

Your love for this place is complicated—tied up in the people, the memories, the could’ves and should’ves, the whole dreamscape idea of the monument of childhood and all it’d really never been. The time away had felt eternal, like you’d never really been here to begin with, like the young girl who’d grown up on this land had never really existed. But you’d not forgotten them, this, despite your distance. Your home, the father that wouldn’t want you, Wyoming and all its splendor, the people you’d left behind, Joel and Ellie and shared birthdays that meant a secret world to you. Morsels of small happinesses interloped amidst a largely lonely and sad childhood. That’s what it was at its core. 

“Would you be angry with me if I gave it all away?”

He thinks for a moment, maybe you’re making him sadder, but then finally says with a swallow, “No. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

You eye the quarter of whiskey left, but your belly isn’t hungry for its warmth anymore. You want something heavier now. 

“Could you even do that—legally—sell it or somethin’?”

“Probably not. He probably tied it to my fucking life. Sell and die.” You mime your name in an imitation of your fathers deep voice, frowning at yourself the way he’d always frowned when he looked at you, but it pulls a laugh from him, and the painful memory is worth it. “But I have a billion dollars to spend now. More?” You tap your chin—you want to make him laugh again. “Gotta think of something interesting to do with it all.”

His mouth slides into an easy half grin. Like the moon—that beautiful. And he turns to face you fully. “You’re gonna be just fine. You know that, right?”

You turn to face him too, gripping the bannister for dear life. “What? Will you make sure of it?”

“That’s my plan.”

“How’re you gonna do that, d’you reckon?” The American twang bleeds back into your voice, and you’re all swollen lush on the inside, heart a beating fist in your chest. 

“Haven’t gotten that far, if I’m bein’ honest with you.” God. His eyes, the strong bridge of his nose, his mouth. He’s so tall your head has to crook back to look up at him. “I’ll figure something out.” And after another pensive second, and still with that soft, sloped eye smile, he asks, and nicely, “Will you stop dinking now—for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say with the same sort of smile in return. 

And then suddenly, like vomit again but maybe more humiliating this time: “Did you respect him?” Because you don’t know all the things about him that there are to know, but you do know that Joel Miller’s respect is a thing hard earned. 

He clicks his tongue, and you hear the pop of his jaw as he shifts it like he’s chewing on an honesty. His eyes, his eyes, they’re serious, mercurial, warm and deep also. You worry he won’t answer, that he wouldn’t want to disappoint you or something, but then: “No,” said real simple like.

“Why not?”

And the way he looks down at you, you know already, and it makes that falling through the surface of your own life feeling rise up inside you again, makes your ears pop with embarrassment. Ah. “He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.” 

This is reality right here, this is you falling through your life, this is the realization that it wasn’t only you imposing yourself, your existence, on someone with gifts they didn’t want or ask for. Joel had seen. Joel had understood. 

Someone else had noticed that you exist, and it had been him. 

What else had you ever wanted?

And in the blink of a desperate, yearning eye, drunk on a man still, you’re throwing yourself at him, pressing your mouth hot and heavy to his, kissing him full on the way you’d dreamt of since you knew to dream of such things.

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[simp4konig]

Okay okay I have to ask, what’s your fav head canons of Nikto then? I love hearing other people’s ideas and head canons of cod characters ^^ 💕

Ngl, i get inspired by other people's headcanons, and i make headcanons off THEIR headcanons 🥲👍… I'm unoriginal 😔💔

SOOOO, im “” Tagging”” (by that i mean putting // after the @ so the original creators dont get the notifcation for this LMAO=) blogs whose own works inspired me to create my own headcanons 🥰❤️

General Nikto Headcanons ❤️

Word Count: 1,584.

Tag List: ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23 ♡ @dobaddo ☆ @the-second-sage ☆ @wil-xyz ☆ @revnatheshadow ☆ @feelya

Allusions to NSFW beneath the cut! Readers are warned.

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Blunt and straight to the point. Sees no rhyme nor reason in beating around the bush and sugarcoating his words. As a result, he can be viewed as insensitive and lacking in empathy.

Impatient, and has a short fuse, so blows up often. Only you are able to be the calm after his storm, subduing him with soft reassurances and whispered words.

To say that he is possessive would be an understatement — he is extremely territorial.

After his torture, he is wary of the few things that he posesses and can actually call his own (you). His biggest phobia is losing you, and his irrational fear is someone stealing you away. Any prick unlucky enough to not catch on to you two dating will be lucky enough to survive the beating that he is given.

On that note, he is simultaneously self-assured, and insecure.

His mask is a part of him, and personal. It will take him months for him to shed said part of him.

Constantly fears that you will leave him once he reveals his face to you, so puts it off for as long as he possibly can. The day that he takes off his mask, only for you to be so casual about it and passing it off as your day-to-day, is the day that became cemented in his hard, stony heart.

Has conflicting views towards marriage. On the one hand, is an official document declaring your relationship really so necessary? Isn't an expensive wedding superfluous, and too sensational? To him, all of that is redundant — he's yours, and you're his…

…On the other hand, a glistening ring on your finger invokes a primal desire to make you more his than you are already. It would be a declaration of a love which even death wouldn't do part. Maybe he should pay more attention to the rings on display at the jewellery stores you pass by when shopping occasionally together.

An introverted man, who finds solace in solitude; excluding you, his partner, he has no companions, and rarely associates with anyone else. The voices in his head are bothersome enough, so why does he need additional voices bothering him? With that said, you would think that your presence would be a bother — especially with your mindless chatter when Nikto doesn't grunt at the idle small talk at times, wholly unresponsive for the majority of the time — but the moment you give any indication of leaving, he seizes your wrist, his cold, icy eyes silently pleading for you to stay. And you do. You always do.

Bringing me onto my next point: he is a good listener. Your ramblings are all that to you; ramblings. To Nikto, however, it's his chance to unpick all the information about you, down to the littlest of details. You wrongly assume that your words fall on deaf ears, but he listens, and he memorises every opinion you have, every statement you make, and even the small anecdotes that you share, which becoming engraved in his brain. He goes over every sentence religiously, as if it was the Bible.

He has an exceptionally good memory, tending to remember things that you had forgotten. Mention something that you craved in passing? He would surprise you with it the next time you bring it up. Alluded to someone who insulted you and ruined your day? Well, it would be no surprise that that person would never ruin your day ever again.

He is like a cat in the sense that he is an unwanted stray. However, when you came to want him, it dawned on you that he was no cat, but a panther. A predator — savage, vicious.

He would kill for you, no questions asked (He has already done it, but you don't know about that. After all, you hadn't asked him that question yet, only in jest. Truth be told, he has made so many death threats that you have become desensitised to them, dismissing them as nothing more than that: threats).

He would have died for you (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE @//charliemwrites’s DEPICTIONNOF NIKTO IN THIS SCENE??????? HAD ME ON MY KNEES 🛐💍🧎🏼‍♀️ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE VI NEED HIM SOVBAD); however, when you were hyperventilating as you sobbed and were close to reaching hysterics, that's when he realised that he should value his life more.

Incredibly stealthy. You've seen his execution animations… 🤒 Uses that stealth to sneak up on you whenever your guard is down to smack your ass. 🤭

Insomnia troubles him at night, the relief of sleep rarely coming to him; therefore, he tends to be nocturnal, buying groceries and going about the usual errands you would have otherwise done during the day. When you wake up, that empty fridge is magically stocked with your favourite food, your bear snoozing sometimes — most of the time he stares at you like a creep. 💀 /aff

When he does sleep, it tends to be during the day, and it's almost as if he is a bear entering hibernation

He sleeps like a plank — on his back, his arms by his sides, and his legs straight. You'll curl onto his side, your head on his chest, his legs between your core, and a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

Snores. REALLY loud. 😬 ONLY when you are in his arms 🙄 — when he sleeps alone, he is eerily silent.

Subsequently finding him laying in bed, still and silent, you were sobbing, thinking that he died in his sleep. Finally, after minutes of shaking him awake, he opened one eye, and grumbled groggily: “Дорогая, shut up. I am not dead. Not when I have you to live for. Now, come.”

