#drawn to love chapter two

[handonshipper]

Drawn to Love: Chapter Two

Summary:

Klaus Mikaelson had made a lot of enemies over the centuries. Because of this, his daughter, the 17 year old tribrid named Hope, had to move from place to place. Now, she moved to Mystic Falls and started attending Mystic Falls High, where she meets an attractive Landon Kirby who was assigned to be her tour guide. She had sworn to herself not to make connections, but that seems to be easier said than done

Ships:

Hope/Landon, Freya/Keelin, Finch/Josie, MG/Lizzie

Characters:

Hope Mikaelson, Landon Kirby, Freya Mikaelson, Lizzie Saltzman, Josie Saltzman, Keelin Malraux-Mikaelson, Milton Greasley, Finch Tarrayo, Nik Malraux-Mikaelson

Other reading location:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33830149/chapters/86393698

Previous Chapter:

https://handonshipper.tumblr.com/post/685990148790435840/drawn-to-love-chapter-one

Landon frowned, watching how quickly she got up when the bell rang. Based on how often she moved around, she couldn't possibly be that concerned with her attendance record. Which meant she just didn't want to spend another second sitting here with him. He sighed softly and grabbed his own bag, dumping out the trash on his tray.

"You do know we have history together now?" He said catching up to Hope. "If your disappearing act was an attempt to get rid of me." His tone was playful, indicating he was joking but deep down some part of him meant it. He was disappointed that the first girl he was into didn't want anything to do with him.

Hope's face faltered. "It's not you. I'm just not the best person to be around, Landon. The people I care about have a tendency to die on me. And I don't want another name on that list of people I lost"

Landon's eyes softened, now realizing her hesitation must be related to whatever happened to her parents. He offered her a small smile. "It's just a short walk to history class. Or do you think I'm suddenly going to trip over a trash can and fall to my death?" He joked. "Tell you what. Since you think you're cursed, why don't we prove the curse wrong? I'll spend two weeks hanging out with you. And if in two weeks I'm still alive and haven't been in risk of dying, then you have to admit you're not cursed and...let me buy you a milkshake sometime." He smiled looking at her. "What do you say?"

"That doesn't prove anything" Hope said with a soft sigh.

"Sure it does. It'll prove that not everyone who gets close to you ends up dead." Landon reasoned with a small smile.

"And what if you do die?" She looked at Landon. She didnt want to lose someone else. But it was also hard for her to push him away

"If I do die, then...I don't know. I guess I'll have to haunt you from beyond the grave." He joked. "But you have nothing to worry about. This is Mystic Falls. The biggest danger here is dying of boredom." He chuckled softly.

Hope sighed softly. Clearly he never looked up the town history. They must have really done a good job at covering it up. "If you say so. Look, I'll play along. For now. But you are not going to die because of me" she said firmly.

"I know I'm not." Landon grinned. "See? You're already believing there's no curse." He said playfully as he reached the history classroom. "Now all that's left to do is enjoy the two week countdown."

"I wouldnt say that. And I didn't say I would get close to you. You can talk to someone without getting close enough for them to die too. I hope at least"

Landon looked at her, curiosity and sympathy reflecting in his eyes. "You really believe that don't you? That everyone who gets close to you ends up dying." He sighed softly. He wished he could help her. And not just because he really wanted to get closer to her. Rather because he couldn't imagine what it was like for her, living with those thoughts. "I guess I'll just have to work extra hard to prove you wrong. And you know what? Even if I do die, at least I'll die having spent time with you. That's a plus in my book."

Hope looked at him curiously, walking alongside him in thought. "Yeah. I do believe it. I do like talking to you though. More than I should. Though I don't know why that would be a plus in your book. I'm not anything special" Besides being a tribrid. "Nothing worth dying over'

Landon exhaled softly and gave her a small smile, wishing he could take out the obvious pain in her heart. He wished he could ease her burden and make her happy. There was no logical explanation for why he cared so much. But he just knew he cared for her more than anyone else he had ever met. Though bullies and abusive foster families certainly didn't help that.

"I like spending time with you too. I don't know all of why exactly besides the fact you are interesting. But.... there's something about you that makes me want to know more about you. I'm willing to take the risk that your curse of losing people is real. After all, aren't you supposed to take chances in life?"

The tribrid was silent as they continued to walk to the history classroom. She went inside and took a seat at the desk towards the back, unable to help her thoughts that were going through her mind. She wanted to get to know him. There was some unexplainable pull she felt towards him. She wanted to be his friend and just talk to him. But was it worth the risk?

When Landon Kirby took a seat beside her out of all of the seats in the classroom, the tribrid couldnt help the faint smile that formed on her face. Without thinking of the consequences, without worrying about what was to come, she spoke "I'll see you this afternoon at the Grill. Even if they don't want to go out, I'll stop by"

An eager grin spread across the face of Landon Kirby at the thought of her wanting to see him. Perhaps he could help ease her mind over her fear of losing people. She seemed like such a nice girl that did not deserve to be burdened with these thoughts and feelings. She deserved to be herself and enjoy life while it lasted. After all, wasn't that what life was supposed to be about? He felt happier spending time with her than he had in a long time because of how his several foster families and classmates treated him. But around Hope, he felt like anything was possible.

After school, Hope was picked up by her Aunt Freya, and she looked out of the window, thoughts circling through her mind. She did not want to mention her attractive tour guide to her aunt because she didn't want her aunt to ask questions about him. Hope doubted anything would come out of this. After all, she didn't see herself jumping into a relationship after what happened with her brief last one.  Logic screamed at her not to just easily trust this new stranger in her life. Not after everything she had been through. So why did she feel a strong desire to go tell her aunt to bring her to the Mystic Grill?

She remained all the way silent till they got to their new house before she got out and headed off to her room. The movers had arrived while she was gone, and things were brought to her room for her to unpack. But Hope currently had inspiration for art, so she ignored most of her belongings and went straight for the art easel. She carried it to the spare room that they weren't using and began setting it up as an art room. She got enough set up for now before setting up her easel and canvas. She then began to paint, a vivid image in her mind.

It was her and Landon at lunch, though the two of them were a silhouette. She supposed it resembled the way she was unsure about their connection and whether or not it was able to continue. There was a lot of mystery between them. And the more secrets that would be unraveled, the more vivid the two characters would become. She supposed Landon may become a clearer, more vivid image with various colors once she knew more about him. If she allowed herself to get to know him, which was still a debate. But with all of the secrets about her and her family and even her own last name that she would need to keep from him, whether he was trustworthy or not insured that her side would remain a silhouette even in her own mind.

Eventually, she came downstairs, taking Nick into her arms from his position on the floor. She held onto her cousin with a small smile, wanting to spend some time with him. "Where's Keelin?" the tribrid asked finally as she looked around.

"She's making sure she has her position at Mystic Falls Hospital" Freya replied

Hope nodded, a wave of guilt crushing her insides. It was her fault that they needed to move. If her family hadn't insisted on her needing protection, if she hadn't accidentally caused a problem at her last school, Keelin wouldn't need to search out for a new job, no matter how easy it happened to be for her to transfer job locations. (She suspected Marcel or Rebekah's talents were involved despite Keelin's request to earn it for herself).

"Alright. Do we know what we are going to do for dinner?" Hope asked, holding her cousin in her arms.

"Not yet," Freya replied. "We might go out tonight since we haven't gone shopping yet."

"I heard the Mystic Grill was a good place to eat"

The witch nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. We could go once Keelin gets back"

A faint smile formed on her face as she kissed the top of Nik's head before setting him down. She loved her little cousin but only ever spent time with him sometimes while she was with Freya and Keelin. She didnt want him to end up dying too if she could help it. After all, Hope Mikaelson felt as though she was cursed to lose everyone she got close to. Which was why she had no idea why she was humoring this teenage boy's request.

Soon enough, Keelin came through the front door and pulled Freya into a kiss, a smile on her face before she slowly pulled away. "Everything is ready for me to get started on Monday. Until then, I'm all yours" she said with a small smile as she looked at her wife before turning to face Hope. "How was school?"

"It was school, I guess. Nothing exactly exciting"

"Hope wants us to go to the Mystic Grill for dinner" Freya informed Keelin

The werewolf nodded a little. "Well we should probably get going then. Before its time for Nik to go to sleep" She picked up her son and carried him outside to the car before putting him in his baby seat.

Hope climbed into the car and sighed softly, thoughts going through her mind. "I started setting up my art room" she informed them with a small smile. "I still have a good bit to set up, though. Both in the art room and my bedroom. I'll work on it once we get back to the house"

She didn't call it home. In her mind, her home was New Orleans. A place it wasn't safe for her to be at. A place full of memories of the small time period she was able to be with both of her parents. Throughout her whole life, she had only gotten to know her dad a brief time when she was seven and then when she was fifteen. Any other memories, she was too much of a child to be able to recall them.

"Have you started on any art pieces?" Keelin asked curiously, knowing art was a deep passion of Hope's.

"I have actually. A painting including silhouettes. I still need to work on some parts of it once it dries."

"She was in there since she got back from school" Freya told her wife as she reached the Mystic Grill. She parked and got out before getting their son

"Well, I'm sure whatever art piece Hope was working on looks great, based on the paintings I have seen in the past." Keelin said. It wasn't an optimistic compliment or encouragement. It was based off of what she had seen in the past, which was some of the best art work she had ever seen in her life.

"Thank you" Hope said with a small smile as the three of them began walking to the restaurant. 

She turned the handle of the restaurant door and opened it before w g inside. Nearby was the host station that was vacant but not for long as the host soon rejoined his station. They approached the Host Station, and Freya spoke up. "Table for three and a highchair for the little one please"

"Alright, take a seat wherever you'd like, and I'll bring the highchair over.'

"Thank you" Keelin said, and they walked over to a table, a highchair being brought close behind them.

Keelin set Nik down in the highchair with a small smile, and the three of them took their seats. The tribrid was lost in thought as her mind drifted to her tour guide and his insistence to spend time with her. It was hardly the first time someone was interested in her, boy or girl, so why was she having trouble pushing this one away? Especially when she knew what happened with her first and only love interest so far in her life.

Roman Siena.

He had betrayed her. Peaked into her mind and found out secrets she had kept hidden. Her mother's location. He was the reason her mom was dead. But... so was she. If she had never kidnapped her mom to lure her dad back home, she would still have her mom right now. Instead, she would never see her again. Not until she died for good at least.

Ever since her mother's death, she had continued blaming herself, thinking of everything she could have done differently that would have prevented it. And when her father died shortly after, she began thinking the same line of thoughts for him. He died to save her. And Elijah died alongside of him. She was supposed to be worth it. But she wasnt. And she kept messing up the lives of her relatives of them having to take care of her. They didn't get to live the lives they deserved because of her.

And now this boy could end up dead just like her parents. Just like her uncle. His life could be shifted off course and he could get hurt. Loving a Mikaelson would only get you hurt or killed. Even being friends with one would end up causing him to suffer. And Hope didnt want that. She barely knew him, but she knew that she did not want him or anyone else to get hurt because of her.

"Hope? You came" A recently familiar voice tore her out of her thoughts and memories as she looked up quickly at Landon Kirby.

A smile formed on her face despite her best efforts. "Landon. Uh, Landon, these are my aunts Freya and Keelin, and my cousin Nick.  This is Landon. He was my tour guide at school today."

"It is nice to meet you, Landon"  Freya said with a kind smile as she looked at the teenage waiter that had arrived at the table, wearing his blue Mystic Grill uniform.

"Yes it is." Keelin agreed with a nod, noticing the smile on Hope's face, caused by the mere presence of this boy. "Do you have classes with Hope?"

"Two. We have history and English together." Landon said, looking at her. "Its nice to meet you. Is there anything I can get for all of you?"

"I'll take a salad and some water" Freya replied

"I'd like a burger and fries" Keelin said, looking at him.

"Same" Hope said. "With a glass of water and a milkshake"

"Peanut butter blast, whipped cream on the bottom?" The waiter questioned as he recalled her telling him about it.

The tribrid's eyes lit up as a smile stretched across her face. She couldnt help it, even though she was insistent on keeping her distance. He remembered what she had said. She wasnt used to being around people and talking to them. And she hadn't expected the few that had to really care much about what she said. But in today alone, he had proven otherwise more than once.

"Yes, that's the flavor I want. Thank you" she said, unable to help her rush of happiness at the simple fact he remembered her flavor.

Landon smiled back at her, feeling relief at the sight of her smile. It only gave him more hope that she actually liked being around him. "Alright, I'll be back shortly" he said and went to get their drinks ready so they could have it while they wait.

Hope tore her gaze away and caught sight of her aunts' expressions. "Okay I know what you're thinking. But its not a big deal. He was just a tour guide"

"Just a tour guide? It didn't seem like that. You usually barely talk to anyone" Freya pointed out with a small smile Hope blushed a little. "He might have also sat down at my lunch table, and I talked to him a little. It's not a big deal" 

"You're blushing" Keelin noticed, "but if you don't want to talk about it, it's fine. We are just glad to see you are making friends"

Hope's gaze lowered a bit, the tribrid falling silent as she thought about everything. She looked up as the milkshake was put in front of her. "Thank you" she told Landon, giving him a small smile.  "You're welcome" he said before leaving the table since everyone had their drinks. He continued working, walking back over with their food once it was ready. 

Eventually, it was time for them to leave, and Landon looked at Hope. "I'll see you tomorrow"  Hope gave him a small smile. "See you tomorrow' she said softly and picked up Nik out of his highchair before carrying him out of the restaurant and to the car. 

What if she was making the wrong choice by appeasing him with his  two week proof? She was the tribrid. The only one of her kind. A first born Mikaelson witch with a terrifying amount of power. What if she hurt him? Or what if someone sensed her power and came after her again. The Hollow was bad enough. Dahlia. Everyone that had already been after her. What was next? And would she survive? Would her aunts? Nik? Her tour guide? Everyone could get hurt because of her. And that was the last thing she wanted

Those thoughts remained in her head as they arrived at their house. The tribrid headed upstairs, thoughts going through her mind, clouding her mind too much for her to want to finish her painting. She looked over at the wall in her bedroom with a single painting on it. The only painting she had made with her father. As much as it hurt, she didn't want to get rid of it or keep it stored away. 

After putting Nik to bed, Freya walked over to her wife and wrapped her arms around her. "I think we might have scared Hope off of spending time with that boy, Landon" "She'll come around" Keelin said, looking at her. "No one wants to be alone. Whether she gets involved with him or just ends up becoming friends with him, it's obvious she already cares about him. That doesn't just go away"

"I know. I hope you're right. But we both know how she feels about getting close to people" "I know we didn't see much of him, but he doesn't seem the type just to give up because she is a bit distant"  Keelin said and tugged her closer, pressing her lips to Freya's. Her wife deepened the kiss, not wanting to let her go. Eventually Keelin pulled away and pulled her a little towards the bed "Now come on, lets get to bed. We have things to do tomorrow" 

The witch and the werewolf got in their bed, and Freya lifted Keelin's hand to her lips and kisses each fingertip, a smile on her face. Keelin  grabbed Freya by the waist and pulled her close. Her lips stumbled into the witch's, bruising as the intoxicating taste of her filled the werewolf's mouth. Freya was glad she had Keelin in her life and did indeed hope that Hope let herself be happy as well. She pulled away eventually with a smile and laid with her wife, peacefully falling asleep.