Once he is asleep, good luck getting him to wake up again; unless you somehow manage to disentangle yourself from his arms — only then, when his myshka is missing, does he begrudgingly get up from bed, stand outside the bathroom door, and whisk you back to bed, willfully ignoring your complaints.

Proud of being your protector. Always has his hand[s] on you in some way or other, protectively keeping you by his side.

Has 20/20 vision, and perfect hearing.

Don't mistake his opening of pickle jars and water bottles for you as chivalry — he is taking advantage of it to show off his muscles for you. Doesn't want you to ask if you want to cup a squeeze of his bicep — when he sees you staring, he will forcibly take your hand and put it on his arm, positively smirking beneath that mask of his.

Has a staring problem and is unashamed of it. From his point of view, there is no problem in staring at you all day and every day.

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Eye contact with him is intense. Whenever you avert your gaze, he instantly grabs your chin to angle it so it's facing him. Eye contact during sex is a given.

Despite not wanting to be a father, he has an insatiable breeding kink (does not care whether you are a female, a male, an infertile female, or other — he is delusional in that sense).

Although he isn't against children per se — mainly indifferent to them, if I'm honest — wouldn't want to pass on the generational trauma onto his brood. He would prefer his bloodline ending with him.

His dirty talk is so filthy that you get wet from just his voice and innuendo. (Thank you @//xoxunhinged for your headcanon 😫💦)

His animalistic instincts are so prominent that you've become convinced that he purrs whenever you stroke that sensitive spot on his scalp, and growls in between grunts as he thrusts into you.

Is rough, leaving dark hickeys and bruises, but he would never, ever hurt you. He's rougher than most, but has sufficient self-restraint to be realise ahead of time if he is making you uncomfortable.

You are his deity, and he worships you — if he was to ever hurt you, he would enter a state of loathing. Since you were a merciful God, he would take the liberty of punishing himself — retribution suited to his crime.

One time you two were play wrestling and he almost dislocated your hip on accident. He didn't touch you again for at least two weeks, until he finally considered himself worthy of your touch.

Is dominant in bed, for two major reasons: because he prefers exerting the control which was forced upon him, relishing in having you submit to him; manhandling you to showcase his strength

A third reason is because if you were to ever top him, he'd cum embarrassingly quickly.

Probably gets off to being stronger than you. Deliberately puts you in positions which render you powerless, only able to take what he gives you.

Whenever you enter his room, he always sits in the darkness. Insists: “I do not need lights. Lights are wasted when I can see in the dark.”

Which is true... but it is also a pretence to hide the concerningly detailed shrine taking up an entire wall, dedicated to you. You'll come to find all of your lost trivial belongings when you mistakenly flick on the light switch.

His loyalty and devotion is unparalleled to any other's. He is utterly and unashamedly down bad for you, and he is willing to do anything and everything to keep it that way.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to do much, because you, too, love him. A lot.

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A/N I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIMI NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEEDH IM I NEED—

Yeaah i thought comparing him to a panther would be cool 🐈‍⬛

“Guard dog” and just anything to do with a “dog” is an overused trope to me at this point 😐. Dont get me wrong!!!! , it doesnt mean that i dont LIKE the trope!!!! , but my own interpretation of Nikto is a little different, abd i think it suits him better,, Esp bc panthers technically 🤓☝️ do *not* exist, which links to how the definition of his name in Russian is “Nobody” :)

An unconventional animal for a very unconventionally attractive man😽,,

Anyways, it is time for a cigarette 🚬🤏😪. I will return in approximately 56 business days (trust me guys 😋✌️).

[fanfictionalraven]

Dream Warriors Chapter 7

Title: Dream Warriors Chapter 7

Summary: The story jumps back a few days. The pieces fall into place.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, other original characters

Word Count: 2,438

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Author’s Note: I didn't realize how short this one was. I hope things make sense.

Read Chapter 6 here.

*Three Days Earlier* 

You step out of the steamy shower and grab the nearby towel, drying your arms and legs off quickly. You, Dean, and Sam had just gotten back to the bunker after a long hunt and the shower had been the perfect remedy for your achy, tense muscles. Wrapping the towel around yourself tight, you step out into the hallway. Normally, you wouldn’t have risked a towel-clad run through the halls of the bunker but you’d been in such a rush to get under the hot water you hadn’t bothered to grab your clothes. You round a corner and run smack into a plaid covered chest. Dean’s arm catches you at the waist quickly. 

“Whoa, Sweetheart,” he says, looking down at you. The two of you stand there for a moment before Dean clears his throat and lets you go. You tighten your grip on the towel as you take an awkward step away from your best friend. “I, ugh…I was just coming to find you actually.” 

“What’s up?” You ask. 

“Sammy found a case,” he says. You blink and shake your head slightly. 

“Another one? We just got back,” you tell him. He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Says it’s a witch and he already knows who it is. Quickie,” he says with a wink. You let out a laugh and nod. “You don’t have to go. You took a pretty big hit on this last one. Rest up and we should be back by the end of the night.” 

“Hell, no, Winchester,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “You two don’t get to have all the fun around here. Now, let me go get dressed. I don’t like the way you’re leering at me.” 

“I don’t leer,” Dean says, stepping aside. Winking at him, you rush past and down to your bedroom. 

You throw on the first set of clothes you find before taking care of your wet head. A few minutes later, you meet Sam and Dean in the garage. Both are leaned against the Impala waiting. Dean laughs and shakes his head. 

“You gotta quit raiding my closet when I’m not home,” he says. You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” You ask. 

“That’s my shirt,” he says, pointing to the oversized plaid shirt you’re wearing. You look at it then back at him and shrug. 

“Is that a problem?” You ask, crossing your arms. He smirks as he looks you over. 

“Not even remotely,” he says. Sam rolls his eyes and turns to get in the car, mumbling something about being disgusted. 

“You’re leering again, Winchester,” you tell him before going around to the backdoor of the car. Dean rolls his eyes as he gets in as well. 

It’s only about an hour drive to their possible witch’s house. You and Dean spend the drive annoying Sam by singing obnoxiously to Dean’s old cassettes. Dean parks the car across the street from the house and Sam quickly shuts the radio off. 

“That was my favorite song!” You protest. Sam shoots a look back at you before pointing to the house. 

“Kaylee Morgan,” he says. 

“And why do we think she’s our witch?” Dean asks, pulling his gun out. Sam glances at him. 

“Well, she hasn’t exactly been hiding her feelings about a couple of strange deaths in town,” he explains. You nod slightly as you look at the house. 

“Okay. Well…that doesn’t mean she’s behind it,” you object. Sam nods and pulls his phone out. 

“I went through her social media, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter,” he starts, scrolling. “Two weeks ago, she checked in at a bookstore. A weird, old bookstore with weird, old books. She posted this picture.” He shows the two of you a picture of a book. 

“Weird and old. Sure,” you say, nodding. Sam switches screens on his phone. 

“It’s an old witchcraft book. Like…worse than the Grimoire we have,” he explains. “A few days later, she literally tagged both of the victims in a post telling them to watch out.” 

“Did the cops check her out?” Dean asks. Sam nods. 

“They did but there wasn’t anything to link her to the crimes so they cleared her. But their deaths were definitely…witchy. Called the medical examiner and guess what he found on each of the two bodies?” 

“Hex bags?” You ask. 

“Hex bags,” Sam says, smiling. Dean nods then shrugs his shoulders. 

“Well this should be easy enough. What do you say we waste the bitch then go hit that diner we passed on the way in?” He asks, holding his gun up. 

“We still need to make sure,” you tell Dean, leaning over the front seat. You pop open the glove box and dig around briefly before pulling a badge out. You check the ID quickly to make sure it’s one of yours then fall back into the seat. “I’ll go in. Talk to her. See what I can get.” 

“What? By yourself?” Dean asks. You shrug and pull your phone out. 