[captainhysunstuff]

A reactionary comic about rereading a fic that I recently recommended that was way darker than I remembered, lol. I still love it for how they pretty much drive each other crazy, but that word choice and the consent issues... *cringes* At least there are valid warnings beforehand, and the first fic was pretty PG. Sorry. *laughs sheepishly*

[smilesrobotlover]

Hello, invitation to ramble about your four swords au 👀

What’s the plot? Bad guy? Are we focusing on Link(s) or somebody else? Basically just any thoughts you have XD

-Sky Floor

:D

So the plot for now is that Vio brings back Shadow, and accidentally brings back Vaati. But they don’t know that they brought back Vaati just yet. Leon is upset that Shadow is back because he attacked the castle, kidnapped him, Zelda, the maidens, and the knights, and he faked Link’s death which Vaati used against him. The colors are a little more accepting of Shadow because they understood that all Shadow really wanted was to be with his family and he’s not inherently evil. This whole thing causes tension between Vio and Leon (especially since Leon learned that Shadow tried to kill Vio that one time) but Leon has to learn to trust that Vio will keep an eye on Shadow. Eventually, Leon is slowly trusting Shadow and things are going good again until Vaati ambushes Leon and Shadow and everyone discovers that Vaati has returned. Leon has the blonde guy who’s name sounds like Venezuela keep an eye on Zelda while she stays with her cousin for safety, and Leon and his sons go to find Vaati, who is tormenting them. There’s gonna be Minish, heartache, backstories, and pirates! Idk it sounds fun to me :) basically Vaati is the bad guy (but he’s in his human form) and Leon and the colors are the main focus :> and another focus is Shadow truly becoming apart of the family like how he always wanted

[teddy-bear-d]

The Symbol of Timre

From @swamp-chicken’s fic Of Gods and Redstone!

[shadowtraveled]

"mithrun is the only real monsterfucker in dungeon meshi" is objectively the funniest bit you can get out of his everything, but in all seriousness i think his attraction to his love interest is deliberately overstated—and that makes sense, because romantic jealousy is a classic and digestible motive, which is explicitly what kabru was aiming for in condensing mithrun's backstory, and also because until chapter 94, mithrun wasn't willing to admit to the true nature of his desires.

but because romantic envy is both classic and digestible, it probably isn’t a unique enough or complicated enough desire to tempt a demon’s appetite. mithrun’s wish, as far as we can figure from kabru’s reduced retelling, was to have a life in which he had never become one of the canaries, and that carries like 3857 implications and desires within it. that’s delicious. his love interest acts as sort of a red herring to his motivation for making it, though. (side note: i'm saying "love interest" here because, keeping in mind that i barely speak japanese on a good day anymore, "想い人" is something i'd usually take as just kind of an old-fashioned and romantic way to refer to a lover, but in context i wonder if both the connotation of yearning and the vagueness are intentional, and i think this phrasing gets those aspects of it more effectively. anyway.)

mithrun considered his love interest to be untrustworthy. there was a minute where i thought that comment might be about a similar-looking elf (yugin, one of his squad members), but comparing the two…

the "sketchy" arrow is definitely referring to the elf we know as his love interest—the bangs go toward her right, she only has the one forehead ornament, and, most notably, her ears aren't notched.

every time she’s given a full-body depiction in his dungeon, she’s drawn as a chimera, with the body of a snake from the waist down. (side note: the “what if a dungeon has chimeras before reaching level 4?”/“then the dungeon lord is unstable” exchange just being mithrun grilling his past self alive is so funny. he’s so. but anyway) there are a couple things about this.

first, the snake part of the chimera appears to be modeled after some species of coral snake mimic

which, in the biology-for-fun manga, i… doubt is a coincidence, especially with the added context of the “untrustworthy” comment. the dungeon’s conjured illusion of mithrun’s love interest was a harmless copycat of a venomous original. for whatever reason, he felt this person was a threat and made up a "safe" version of her to be in a relationship with, and while it’s definitely possible to be attracted to or even love someone you find to be toxic and/or intimidating, when you take that into consideration alongside the configuration of her body, you get some interesting implications.

which brings us to our second point: if we assume that mithrun was not in fact fucking a snake, then sexual attraction, at least, was so far removed from his idea of a relationship with this person that he did not even bother to keep her dungeon copy human enough to maintain the illusion of the option of a sexual relationship. this is somewhat echoed in the depictions of their interactions, which also imply a frankly unexpected romantic distance. she kisses his cheek and he doesn't seem to react; she's at the edge of a narrow bed with only one set of pillows, on top of his blankets while he's underneath them.

the kiss is particularly interesting because it seems to contrast the text. kabru's narration tells us this was everything mithrun could have asked for, but mithrun is there looking unreadable to pensive, likely because this is right before the panel that makes it clear things in the dungeon are beginning to go wrong.

walking through this backwards for a minute, we have the physical barrier of his bedding and the spatial separation inherent in a bed made for one person, the emotional barrier of his mounting anxiety getting in the way of his ability to enjoy the affection he sought, and... the snake, which historically carries the connotation of temptation, yes, but also mistrust, barring physical intimacy. okay. ok. if a dungeon reflects the mentality of its lord, all of this might suggest that mithrun was not able to have any real desire for a relationship with this person. his unwillingness to be vulnerable or let another person in was insurmountable. but in that case, why was she such a focal point that she remained to the end, after his dungeon had stopped creating iterations of his friends to come and visit him? why would he get so upset over her meeting with his brother that he became lord of a dungeon about it?

well. mithrun's brother was also interested in her, probably genuinely. and mithrun had to win.

you have an older brother who your parents completely ignore, probably in part because he is chronically ill/disabled and almost definitely in part because he received a ton of recessive traits that resulted in rumors that he was an illegitimate child. you are aware, most likely because those same parents fucking told you, that you actually are an illegitimate child. but they keep you around because you had the good fortune of looking just like your mother. what can that possibly teach you but that you, like your brother, are disposable?

it's utterly unsurprising that mithrun, under these circumstances, developed a pathological need to be better than everyone around him. people don't keep you otherwise. i'd argue this is also why he says he looked down on everyone he knew while milsiril claims his dungeon reeked of feelings of inferiority—he sought out people's worst traits and prioritized them in his mind to protect his already extremely fragile sense of self-worth, and all the while he tried to be as likable and high-performing as he possibly could be. his parents disposed of him anyway, but even then he tried to keep up the performance. he was kind to everyone. he never once lost to a dungeon.

when he saw his "love interest" meeting up with his brother, what he saw was himself being replaced by a person his parents had always treated as worthless, and if that was what they thought of the child they'd kept, what value could anyone possibly see in the bastard they'd given away to die? mithrun and kabru tell the story like he wanted to win this unnamed elf's heart, but it was never about being with her. it was about cementing his worth, proving that he didn't deserve to be thrown away.

and so it's particularly cruel that his demon discarded him, too. but maybe it's also particularly gentle that, in the end, there was someone who refused to even consider giving up on him.

kui laid it out in three panels better than i could hope to.

yeah. it's love. you wanted to be loved, even when the only way you were able to understand it was through the desire to be wanted, and you wanted that so badly that the idea of being consumed felt like the promise of finally mattering to someone.

[supernovafics]

•*⁀➷ ❝ 𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. ❞✧∘ ✭・.✫・゜·。.

supernovafics!

✭•*⁀➷ a bestfriend!steve harrington roommate au slightly inspired by the tv show “friends” ·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

a year in the lives of you and your best friend steve harrington. you never thought that you would be living with this guy you’ve known since you were ten— although it was a hypothetical topic that was discussed at length during the many sleepovers you had over the years. but somehow on a hectic day in august, the stars managed to align, and the next thing you know a lease is being signed and the two of you are moving into a two-bedroom apartment. so far it’s been two months of countless late nights and too many really early mornings where you’re running late to class or steve’s rushing to get to his shift at family video. for the most part, though, it’s a perfect situation. until the lines that felt as if they were clearly drawn in the sand— and had been there from perhaps the moment you and him met— start getting blurrier and blurrier

warnings: bestfriend!steve, roommate!steve, childhood best friends to (eventual) lovers, two idiots in love (but neither wanna admit it), Big Big slow burn, besties being besties, minimal angst, mainly just a lot of fun vibes, eventual smut (minors dni!), many familiar faces (robin, eddie, sometimes the kids), no use of y/n, specific warnings will be tagged per chapter

important note! this will be a very “low stakes” series (there’s not really a super specific storyline happening in this), and i’m really just gonna post for it whenever i’m in the mood/feel inspired for it. i already have a bunch of random ideas for this universe that i wanna eventually do, but requests are open for anything you wanna see with these roommates/besties<333 (also oneshots/blurbs will be posted non-chronologically but will be listed chronologically, so you can pretty much read in any order you want to!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

fall 1985

love is a game (the one where you and steve have a “housewarming party”)

let’s forget it (the one where steve sees you naked)

third street (the one at the diner in the middle of the night)

silly promises (the one at dairy queen)

take a picture (the one with batman & robin)

from the dining table (the one with the early thanksgiving dinner)

never talk about it (the one where you see steve naked)

just a feeling (the one with steve’s date)

winter 1985/1986

the first fall of snow (the one where the kids spend the night)

care for you (the one where you’re both sick)

maybe this year (the one with the bet)

closing time (the one at family video)

while you were sleeping (the one with steve’s epiphany)

only for you (the one where you and steve play basketball)

in the middle of the night (the one with the ski trip)

worth waiting for (the one after the ski trip) (18+)

spring 1986

between you and me (the one where you and steve are secretly dating)

tell me a secret (the one where everyone finds out)

take my hand (the one where you and steve are chaperones at a school dance)

stay with me (the one where you come home drunk and steve takes care of you)

much better (the one with the "celebratory dinner")

summer 1986

[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l masterlist

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

*MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY.

series summary: When Joel Miller and Ellie Williams return to Jackson, Wyoming to begin their new lives, the last thing Joel expects is to catch the eye of the thriving community’s equine veterinarian. Young, beautiful, and married, Joel knows that he should stay away from a woman like you, but he can’t help but to be drawn to you like a moth to a flame. As you start growing closer to both Joel and Ellie, you find out all about the secrets they both carry—and they find out you’ve been hiding a secret or two of your own.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. AGE GAP (no specific age is mentioned, but reader’s in her late 20s/early 30s and Joel is 56). reader is basically an OFC but story is written in reader format and her physical descriptions are kept as vague as possible. i have my own face claim for her, but i will only ever share it under cuts and with disclaimers. (TW) infidelity (reader is married), domestic violence and abuse, mentions of infertility, pregnancy. opposite of slow burn. please see individual chapter warnings and tags. NO USE OF Y/N.

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

drabble - the truth

chapter four

chapter five

drabble - jealousy

chapter six

drabble - words left unspoken

chapter seven

chapter eight

drabble - lost on you

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

*more chapters to be added.

extras

series playlist

supporting character face claims

peach face claim/moodboard*

joel x peach moodboard made by the lovely @johnwatsn

moodboard made by the lovely @morning-star-joy

Peach x Joel edit by the lovely @cavillscurls

beautiful peach drawing by my love @cutesyscreenname

book cover by @morning-star-joy <3

stunning moodboard by @penvisions 🤍

drabbles l headcanons l blurbs l asks

pains (drabble request) When Ellie has awful menstrual cramps, you come to the rescue.

unconditional (drabble) After your first night together in the barn, Joel tells you he’s worried about the possibility of you getting pregnant; You tell him that he doesn’t have anything to worry about and it leads to a heartfelt conversation—and realization.

smutty headcanon

Ellie sees a hickey on Joel (blurb)

Joel talks about missing Sarah (blurb)

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 5) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨���𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 17.2𝘬 (oopsie)

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩(ish), 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺

note: casually posts this 3 days later.... im so sorry you guys i didn't mean to drop off the face of the earth >< things came up all of a sudden but the next chapter is here!!

your dreams were long and relentless. they stretched out into scenes that didn’t make sense, but there were some distinct faces. one-four-one, Kate, and strange muted flickers of Konig’s ginger head, Yue-Yi, then a warmth peeking up between the passing scenes.

Simon. his bare face with silvery scars.

you wanted to reach out and touch him but he crumbled like sand before you could, collecting in a brown particulate matter between your fingers, then blowing away into the whistling wind.

then there were darker images. Charles and his gold tooth. the red gouge in the middle of Turner’s head. his cowering wife and small daughter in her arms.

your dead daddy and mama rotting away in the sand.

you didn’t know what to make of all of it, dragging your feet through a thick sludge that you couldn’t see, traveling to a place you didn’t know as images streamed past in an endless, murky deluge.

you dreamed like that for a long time, heavy and infinite, till you laid down in the soft earth and invisible sludge, letting the sticky warmth of it suck you down into the dirt and the sand blow over your body.

when you woke two days later, three, maybe four, you weren’t sure, you slowly blinked awake and sat up in the bed. you looked around.

the windows were drawn open in the soft light of the morning, pouring across the wooden floorboards and cast over the thick blankets of the small bed. there was a desk on the far side of the room, a compact kitchen pressed to the corner, and you jolted with a gasp.

Simon’s cabin.

drawing off the covers quickly, and shivering in dewy, cold morning, clad in a thin nightgown, you quickly walked to the mesh door of the cabin, feeling light and airy.

pushing the door open, you could smell a tinge of something rich and savory in the air, and saw a man in a white button up and jeans crouched down, stoking something in a pot strung up over a campfire.

he had a familiar, broad back, and a blonde head of hair. with a grin so big it ached, you padded with bare feet over to him, and draped yourself over the warm, strong expanse of his back, wrapping your arms around his neck with a hum.

“good morning, lovely,” he said with a low, thrumming laugh, turning his head to press his nose into your cheek. 

you closed your eyes and nuzzled against him, squealing when he reached behind to wrap his arms around your legs and draw them around his waist, hoisting you up on his back as he stood. you clutched onto him, laughing as he walked back up the path to the cabin and laid you out over the bed with a softness.

he pressed his face to your neck, stroking through your hair, mumbling against your skin, “how are you feeling, pretty girl?”

“perfect,” you sang, truthfully honest, your heart soaring at the sight of him. you lifted his face gently to look over the easy smile that adorned it.

his strong blonde brow, the curve of his nose, full lips, dark eyes, and strong jaw, and—

your eyes darted over his upper lip again. there was no silvery scar.

brows pinched together now, Simon smoothed a hand over your chest. “what is it, lovely?”

“your scar,” you said with wonder, head tilted, “it’s gone.”

he laughed softly, the sound rough and musical. “what do you mean?”

then, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, soft, warm, wet and captivating as his lips moved against your own.

but you pushed him back by his chest, feeling a strange, murky sensation in your stomach.

“what are we doing here, Simon?” you asked, apprehensive. he drew back, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking your hand in his.

“you’re asking such strange questions, lovely,” he said with a furrowed brow, though there was a still wry smile on his lips.

you rolled your eyes with your own smirk. “then, answer them.”

he grinned, kissing your hand softly.

“what’s going through my pretty wife’s mind?”

a dread accumulated in your throat, and your tongue grew heavy. “wife?”

his grip faltered at the flat tone of your voice, and you looked down to your joined hands, startling at the sight of a sparkling ring on your hand that was enveloped between his fingers.

“what do you want?”

your eyes snapped to his. “what?”

his face was eerily empty and void and totally unlike his own now. he cocked his head. “what do you want?”

you sat up, inching away from him. he was stock still, eyes following your movements with a predatory precision. there was a new, burning sensation building in your arm and you hissed, gripping at the tightly, but looking down to find nothing different about your skin.

Simon’s voice dropped an octave, harsh and cold now. “what do you want from me?”

you stood from the bed, and he followed you, edging you out of the cabin, looming over you with a menacing height you had never seen before. his face was twisted with anger.

“what do you want from me?”

you clasped your hands over your ears, turning on your heel and running out the cabin and away from its idyllic warmth, bare feet thudding over the earth. you didn’t turn to look if Simon was still following you, but you could hear his distant shouts through your hands. 

“what do you want from me?”

the forest stretched into the desert and you wandered through its uncanny, thick and sandy sludge with bare feet, the thin cotton of your nightgown grating against your skin. you dragged your feet, a new exhaustion overcoming you with an insurmountable wave. the skin of your arm still burned with a ferocity.

to quell it, you laid down in the sand and thick sludge, letting the sticky warmth of it suck you down into the earth and the sand blow over your body.

when you awoke, you really, really knew it was real this time because there was a sore dryness in your mouth, a pulsing ache in your head, and a searing, thorough burn enveloping your arm and reaching down to your fingertips.

your eyes fluttered open. there wasn’t an idyllic cabin awaiting you, no rays of warm sunlight through the windows, nor a husband making breakfast for his wife before she woke. just a cramped room and small windows that were a pitched black dark. the soft light of the oil lamp beside you, carefully balanced on a thin, precarious nightstand, poured over the quilt blankets weighing you down.

you could barely do more than roll your head to the side, and you were endlessly grateful to see the back of Kate’s blonde head bobbing lightly as she clicked away on a typewriter at a small desk framed with stacked books on the opposite side of the narrow room, a cigarette between her lips, smoke trailing up above her head in a hazy cloud.

you tried to use your voice, to call out, but all that came out was a breathy, grating warble that had Kate whirling around in her chair with alarm.

when she saw you had awoken, she struggled to her feet, putting out the cigarette against the fine woodstain of the desk, and reached for your good hand.

“hey, hey,” she soothed, snatching a cup of water from the nightstand and bringing it to your lips, helping you take down the cool liquid over the scalding heat in your throat.

you gulped it down gratefully.

she patted your cheek with a tenderness that had your eyes closing at the lightest touch. “glad to see you awake. you scared us, missy. you slept for three days.”

you almost choked on the water at that and she drew back the cup with a haste and a noise of alarm, pulling you forward slightly to slap at your back.

emerging from your coughing fit, you jolted when you met a pair of dark brown eyes by the edge of the room. within the corner of the room, it seemed Maria had just emerged from a slumber in an armchair, rubbing at her face before stretching back into it.

Kate’s line of sight followed your eyes, face impossibly mellow when she and Maria shared a smile. you noted the interaction with a creeping curiosity.

attempting your voice, and sounding entirely unlike yourself, you croaked, “what happened?”

Kate took your hand again, tighter this time as Maria came closer. she sat at the foot of the bed with a tired smile, your feet pressed into her side.

“there’s more good than bad,” Kate said, looking so tired you didn’t think she could muster anything but the truth. you were betting on it.

“tell me the truth Kate,” you said, voice stronger now, “i want all of it. the bad.”

she shared another look with Maria, sighing out after a long moment. “alright.”

you straightened, inching further up the pillows, much to your body’s resistance, and curled an arm around your chest, trying not to fidget against the itching, creeping thrum of pain in your other arm. your eyes darted down to it—wrapped up tight in bandages from mid-bicep to your fingertips. where the pain had been in your endless dreams.

Kate followed your line of sight. “first off,” she started, tapping a finger lightly to your bandaged wrist, “bad burn. there was a surgery. will probably leave scars.”

you grimaced at the thought, but you could handle a few scars after barely scraping away with your own life. your painfully empty stomach broiled at the thought.

“how did i survive?” you asked, almost in wonder. you were so sure your last moments would’ve been beside Simon—the thick smog clouding your senses and tipping everything in a smoky, confusing daze that kept you tethered to the floor, and his soft lips against your own. 

even if you crawled, you don’t think you could’ve escaped that burning mansion.

“that austrian hitman,” she sighed out, rubbing a hand over her forehead with frustration. “took you and ran. left Ghost behind to die.”

you stiffened at the thought, not sure if you would thank Konig or slap him by the end of this. if you even would see him by the end of this. did you even want to see him by the end of this?

with a sour feeling, your voice dropped, solemn and throaty. “and Simon?”

she grimaced. “he’s… alive.”

you released a shaky breath. alive was enough. more than enough.

“and the rest of you? one-four-one? how did you escape the mansion?”

she looked away from you, staring at an untrained point in the room. “we turned tail as soon as the mansion was up in flames. so did Turner’s men. Ghost was an idiot and went runnin’ in to finish off Turner and got trapped in by fallen debris. we couldn’t reach him and he got burnt. bad. i’m assumin’ he found you in the process.”

you nodded slowly, biting back a bitter swirl of anger. Simon, always so careless with his own life, and overprotective of your own. you wanted to hate him for it.

like always, you couldn’t.

“i killed Turner,” you said, voice an eerie emptiness you didn’t know you could manage.

Maria roused at the end of the bed, slouched body growing straighter, sharing a wide-eyed glance with Kate before their attention was trained on you again.

“that’s…” Kate searched for words. “news.”

you continued on. “i killed him. i wanted to leave him and let him burn to death but…”

you remembered the curling, blooming delight you felt in the moment of putting a bullet right through his forehead.

now, you just felt an overwhelming numbness.

with your prolonged silence, Kate released your hand to stroke your good arm in comfort. “you did us and yourself a service, honey.”

you just gave her a sheepish look and she returned it with a wry smile. “who knew you had it in you, angel?”

Yue-Yi did, you thought weakly, though the nauseating roil in your stomach decided that you never wanted to kill again. you never wanted to take revenge on another person again.

a panic rose thinking of the possibility of it. one-four-one would undoubtedly fill the power vacuum left behind by Turner’s death, but who would rise to challenge that?

the inevitable, never-ending prospect of violence that followed the gang like a bad omen left you clutching at your stomach with dread.

Maria leaned forward onto her palm, and she asked, “what is wrong, carino?”

her brown eyes darted over your stiff body.

“i think i’m gonna be sick,” you admitted with a sour feeling in your mouth, the room a dizzy swirl now.

Kate let out a gruff sound, leaning you back into the pillows again. “not possible. you haven’t eaten for days.”

“m’not hungry,” you lied, feeling the every acute shooting pain through your stomach. you don’t think you could keep anything down even if you tried.

that didn’t seem to convince Kate.

she left you and Maria in a drifting silence, the vaquero curling back up in the armchair and lounging in it, looking sleepy and content at your presence.

Kate came back with a plate of plain bread and greasy green beans with bacon bits.

“sorry,” she said, handing you the food with a somber look, “s’all we have. haven’t been cookin’ much.”

at that, Maria slunk from the room with tired promises to go whip something up in the kitchen, wholly ignoring your protests as you sopped up the bread in the savoryness of the green beans and chewed mechanically, forcing yourself to swallow and ignore the nauseating waves that followed.

in the meantime, Kate described the night of the party—how one-four-one had released the chandelier onto the gathered crowd of partygoers to clear out the place before any further bloodshed. when you told her how you had met Konig, and your own plans to kill Turner for yourself, running from the chandelier that came crashing down over your head, she was only mournful, taking up your hand with a softness. then, you described how Yue-Yi had been instrumental in your plans that day.

you carefully avoided sensitive discussion of Yue-Yi, only revealing that there was a sympathetic girl from the brothel who was kind enough to help you. you could only hope that Simon wouldn’t speak of her betrayal to the rest of one-four-one and los vaqueros. you knew he wasn’t stupid enough to think that you ran from the brothel and arrived at Turner’s mansion without help.

you wondered if he was thinking about you at all.

instead of thinking about that, you mourned Yue-Yi’s absence, deliberating when you could next slip away and see her after your condition improved. shifting around in the bed, you realized it might be a much longer wait than you wanted.

“where am i?” you asked, hands twitching, feeling restless. you wanted to leave.

Kate gave you a weak smile. “a farm.”

your brows raised. “a farm?”

“we’re still in california—a bit from san francisco. there’s still fighting in the city. law’s tryin’ to suppress it but it won’t die down for another coupla’ weeks.”

you felt like your eyes almost bulged from your head. “but Turner…?” 

is dead. you couldn’t say it, throat closing up around the words knowing that you were the reason he was gone.

she shook her head slowly. “he’s got plenty of loyal minions. we’re chopping off heads for now. won’t last much longer. at least, that’s what John wrote.”

your mind reeled at the thought of the soft-smiled bearded and bear-like man. “and they’re okay?”

she gave you a wicked look. “‘course. we’re one-four-one.”

at that, you couldn’t help but smile and lax back into the pillows. your tongue felt heavy. “where’s Simon?”

the smile drifted from her face. “fighting.”

you screwed your eyes shut. of course he was. “i thought he was burned bad?”

you felt the bed dip as Kate shimmied onto the edge of it, her hand on your knee beneath the quilt.

“he was, but not burnt as deep as you. besides, i couldn’t keep that brute in bed even if i tried.”

of course. you felt your eyes almost brim with hot, angry tears, but you bit them back with a ferocity.

instead you opened your eyes, looking over the age and fatigue of Kate’s face, and said, “you should go. i know you want to be fighting with them.”

her eyes flashed and she shifted on the bed, telling you all that you needed to know. she wanted to go.

“i’ll be fine,” you said, “just give me that paperwork to do.”

you nodded your head towards the paper strewn across her desk.

“it’ll keep me busy.”

her brows raised slightly. “you know i can’t do that.”

your jaw clenched with a hot, sparking tightness in your chest. “am i still your prisoner?”

she stared at you for a long moment. “no. you can leave whenever you like.”

“will you let me stay?”

for a sickening heart beat, she was silent once more, eyes betraying nothing but a pale blue, before she said, “yes. you’re one of us now.”

you nodded, pulse still thudding with a nauseating speed in your temple. “good. give me those papers. i want to help.”

you couldn’t imagine the stretch of the next couple of days, possibly even weeks, doing nothing but waiting and worrying and healing while one-four-one was finishing the fight against Turner’s lackeys. you wanted to leave. was there a possibility you could slip away? and how would you?

you spoke nothing of it when Kate showed you some of the papers—financial, with lots of math, money, and reading involved. you had helped your mama with the fiances of your daddy’s saloon. nothing you couldn’t handle with a bit of practice.

you bit down any murky feelings at the thought of your daddy and mama, letting Kate help you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, putting half your weight onto the floor. your legs shook—feeling leaden and dead with a lack of circulation through the limbs that Kate rubbed to life before she hoisted you to the cramped desk.

settled in the chair, you spread the papers out over the desk, pulling the abacus closer to you and ran through the items on the page. Kate swept your hair over your shoulder.

“you don’t need to do this now. you should wash up and eat more.”

you only shook your head. “i want to help.”

she sighed out, massaging at your shoulders with a tenderness. “you don’t owe us anything, honey. you only just woke up.”

you made a disgruntled noise, ignoring her, but remembered Yue-Yi’s words with a keenness. 

i know what it is like to want to be useful… now, i am not useful to anybody but myself.

her voice was defiant and strong. you only found yourself missing her more as you slowly put down the papers, ruminating with a tight feeling in your throat.

“i’m doing this for myself,” you rephrased, taking up the documents again and fishing out a pen underneath the strewn mess of paperwork.

Kate’s hands fell from your shoulders, mumbling something about helping Maria with a strained frustration in her voice, and you scribbled down some notes into the margins of the texts, breaking into the first series of equations.

you stayed there almost the entire night before Kate forced you to slurp down a steaming bowl of caldo de pollo full of hearty vegetables thick with ginger, drink more water, and sink into a cool bath that felt pleasant against the sore ache of your burnt skin. lifting your arm to your face, you observed it carefully.

a thin layer of skin stretched over the deep, red wounds. you shivered at the thought of the same thing stretched over the expanse of Simon’s chest, shoulder, maybe even traveling to his back…

all while he was in san francisco fighting.

shivering, you slipped out of the bath, bracing yourself against the counter to resist the wobble of your weak legs, a deep, rolling cold consuming you.

dread. you couldn’t shake it as you dressed in an airy nightgown, ditching a corset, which was very unlike you, and redressed your arm.

clutching at the walls, you made your way back down the set of rickety stairs into the living room. Maria was thumbing through a book near a small, lopsided bookcase, placing it quickly back on the shelf when she noticed your presence.

she gave you an awkward smile, clasping her hands behind her back, as you moved into the space. from the interior, you determined it was a small, wooden farmhouse with a brick red fireplace and big windows that overlooked the unkempt bushes in the garden and a flat, grainy plain where a barn sat in the distance, clouds thick in the night sky. a german shepherd, who you had not seen before, laid curled up on the carpet by the foot of the upright piano, his nose tucked into his tail with slow, sleepy breaths.

Maria cleared her throat beside you, and you could hear her begin to slink away before you turned to her.

“how did you and Kate meet?”

her whole body snapped to you, and you sat at the plush, gingham couch across from the fireplace, legs aching with effort. she sunk into the ottoman by the edge of the fireplace.

“spanish-american war,” she said slowly, thoughtfully, and with a strange stiffness. then, she smiled, and you were struck by the soft beauty of it. “i was younger than her. i couldn’t speak any english, but Kate tried to talk to me anyway. she started learning spanish for me, but ay dios mio, she was so bad.”

you cracked a smile at that, leaning back into the cushions. “please. tell me more.”

she hummed, hesitant, playing with the ends of her braids. “i wasn’t always a vaquero. i was a barmaid in a small town in southern texas that only spoke spanish and raised cattle. most of the town boys grew up to be ranch hands. i wanted to, too, but i wasn’t allowed. that’s what i thought until i met Kate during the war.”

you watched with a wonder at the mellowness of her—voice warm, body lax as she talked about the blonde woman.

“do you live here?” you asked instead, and she avoided your eyes, playing with the collar of her button up. 

“yes.”

you cocked your head. “alone?”

she shook her head with a flush. “with Kate.”

your brows rose slightly. your mama had told you it was uncommon for women to live with each other without a husband, but you assumed, with the absence of a surrounding neighbors, Kate and Maria didn’t worry about the social stigmas that your mama had.

there was nothing explicitly wrong for a woman to not get married and maintain their own profession, you thought distantly, not sure if you believed the idea yourself.

“you must be good friends,” you said with a firm nod and Maria stiffened.

“we are.”

you almost worried you had said something wrong with the tightness in her face, but Kate reappeared from the hallway of the stairs, padding over to stand by Maria’s shoulder. 

she commanded that you go back to sleep and you obeyed, half desperate to just escape the growing divide between yourself and Maria, much to your confusion and guilt, climbing back into the small bed that Kate had lent you.

the cool cast of the night sky flooded into your room. you watched the way it splashed across the door of the opposite side of the room, a part of you hoping with desperation that the door would slowly twist open, and a familiar person would step inside, flush by your side for the night. that same fat, ugly mass of dread sat heavy on your chest.

a part of you hoped it would be Simon who climbed into your bed as your eyelids fluttered shut. behind them, a slew of nightmares crept towards you, its tendrils squeezing you tight the whole night until you woke the next morning.

you spent the day between Kate’s paperwork and wandering across the farmland. you watched Maria and Kate ranch their throng of cattle with a couple of ranch hands from the nearby town, the livestock huffing and mooing as they lazily meandered across the grassy pasture.

the german shepherd snapped his jaws at their heels, tail wagging and tongue lolling out as he pranced around for a good chase that the cows ignored with heavy snorts.

you shielded the sun from your face with your good arm, tightening the shawl around your shoulders, crossing your boots as you leaned against the fence. the loose dress you wore fettered around you with a foreign slack, fluttering in the whipping wind. whether Kate and Maria noticed you had left your corset discarded in the pile of clothes on the floor of your temporary room, they did not question it.

by noon, you had picked the grassy terrain clean of its wildflowers, bunching them into your hand, the green sap of their stems staining your hands, as you bent them into flower wreaths like you had done with the girls from church after sunday service.

when was the last time you had gone to church?

setting down the floral crowns into your lap with a sigh, you looked up to gaze over the distant, stretching plains, only finding an impossible abundance of more wildflowers just out of reach from the space you had cleared.

stacking two crowns on your head, you held a third as you trekked back towards the wood farmhouse where Kate’s distant form waved you over for lunch.

you didn’t speak much over the meal—sandwiches stuffed with tomatoes, greens, and thin slices of leftover pork chop that the three of you were eating slowly away every day. you listened to the two women in a haze, mind far off and distant.

when Kate stood to clean the dishes, Maria hot on her heels, you stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floorboards with a screech.