“I’ll leave you on speaker. If you hear anything, come running,” you tell them as you call Dean. He takes his phone out and puts it on speaker before muting it. 

“Y/N,” he says as you open the door. You look back at him and he’s frowning. “Be careful.” 

“Always,” you say with a wink before getting out quickly. Glancing down the street, you rush across to the house. You knock on the door and look around the porch as you wait. It opens a moment later and you smile at the petite blonde behind it. “Ms. Morgan?” 

“Yes?” She asks, eyeing you skeptically. You pull the ID from your pocket and show it to her through the crack. 

“FBI. Agent Prince. Can I have a word with you?” You ask. She frowns as she looks at it then back at you. 

“I already talked to the police. They let me go,” she says. You smile and nod, pocketing the ID once again. 

“I understand. This is just a follow-up. Won’t take long. I promise,” you assure her. She watches you for a moment before sighing and pulling the door open all the way. Stepping inside, you look around. The house is decorated simply enough, nothing seemingly suspicious. “I like your hair,” you comment on her blue and green streaks as you follow her into the living room. She looks back at you as she takes a seat in a chair. 

“Can we skip the fake pleasantries and get on with it?” She asks. You force a smile and nod, sitting on the sofa across from her. 

“Sure. You knew the victims?” You ask. She shrugs her shoulders, crossing her arms. 

“We graduated together. They were a-holes,” she tells you. You nod slightly. 

“What? Bullies?” You ask. She shrugs her shoulders once again. “Why did you threaten them?” 

“I didn’t,” she says. 

“You tagged them…” 

“In one little post telling them they needed to be careful who they piss off, sure. But there was no threat,” she argues. You nod once as you watch her. “Besides, how would I have done it? I’m a college dropout. Didn’t their hearts explode or something?” 

“Well, it doesn’t take a college degree to Google something or…I don’t know…read a book,” you say. She tenses up slightly and you smile. “Anything sounding familiar?” 

“No. I don’t think so. Excuse me,” she says, standing suddenly. You watch as she leaves the living room quickly. You take your phone out and hold it closer. “She’s definitely hiding something,” you say quietly. 

“We’re coming up,” Dean says before ending the call. You rise to your feet and start to walk around the living room, casually looking for clues. 

“Are your friends coming?” Kaylee asks, suddenly behind you again. You spin around and raise an eyebrow at her. 

“Pardon?” You ask. 

“You’re a hunter, right? Your friends out in that old junker. You tell them I’m a witch?” She asks. Your eyes narrow and you take a swing, hitting her square in the jaw. She stumbles back and grabs a nearby vase, smashing it against your head. Your ears begin to ring and you blink as you take a step away. The door opens and Sam and Dean come rushing into the house. 

“Y/N!!” Dean calls out. Kaylee looks over as Dean and Sam step into the room. 

“Time to go,” she says. “Somnium clipeum!” She throws a handful of powder at you and everything goes black as you fall to the floor. Dean’s eyes widen as he looks around. 

“Y/N!!” He rushes to your side and drops to his knees, checking your pulse. “She’s alive. Where the hell did that witch go?” 

“I don’t know. She…she literally disappeared,” Sam says before running into the next room. 

“Y/N,” Dean says, shaking you slightly. “Y/N, you gotta wake up, Sweetheart.” Sam comes back into the room and shakes his head. 

“She’s just gone,” he says. Dean frowns and moves to lift your body into his arms. 

“She hit Y/N with something. We gotta get her to a hospital,” he tells his brother. Sam nods and rushes to the front door.

They get your body out to the car and Dean gets into the backseat, holding you close. “Come on, Y/N, please.” He pleads and begs constantly the entire drive to the hospital, trying to wake you up. Sam pulls the car into the parking lot of a local hospital. The two brothers get you into the emergency room and a couple of nurses jump up from the desk. One runs down the hall as the other approaches. 

“What happened?” She asks, checking your pulse quickly. Dean shakes his head. 

“She just fell out,” he says. The second nurse returns with a stretcher and Dean lays you on it. They begin to push you back and Dean starts to follow before the nurse stops him. 

“You need to wait here,” she tells him. Sam touches his brother’s shoulder and the two move into the waiting room together. Dean falls into a chair and runs his hands over his face. 

“I shouldn’t have let her go in alone,” he says. Sam sighs and shakes his head. 

“Dean, we didn’t know. We didn’t think she’d be in that much danger,” he tries to comfort his brother. 

A few minutes later, the first nurse comes back into the waiting room. Dean jumps up and rushes over to her, Sam right behind him. She smiles at them, reassuringly. 

“We don’t have anything yet. They’re still working on her. I need you to fill out the paperwork though,” she says, handing Dean a clipboard. He nods slightly as he takes it. 

“Right…right,” he says before returning to his seat. Sam sits next to him and watches over his shoulder as Dean begins to fill out the paper. He raises an eyebrow as he writes a name. 

“Y/N Winchester?” He asks. Dean shrugs slightly. 

“If they think I’m her husband, they’ll let me go back and see her more easily,” Dean says, not looking up. Sam watches with amazement as Dean moves through the paperwork quickly and easily, not having to think about a single answer. 

“She’s allergic to Tylenol?” He asks. Dean looks at him and nods. 

“Yea? You didn’t know that?” He asks. Sam shakes his head slightly. 

“Why would I know that?” He asks. Dean shrugs and looks back at the paper. He checks to make sure everything is filled out before going back to the desk. 

“My wife’s paperwork,” he says, handing it to the nurse. She smiles and thanks him. 

The two sit. They pace. They wait. Four hours later, a doctor comes into the waiting room and looks around. 

“Winchester?” He asks. Dean, who had been standing at a window, rushes over. 

“My wife. Is she awake??” He asks quickly. The doctor frowns and shakes his head. Sam sighs as he walks over as well. 

“We have no idea what is going on. Everything seems perfectly normal. By all accounts, she should be awake,” he says. Dean stares at him and shakes his head. 

“So…you’ve got nothing?” He asks. 

“I’m sorry. You two can go back to her. Talk to her, it might help,” he says. Dean runs a hand over his jaw and nods. 

“Yea, okay,” he says.

The doctor leads the two Winchesters down the hall to the room where you’re lying, still unconscious. Dean frowns as he takes in the tubes and wires, connected to you, keeping you alive. Sam pats his older brother on the shoulder before walking around to the other side of the bed. 

“Ugh…hey, Y/N. I don’t know if you can hear us but…we really need you to come back,” he says, reaching out and touching your arm. He stays there for a moment before clearing his throat and looking up. “I think…I’m gonna go back to that house. See if I can find the book and what spell she used.” Dean nods once and Sam leaves the room quickly. The older brother walks over to the bed slowly and falls into a chair next to you. He sits and watches you for a moment before reaching over and taking your hand. 

“Y/N,” he says before shaking his head and looking away. “This is stupid.” 

“I’ve seen it work before,” a woman says from the door. Dean turns and looks to find a nurse. She smiles at him as she walks over. “Sorry. Just came to check her IV.” She picks up the chart at the edge of the bed before looking at the machine. “It does seem a bit ridiculous. Talking to someone who can’t talk back. You aren’t sure if she can hear you or not. But…surprisingly, it does work.” 

“What do I say?” He asks, shaking his head. She smiles and shrugs. 

“Anything. Tell her about your day. Tell her you love her. Do you have kids?” She asks. Dean lets out a small laugh and shakes his head. “Maybe don’t talk about the kids then.” 

“Thank you,” he tells her. She nods and leaves the room. Dean looks back at you and sighs. “Look, don’t kick my ass over the whole wife thing when you wake up. It was just so I could be here without any questions.” He pauses and swallows back tears. “You gotta come back to me, Y/N. You gotta. I can’t…I can’t fight this fight without you. You’re…everything. My best friend. My rock. You’re the only reason I have any hope these days. Please, come back.” 