“has John written?” you asked, then added quickly, fighting to keep your voice even, “or Simon?”

Maria continued to the kitchen, her back to you as she scrubbed at the dishes in the sink. Kate gave you a sad smile.

“i’m sorry, honey. it won’t be for a while now.”

you almost choked. you were in no condition to ride out with the fragile state of your body, as much as you had been thinking about it all day, as much as you had been trying to keep the thoughts under a tightly sealed lid. that used to work for you, but now…

it seemed everything was just pouring out.

“how long?” you pressed, and Kate gave you a confused look.

your hand clenched into the soft material of your cotton dress. “how much longer until the fighting ends?”

Kate turned to join Maria’s side in the kitchen, rolling up her dusty sleeves as she strode over.

“not sure,” she said, a murky look pinching her face. “i wish i knew darlin’.”

you did too, you mourned, that dread buzzing in between the soft inner pockets of your head. for one in maybe your entire life, no one around you expected you to stay. no one expected you to leave either. no one around you was forcing you to go one way or the next—you had the freedom to stay or leave.

and beyond the marvel of it, you still couldn’t go anywhere you wanted. you looked down to the white bandage of your arm, feeling itchy and stuffy beneath the gauze, and cursed its existence.

instead of moping, you helped them finish the dishes as best as you could with your poor arm, and returned to that small desk in your cramped room, making your way through the thick stack of papers. it kept your mind to something and kept your hands working steadily without a second thought.

there was a simple process to it—calculation, step by step, and something that, no matter the initial difficulty, had a solvable end. it soon became addictive, and before you knew it, the sun had dipped behind the horizon again and your eyes drooped, striking a match to light a nearby oil lamp. 

you continued the calculations till the fat paper stack had thinned, resisting fatigue with every ounce of fight until you slumped against the desk in defeat, falling down into a slumber where familiar nightmares clutched at you once more.

before you knew it, a whole week had passed just like that. waking to your cheek pressed to the papers on your desk, a dry trail of drool across them. you would wash up, eat, wander the plains and waiting with impatience for your hand to heal, listening in on Kate and Maria’s conversations without much to say, eat again with a bitter and stale feeling in your mouth, a lingering dread that refused to melt feeling thick in your throat, and ration the dwindling leftover of papers on one-four-one’s finances.

you dreaded falling asleep most of all. there were always grotesque images—Turner dead, your daddy and mama dead, the three of Turner’s men dead, one-four-one and los vaqueros dead, Yue-Yi’s beautiful, milky skin bloodied and mutilated, and Simon…

the conjures of a distorted Simon in your mind felt too real. terrifying and foreign and the antithesis of the warmth Simon had shown you and the Simon that you knew and yet…

you feared your dreams.

you fought sleep every night. sometimes, you got lucky and staved it off, much to Kate’s chagrin. by the end of the week, she had resorted to sitting at the edge of your bed, trapping you beneath the quilt and caging you into the mattress that felt like it was swallowing you whole. sometimes, you talked, her hand stroking against your hair to speed the process, Maria tucked in the corner, content and sleepy and curled up in the arm chair.

sometimes, you didn’t.

this night, you didn’t feel like talking, turned on your good side and facing the wall, Kate’s hand on the crown of your head. 

Kate must’ve sensed something was wrong because her hand pulled away, pulling you out of the slumber you were just on the verge of being dragged into, despite your persistent resistance.

“i’m sorry.” you stiffened.

slowly shifting onto your back, you looked over at Kate, her face lined with fatigue.

you forced your jaw to work. “why?”

she looked away, casting her gaze out the window and over the dark plains.

“you’re supposed to go wherever you like, but i can’t help but feel like we’ve trapped you all over again.”

there was a real, dripping guilt in her words that roused you from a haze. you didn’t know what to say.

instead, you forced a smile on your lips, and gripped at her arm to get her attention. her pale eyes were full and grim.

“you’re supposed to be fighting but i can’t help but feel like i’m preventing you from doing so,” you said, and she just shook her head.

“i don’t want to leave you,” she said, voice tight, and you felt a slow, wet burn in your eyes, mouth falling open, and then closing again.

“we’ve been so awful to you,” she whispered.

your mind raced. had they been?

one-four-one had kidnapped you, lied to you, deceived you and used you for a revenge ploy. could you blame them after the sorts of revenges you had taken? you knew it wasn’t personal. they would’ve done the same to any one of your daddy’s children—you just happened to be his only child.

but all the same, their plans had indirectly saved you from your daddy and your mama and Turner. they had shown you honest kindness throughout it and promised to return you to your home on that train ride, not knowing you didn’t want to go. you got to know each of them personally, whether they planned it or not, and Simon showed you a whole new realm of affection.

your throat closed up at the thought of him, heart twinging with a heavy, dark weight.

had Simon’s words been true? he wasn’t going to bed you for revenge from the beginning? much less even have personal relations with you? he promised he would never abandon you… was that still true? or heat of the moment reassurance—moments before you thought you would die together? 

no matter how much you wanted to be a part of one-four-one, as Kate confirmed, could you forgive all of them anyways?

you looked up into Kate’s face, hooded and wrung through.

“will you be honest with me now and forever from this point on?”

she didn’t hesitate when she nodded. “you’re one of us.”

“then answer my questions,” you said, voice soft. “tell me the whole truth. from the beginning.”

and she held true to her pledge—she retold their entire ploy against Turner from the very, very beginning. how it began when they created one-four-one after the war, gunslinging and gambling for money, expanding their territory and negotiating with small towns and saloon chains, then bigger corporations, till they reached Turner’s borders. soon, one-four-one’s rise to fame got them in a lot more trouble than they could chew, always on the run from the law and Turner’s men till los vaqueros stepped into the conflict as allies, hating Turner just as much as one-four-one.

she told you about their multi-year struggle, poking around for a weakness in Turner’s defenses, finding your daddy and you by chance. a perfect avenue to reach Turner’s ego and twist it, provoking him into a full-blown conflict rather than the narrow skirmishes around each other.

when her story slowed, you couldn’t help but say, “i need to ask you something.”

she cocked her head, gaze curious now. “what is it?”

you flushed, avoiding her eyes now. “it’s a bit embarrassing.”

she huffed a gentle laugh. “m’sure i’ve heard worse.”

“is it true that—” you swallowed hard, “—is it true that Simon wanted to have intimate relations with me for revenge against Turner?”

her breath hitched and she shifted against the bed, hand twisting in the quilt. “is that what Ghost told you?”

you nodded, slow, needing to know if what Simon said was real.

he pressed his forehead against yours, warm and solid.

“i said i bedded you for revenge. i lied.”

Kate cursed under her breath. “‘course it’s a lie. he told me himself before he even left for your house to go and take you. he said he didn’t want anythin’ to do with Henry’s daughter.”

she said it with more force than you thought she would, her shoulders tight, but then she relaxed, closing her eyes for a moment. “but, of course, Ghost tells Soap and Gaz things more than he'll ever tell me. and it's mostly because they’re so nosy.”

you cracked a smile at that, trying and failing to imagine Gaz as nosy. only his stoic, serious face and his burly arms crossed over his chest came to mind.

“and that morning of Turner’s social…” the smile slipped from your face as you grimaced. “Simon wasn’t going to leave me at that brothel?”

she shook her head. “no. he said he was givin’ you a chance to change your mind and run. i…”

she looked sheepish now. “i overheard him talking with john. i shouldn’t have but i couldn’t help myself.”

you knew that feeling well, snooping around one-four-one in your time with them.

“why didn’t you run away?” her question was earnest as she peered at you, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to escape the inquiry.

mouth twisted into a scowl, you mulled over it. you had asked yourself the question time and time again, never really able to answer it, but you tried to the best of your ability anyway.

sighing deeply, you said, “i hated living in that small town with my daddy and mama, so i didn’t know where to run to. i didn’t have anywhere to run to. i didn’t have money or a gun. i had never left my home i…”

you grimaced. “i didn’t want to go home. i liked being with you guys.”

maybe it sounded pitiful, finding more comfort in your kidnappers than your own home, but Kate only nodded. after hearing Maria talk about one-four-one, finding more comfort in the local war effort and stray soldiers that filtered into the saloon where she worked, and running off to be a vaquero, you imagined Kate did understand.

“and you really want to stay?” she asked, looking unconvinced of the idea herself.

you didn’t miss a beat, and said, “after everything, yes.”

“we would love it if you did.”

you smiled. “really?”

she nodded. “really. no matter what Ghost says.”

you cocked a brow. “what did he say?”

“oh ya’ know. just the usual things he says when he’s scared.”

she stood from the bed, moving to the door and gently shaking Maria awake. when you still stared at her, feeling confused, she winked at you.

“he lies.”

at that, with her words bidding you goodnight, you turned to the wall again, listening to Kate and Maria and their footsteps and then the shut of the bedroom door.

that night, your nightmares felt lighter than usual.

it was three weeks since you woke up in Kate and Maria’s farmhouse, four weeks since you met Simon, a week since you finished all of Kate’s paperwork, a week since Maria leave to join the war effort in san francisco, and a week since Kate refused to leave you, incapacitated and healing, alone at the farmhouse no matter how you pleaded and prodded for her to go.

it was four days since you received a thick letter and heavy box in the mail.

you had dumped the contents out over your messy desk, a river of papers flooding out, unbound arm straining with effort just to hold the heavy box up. the skin of your arm was still tender and sore and a flushed pink, littered with textured scars like Kate had warned. at night, you ran your fingers over the leathery surface, discolored and shriveled. your fingers had survived the attack, miraculously, and you flexed them every once in a while just to remind yourself that you could. at least now, the pain wasn’t unbearable.

you carded through the messy pile of paperwork, finding different letters addressed to Henry’s daughter from an accounting company and several major shareholders of your daddy’s saloon chain.

you wondered how they had even found you, or the nearby town, where Kate fetched the mail. you had a very large suspicion Simon had something to do with it, as he usually did.

you had assumed the chain was being handed down to the next largest investor, or your daddy’s share would be split between the shareholders equally. your eyes almost bulged from your head as you read through the letter from your daddy’s attorney.

the saloon chain is yours now, miss.

you read through the line again. unmistakably, the words didn’t shift and morph on the page, and stayed a black bold statement on the paper. you scrambled to go through the rest of the papers, finding more paperwork. paper on your ownership.

your ownership.

slowly, you sat in the desk chair, unbreathing.

the next following days, you sent back eight different letters. one to your daddy’s attorney, who had stated in the letter he wanted nothing to do with your gang-affiliated family again, four different shareholders, one to your daddy’s bank, one to Simon, who had also been a shareholder, despite the fact you had no idea where to address it, and one to Yue-Yi. you addressed it to the brothel, urging her to respond as fast as possible, promising you’d slip away soon and see her as soon as you could.

the promise felt empty and cold.

you wondered if that was how Simon felt—promising you an endless list of things you hoped to believe with a pang of desperation. thoughts of him only circled. when would he come back? would he ever come back? could you believe his promises again?

but you held Kate’s word true above anything. she said that Simon wouldn’t abandon you, that he wasn’t just using your body for revenge. you trusted her.

now, you delved into your daddy’s paperwork, creating a thorough list of important names, contacts, addresses, and deciphered the financial books that needed to be cleaned up. the accounting company had done half the work but you tidied it to the best of your, now, advanced abilities.

you had the materials spread out over the kitchen table, Kate watching you with a careful eye from the living room couch. she clutched at her mug, knee bouncing, foot tapping against the floorboards, periodically glancing from you to the horizon through the windows.

you scribbled down some more notes into the journal Kate lent you before putting down the pen, taking in the women fully. 

“what’s wrong?” you asked, rolling your tense shoulders back. she took a sip from the mug, immersed in a prolonged silence. you could only hear the tick of the clock by the front door.

“Kate.” her gaze finally fell on you, and you were stunned to see the glossy look in them. you softened your voice. “what is it?”

“i’m fine,” she insisted, voice tight and gruff, looking away from you again.

you eyed her for a long moment. you had noticed a difference in her behavior—distant, shifty, impatient, and significantly quieter since Maria left.

you didn’t believe her for a second.

“tell me,” you pressed, and she made a noise of frustration which almost made you feel bad.

she moved to sit at the kitchen table, dragging the chair back in a rough manner, before settling down at the table with a deep scowl. you raised your brows slightly, nudging her under the table with your foot.

“i miss them,” she said, so quiet you almost couldn’t hear her. she turned the mug on the table mindlessly. you followed the movement with your eyes.

“i thought they would be done soon?” you asked, and she only frowned more.

“not soon enough.”

there was that heavy, throbbing in your chest again. you pressed a hand to it, rubbing over the spot, but it didn’t ease. pure, solid dread.

“they’ll be back,” you reassured, totally unsure yourself, mind looping back to Simon as it always seemed to do.

“i miss Maria,” she said with an uncharacteristic sharpness, and you looked up at her, reaching across the table to hold her hand.

“i…” you searched for the words. “i miss Simon as well.”

it felt strange comparing a lover to a friend, but the kind of love Kate seemed to carry for Maria bordered on it. that thought became a strange prick of curious discomfort in your mind, and you waved it away, returning back to the documents spread over the kitchen table.

“John tried to get him to write you,” Kate said, and you stiffened.

“really?”

her foot nudged yours. “‘course, but he refused. John said he’s been mopin’ about all over the place, refusin’ to write anyone and barely talkin’.”

you grimaced at the thought, reading through the document but not absorbing any of the words.

“did John say why?”

you could see her shrug in her peripheral. “it started ever since that austrian guy started hangin’ around.”

your breath hitched, picking your head up to look at her again. “Konig?”

she gave you a strange look. “yeah. he’s helping one-four-one. John said he wants to see you.”

your mouth opened and then closed. that was a development.

“why?”

she shrugged again. “beats me.”

you mourned that John didn’t just write that information to you.

you had barely thought of Konig that past few weeks, despite him apparently saving your life, after almost killing you that night. you shivered at the memory of his cold eyes, revolver shoved under your chin, hand squeezing the air from your throat.

the thought terrified you enough to push it away and immerse yourself in the papers once more. Kate eventually retired to bed, trudging upstairs with a grave face. you kept writing, calculating, solving, in a long cycle till it became impossible to resist the droop of your eyelids.

you had begun to slump forward onto the table, placing your pen and head down for just a second, the soft, lulling tick of the clock a rhythmic snap in your ears till—

you jolted when the german shepherd yapped.

rubbing at your face, you peered over the table, seeing him standing by the door, tail wagging with a ferocity and tongue lolling out. he yapped again, ears flicking towards the door. you squinted out the window, finding nothing but the night pitched into a hazy ink.

a new sort of grating fear bubbled in you at the dog’s persistence. he paced around the entrance, tail still bouncing. you eyed the kitchen cabinets, remembering that Maria had told you the one on the far right had a revolver and ammo.

instead, you neared the window, squinting your eyes, seeing a distant light bobbing over the hill of the plain before many joined it. you pressed your forehead to the window, making out the shapes of horses nearing the farmhouse fast.

you stepped over the dog, opening the front door a crack to listen over the whistling wind. unmistakably, the beating of horse hooves echoed down the plan as well as—

your name.

you scrambled around for the lantern by the front door, striking a match to light it, and holding it up against the darkness as one-four-one and los vaqueros came thundering down the hill.

the dog shot out the door to greet them and you bit back a shriek, almost tripping over his paws before an arm came to hoist you up. Kate materialized beside you, laughing as you strode out to the approached figures, arm in arm.

you realized Soap was the one calling your name, and your heart soared at the sight of him, alive and happy and well and smiling as he slid off his horse, running up to you and Kate to pull both of you into a hearty hug, squeezing too tight. he pulled away to pet the dog who was running around in crazed circles.

your cheeks ached at the big smile stretching your lips.

your gaze swept over the men, at least forty of them, breath hitching at the sight of one, his black stallion stomping in the grass and the silver skull pendant of his stetson glimmering in the low light of the lanterns strung up over his saddle.

Simon’s face was bare, thumbs hooked in his belt, head tilted as he looked at you with a softness, dark eyes illuminated in the firelight. your hands curled into the skirt of your dress, grounding yourself as Gaz and John strode up to greet you and Kate. mindlessly, you spoke back, your eyes still flitting to Simon who turned away to adjust something on his saddle.

then, Alejandro took your hand politely and kissed the back of it with a curling smirk, Rodolfo at his shoulder, who only gave you a curt nod. a slew of vaqueros followed him, including Maria.

you watched in an amazement as Kate immediately yanked her into a hug, hooking around her neck and Maria’s arms snaking around her waist, pulling each other flush together.

but the other half of your attention was trained on the man who continued to fumble with his saddle gear. you edged closer to him, weaving between the vaqueros as they passed, a couple of them tipping their hats that you returned with a polite smile and a nod.

Simon leaned against the horse, looking at you from over his shoulder, face imperceptible and attention trained on you. 

you stopped a marginal distance away, wary of some eyes lingering on the pair of you, hands twisting in your dress.

“not gonna say hello?” you called and his mouth only flattened into a line, making no move towards you.

your heart sank into cataclysmic depths, like all your worst fears had just been confirmed, like Simon had just opened a cavernous chasm between you and him.

he jerked his head to something behind you, something you couldn’t bother to turn and look at, before training his attention back to the straps of his saddlebags.

“we’ve got company.”

confused, you edged closer to him before a big, burly man strode into your path, his pale green eyes crinkled with a smile, and lacking his black mask from the party.

“little lady!” Konig said with a fondness, gripping your shoulders. you stood stiff in his hold, looking up at his crooked, tall nose and curly ginger hair.

“Konig?” you spluttered, and he looked smug at that, as if he was proud you remembered his name.

“your arm—” he reached down to slide the sleeve of your burned arm up, and you reeled back, hissing at the intimate gesture that was wildly inappropriate.

you held the wrist of your wounded arm, feeling a sliver of guilt from the hurt look that flashed across his face. then, you looked to Simon, leaning against his horse, arms crossed over his chest, face stoic and void. 

you hoped for something you couldn’t put your name to, but that hope only deflated when he only shrugged, looking away from you.

you pulled your sleeve up a couple inches and watched Konig take in the marred skin of your arm with a pinched brow.

he took a hand and lightly brushed a finger down your forearm, and when Simon made a disgruntled noise, you pulled away from Konig, jerking the sleeve of your dress with flushed cheeks and a pit of writhing despair in your stomach.

 “when i saw you on the floor in Turner’s mansion with…” Konig frowned, not looking at Simon when he said, “him, i was worried. you might’ve died, liebling.”

from behind Konig, Simon straightened with a tension in his shoulders you had never seen before. save for one-four-one, you had never really heard someone refer to Simon as something lesser than who his reputation portrayed him as—dangerous, deadly, and devilish.

although, as you watched an arrogant smile stretch over Konig’s face, the austrian ginger in front of you seemed no less dangerous and threatening as you thought Simon, or Ghost, to initially be.

that nickname had a bitter taste blooming in your mouth. your eyes flitted to Simon again. it just didn’t stick anymore.

“well, i’m fine, so thank you,” you said, setting your shoulders, jolting when Konig reached up to twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers.

“i know, liebling, you can handle yourself very well,” he said, eyes twinkling, and you couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not before he was being torn away from you.

Simon dragged the big man back by a handful of his dress shirt, eyes a deadly cool tone and face an eerie calm. you shivered, thinking Simon didn’t really need the mask to be terrifying, as you curled your arms close to your chest.

“that’s enough,” he said, voice gruff as he looked up into Konig’s taller frame.

you realized, with a blink, how strange it was seeing a man taller than Simon.

Konig only scoffed, batting away his hand, neck craning down to get eye level with Simon in a dangerous, menacing manner. “you do not own her, no? little man?”

Simon settled his hand on the revolver lodged in his holster, straightening. “say that again?”

your eyes widened at the spectacle, Simon and Konig almost nose to nose, and you reached out to them in a panic, pushing Konig away from the terrifyingly seething brit who was seconds from drawing his revolver.

“stop it!” you shouted, a dizzying panic flurrying around your mind.

Konig only clutched at your hand on his chest, shifting backwards, and shot a smug look behind you at Simon. you didn’t even dare look back at the expression on Simon’s face, half-worried if you did, you’d see his revolver raised high and aimed right at Konig.

instead, with a frustrated huff, you scolded Konig. “just get inside already!”

Konig flinched, frowning at the harsh tone in your voice, and you only scowled more, wriggling your hand from his grasp. at that, he turned sharply, grumbling something out before descending the rest of the way down the hill in easy, long strides and into the farmhouse—stuffed with people and loud and lit up against the stark night. 

turning back to Simon, who was stock still, face blank, and a hand firmly wrapped around his revolver, you only cocked your brow.

there was a new, writhing anger building in your chest so fierce you almost choked on it. brows furrowed and throat tight, your hand clenched into a tight fist around the skirt of your dress, the very sight of Simon in front of you sending you hurtling toward a razor sharp edge.

“you too,” you hissed, jerking your head towards the farmhouse.

without a word, and a sour look, he snatched up his horse’s reins, and trudged to the farmhouse to tie up his stallion at the pasture fence with the other couple dozen horses.

cross with his erratic behavior, you didn’t wait to go inside with him, instead launching yourself into the messy fray and overcrowded house.

Soap and Gaz poured glasses of bourbon at the kitchen table, swept clean of your documents, and surrounded by more vaqueros knocking back drinks between loud banter. someone played a lively, bumbling tune on the piano that filled the living room with a full sweetness.

it was a miracle to think that only a few hours prior, you and Kate had been missing them all with such a fierceness that there were tears in your eyes. now, searching the room for Kate, you saw her spread over the couch, flush to Maria, explaining a story in slow spanish that had other vaqueros laughing and Maria curling an arm around her shoulders. 

the image only soured when the sight brought you back to thoughts of a certain blonde brute.

you moved to Soap, wriggling between him and Gaz to snatch a glass of bourbon. Soap shouted over the noise with an impish smirk, “you drink now, lass?” 

with a nod, you tipped back the drink, cringing at its burn that pricked your eyes, and Gaz laughed loud and sweet in your ear, obviously drunk as he wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders.

“missed you, miss,” he said, lips in a wry smile, and you could only smile back.

“let me stick around then?” you offered and Soap nodded eagerly, pressing his knuckles to your shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“we were plannin’ on it!”

John materialized behind you to untangle Gaz’s arm from your shoulders, much more sober than the other two men as he reached around you to grab a glass with a wink.

“good to see you, darlin’.”

feeling indulgent and mellow, you pulled him into a quick hug, and he pressed a palm firm to your back with a laugh.

“Ghost’s been dyin’ to talk to you,” he said, tipping his hat to the man sulking across the room with Alejandro and Rodolfo who were locked in conversation. you spared him a quick glance, seeing his arms crossed over his chest and staring off into an untrained point, not at all enjoying the lively atmosphere of the room. just the sight of him sent slithering curls of something crawling under your skin.

“well he hasn’t been acting like it,” you said, not even trying to filter the exasperation from your tone.

John only raised his brows, sipping at the bourbon. “since when does he ever act true to how he feels?”

sending him a look, he only smiled with a shrug, turning away to disappear through the crowd of cowboys. 

you sidled up beside Kate and Maria instead, the women inviting you into the couch with open arms, and you listened in on their conversations—a muddled mix of english and spanish. a vaquero got your attention, conversing with you in a strained english and a mix of sign language that had you both keeling over with laughter at the bizarre form of communication.

across the room, Simon’s burning, dark gaze on you caught your eye, and between exchanging words with the friendly vaqueros, your eyes fluttered to him. he was leaned against the wall, Soap flanking him now, Gaz leaning an arm over his shoulder, as they prodded Alejandro and Rodolfo in loud, tipsy voices, but his eyes never left you.

you leaned forward in your seat, elbows braced against your knees, and conscious of the way your loose blouse dipped, exposing an indecent amount of your skin as you swept your hair to one side of your shoulder, brushing against your neck.

he cocked his head, deep, murky eyes roaming down, and then back up to your gaze. 

you don’t know whether you should be mad at Simon or not. you couldn’t decide what was more logical—the seething tick in your mind, or the horrible ache in your body for his touch. the sliver of affection you craved from him.

Simon pushed off the wall, and you were about to stand when Konig, much bigger than you, squeezed into the spot next to you by the couch, his arm braced against the back of it.

“i’m sorry, liebling,” he said suddenly, and you stilled, sinking back down into the cushions. “i couldn’t help myself earlier.”

“that guy—” he tipped his head towards Simon, who was stock still, hands curling into fists around his holster, “—is a nuisance.”

you scoffed at that, playing a long for a bit, and enjoying Simon’s attention on you with a mouthful of guilt you swallowed down quickly. you decided that being mad at him was more logical.

“really? i heard he’s not fond of you either, mister,” you said with a smirk, mind buzzing around as you took another swig of bourbon. he watched you with a wicked smile. 

“i did not know you could handle so much alcohol, little lady.”

you shrugged. “neither did i, sir.”

he cocked his head, leaning so his shoulder was pressed against yours, and a distant, fuzzy call in your brain told you to move away, but your sense of direction was muted and muddled with the buzz in your mind.

“i heard rumors about you,” he admitted, and your brows only rose as you slurped down more bourbon. “that Ghost had stolen Turner’s property.”

that irked you, and you put down the glass on the coffee table stacked with other half-empty glass cups, wiping at the back of your mouth.

“no,” you said, with a strange drawl. “m’not Turner’s property.”

his gaze was long and imperceptible. “i also heard that Ghost owns you. is that true?”

your breath hitched, brows pinching together. “s’not your business.”

“is it true?” he pressed, and you shoved him away a bit, standing and weaving between some dancing vaqueros to get away from him.

but he only followed, snatching at your wrist, catching your bad arm and jerking you back with a tight grip. you clawed at his hand.

“lemme go—” you said, struggling between the drunk bodies, but he only grabbed your hip with the other hand, forcing you still. a new panic rose in you.

“just, listen, liebling, i don’t wanna hurt you—”

“well you are—!” you shouted, on the verge of giving his hand a good, strong bite, when an ear-splintering bang filled the room.

you screamed, clutching at your ear with your free arm, and a rush of sawdust came down over you and the wildly sober vaqueros around you that drew their revolvers with a scramble. there were a pair of dark brown eyes over Konig’s shoulder.

“let go.”

Simon was just behind Konig, revolver aimed high at the ceiling, coming down to press right against the pulse point in Konig’s neck, gloved finger heavy on the trigger.

Simon’s face was rigid, calm and cold, jaw clenched tight, but his eyes swirled with something sinister and so menacing, you wanted to reel away. the music of the room was dead now, all eyes trained on the two men, and you in Konig’s grasp.

Konig stared down at you, face blank, but pale green eyes strained. you saw them flick up behind you, then around the room, and only seeing a dozen revolvers staring back. you could see Gaz creep up in your peripheral, gun trained on Konig, and with a low, frustrated noise, he released you.

you immediately scrambled back, your muddled mind throbbing with a sharp clarity now, and you looked between Simon, seething, and Konig, face downcast and turned away with a clenched jaw. a familiar burn pricked you eyes, and you swallowed around the tight vice of your throat, chest thick and laden and aching.

“you—”

you choked on your words, unable to find what to say before you were barreling out the farmhouse, Simon shouting your name in your wake.

you didn’t turn to see if he was following you, crushing your hands to your ears as more tears spilled down your face. eerily, you were reminded of your dream, jerking away when you felt someone’s hand at your back, only rushing up the hill faster, not bothering to hike up your dress over the grassy plain.

wracking sobs left your throat, and you felt confused, the wetness blurring your vision, and ragged breaths making your head spin. why were you crying?

you collapsed into the grass, trying to catch your short, ragged breath, but there was such a tightness in your throat that you couldn’t force any air through.

when you realized you couldn’t breathe, you clutched at your throat, screwing your eyes shut as the world spun and wild, frenzied panic consuming you.

all your nightmares came flying back to you. Turner, Charles, the men you had killed, demonic twists and a thick, sandy sludge, the world burning around you and one-four-one with it, Yue-Yi, broken and bloodied, and your daddy and mama. gone and dead.

and Simon—evil and full of hate.

arms wrapped you into a solid body, smelling smokey and woody and earthy, Simon’s deep voice in your ear. 

“shhh. it’s alright.”

his hand snuck around to your chest, right where that throbbing, painful ache of dread was, and his big palm rubbed over it, the warmth of his hand seeping right down to your bones.

you choked on your sobs and his voice was soft. “deep breaths.”

he breathed against you, strong and steady, and you tried and failed to match the slow drag of each one with a shaky inaccuracy, chest stuttering and whole body shaking violently. he moved you down slow, sitting you so you were between his legs and back flush against his chest, pulling you against him in a tight hold that became an anchor.

you clutched at the wrist of his sleeve with desperation.

“hurts,” you forced through painful gasps, and the warmth of his cheeks was against the side of your head.

“where?” his voice was harsh and intense now.

you slapped a hand over his at your chest, willing it to move it in those small, soothing circles that slowed the shallow, sharp gasps wrenched through your constricted lungs.

“what can i do?” he asked, a sharp edge of desperation slipping into his voice, and you could only cry, letting him rock you gently.

time stretched, agonizing and forever and never-ending, till your breaths finally, finally slowed, and the flashing kaleidoscopic dance behind your eyelids faded, lungs aching with an acute pain.

“you didn’t write me,” you said between sniffles and sharp, uncontrollable gasps, and he let out a low, tortured and broken noise, wrapping around your body tighter.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”

you wanted to scream. “of course i did,” you almost sobbed. “i was so worried for you, i thought i’d-i’d die. i missed-missed you more than anything.”

another strangled sound of frustration left him, and he shifted you in his arms, still tight and warm around you, but enough so you could peer up into his shattered face, a foreign gloss in his eyes you’d never seen before.

“i almost didn’t survive without you,” he said, voice strained and hushed, and you wanted to slap him, but your whole body felt leaden and too light.

“i thought about you everyday,” he admitted, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, and you let him, screwing your eyes shut. “i couldn’t get you off my mind. i thought about you almost every second.”

“i don’t believe you,” you said, voice shaky, but he shook his head against you.

“then don’t take my word for it. ask Price. ask Soap or Gaz. they’ll tell you.”

“i’m so mad at you,” you said, a rage clawing up your throat and mixing with the dizzy grief of your body.

he said nothing so you pressed further. “i can’t believe you. you left me here. you’re still injured, and you left me at that brothel. i thought we were dead in Turner’s mansion,” then voice breaking, you remembered, “my daddy and mama. they’re dead—”

you worked yourself up again, choking, and Simon soothed you with soft hushes, your body wound up tight.

“i wanted to leave here,” you said in a panic, “i wanted to leave.”

“wasn’t safe,” he retaliated, his lips against your neck, and that only made you angrier.

“i don’t care.” tears slipped down your cheeks that he quickly brushed away. 

“i thought you wanted to be with me all the time,” you said, grief shattering over you like glass.

he turned you and pressed your body down softly into the grass, caging you between his arms, and you wrapped around him easily, arms around his neck, legs winding around his hips as he crushed you down to the earth.

the solid weight of his body calmed every loud thing clattering through your broken mind.