***

Forever Tags: @roseblue373

Jensen Tags: @call-me-mrs-winchester

Dream Warriors: @aylacavebear @winharry @djs8891 @suckitands33 @rickgrimeswifeu @deans-spinster-witch @jackles010378 @foxyjwls007 @alisycsa @lailawinchesterr @urinternetmom @justrealizedimmascifygurl @kr804573 @thej2report @just-levyy @snowayumi @deans-baby-momma @demons-eats-pie-too @brightlilith @kazsmr67 @onlyangel444

[pilesofnonsense]

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[butterflyknifegirl]

ᖭ༏ᖫ Knives and Pens ᖭ༏ᖫ {Episode 3}

Ellie x Female Reader MDI 18+ Word count: 4803

↢ PREVIOUS EP  //  NEXT EP ↣

Aria Rose is a trained surgeon from Orion, Alberta coming to Jackson. Originally from Buffalo QZ in New York, you fled after the death of your mother, an ex Firefly. You meet Ellie Williams when arriving in Wyoming. Hope is a fickle thing and the past will come back to haunt everyone.   

A.N: My first fic and so I'm taking my time with writing and enjoying the characters. This takes place in the TLOU2 or a little prior to when the game takes place. Slight changes to the story will happen. Rated 18+ as sex and sexual themes are mentioned. Slow burn. Smut.

Any songs used in this story were released prior to Breakout Day; September 26th, 2013.

Warnings for this episode: angst, smut, smoking da reefer, cursing, nudity, lesbian sexualism/erotica, mentions of slight sexual trauma.

Read on Wattpad

>>>>>>> Help Palestine <<<<<<<

.

This episode took longer to write due to some like updates. Thanks for being patient and ENJOY <3

.

Episode 3 : Waiting Pains

+++++++

Song: Greedy -  Artist: Inara George - Released: 2005

+++++++

You slipped under the surface of the water and laid on the tub floor. Maria and Tommy had started on dinner and had a country album playing on the record player in their living room. Most of the noises were drowned out by the water. 

“Maybe I’m both,” Ellie’s voice makes an appearance in your thoughts, but like the music, it’s muffled. Your heartbeat plays clear. You think to yourself that this is what it’s like for a baby in utero; surrounded by familiar distant sounds and voices, all playing to the beat of your own and your mother’s heartbeat. You feel yourself needing to take a breath but you hold yourself down and push yourself further into your thoughts.

“But, what if it mutated?” Your mother’s distant voice plays again from last night’s dream. “The host would still be infected,” was your response. Your mother’s voice starts to fade farther away, “But what if they were still themselves, still human?” Your heart continues to play its song and you feel your need to breathe rise.

“Maybe I’m both.”

You push yourself up, finally taking in a gulp of air.

☆  

☆      

The sun had set behind the mountains. The navy sky was turning black and you lit the numerous candles that were throughout your room. You’ve unpacked your clothes, medical text books and journals, and the framed photo of you and your mother was placed on your vanity surrounded by a few lit candles. Your vanity had become a small shrine and you felt it fitting to place your mother’s Firefly tag on the frame.

Dinner was ready and Maria had offered you to eat, but you opted to wait with her and Tommy until the others showed up. “I try to cook for the family at least once a week,” Maria sat on the couch, Tommy was on the recliner and almost passed out. You sat on the other sofa diagonal from Maria. “I like to make sure they’re eating, more so Ellie than Joel.”      

“Does she not eat?”

“Well she eats, just not enough, and Joel, well, he’s alone so he makes himself small meals. They don’t live together technically, Ellie lives in the garage on the property. Anyways, they’re family and I do what I can.” Maria was a woman to be admired. She took care of her family and on top of that, Jackson. 

Tommy’s light snoring was interrupted by a knock on the door. You sat lounging on the couch and Maria got up to get the door. “Finally! Horde give you any trouble?” 

Joel steps in with a heavy foot, “There was eight of us, so not so bad,” he gives Maria a hug.          

“Well make your way to the dining room I’ll serve you,” Maria held the door open and you heard  lighter footsteps come in. “And you, how many did you get?”

“Like 18 on my own. Five more than Jesse,” Ellie finally walks in wearing her black t-shirt, with her hair up in a low bun, a single loose strand of hair by her face. She came in looking back at Maria, but her eyes rested on you. Your adrenaline rushed in as her gaze fell on you and it made you nervous. She turns to give Maria a hug. 

Tommy’s recliner clinks shut and he gets up, “Well I’ll play some of a record while we eat,” and he starts the record over, gives his hugs, and heads to the dining room with Maria and Joel. 

You get up to join the others and Ellie smiles at you still standing by the entryway.

“Back so soon?” you tease. You couldn’t help but be playful with Ellie, she seemed to glow at your banter and you noticed that for the times that she was with you, the echoes from the past faltered, and you stood on even ground, it seemed, with her. Ellie rolls her eyes playfully and they land down on you again as you approach. 

“Don’t act like you haven’t been waiting.” You were taken aback a bit by her sudden boldness, but she smirked more with a sense of cheekiness, as if she wanted to see how you would react. You obviously didn’t want to lose this game and so you tried to conceal a blush.         

“Yeah to eat, it took you long enough. Do you usually keep a girl waiting?” you smile back.

“I’d say this would be the first.” 

“Oh really?” you purred.

“I don’t like stringing people along,” she says hesitantly, still trying to keep her confidence up. She looks away smiling and gives an airy life.

You step closer to catch her eye, “I’m not known to wait either, but if it’s worth it, I will.” Your eyes explore her face, admiring her freckles and her cheeks flush lightly. 

“So.. you think it’s worth it?” her voice was quieter, eyes soft, as she watched you for your response.         

Your heart started to ache. This woman has single handedly melted your cold, distant exterior. The women in Orion that you were with all had eventually used you as the village gay mistress. The few that laid with you eventually left you empty and with nothing to show for it. They all were ashamed of being with you, and you were kept as a dirty secret. The worst part was, you let them. You didn’t know why you did it, but you let them either way. 

But Ellie was different. She was open to you about her interest in you, she was even protective of you. You saw that she was affecting you the same way you were affecting her. A light, a pin of hope, pierced in your chest.     

Ellie saw no hesitation in your face. Your smile, paired with your bright eyes, gave her all the confidence in the world and her heart pounded, a desperate steady rhythm. All she needed was to hear you say it, but maybe not right now, maybe not tonight, and for some reason, she was almost okay with that. You two were solid, and considering her heart ached with having to watch someone she had loved from the sidelines for so long, she felt like she was finally coming up for air. So she licks her lips and gives you a big grin.         

“Dinner’s served!” Maria calls from the dining room.  

☆  

☆

Dinner had played out with Maria sitting at the head of the table, talking about the growing population of Jackson as more women are becoming pregnant and choosing to go through with the pregnancy. You were expected to have your hands full with not only this but teaching as well. When it came to doing surgeries,  you did it all.

“Well, we want you to have a life too. Can’t be all work no play,” Tommy winks at you. He’s seated across from you and Ellie, on Maria’s right, Ellie on her left.

“There’s a lot of young people your age here,” Joel looks up from eating, he sits across from you, next to Tommy. “Jesse is a good kid.”

“Yeup, and there’s Dina, and that tattoo artist, Cat,” Tommy adds. “Well Ellie can show you ‘round, get you acquainted, when you have some free time, if there’s such a thing.”

 You smiled and looked over at Ellie who sat beside you quietly eating. 

☆  

☆

The night was ending and unfortunately for Ellie, she had to be up early for morning patrol. She waited until Joel headed out first so she wouldn’t have to walk with him home. She lingered behind helping Maria and you clean up.

“I can wash the rest up, why don’t you head on home Ellie,” Maria offers. Despite the calm night, Ellie’s mind was racing. Between Joel, you, Di-    

“Hey I’ll walk you out,” you had dried a dish and put it away.

“Yeah okay.”

You walk Ellie to the porch. The moon was full and there was a cool breeze. “This Thursday, pick me up by the hospital,” you stand by the stairs holding onto the porch pillar.   

“So am I courting you now?” she smirks.

You chuckle, “Who says that?”