“i always have,” he admitted lowly, face pressed to that spot where your hair pooled against your neck. “i needed to fix things in san francisco. now, the city’s yours.”

he pulled back, and you looked up into his warm brown eyes that were splintered and honest. “i’ll give you anything. you can have the whole city and you can be with me all the time. everything’s safe now. no one can hurt you. no one can hurt us anymore.”

with two fistfuls of his shirt, you tugged him back down to you, and he burrowed into your touch, arms coiling around your waist and pulling tight.

“just be with me,” you gritted out, your hand clutching at the softness of his hair, and he only let out a coarse, affirming noise, stock still and like a rock.

you curled into him—something you could anchor to as your eyes slid shut.

“i dreamed about you,” you rambled, and he laxed further into you, but then tensed when you said, “nightmares.”

his voice was strained. “like what?”

“it was different than this,” you said, mind hazy and fatigued, “none of this ever happened. you were never an outlaw and we lived in your cabin in the woods and we were married.”

“if that’s what you want,” he shot out, fingers curling into your hair, “i’ll give it to you.”

he deflated when you shook your head.

“you were evil,” you whispered, and he flinched, before you finished, “but i knew it wasn’t you.”

he pulled back again, leaning over you. his face was shadowed in the night, lips screwed into a tight line, but you could still make out the curve of his features.

“i prefer you like this,” you admitted, brushing your fingertips along his bare face, thumb tracing over the silvery scar on his upper lip. “an outlaw. the scars.”

“you’re crazy,” he said with a tinge of wonder, and you almost smiled at that, melting when he stooped down to kiss you softly.

his lips were warm, and you gripped at his hair, pushing his head further into you. it felt too brief once he pulled away.

“could you ever forgive me?” he asked.

you looked at him for a long moment, feeling all muddled with unease. the better question was, could you ever trust him again?

“maybe.”

he nodded, betraying nothing but the cold, hard lines of his face.

“can i at least carry you?”

“i can walk myself,” you insisted, though not unkindly, as you pushed him off you. the big, heavy man giving easily to your touch and he stood, offering a hand that you took, and lifting you with an ease.

you walked side by side in silence, only the soft rustle of the prairie grass pulled by the wind filling the darkness, the farmhouse still lit like a beam and vaqueros snaking through the interior.

when you neared, Simon snuck an arm around your waist, and you quickly wiped at any stray tears on your face, fixing your hair and pulling at the new wrinkles of your dress. Kate was standing by the door, arms crossed over her chest.

“you shot a hole through my ceiling, Riley,” she called, brow furrowed with irritation. Simon stiffened beside you.

“i’ll fix it.”

she gave him a long look void of sympathy. “not with those injuries you won’t.”

then, her eyes were on you, and she softened. “are you alright, angel?”

you cleared your throat, nodding with a quiet hum, and Simon inched closer to you.

she shot him one last nasty, dirty look, turning on her heel and reentering the party. you felt a creeping awkwardness with all the eyes crawling over you and Simon’s possessive hold, hyper aware of Konig's gaze from across the room, splayed out in an armchair as he took swigs of a flask.

“party’s over,” Kate shouted over the music, glancing briefly at you. “lights out in five minutes.”

you mouthed a thanks to her, and she only shrugged with a light smile as the men in the room grumbled, taking glasses and bottles of bourbon with them as they moved to their horses outside the farmhouse. you watched through the window as they unpacked blankets and rolled them out over the grass, some trekking towards the barn to take cover in for the night. 

you watched a half-awake and intoxicated Soap struggle into a sleeping bag, Gaz already passed out near his feet and curled up in some blankets. John was only a couple feet away and staring up into the night sky.

you jolted when you noticed Konig stop a comfortable distance from you, standing in front of the farmhouse entrance and gaze trained outside. Simon sidled up closer to you, leaning against the window with crossed arms and a furrowed, serious look.

“sorry liebling,” he said with a shrug and a distant expression before taking another swig of his flask, not looking at you as he walked out the door to his horse strung up along the fencepost.

staring after him, Simon reached out to touch your cheek, and your eyes snapped to his. looking over his face, the soft moonlight poured over it, as Kate moved around the living room to put out the oil lamps. you brushed your fingers along his strong jaw, watching in amazement how it flexed under your touch.

“we’re sleepin’ outside.”

you startled with a muffled squeak, stepping towards Simon, and he easily wrapped an arm around your waist as you twisted to look back at a smug looking Kate and a tipsy looking Maria by her shoulder.

you flushed deeply, a fluttering heat in your cheeks.

“goodnight,” you said, and Kate’s smirk only grew, as she pulled Maria out the door.

“sweet dreams,” she called, a knowing lilt in your voice that only made you blush deeper.

you jolted when you felt Simon press his cool lips to your flushed skin.

“tired?”

you nodded weakly, and he smiled against your cheek.

“you sleep,” he said, patting your sides. “i’m gonna wash up.”

hesitating, the man skirted around you and headed towards the stairs, waiting at the foot of them with an expectant look over his shoulder as he watched you move to your bedroom door.

he cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot. “night.”

you bit down on your lip, hand fidgeting around the door knob. “good night.”

you watched him walk up the stairs, heavy boots clunking against each step, a well of disappointment blooming in your mouth.

lips twisting into a scowl, you opened the door and shut it behind you too loud, not looking for Simon’s last look in the darkness.

you crawled over the bed, huffing out in frustration as you rolled in the sheets, on the verge of punching your pillow, before sliding off your bed in defeat and redressing in your thin nightgown and pushing aside the messy stacks of papers lining your room, building in an unattractive pile on your desk.

sliding into the bedsheets, you turned to the wall, feeling strange with Kate’s vacancy at your back. you rolled over and fiddled with the bedsheets, careful on your healing arm.

you had been so tired mere hours ago and now you couldn’t even shut your eyes, and you mourned it, wriggling in the sheets with restlessness and craving for something…

you eyed the door of the bedroom. you had been so mad at Simon only moments ago, the way a cataclysmic divide manifested as soon as he arrived, his immature, jealous squabbles, his ignorance, his stupidity, his strange self-destructive logic that involved pushing you away that persisted for the past three long, torturous weeks…

you would never stop being mad at him. you weren’t even sure if you could ever trust him, but, maybe, you realized, you wanted him close nonetheless.

you felt like you were thinking with a new clarity when you lurched off the bed, throwing off the quilt, and striding to the door, your hand in mere inches of the door when it was wrenched open.

with a surprised squeak, you looked up to see Simon standing there, dripping with water and holding up a towel around his waist, blonde hair tangled and matted against his forehead.

your eyes immediately slid down to the width of his hips, his deep v-line and the definition of his stomach, the bullet wound healing nicely with a healthy flush and new stitches. you bit back a gasp when you looked over the right side of his upper chest and shoulder—an angry, tender looking fleshiness that must’ve been painful.

he slowly stepped into the room, dark eyes on you, as he closed the door behind him and edged you closer to the bed with every step.

you almost whimpered, shuffling backwards, Simon looming tall and broad over you, and it wasn’t anything like that scary dream you had weeks ago. a slithering ache that you hadn’t felt in weeks return to the lower regions of your body.

he reached out, snaking a hand behind your head into your hair and gently pulling you to him in a kiss that you eagerly returned. 

wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching through your tiptoes to reach him, he made a low, carnal sound in the back of his throat that had you squirming in his grasp.

“is this okay?” he asked between kisses, and you only hummed a pleasant yes, enamored by the soft movement of his practiced mouth, your legs going jittery.

he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to him to keep you steady, tongue pressing against your lower lip.

you squeaked, jerking back with a jolt of confusion.

he only smiled, voice rough and low. “never kiss someone before, princess?”

you flushed, mumbling, “yes. you,” with embarrassment, before trying to pull him back down by his neck, but he didn’t budge, smile growing wider.

“let me teach you?” he practically purred, and you blushed with a shy nod, letting him hoist you onto the edge of the bed with a yelp, your hand accidentally sliding against his raw shoulder.

he winced, and you snatched your arm back, squeaking a sorry but he just shook his head with an impatience, dragging you forward by your hips closer to him, your hands pressed to the wet skin of his torso as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

“part your lips, pretty girl,” he said, voice a low, seductive rumble, and you immediately complied, letting him lean forward and slide his tongue between your lips.

you startled at new feeling, flinching away, but he pulled you back in with a softness that had you melting, and you tried to match the wet, slick movements of his tongue with your own.

he hummed in approval, angling his head to kiss you deeper, and you almost thought you saw stars, heart thudding too fast against your chest. it was strangely hot and sensual and the sensation of it only spurred on a curiosity in you.

when he leaned back for a breath, you only felt disappointed and lurched forward to bite his lower lip, willing him to stay right there against your lips.

he let out a low groan and you jolted at the vibration that traveling straight from his throat into your own, pulling whimpers from you. that seemed to only urge him on, because his grip on your the back of your head tightened, pushing your head to his so your noses pressed together, the movement of his lips, tongue, and teeth aggressive now.

once your head spun, dizzy and light, you pressed against his chest and he finally parted from you. he was panting, lips swollen with a redness that you reached out to touch in the darkness, brushing a forefinger over his lower lip that he kissed, then kissed down your palm, the underside of your wrist, up your arm until his lips were suddenly on your neck.

your moans were involuntary, drawn from your throat like magic as Simon worked your body, fingertips slowly tracing up your thighs beneath your nightgown.

he let out a noise of surprise against your neck. “no undergarments?”

you flushed, shaking your head, and he hummed in approval, searching the skin of your legs with his palms till he found that sticky, wet source that pulsed with an ache. you squirmed against his touch, gasping when he found your clit, thumb against it, and two big fingers stretched your core as they slowly pushed in.

he pumped them between your thighs, lips and tongue and teeth still sucking along your neck and the underside of your jaw, then licking over your ear. you shook in his hold, clutching onto his forearms for purchase, head tipping back from the feel of his fingertips rubbing sensitive spots inside you that had your breath sharp and full of gasps.

“want you to come on my fingers first,” he whispered, licking over your cheek, “can you do that, pretty thing?”

you nodded eagerly, rolling your hips down onto the delicious circles rubbed around your clit and the shooting pleasure each time he pressed against that sweet spot inside you.

“more,” you whined, eyes closed, and he huffed a laugh.

“more? more what? this not enough?”

“no,” you gasped, dragging your nails down his abdomen to the edge of his towel. with half-lidded eyes, you eyed the spot curiously, then blinked up at Simon, and he just smirked, leaning down to kiss you again.

“patience, princess.”

you screwed your eyes shut, the sensations over your entire body overstimulating—his hand gently tugging at your hair, his hot tongue against your own, and your hips rolling down to the sensual movements of his other hand.

it was too much, and soon you were gasping, muscles bunching and then releasing as you came all over his fingers with pitchy moans that he swallowed into his mouth.

he didn’t waste a second to push you down over the bed, flipping up your nightgown and bunching it in a hand against your stomach, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed. tugging your forward by your hips, his tongue was against your folds in an instant and you squirmed with little squeaks, twitching with sensitivity. but he was so much stronger than you, pinning you down to the bed easily, blonde head between your thighs.

you gripped at his hair, tugging, as your back arched against the hot, wet movements against your cunt. it was overwhelming. too good.

“Simon,” you gasped, and he just hummed in response, tongue sliding into you and reaching up to press his thumb to your twitchy little clit.

“missed hearin’ you say my name like that, pretty,” he said between kisses against your cunt, dark eyes flitting up to gaze at you, half-lidding and smokey.

that same sweet feeling unfurled in your chest so much faster than you expected, and you had no time to warn him before your core was convulsing, thighs tightening around his head as your hips bucked up into his mouth.

but he wouldn’t stop, even after your body started shaking, and you pulled at his hair, little gasps and whimpers of pleas to stop. finally, after a loud, pitched whine left your lips, he suckled against your clit one last time before popping off.

there was a reflective wetness over his jaw that made you blush, a stupid smile on his face and hazy, dark eyes flitting over your body, splayed out, twitching, and completely unwound.

you chided him. “greedy.”

he laughed, crawling up over your to kiss you, a strange salty and sweet taste on his tongue that had your stomach twisting with want again. when he pulled away, you licked over the wetness on his chin and jaw and he groaned, pushing you down to the bed with a hand against your neck.

“you…” he gaze was so hot and wanting that you shivered, clutching at the loose grip of his hand around your throat.

“you don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered, and you licked your lips, tasting the last of the wetness. he eyed the movement with an intensity.

“i have an idea,” you whispered back, reaching down to grip at the edge of his towel again, and he smirked.

he slid off you, letting his towel drop to the floor, and you eyed his swollen length with a greediness, whimpering just at the sight of it.

already, your cunt was pulsing back to life with a wild aching desire. you squirmed against the bed.

“please?” you offered him, and he only gave you an amused look.

“please what?”

he crept over you, knuckles pressing to the bed beside your head. you spread your legs wider.

“please,” you whimpered, and his brows raised slightly.

“i don’t know what you want,” he said, low and grating, and you huffed with frustration, pressing your heel to the back of his thigh to push him further forward. but he wouldn’t budge.

“want…” you looked between his legs, shivering, and he hummed, shifting his hips forwards so that he was flush to the back of your thighs, length brushing against your cunt. you gasped, bucking your hips up.

his gaze was imperceptible, just dark and wanting, head tilted. “want my cock?”

you whined, nodding, reaching down to rub your fingers gently against the head of it where that milky substance was spilling out over your stomach. he made a noise of disapproval, snatching your wrist and pinning it above your head.

“use your words.”

“want you to fuck me,” you whispered with a blush, glancing down at his cock again, and he went still.

“supposed to save that for marriage, lovely,” he said, voice honest and soft as he brushed a palm against your cheek. you looked up at him and the tender look on his face, jaw clenched, but his eyes still blown wide with need.

“it doesn’t matter,” you said, before adding in a whisper, “i’m already yours.”

you wanted to say that you needed him—desperately needed him close, but you bit the words back, hoping he would understand.

it seemed that he did from the way he pushed your nightgown up, pulling you up so he could gently tug it over your head and throw it to the floor. he immediately eased you back down, lips roaming your bare skin, his lips over your chest, breasts, and stomach, hot and overstimulating. you clutched at his hands holding your hips down.

“hurry,” you whimpered, and he reached down to stroke his cock before sliding it between the sticky, wet folds of your cunt, catching against your entrance.

then, he hesitated and you almost wanted to scream in frustration. “remember that it hurts?”

there was a distant, little spark of fear inside you, but you were so impatient that you almost didn’t care. 

“just… please, Simon.”

he leaned down to kiss you briefly. “relax. m’not going anywhere, pretty.”

that eased a place in your chest that you didn’t know was panicking, and you laxed back into the mattress, letting him touch you where he pleased as you wrapped your arms around his neck. his hands smoothed over the skin of your torso, then pressed your legs wider.

“take a deep breath for me, sweet girl.” 

you complied, letting your eyes shut and you took a deep breath, the air punched from your lungs when you felt something impossibly thick pushing past the rim of your entrance. you couldn’t breath, nails sinking into his skin.

“good girl,” he mumbled against your skin, voice soft as he pressed even softer kisses to your neck and shoulders. “doin’ so good for me.”

the pain was sharp and uncomfortable, growing as he stretched you even wider. tears pricked in your eyes and he immediately kissed them away.

“want me to stop?”

you shook your head, eyes screwed shut, hands snaking into his hair to pull at it and somehow ease the pain. “no. please.”

his fingers were brushing against your jaw. “look at me, pretty girl.”

your eyes fluttered open, a tear escaping down your cheek as you looked up to him. his eyes darted over your face, a crease of worry in between his brows that you willed away with your thumb, pressing against it.

he stooped down to kiss you, swallowing your gasp when his hips pushed forward a little more, and suddenly his hips were flush to the back of your thighs, an overwhelming, throbbing fullness in your stomach. he was crammed against that swollen spot inside you that had your head falling back, seeing stars.

“alright?” 

you nodded slowly, swallowing, and ground your hips against him experimentally, a new sort of pleasure racing down your spine. he let out a low sound, gripping your hips to still them.