“I don’t know, people,” she shrugs and smiles.

“Hmm, well,” you take her right hand and observe it with both of yours. You look at her palm and slide your fingers to the tips of her. You feel the callouses, “You play guitar?” Ellie nods, not really sure how to respond. You flip her hand over and trace her long slender fingers up to the dipping leaves of the fern on her wrist. The delicate touch had caused chills to run down her arm. She let out an airy gasp and you pulled her arm around your waist. Both of her hands held your lower back. Your hands found their way to her neck where you gently ran your fingers down. Ellie had closed her eyes and blushed bashfully. She had gotten lost in your touch. She felt another gasp building up, but she opted to hold her breath. Your palm finds her cheek and she leaned into your touch.

“I think I’m bad at waiting,” you whisper.

Ellie’s eyes shoot open. The moonlight hits your bright eyes and casts a shine on your lips. She swallows a desperate gulp back. The sweet torture of your touch put her in a desperate state of mind. Her body was warming up and her hands slid lower down your back, gently grabbing hold of your bottom, kneading you through your jeans.

“Me too,” she leans closer. Your eyebrows knit together, you look into her eyes, then to her lips, and back again.  

“Ellie-,” Ellie dives into the kiss. She cups your ass and raises you up. You feel Ellie’s tongue enter your mouth, needy and desperate. She explores your mouth and you wrap your arms around her neck. It was intoxicating. You were running out of breath but you didn’t want to break it. You were choking on her kiss. Ellie finally pulls away, breathing into your mouth, she looks at you with dark eyes. You breathe hard and she rolls her eyes, closing them, and resting her forehead on yours. Your hands go down to the flat of her chest and you feel her heart pounding. 

“So Thursday?” she breathes out.

“Yeah, after my shift,” you try to smile but a wave of melancholy spreads over your heart.

She separates and stands tall over you, breathing hard, smiling a side smirk with proud squinted eyes, like she had just trudged up a mountain side and was now looking at the valley below leading into the horizon.

She takes your hand and rubs her thumb over your knuckles. “I’ll see you then,” she presses her lips on your cheek and swiftly turns and walks off the porch and down the street, not turning back.                           

☆  

☆

Four Days Later

☆  

☆

Next to the medic tents by the stables was a small building used for operating, delivering, and storing medicine. You stood by the main nursing station in the large waiting area in good view of the front door, looking down at a clipboard. You wore your long hair in a low ponytail with some hair framing your face. Your white doctor coat covered down past your bottom. You wore a fitted black t-shirt with a v-line and gray, black shorts with your black combat boots with red laces. The past couple days have been nothing but hands-on teaching to the twenty of Jackson’s doctors. Your day was finally ending and you couldn’t wait to head out.

“Hey there Aria,” you turn around to see a familiar face.

“Joel!” you smile and you two exchange a hug. “Just come back from patrol? What can I do for you?” In a bizarre way, you felt close to Joel.

He gave a small smile and cleared his throat, “Yeah I’m here to pick up.”

You go over to behind the nursing station and find a chart with his name on it:           

Joel Miller ……  Sleep Tea …… 1 bag

You go and retrieve the bag with the dried herbs and give it to him. 

“Thanks.. I don’t usually need anything, but recently it’s been a little difficult,” he takes the bag.

“I usually take chamomile tea before bed, it’s the only thing that can relax me after a day of sticking my hand in people,” you smile hoping to get him to laugh.

“Heh, well I guess that’ll do it.”

You look over across the large room to see Ellie coming in the double doors. Your eyes stay on her and a smile is plastered on your face. Joel notices and he looks over to see what you were looking at. “I’ll be back,” you say, not taking your eyes off her, “excuse me.” You quickly make your way to the locker room and take off your doctor coat and retrieve your backpack. When you come back out Joel is gone and Ellie stands by the nursing station with her brown t-shirt with a blue short sleeve button up on top. Her hair was half up. 

Ellie finally sees you come over and she perks up. “Hey, you finally showed up,” you go over and give her a hug. 

She returns the hug, “Well I’m here, aren't I?” she smiles. 

You two start walking over to Ellie’s place. It was about 5:30 and it was golden hour. “I have to make my way out to the town again soon, there's a music store where I get my guitar strings,” Ellie walks side by side with you. 

“Hey remember that library where the horde was? I would like to check it out if I could.”

“You can talk to Maria to schedule a patrol, tell her to put me on it.”

“Okay I will.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Medical texts mainly.”

Ellie pretends to yawn, “Wow sounds like fun,” she teases.

“Hey!” You punch her arm.

“Oh I’m sorry, was that supposed to hurt?”

“Oh I’ll make it hurt.”

“Hey wha-!”

You push her against the wall of the cemetery and tiptoe up to bite her on her neck.

“Ohh,” Ellie enjoys the bite.

You let her neck go to try and not leave a mark. You lean up and take her lips into yours. “I’ve missed you,” you say.

Ellie looks down at you and with a smile and a shake of her head, she kisses you again. “C’mon,” she takes your hand and leads you the rest of the way.

☆  

☆  

Ellie turns on her fairy lights and you look around the room. You were taken aback at how good it smelled- her pine scent sitting in the air. 

Ellie starts playing some old country music on her cassette radio and you two sit on her couch. She pulls out a joint from a small box under her coffee table. “I rolled it yesterday, you still wanna try?” she asks. You nod. You watch her pull out a lighter and lights it up. She inhales and exhales the smoke smoothly. She smiles and passes it to you. You smile to yourself as you mentally prepare, then you bring it to your lips and inhale. You hold it in a bit then exhale, coughing at the end.

“Shit,” you pass it to her. 

“Not too bad, now I gotta show you how to ride a horse,” she chuckles. Ellie blows smoke and watches you look around her room, taking in all the details. From the paint and the guitar, you knew Ellie was an artist. Her callouses showed her dedication in practicing her craft. You too had gifted hands, but in a different way. 

“Can I show you something?” You reach for your backpack and take out a burgundy photo album. Ellie’s eyes light up. “When I’m not working, I take pictures.” You scoot over and open the album. Photos of you in Orion when you were 17, you had shorter hair. Some of them you are posing with babies and toddlers you’ve helped deliver. You flip pages and Hannah starts to make an appearance.    

“Who is that?” Ellie points to another girl posing with her arms around Hannah.

“One of Hannah’s exes,” you smile, “they were secretly dating for a few months.”

“And him?” Ellie points to a more recent photo of Hannah holding onto a tall blonde guy smiling at the camera.

“Stephan Dubois,” you pause, “Sophie’s father. He died on patrol.” You recall Hannah watching the band of horses leave with men to find Stephan and his troupe. Hannah had just found out she was pregnant.   

“Damn..” 

Ellie sees photos of Orion, you in the hospital teaching, and some of you in the mirror in your old room. “These are really good,” she flips through the pages and takes a hit. She passes the joint and flips the page to some more interesting photos. “Ohh, what is this?” You laid soaking in a tub, hair dripping wet, dark eye makeup, red lips, and a cigarette near your lips. You gave the camera a seductive smolder with parted lips, the water concealing your body.           

You blew out smoke, “I was recreating a photo I found in a magazine,” you leaned back letting the high finally kick in.       

Ellie finished the album and placed it on the table, “Are you gonna take more photos like that for me?” She licks her dry lips and cheeses a grin.

“Oh, I definitely can and you can keep in your joint box,” you giggle.

“Or, I’ll keep it on me.”

“Yeah?”

She shrugs, “Yeah, I mean that’s what people do right?” she flashes her eyebrows.

You two look at each other, sharing the joint.

“So,” you start, feeling pretty confident all of a sudden.

“So,” Ellie repeats.

“How obvious did I make it?”

Ellie looks up at the ceiling like she had her thinking cap on, pretending to not know what you meant. 

“When we first met,” you continued leaning forward, “how obvious did I make it?” you started to purr again.

“You mean when I had to check if you were clean, and you were staring at my lips?”

You blush at your own ridiculousness, “Pretty obvious huh?”