“not yet,” he scolded, “you need to relax more. i don’t wanna hurt you, princess.”

he reached between you to rub at your clit in gentle circles, and you squirmed a little, feeling impatient.

“relax,” he reminded you, and you bit back your frustration, letting him wrap your legs around his waist.

he leaned back, enough so the moonlight from the window spilled over his muscled body, and you could see the light catch in his smokey eyes. he tilted his head, gaze full of affection as he traced a thumb over your throat.

you held his hand, moving it to clasp around your throat and pressing your heels into his back. that unbearable stretch inside you had turned achy with want, and that sweet spot inside you begged for some kind of stimulation.

“ready?” he asked softly, and you hummed a yes, watching the way his hips drew back a little and then snapped forward again, gasping when he pushed against that amazing sweet spot in you again.

then he did it again, and again, and every time it bunched a breathy moan from your lips till he was building a pace, and you couldn’t stop the little whimpers falling from your lips, clutching at his hand wrapped around your throat, using it as leverage to pull you back down on every thrust. it left your mind hazy and dizzy, your other hand searching the sheets for something to hold onto.

he leaned down, grabbing your hand and pushing it to the bed, his rough fingers interlocked with yours.

“good?” his gaze was hot and piercing.

“mhmm,” you hummed, infatuated with the strange pleasurable stretch between your hips and the rolling, hot waves of pleasure in time with his hips that overwhelmed you completely.

“pretty girl,” he said, tightening his grip around your throat, though his voice was so distant and he felt so far.

“closer,” you mumbled, and his movements slowed.

“hm? speak up, sweet thing.” 

“closer,” you whined, eyes glossy and fluttering your eyelashes up at him.

he shifted above you, dropping down so he was caging your head between his forearms, pressing you down into the mattress with a pleasurable weight that had your head spinning. you wrapped around him tighter, reaching around his sides to clutch at the muscles of his back so your chests were flush together.

“better?” he asked, pecking your nose softly, and eyes so warm and full that you shuddered.

you nodded and craned your neck up to offer your lips for a kiss that he took eagerly, tongue slipping into your mouth, his hips rolling down into the hot clutch of your heat.

you gasped at the sensation, his thrusts more shallow, deeper, than before—cock so thick that you were pulsing around him in time with his thrusts. it’s like you could feel him in your ribcage, hammering against the quick thud of your heart.

overwhelmed, your nails sunk into his back, and he let out a low groan, ducking down to whisper in your ear.

“so tight, princess.”

you moaned, only tightening at his words, and that spurred him on, fucking you faster with a dizzying pace now, hips slamming so hard against yours the pain mixed into a muddled pleasure—

“Simon,” you gasped, clawing at his back, and you could feel his smirk against your skin.

“yeah that’s it. say my name, pretty girl.”

you did, gasping it under your breath with each of his rough thrusts, a familiar burn building in the crux of your stomach.

“Si—m’gonna—”

“shh, don’t talk, just take it,” he whispered, low and throaty and voice grating.

your moans were breathy now, coming in short bursts, as more overwhelming waves of pleasurable sensations hit you, burning you inside and out.

“fuck,” he growled, hand closing into fists around the sheets by your head.

you peered up at him to the best of your ability, eyes half-lidded and drooping, watching the clench of his abdominal muscles with every thrust, his body in a sheen of sweat and brows furrowed with concentration, dark eyes boring down at you with a predatory gaze.

want you to come all over this big cock, princess. come for my lovely, just come luvie, come—

on command, your whole body contracted, bright lights flashing behind your eyelids as you shook with a couple last breathy moans, Simon’s words swept away somewhere far and distant as you peaked on a delicious high.

you were crashing through it, barely registering his gentle words in your ear.

good girl. good girl. my good girl.

once you were coming back down, dizzy and sleepy, Simon’s thrusts had grown shallow and slow, moaning lowly when he pulled out and pumped his cock quickly, those white ropes spurting over your stomach in hot, sticky layers before he crashed down over you again.

you drifted through a dreamscape, humming lightly at the feeling of his hot skin against yours.

you traced over his shoulders, avoiding his burn wound carefully, listening to the pant of his breath slow, and then still, as you laid there tangled together.

you brushed a hand through his hair, carding your fingers over his scalp and scratching lightly. with a low hum, he shifted his head to look at you, face relaxed and content and his nose pressed against your breast.

“satisfied, princess?”

you tried and failed to bit back a smile, nodding slowly. he smirked back, playing with the ends of your hair.

“insatiable, greedy thing.”

you couldn’t help but giggle, tugging him up to your face, and he relented, smushing your cheek with his nose and lips. with little squeaks and giggles, you swatted at him when he crushed you down into the bed with too much force until he pulled back.

he slid into the space between you and the wall, tucking you into his chest and arms locking around you in a hold that felt possessive.

once you were settled and content, his lips against your hair, you asked him, “are you satisfied?”

he brushed some fingers along the scars of your arm for a pause. “mhmm.”

the sound was unconvincing, and some part inside you broke a little. you turned in his arms so you could see his face.

“don’t lie…”

he scoffed but looked amused. “you make a man greedy, princess.”

you tilted your head. “what do you mean?”

he kissed your forehead softly. “i wanted it to be different.”

you almost deflated, heart dropping into your stomach and skin growing icy cold.

“what do you mean?” you asked again, voice flat now. he peered down at you, blonde lashes full and long in the moonlight.

“in different circumstances. after your marriage.”

your throat tightened. “my marriage? do you mean…?”

he looked away from you when he mumbled, “our marriage.”

“why? was it not good?” you felt a spiral of panic. “do you care about… virginity?”

he only gave you a wry smile. “‘course i don’t care. you’re perfect just like this.”

his eyes darted down to your body, and you followed his gaze, suddenly conscious of your bare skin against his, and the remnants of your shared pleasure still sticky against your stomach.

with a blush, you grumbled, “what’s the problem then?”

he pulled you closer to him. “s’what you deserve.”

you wanted to scream. “i don’t get it,” you whined and he chuckled, tucking his chin over your head.

“you’re such a good, innocent girl. you deserved all that…” he spoke so low you almost couldn’t hear him, “...doting marriage stuff first.”

you pushed him back by his chest, and he blinked down at you, confused. when he reached to pull you against him again, you kept your arm extended, and he gripped at your hip instead.

“do you really want to marry me?” you asked softly, and you watched him swallow hard, before nodding slowly.

“if you’ll have me.”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth. innocent, good girl.

“even after everything?”

he tilted his head against the pillows, stroking your side. “what’s wrong, lovely?”

you struggled with the words. “i’ve killed people.”

he only blinked. “me too.”

“i felt happy when Turner died,” you admitted, the words sounding so foreign on your tongue that you wanted to puke. “you haven’t seen me kill someone.”

his brows rose slightly. “i can imagine it’s a sight.”

you felt frustrated, unable to keep yourself from confessing, “i’m having mental issues.”

you screwed your eyes shut, unwilling to see his reaction, thinking back to just prior when you ran from the farmhouse. Simon had witnessed it with his own eyes. he had seen just how insane you were. there had been one old man in your town who was insane, saying he saw things, always switching between hyperactivity, anger, and isolating himself to lie in bed all day. then, they eventually took him to an insane asylum when he had an episode in public.

you shook just at the thought of it, jolting when you felt Simon’s soft lips against your brow.

“yeah?”

your eyes snapped open, brows pinched together as you looked up into his relaxed expression. “yeah? that’s all?”

he shrugged. “me too.”

your throat felt dry. “what do you mean?”

he pointed to his own throat. “not bein’ able to breath. racing thoughts. uncontrollable crying. it happens, lovely.”

your mind spun but he continued on. “how long has it been happening?”

“since that night on the train,” you chewed out, feeling light and airy and scared when he paled in response.

“when we fought?” he asked, face pinched and stormy. you nodded and he wrapped you up in his arms again, tightly squeezing. despite your grumbles of protest, you whole body melted, a wet burn in your eyes.

“i’m sorry,” he gasped, crushing you, and from the strain in his voice, you knew he was being sincere.

“i have this feeling, ” you started, then choked, unsure of how to finish. 

“tell me,” he prompted and you pressed your forehead against his strong chest.

“it’s in my chest. it’s heavy all the time. kind of like dread, but not really.” you screwed your eyes shut. “i hate it.”

he rubbed a hand over your back. “i know it well.”

“you do?” you squeaked, so sure that there was no one else in the world who felt a sliver of semblance to you.

“mhmm. breathing helps.” he snaked a hand between you, rubbing his fist in slow circles over your chest. “this helps too.”

as promised, your body relaxed, the touch warm and a pleasant pressure against the thrum of your heavy heart.

you reached up, wanting to return the favor, and rubbed your own palm against his broad chest. he smiled softly, snatching your hand up to kiss all over it, and you squirmed at the ticklish sensation, swatting him away.

he laughed, pushing you onto your back so he could slide off the bed.

“let me carry you?” he offered, but you just shook your head, swinging your legs over the edge.

“i’m fine—” your toes touched the cold floor, and you put a generous among of pressure onto your feet, before your knees buckled, legs shaking.

with a yelp, you almost tumbled to the floor before Simon easily caught you.

“careful,” he said, sounding too happy, and you sent him a dirty look.

“you did this on purpose, didn’t you?” you gritted out, clutching onto his arms, and he only scoffed, shaking his head with an amused look.

nonetheless, you hooked an arm around his unwounded shoulder, letting him curl an arm beneath your knees and haul you up into his arms.

he left your room to trudge up the stairs to the bathroom, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the dark, because as much as you protested it to Simon, he couldn’t seem to care less if someone spotted you both bare in the night. you protested enough for him to throw his towel over you before leaving your room.

he sat you down on the counter of the sink and filled the bathtub with water, peering at you softly over his shoulder every once and a while. once it was filled, he picked you up again, and gingerly set you down in the lukewarm water before sliding in right behind you.

it was a cramped space, your back pressed to his chest, and his legs around your own, so long that his toes were against the other wall of the tub.

“comfy?” he asked, and you nodded as he reached around you for a bar of soap and a washcloth, gently washing away the after effects of the intimate night you shared together.

for once, you realized, you didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for what you had done. even if he wasn’t your husband, and even if your mama had taught you against it your entire life, as you sunk back into Simon, you found yourself absolutely uncaring for what sins you had committed.

maybe things changed when you really, truly believed he was going to die. you looked up, finding Simon already peering down at you, and reached out to touch his jaw gently.

he took your arm, cleaning it gently, thumb brushing over its marred scars. he brought it up to press his lips against the scars that stretched over its surface, face twisted and somber.

“Turner tried to trap me in that room with him,” you said, voice almost at a whisper. “i fell and my arm went straight into fire.”

he made a low noise of disapproval, but you continued anyway. 

“it was almost like he didn’t want to live,” you ruminated, remembering the way Turner had promised, if you try to kill me, you’ll burn with me.

he was half-right in the end.

“he didn’t even try,” you said, “threw away his gun almost immediately. just tried to strangle me.”

Simon’s arm curled around you and rubbed a palm over your chest. you clutched at it gratefully.

“i’d say i would kill him,” he said, voice so soft it was betraying, “but you already did that. you handle yourself well, little gunslinger.”

you almost giggled. “little gunslinger?”

“mhmm.” he picked up the washcloth again, wiping over your stomach and between your thighs under the water. “little gunslinger.”

“what’s my code name then?”

he mulled over that for a moment before saying, “Angel.”

your brows rose a little. “Angel? like the devil’s Angel?”

you peered at him from over your shoulder, taking in his stupid, lopsided smile with a cocked brow, and he only leaned forward to kiss you softly.

“that’s exactly what you are, princess.”

you hummed. “what about my mask?”

he smiled against your lips. “don’t need one anymore. 

you parted from him. “why not?”

“no one to be afraid of anymore,” he said, tracing a finger over your lips.

and you were grateful for it because you could look at his face—all bare and handsome—as much as you wanted now.

“thank god,” you whispered and he nodded.

“thank god. now kiss me, Angel,” he whispered in a mock sultry tone, and you rolled your eyes at the smirk on his lips, before sealing them with your own, loving the way his hands traced over your wet skin.

one stopped to clutch at that spot over your heart, rubbing in slow, soothing circles that lulled you into a soft, distant place with Simon bound to your side.

okay istg i don't want Konig to appear like the villain or the asshole here, he's just a bit… arrogant and insensitive but socially anxious and has a good heart at the same time :( just a lot of built up complexes as a self-defense mechanism :(

also obviously we got jealous ghost here but how possessive was he? not very much. possessive ghost will probably appear later on... 🌚

edit: okay soooo idk what's going on w the tags on this post they are like breaking my posts???? bc i can't edit the posts with tags on the post and IDK WHAT'S GOING ON BUT if i accidentally tagged you multiple times i am sorry... tumblr is making my life a little bit harder rn 😵‍💫

[milswrites]

The Trials of Aphrodite Part One

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Series summary: Hopelessly in love with Elain, Azriel enlists your help in order to win her over. The only problem? You have been in love with Azriel for as long as you have known him.

Chapter summary: With his pitiful attempts of expressing his attraction to Elain leading him nowhere, Azriel decides he needs some help. Who better to ask than his closest friend?

Warnings: Light angst (pining), Azriel’s childhood is mentioned but doesn’t go into detail.

It was no secret that Azriel has always been a lover.

Once the shackles of his tortured childhood had fallen and Azriel was able to taste the sweet release of freedom, his found family had spent years teaching the male what it meant to dream.

They had shown him the sweet blessings that come with loving freely and dreaming wildly. Reassuring the male that his life was his own, promising Azriel that family was made by choices, not by blood. Encouraging him to make his own decisions, build his own friendships, untethered by the control of his merciless relatives.

That's how he had met you. The male having sought to make a connection that wasn't forged for him by the likes of his family. Azriel's selfish desire to have someone all to himself was what drove him to Velaris that day you had met. Confident that despite his past which had been spent in solitude, he would be able to meet an equal-minded person.

It was fate that brought the two of you together. A chance encounter as you collided in the bustling streets of the lively city and Azriel had spent every century since thanking the gods for allowing that meeting to occur - for bringing him you.

The shadowsinger had been drawn to you from the very moment you had stumbled into his unexpecting arms. His shadows flocking to your glowing aura like moths to a flame. You were everything Azriel wasn't. A bright soul, who had grown up in Velaris nurtured by your loving family. Untouched by the darkness which plagued the male.

Yet it was this difference which set you apart from Azriel's family. This difference which had him craving your presence when his own light had grown a little too dim, needing your warmth and security to encourage the spark to grow in his festering darkness.

You were the perfect antithesis of each other. The sun and moon. Life and death. So it was no wonder that it was all to easy for the shadowsinger to love you. To welcome you into his tarnished life, allowing your gentle hands and honeyed voice to soothe over the the jagged scars of his past.

Azriel allowed all his free time to be consumed by you. The days passing by quickly in each other's contented company. And that is why after centuries of knowing one another it was no surprise that Azriel knew everything about you and you him. How you were both fortunate enough to have been blessed with the gift of reading each other without a single word needing to be spoken.

How it was all too easy for you to notice the way Azriel's longing eyes which had one settled on Mor had now turned their attention to Elain.

All the while yours remained on him.

Azriel may have been a lover, but he was blind to your centuries-old affection for him. His heart and mind always having been stolen by another. First Mor and now Elain. You didn't allow his incessant pining to deter you from your friendship with him. Just like you were Azriel's salvation, he was yours. The deep bond of your friendship had already been tied and you would not allow one silly little crush to sever the tether that tied the two of you together.

It was only one centuries-old crush which you couldn't stamp out no matter how hard you tried.