“Oh yeah, I’d say so.. But it wasn’t one sided,” she gives a serious look. You look at her and take a hit, getting close and sitting in between her legs, you exhale into her mouth.

Ellie closes her eyes. She slips into her mind and she stands on the cold, gray moon watching the earth turn. The familiar feeling of loneliness washes over her. “I would take a one way ticket too,” Ellie says quietly. You recall when you first met and she asked if you’ve ever gone to the moon. She holds your waist and goes to your ear, “..if I was going with you.”

☆  

☆

“How’s Aria coming ‘round?” Joel sits in the back patio at Maria’s and Tommy’s. 

“Great. Morale at the hospital is up. I’m considering including her in our monthly town meetings,” Maria takes a sip of tea from her mug.

“Is that right?” Joel stairs at the yard.

“Why? What’s on your mind?” Maria raises concern.

“She and Ellie, well, they’ve gotten close.”

“In what way?”

“Well, Ellie came by the hospital today to pick her up.”

Maria smiles to ease Joel’s concern, “So she’s hanging out with new people, a doctor no less, how is that gonna start problems?”

Joel grumbles quietly to himself. “She doesn’t talk to me. All ‘er friends I know.”

“I know you don’t think you’re there for her, but you are. Sometimes people need time to figure things out, the same goes for Ellie. She’ll come back to you Joel, once she figures out how she wants her life to play out, she’ll come along. In the meantime, be there for her, from afar.”

Joel looks at her with pained eyes, smiles, and nods.

☆  

☆

Ellie lays over you on her bed, lips locked. Her tongue, eager to make its way back into your mouth. Her body rocks as she kisses you hungrily and her free hand slides under your top. You quiver at her sudden touch. 

She stops and looks down at her hand, still underneath your top, resting on your abdomen, “Is this okay?” she whispers looking back at you.

“Yeah, it just tickled a little,” you smile.

“Hmm,” Ellie exhales a soft hum. She watches her hand slide up and cup your breast. Your lips part and she comes back down to kiss you. She messages your breast as she takes the time to kiss you deeply. She pulls down your bra and plays with your nipple between her fingers. You moan into her mouth and your hips begin to slowly buck and squirm. She hums again at your reaction. “Let me take this off babe,” and she proceeds to remove your top and bra in one pull. You lay bare back and you pull up at her top as well, then her bra.

“Ellie..” you couldn’t help but admire her. You lifted your head up and bit down on her neck again, sucking the soft flesh, your hands massage her breast. She gasps and groans at this. She starts to unbutton your jeans, sliding them down a bit with your panties. You detach and look up at Ellie.

“Lay down babe,” she tells you and you do. Ellie looks down and her hand grazes over your sensitive cunt. You were already so wet. Her fingers slide up and down your folds, “Damn babe, is that all for me?” She gives a long lick up your neck to your ear. You involuntarily whimper.

“Yes,” you whisper. Ellie’s touch was like heaven and you were delirious. Ellie starts rubbing your puffy clit. Her bicep moving with every rub, moving slowly, then faster. You feel her breath on your neck. She kept a rhythm, but you wanted more. “Ellie.. Mm.. more babe please!” you moan. 

Ellie shoots up to look at you- your face contorted in pleasure. “Yeah?” she asks huskily.

You look into her eyes huffing in air, “Yes please Ellie, I want you.”

Ellie didn’t waste any time taking your pants off. She wanted to love you, to pour herself into you. You gave her a purpose, you made her feel wanted, needed, and desperate.

Ellie lowers herself down to your trimmed cunt. She watches you spread your legs for her. “Fuck Aria,” she kisses the top. She starts to suck on your clit and she watches you close your eyes moan. You feel Ellie slide her long slender fingers into you and you whimper again.

You grip the sheets beneath you, “Fuck right there Ellie!” Ellie keeps her fingers inside fucking your g spot hard and fast. You feel chills run down your legs as your orgasm approaches. “I’m gonna cum, Ellie, fuck you’re making me cum!” Ellie hums on your clit pushing you closer. It finally hits, and you let out your orgasmic moan, bucking your hips and clenching around her fingers. Ellie helps you ride it out as she continues to finger you. She comes up to kiss you, still keeping her fingers inside. You taste your arousal. 

“Was it okay?” Ellie kisses your flushed cheek.

You chuckle to yourself, “Are you kidding?” You two laugh and she slides her fingers out and lays beside you. You look down at her jeans, “What about you?”

“Soon,” you turn to your side and lay on top of her, “we're not done, just, taking a break. I wanna make sure you can go a couple more rounds,” she smiles.

“A couple more rounds?” you repeat, feeling your legs still weak from your orgasm, but even your own body betrays you, after looking down at her and cupping her breast, your arousal starts up again. “I want to taste you.”

“Yeah, I want that too,” she licks her wet lips. 

☆  

+++++++

Song: What the Water Gave Me  -  Artist: Florence and the Machine  -  Released: 2011

+++++++

☆  

After Joel left, Maria went ahead to change out the linens in the house. You left your door ajar, and she knocked anyway. She realized you were still out after your shift, which she thought was great, she’d hoped you’d find time to have fun and didn’t want you to get burnt out. She collected your towel and bed sheets into her basket. She looked over at the many textbooks piling your desk and she was curious to look at them.

A lot of texts on being a midwife, doula, delivering a child, neonatal physiology. Then there were others about diseases that happen with age, medical herbs, repairing broken bones, heart surgery, brain surgery. These were some of the books that were displayed on your desk. Maria was amazed at your wide range of knowledge. When putting the texts back in order on your desk, a paper fell out of your ‘Neurology & Neurological Surgery’ text. It was a copy of an x-ray of a human skull that was infected with cordyceps. She flips the page over to see your handwritten notes:

Can it mutate? Can host still be infected and remain human? Immunity? 

Maria’s stomach drops. She returns the sheet to the text and puts everything back. She turns to leave and notices the picture on your vanity with an all too familiar looking pendant. She reads the name and turns it over to confirm. 

“Yesenia Rose.” 

ᖭ༏ᖫ                

☆  

☆

“Fuck right there,” Ellie has her fingers gripping your hair, holding your head down as you eat her out. “Yeah babe- trying to make me cum?” she moans, ending on a whine. She starts to grind in your mouth and all you can do is desperately hum  “mhm” over and over. “Auh.. fuck babe.. you fuck me so good,” she watches you with half lidded eyes and furrowed brows. Her hair sticking to her wet forehead. Her mouth open, letting out gasps and silent whimpers. “Mhm right there.. Mmmh.. fuck yeah I’m cumming baby. Fuck! Auhh yeah take it!” Her orgasm falls on her hard, as she talks you through it and rides your face. You taste her orgasm and lap it all up. 

Ellie falls back onto the bed breathing heavily and lightly sweating. “Come here,” she reaches out a hand for you and you lay beside her. She wraps both of you in a thin blanket and pulls you into her. It had been a couple rounds as she promised, and you were ready to close your eyes and sleep. Despite being tired you felt an over looming feeling caving in on you. Like you were going to depend, attach, and become addicted to Ellie. In a nonmedical term; fall for her, which is not your style, and yet, you let yourself fall- fast and head first.  

Ellie watches your resting face. She had never had it this good with Cat. You two understood each other without having to say anything, and you fulfilled her deepest cravings. She knew you were special and wanted to attach herself to you in every way possible.                                                  

You open your eyes to catch her green ones looking back at you. She brushes some hair behind your ear. You smile, and it must have been contagious because she smiled back.

☆  

☆

END OF EPISODE 3

CLOSING CREDITS

Ellie Photo Credits

Cover: Themodsofus - https://twitter.com/themodsofus?lang=en

Closing: Rahaf on pinterest - https://pin.it/4hmG4tgQu

 All covers and photos were created on Canva.com

Please comment letting me know if you want to be in the tag list!

@urcursebreaker

@gold-dustwomxn

@elliesbriick

@bready101

@tphmnv

@liasxeatt

[eerna]

Omg the way Eloise is written as a feminist character BOTHERS me. I can’t always put my finger on why, but a thing that sticks out to me the most is how she just says the most blatantly basic (for us 21st century viewers) things and idk it’s supposed to seem revolutionary… but it’s never clever. And it is never deep.

Anyways I saw your tag on the Eloise/Cressida post and I was curious to hear any elaboration of your thoughts on her feminist portrayal? (But no pressure!)

YEEAAAH EXACTLY! I have the same issue, Eloise just says 21st century equality stuff without ever having read a single feminist pamphlet (this is canon, she doesn't start reading them or attending discussions until she's 18). Somehow she developed a perfectly uniform idea of modern womanhood when she was isolated and raised to be a traditional lady. Her opinions should be WAY more half baked and full of holes because this life is the only one she'd ever known. That's not even mentioning the inability to discuss feminism without discussing class, something Eloise has No Idea About.

Then comes the issue of writing. This is a stupid show. No one looks smart on this show. So when Eloise drops a "smart comment", it is cringe and dumb. She is supposed to be eloquent and witty, but most of the time she looks like a mean snob belittling everyone around her.

Another issue is that everyone else around her is a horrible sexist caricature. Yes, she is snobby, but my god every other woman only cares about men and marriage and gossip so I can't even blame her all that much for it. Her friends don't really care about what she has to say and will always leave her to go chase a man. And even SHE starts fitting the description the moment she falls for a guy - she lies to her friend and puts everyone in danger, and 90% of the reason is a man with only 10% being her self actualization. You can't write a proper feminist if everyone in your story has the same goal, which is to find a husband. It doesn't help that we know Eloise is headed for marriage and babies because every time a character expresses they don't want one or both of those things, they are proven wrong by the narrative.

And finally, my last thing making Eloise a bad feminist character, is that she is SO PASSIVE. Sure, it might be the point of the show as Pen calls her out for it, but we still don't know if they are gonna fix it so I am putting it here anyway. She only talks and complains about her lot in life, but never acts against society. I was happy when she started sneaking out and hang out with The Working Class Feminists TM, but that turned out to be a short failed romance subplot instead of a character moment and she gave up on it almost right away, so it doesn't count. And now in s3 she decided to embrace society and its expectations, so I am not sure we will ever get to see that kind of rebellion again - I sure hope so! But idk.

As a "well written Eloise" character, I'd like to suggest Felicity Montague. She is a character from a 18th century romcom, a noble lady, aroace and trying to go to med school when her gender prevents her from getting an education. She doesn't use her screentime for long-winded monologues about the unfairness of the world, she ACTS on her thoughts and opinions so we know what they are. She switches covers of romance books and textbooks so she can study without being bothered, she runs away from home to try make her dreams come true, she finds alternative solutions. Her thoughts are never lauded as One Truth, in fact she is often called out for the blind spots in her opinions since she too grew up a sheltered noble and can't account for all experiences. She is surrounded by women who challenge her ideas and make her into a better friend and person. AND she is funny and reading her is just plain fun. You CAN do a feminist who doesn't belong in her era, you just have to be careful to also make her a good character.

[zae-heeyyy]

Pastiche

Summary: You and Arthur escape through writing. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader Word Count: 2,345 Trigger Warning: Tuberculosis, death Tags: angst, sadness, high honor Arthur

a/n: Thanks for you kind words on Chiaroscuro. I've enjoyed writing again so much! I'm in my tragedy era. My hs english teacher's voice haunts me when I'm writing, so I spent a lot of time scrutinizing this. Didn't mean for it to be so long, but I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

pastiche: a work of art or literature that imitates the style or character of another, often as an homage or tribute.

You knew there was something special about Arthur Morgan the day you met him. Despite his best efforts to believe otherwise, he was easy on the eyes, and his dry humor combined with his strong sense of honor sealed your crush on the cowboy. Everybody else could see that he was sweet on you, too, noticing when he pulled you to sit at the fire with him or how he watched you around camp. As more time passed, you'd become mostly inseparable, taking every moment you had to sneak away together. One of your favorite places to escape to was the fields of Little Creek River in Big Valley. You'd be reading a book and glance over to find Arthur staring intently at an animal until it was out of sight. Then he'd open up his journal and sketch it.  He wasn't doing that today, though. He was staring across the field, but you could tell he was elsewhere in his mind.

"Got somethin' to say," his eyes met yours earnestly. When he told you he loved you, a laugh erupted deep from your belly. Dumbfounded, he asked, "The hell is so funny?" his own laugh betraying his attempt to be solemn. It was hilarious to you that he didn't think you already knew that and that he didn't know you absolutely felt the same.

Another day, you were lying in Arthur's lap in the grass. Just the day before, he had returned to camp with bruised knuckles and some poor fool's blood on his face—one of Strauss's clients. You longed for a life where bruised knuckles and loan sharking were distant memories.

"Where would you be if you weren't here," you'd asked, holding his hand in yours. He stroked your thumb with his and gazed over the valley like always.

"Hard to imagine." He mumbled, sounding far away.

You nodded in agreement and replied, "You're always writing or drawing in your notebook. Maybe you could've been an artist or a writer." The thought brought a soft smile to your face, and you imagined, just for a second, a life where Arthur's biggest worry was perfecting his latest masterpiece.

He huffed in dry amusement, "Probably wouldn't have known how to read if it weren't for Dutch and Hosea."

You assented again and sighed, the smile on your face growing wider.

 "Arthur Morgan: author and illustrator." You held your hands up in dramatic fashion as if envisioning the words in front of you. Then you untangled yourself from him and sat up, "You could, you know? It's not too late. Maybe a biography?"

"A story about my life, huh?" He looked at you with a dumb smile, "I think a book about dirt would be more interestin'." He bobbed his head up and down as if nodding made his thought more true. You shoved him playfully, and he raised his eyebrow at you and held out his hands questionly. "What? There's all different kinds of dirt," he started counting on his fingers." Brown dirt, red dirt, hard dirt—"

You cut him off, "I'm serious, Arthur! This life…it ain't one normal folks live." A shit-eating grin crept up his face as he fought not to make another joke at his own expense. He shoved it down and kept listening. "Sure, it's just your life to you, but other people might find it interesting, exciting, even."

He thought for a second, then put his hands in the air, mimicking you, "The Confessions of Arthur Morgan: The Detailed Life of a Gunslinger by Arthur Morgan. Sounds like a Pinkerton's wet dream."

 "I see what you mean," you trail off, fingers playing in the grass. "Could change the name. People publish under a different name all the time. There's a word for that, I think."

"Pseudonym," he responded, his accent thick. "Think it's got one of those silent letters in front." He said it so matter of factly, and it confirmed what you already knew about him: he was far more intelligent than anybody ever gave him credit for. Still, you left the idea alone and thought Arthur had, too.

Then, on another afternoon in the fields near Little Creek River, he spoke out of nowhere. "Arthur Callahan or Tacitus Kilgore?" 

"Hmm?" you asked, barely glancing up from your book.

"For the pen name," he confirmed, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 

From that day on, your trips to Little Creek River became writing sessions. He bought a notebook that you two would trade off, coming up with ideas for the dramatized life of the gunslinger. You'd taken some creative liberties, and the story wasn't exactly a biography anymore. It had shaped into a Western love story. Arthur Callahan, after living a bad life, met someone who made him want to be better, an angel sent to rescue the devil himself. Arthur Callahan would get the perfect ending; a normal life. It was all Arthur's idea. 

"It's not my story; it's ours," he'd told you. 

You had been daydreaming about the possibilities for your novel for some time, but the chaos of life with the gang left little room to focus on it. The sudden move from Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point made things worse. Somewhere in the move, the manuscript was lost or destroyed—either way, it was gone. You couldn't hold back your tears during your next trip to Big Valley. Arthur's big hands swallowed your face as his thumbs wiped your tears away.  

"Shhh, we'll rewrite it, sweetheart," he promised.

Despite Arthur's gentle nudges, you couldn't find it in you to rewrite the story. Another day, he'd invited you to ride with him, heading off to your usual spot. He'd asked once more if you were feeling up to writing again. When you rejected the idea, he shook his head, seemingly surrendering. 

"Fine! You're so damn stubborn." There was no malice in his voice, though, and his eyes twinkled a little. "Looks like I gotta take matters into my own hands." Instead of stopping the horse in the fields as usual, Arthur stopped short, cutting into nearby woods. Eventually, he halted outside of the small cabin that was Vetter's Echo and hitched the horse outside. 

"Come on," he said, helping you down. "I've got a surprise for you." You walked up the cabin's steps, and he swung the door open to a small living quarters. "It don't got a back door, and I'm pretty sure the feller living here got mauled by a bear, but it's got one of these things." He gestured to the desk in the corner of the small cabin, a typewriter sitting atop it, "I don't have the first clue about using it." So he left it for you to figure out. He'd sit on a stool beside you, reading from a notebook, and you'd type slowly at first, but as time went on, the keys felt as familiar to you as a gun trigger did to him. 

Then things started falling apart. You'd moved from Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point, then to Shady Bell in a matter of weeks. The men went on a job to rob the bank in St. Denis, and most didn't return. You'd forgotten about the manuscript while trying to survive and spent weeks worried about Arthur and everybody else.

Then he came home to you, waterlogged but alive. You'd never felt more relieved. He was skinny and had a persistent cough, blaming it all on his rough journey. But it didn't stop him from finishing the book as promised. He'd write whenever he had a chance, and you'd go back to the little cabin in the woods, you typing and him reading.

Then he couldn't get through a page without coughing. You listened, concern etched on your face as he told you about his coughing spell and subsequent visit to the doctor in the city. Tuberculosis: practically a death sentence. After that, he'd step back when you tried to be close to him and wouldn't let you kiss him or be intimate with him. You spent a lot of time crying while he dipped his head in profound shame. 

Weeks later, he woke you up at night, gently shaking you and whispering to not alert anyone else. "C'mon, get dressed and ride with me." He was serious, his jaw set, his voice low but demanding. You didn't know what was wrong, but dread ran through your veins. You rode far away from camp, mostly in silence, your anxiety not letting you say anything. 

"You're gonna live a good life. "he finally said, breaking the silence. Your eyes stung, and you felt a lump in your throat.

"I don't want to hear this right now, Arthur."

He shook his head, frustrated, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Listen to me." His tone made you flinch. He'd never taken on that tone with you, ever. "This whole thing with Dutch, it's over. You gotta run. Gotta get out and make a good life for yourself." 

You wanted to protest; you weren't going to leave him, not now. But then you saw the waiting stagecoach up ahead. Your heart dropped and shattered into a million pieces. You reached around him to pull the horse's reins, coming to a skidding stop. You hopped down and started shaking your head, frantic in your movements and words. 

"No, Arthur. No."

You wiped away the quickly falling tears as you turned, fast walking, almost running back to that godforsaken camp that was Beaver Hollow. Even in his sickness, it only took Arthur a few big steps to reach you, grabbing you by the waist and turning you to face him. And then you cursed at him, pounded your fists against his chest, and wailed into the night. He just pulled you close to him, squeezing you until you didn't fight anymore. He gave you a stack of cash, made you promise to run, and said he'd come find you after it was all over. But both of you knew, deep down, that you were setting eyes on each other for the last time. He kissed your head. You sobbed into his chest, only letting go when the impatient stagecoach driver beckoned you.

"Never could've imagined I'd know somebody as perfect for me as you." All you could choke out was, "I love you," over and over and over again. He slipped a folded letter into your hand and helped you into the coach filled with your things. He stood silently with his hat in his hands while you rode off into the night. You sobbed for as long as your body let you while the coach took you down to Copperhead Landing.

First, Tilly showed up with Jack, and then Sadie came with Abagail. But then John arrived bearing Arthur's hat and satchel with a look in his eyes so terrible that it brought you to a screaming sob. That night, when everybody had finally settled down to sleep, you slipped away, leaving a note of thanks and well wishes. You were alone then, the way you wanted it to be without Arthur.  

Eight years; it had been eight years since everything went to shit. In eight years, you worked your ass off with any odd jobs you could find. Keeping busy was how you cured your broken heart. You'd tried as hard as you could to forget about the life you'd once lived until you read a headline in the newspaper: MICAH BELL KILLED. The memories flooded back to you, and you returned to a place you hadn't visited in a while. You only kept 2 things from that time: a letter from Arthur and the manuscript you'd written with him. Forged in Fire, you called it. After all this time, you couldn't remember who came up with the name, but you remembered why. You two were like tempered metal; the more you walked through hellfire, the stronger you became.  

Then there was Arthur's letter. You'd read it only once before today.

"Things I wanted to say but did not have the courage to say aloud." was scrawled across the top of the page, followed by a list.

"Keep visiting Big Valley.

Keep writing.

Publish the book.

Watch every sunset.

Trust your gut.

Please, be happy."

You heard his voice through every word. He'd underlined the third point: publish the book. In that moment, you decided to take a leap. You wrote to a publisher and sent a copy of the manuscript. And that's all it took. Things went into a tailspin after that, and before you knew it, you were holding a hard copy of the manuscript you and Arthur had worked on together all that time ago.

You'd made an effort, then, to find Abigail and John and Jack. They were held up at a ranch, Beecher's Hope, and were married now. You caught up with the Marstons and apologized for hastily disappearing all those years ago. They were happy for you, and you for them. 

On your departure, John took your hand, "I don't talk about him much these days, but I don't think he loved anybody like he loved you." He paused for a moment and forced his eyes to meet yours. "He's buried out in Ambarino, near Donner Falls. Top of the mountain. I can take you." You declined John's offer but set out east toward Donner Falls the next day. 

You found him around noon and watched wistfully as an eagle flew from its spot on a rock behind the flowery grave. You fell to your knees, no longer able to control the tears flowing down your face. "I did it, my love," you choked through tears. It'd been a long, long time since you let yourself feel this pain—a longing to reach something impossible. You dabbed the tears away from your eyes and sat in the grass, hugging Forged in Fire to your chest. "Thought I'd read it to you," you spoke into the air. You opened the book, cracked the spine, and read "Chapter One: Heaven's Fall, Hell's Rise."

[suba-sekai]

🎧 –— It’s a wonderful world

[waitineedaname]

not romantic or platonic but a secret third thing (bonded pair)

[rustedhills]

Disney, releasing Wish: "so it's all about legacy--the new generation surpassing the old, overcoming the evils perpetuated by them, relinquishing singular power... and there's an old man in a tower, uh... animal sidekick, i guess..., ah... magic...?

Miyazaki, just out of frame, sledgehammer raised:

[cloudyvulpine]

hate when i'm info dumping about a *FICTIONAL* villain and someone has the audacity to be like "but they've killed people" or "but they've committed crimes"

i know

but they aren't real

i still want to make out with them

[susartwork]

Ever since Cottontail (HT!Frisk) died, Hopeless feels responsible for the safety of every child he encounters.

Must protect the beans.

All the children in the 1st drawing belong to @axmoth The Tiny Squad (Undermirror) belongs to @au-mashup-party Hopeless UW!Sans & Frisk belong to me

[tommie-exe]

!CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE! RAHH I HAVE WORDS TO SAY!!!!!

Now that i have captured your attention…..

Would anyone wanna join a minecraft smp heavily based off of phighting!!!

on my hands an dknees begging because i love it so much but dont have many other people to play with most times-

its super fun we play as kindof our own versions of phighters who have their sorta own things going on away from canon sorta like an au ^_^ we also have particle effects for those who want them (have to be related to character somehow) and pro and con potion effects that we place on you (also related to character and you get to negotiateit with us) !!

(quick note its vanilla minecraft 1.20.4 java)

im gonna attach some images which might be a lil old but just for funsies to show off our lil smp

photos from me (subspace) and friends (Banhammer & Katana)