You were fortunate enough, at least, that Azriel's pining was mainly done in silence. That his hours spent with you weren't marred by him expressing his undying affection for the ladies who captured his attention. It was pure luck, that the man who owned your heart chose to keep his love for another to himself, sparing you from the unbearable pain of hearing about it. Watching his yearning eyes never fail to leave Elain's delicate features whenever the two were in the same room was agony enough.

And so you were content. Resigned to the fact that his unrequited love for you was something you would have to live with if it meant being in Azriel's life. Accepting that you were immeasurably in love with a man who would never feel the same way about you.

It was all too easy then, once you had come to terms with this realization, to fall into your regular routine with the male. To ignore the ceaseless twang of your heartstrings whenever you witnessed his uncontrollable pining for Elain. To pretend that the dreamer inside of you didn't stir up pictures of a day where Azriel would finally notice what's been in front of him the whole time.

Being Azriel's friend was too much of a reward to ruin.

And so when he turned up at your door, face sullen and eyes watering, Elain's name upon his lips, it was impossible to deny him of your comfort. Standing aside to allow your distressed friend to walk inside, Azriel making his way to your sofa before flopping onto the plush cushions, flattening his wings as he laid in misery.

A gruff cry of frustration tore from his throat as you moved to sit in the chair opposite him.

"That bad huh?" you ask meekly, tentative voice failing to represent the tempestuous emotions which were swirling inside your chest at the reason for his visit.

Azriel shot you a flat look, his serious eyes meeting your own anxious ones before he flung his head back in exasperation.

"I actually think I'm destined to remain single forever!" he cried as you uncomfortably shifted in your seat at his statement. You often wondered in his shadows could sense your hidden affection for the male, convinced that they must have some knowledge of your crush on their master as a few of the smoky tendrils made their way over to where you were sat. The dark shadows curling around your legs in comfort, not dissimilar to the way a cat would brush against you.

Azriel, oblivious to his shadows wanderings, continued to vent, "I don't understand how I've been cursed with the inability to speak to females."

"You speak to me alright" you interjected lowly, keeping your eyes locked on the swirling movements of the shadows by your feet out of fear of them betraying your true emotions in relation to the words Azriel had spoken.

"Yes, but you're you" he countered as if it was obvious, shrugging casually as he did so, "But every time I go to speak to Elain it's like the Mother herself is holding my tongue. She's bound to think there's something wrong with me."

"I'm sure she doesn't Az" you reason, doing your best to fill your words with reassurance and comfort. Hoping that if you soothe the male's turbulent thoughts of the woman he may stop speaking about her sooner.

"And then there's Lucien. Why is Lucien always there?" he asked in annoyance, spitting venom upon the mention of the red-haired male's name. You sunk even further into your seat, clearly your well of luck had run dry.

"Why don't you just ask her on a date?" you quietly asked, forcing the dreaded words to spill from your mouth, "She likes you, I'm sure she'll say yes."

His slumped head snapped straight at your words, hazel eyes boring into your own as he began to eagerly question you, "She likes me? You're sure?"

"I mean. . . I guess? I can't say I pay much attention to the women you pine after."

A lie. Having jealously spent numerous hours observing Elain to see if she also feels the same way as your friend does for her. But this was something you'd never mention to Azriel.

"Cassian said I need a wingman," he scoffed at the notion, clearly finding the idea of Cassian trying to do anything romantic unimaginable, "Can you imagine the mess he'd put me in then? He'd probably scare her away. . ."

Azriel trailed off, his hazel eyes clouded over as the male was deep in thought, lightly tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth as he did so. "Your sister," he slowly started to speak, as if afraid that you would judge him, "Is she still with that guy you set her up with?"

"Castor? Yeah she's still with him, why?" you ask, heart beating frantically in your chest as you can already see where this conversation is leading. Dreading the shadowsinger's proposition which was already hovering ominously in the air. Fearing the unwelcome appearance of your inability to say no to the male.

"Well you wouldn't mind helping me would you?" he pondered, the thundering echo of your heart now flooding into your ears, "I trust you more than Cassian, I know you'd be able to do this for me."

It was a cruel fate the cauldron had handed you. And cruller still, was the hold that Azriel had over you. The way he had managed to worm his way into your heart and dictate what you do and how you feel.

It was impossible to tear your eyes from his begging hazel ones, unable to ignore the hopeful anticipation which filled them. Hating the uplifting way your heart twinged with pleasure at the trace of a smile lining his soft lips. A smile reserved only for you.

Your mind screamed at you to say no, listing all the reasons why this was a terrible idea, creating numerous scenarios as to how this could all go horribly wrong. Yet it was too late, your traitorous heart had already spoken for you, pouring the words from your lips before your mind could even register that you were the one to have spoken them, "Alright Az, I'll do it. I’ll help you with Elain."

And it was all too easy to pay no mind to the river of dread which coursed through your body. The pain of your fracturing heart failing to be heard due to the numbness which had found it's home in your body and soul. The warming comfort which came along with Azriel's beaming smile was almost strong enough to make you believe that he loved you. Allowing you to confuse his thankful eyes for affectionate ones.

His grateful expression was hypnotic, his gods blessed power was enough to hold your anxieties at bay. Able to convince you that you made the right choice.

That all you needed to be content was to make sure that Azriel was happy with somebody else.

Someone who wasn't you.

Part two

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added):

@a-cup-of-nightshade @yearninglustfully @illyrianbitch @ninaduchess @sarawritestories @annaaaaa88 @antiquecultist @madelyncullen @erencvlt @chaytea06 @dxjaaaa @saltedcoffeescotch @spark1epuffba11s @thestartitaness @amysangel @historygeekqueen @thelov3lybookworm @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @willowpains @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @dreamlandreader @sidthedollface2

(Some of you I was unable to tag! If you check your settings you may find you don’t have your permissions on for people tagging you in their posts! If it’s not that and just my bad spelling please let me know 🫠)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Main Masterlist || Navigation || All works are F!Reader || All images sourced from Pinterest ||

SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE SEA-FOAM || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In which a lone mermaid finds good company with a handsome fisherman who trespasses in her cove. But the word isn't what it used to be...hunting ships patrol the waters.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

FANART: ��You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” & "Mermaid Interpretation" by @thedevillovesflowers

2. RUN AWAY TO ME || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

SYNOPSIS: The night started with wine and ended with blood. Racing through the woods after having escaped your wedding, you find a lone homestead in the middle of a rainstorm. Alone, wounded, and bordering on unconsciousness, you have no option but to knock.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

3. BLOOD-STAINED WOOL SPUN AT MIDNIGHT || 18 + Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

SYNOPSIS: When you left the town in the year of our Lord, 1897, to buy more wool from the local farmer, the cobblestone streets had come up to meet the hooves of your neighbor's horse.

Along this trip of false hope, the open fields at your sides had led to the backdrop of a brimstone forest; an old shadow seems to loom there. A black thing. A devil with eyes like a burial mound. You were told to fear the Ghost of the Forest, but never had you known you'd be caught in his blackened claws.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

4. BLACK METAL AND BOURBON || 18+ Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Ghost x F!Bartender!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You've been in this small town for your entire existence, giving up dreams and aspirations to carry on life as a simple bartender despite your hatred of two things: the smell of cigarette smoke and the disrespect from regulars, namely, your ex and his buddies. But on a still-air Sunday, almost overnight, a mechanics shop pops up right across the street - giving sight to new faces and a fresh group of men with a love of motorcycles. One, in particular, seems to only like Bourbon.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

5. TO HUNT A SILVER STAG || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Fae!Princess!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Promised to a greedy king to try and preserve the magic of the land, a princess instead finds herself drawn to a chivalrous knight and his gentle words. But everyone knows magic has a mind of its own.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

6. HOW TO ADAPT TO FIRE || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There is an arsonist in your city, and you're going to catch him. As one of the most prolific investigative journalists in the city, you make a lot of enemies the second your papers are released to the public. Your informant - and perhaps something more - in the local fire department makes a point to tell you to be careful.

But everyone knows he's right beside you when the fires start sparking.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

7. MOSS, BONE, AND A FALLING STAR || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Witch Hunter!Price x F!Witch!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Humans have not been kind to you, but they usually are to things that they don't understand. You're offered a deal when a rugged-looking Witch Hunter shows up at your secluded hut. Make him see you for what you truly are in three stories or less. You oblige and give him the limit - a story of moss, of bone, and of a falling star.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

8. VIVAMUS, MORIENDUM EST || Undetermined || Not Started

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader (Reincarnation AU)

SYNOPSIS: In every lifetime you made a promise to one another: even if you must die, you will find a way to live together for all of eternity, be that five or a hundred years from now. You'd not broken your promise yet.

CHAPTERS: Undetermined

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Four- Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, TomRiddle, weaponizing!Tom (slightly?), Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Outstanding, naturally," you said, your voice laced with confidence and your grin so wide it seemed to stretch beyond the boundaries of your face. "Must you even ask?"

The morning sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting a warm glow over the room as you and your friends gathered for breakfast. Emily, your blonde-haired friend that you've known since your very first day here, couldn't help but to snicker at your bluntness, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

It’d been almost two weeks since you’d last met with Mattheo, since there was no tutor session last week due to your exam in Advanced Magical Studies. Admittedly, you were thankful for the break.

"Is there any subject where you don't get perfect  grades?" Your other friend Michael said, widened eyes glancing at your marked exam in your hands. "You're a natural born Ravenclaw prodigy...I don't know how you do it, I simply can't wrap my head around it."

Emily, in between bites, nodded vigorously, her admiration evident. "It's true, you seem to effortlessly ace every bloody class. Meanwhile, I'm literally up to my neck in notes, struggling away in hopes of achieving a Meets Expectations."

"Come on, Emily," you said, sitting up a bit taller in your seat. "You earned an Outstanding on the exam too. Your intelligence and dedication are remarkable. You give yourself far too little credit."

She shrugged, taking a moment to chew her food thoughtfully. "Maybe," she conceded, her eyes briefly meeting yours. "But your brilliance seems innate, effortless. It's both inspiring and, I must admit, a tad infuriating."

The corners of her lips twitched into a half-smile, acknowledging the mix of admiration and friendly jealousy in her words. You couldn't help but to blush at her compliments, feeling proud of just how much your intense studies over the years have paid off. Your friends know just how much of your life you've dedicated to your education, and that by this point--after grinding away for years and years, the knowledge was just seamless to you. It just came naturally.

"Good morning, my dear students," came a gentle yet resonant voice from directly behind you, shattering the comfortable silence. "And how might you find yourselves on this delightful, sun-filled morning?"

As you turned, you were met with the twinkling eyes of Professor Dumbledore, his warm presence enveloping the room with ease.

You rose from your seat, your hands clasped together in front of you. "Good morning, Professor; it's always a pleasure to see you. I'm wonderful, how about yourself?"

Your friends gave similar responses, each earning an attentive nod.

"Very good, very good," Dumbledore's voice resonated warmly, his eyes crinkling with a kind smile. "Thank you all."

His gaze shifted to you, a mix of gentleness and concern in his eyes. "I would be grateful for a moment of your time in my office, if you could spare it. It concerns your peer tutoring sessions. Would you be able to join me before the day's lessons commence?”

A sickening twist gripped your stomach, causing your once radiant smile to shatter into fragments. You battled to shield your fear, but it threatened to consume you--every horrifying possibility flooding your mind in a torrent.

Your eyes were drawn involuntarily across the room, zeroing in on the Slytherin table, only to find the devil himself, Mattheo Riddle, the harbinger of your academic ruin--was already fucking staring, smug arrogance practically radiating off of him as he relished your clear discomfort. His calculating gaze felt like a vulture circling its prey, keenly observing every nuance of your nervous demeanour--and you were certain you were about to collapse to the floor. 

Snapping yourself from your trance, you returned your eyes to your Professor, mustering up the best fake smile you possibly could. "Absolutely, Professor--it's no trouble at all."

"Wonderful," he smiled, nodding. "Shall we?"

With a subtle nod, he gracefully guided you out of the Great Hall, your fingers tightly clutching the strap of your bag after bidding your friends goodbye. Your heart raced in your chest, the anticipation of the impending conversation tightening its grip on your every nerve. You trailed closely behind Dumbledore, the echo of your footsteps blending with the murmur of distant conversations.

As you approached the Hall's exit, Dumbledore's movements came to an abrupt halt. He spun around with a swift grace, his piercing eyes sweeping across the tables like a lighthouse beam cutting through the fog, searching for someone specific amidst the bustling sea of students.

And when his searching gaze finally landed on the person he sought, he outstretched his arm, a subtle wave beckoning them to follow. Your eyes widened in complete horror as Riddle stood up, tossing his bag over his shoulder with an air of arrogant nonchalance. Slowly, he began making his way toward you, his every step seemingly echoing off the walls of your mind.

The lot of you moved briskly, following Dumbledore to his office, Mattheo not deigning to acknowledge your existence except for the few brief, unsettling glances he kept throwing your way, a knowing smirk plastered across his face, practically casting a shadow of impending doom over your academic future.

As you entered Dumbledore's office, your heart continued to race with fear, the heavy weight of impending disaster hanging over you like a storm cloud. Dumbledore gestured for you and Riddle to sit down, the creaking of the chairs adding to the palpable tension in the room. You could hardly bear to look at Riddle, certain that his presence here meant he had failed the exam. Your post-graduate career seemed destined to crumble before it even began.

Your mind spun with catastrophic thoughts, the urge to throw up from nerves clawing at your throat. Just as you prepared yourself for the devastating news, Dumbledore's voice cut through the suffocating silence like a lifeline.

"Well, I must be frank, and I hope you won't take offense, Mister Riddle," his tone was incisive, his words carrying a weight of honesty. "I didn't harbor high hopes for substantial improvement in your academic pursuits when you commenced this new tutoring arrangement. Considering your history and the difficulty you faced in finding a suitable mentor, my expectations were rather restrained."

Your breath caught in your throat, your head spinning, nerves screaming in fear as Dumbledore spoke. His gaze was penetrating, his words hanging heavily in the air. He straightened in his chair, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"However, it is entirely safe to say that I was beyond pleased when I found out that you had achieved an 'Exceeds Expectations,' on your recent exam--which, if I may point out, is your highest grade thus far."

Your mind reeled, struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. Dumbledore's words echoed in your ears, and your jaw dropped in utter shock.

"Exceeds expectations," you repeated, your eyes wider than the sun and just as blaring. "Exceeds expectations! Mattheo, that's amazing!"

When you glanced at Mattheo, his eyes practically glimmered with a peculiar mix of pride and smug arrogance. His confident smirk persisted, etched on his features as he reclined casually in the chair beside you, choosing to remain silent; but you both knew exactly what the other was thinking.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with approval as he continued. "Your efforts in guiding Mister Riddle have not only benefited him but also showcased your exceptional skills as a tutor. It's a rare talent to break through someone's barriers, especially someone as formidable as he...I encourage both of you to continue this fruitful collaboration, nurturing each other's potential to the fullest."

You were gleaming. Screaming. On the verge of tears. This felt like a miracle, like music to your ears. The surge of emotions threatened to overwhelm you; you wanted to run until your legs gave out, to kiss Mattheo's stupidly infuriating face until it was raw. This was all you had ever wanted, more than anything else in the world.

"Thank you so much Professor," you beamed, your voice filled with excitement. "Your encouragement means more to me than you could ever begin to imagine."

"No, thank you, dear," Dumbledore said, a benevolent smile gracing his features. "Oh, and since I have you here, I was actually wondering if you'd be interested in joining the Hogwarts Mentorship Guild. Currently, it's coincidentally being overseen by Mister Riddle's brother, Tom...I do believe it would be an immensely beneficial experience for you. It's quite selective, but with my personal recommendation, your entry would be assured. You'd have weekly meetings with Tom and the other members-"

Every word that fell from Dumbledore's lips ignited an exhilarating flutter in your chest, a surge of excitement threatening to crack your ribcage open and pierce through your heart. The prospect of joining the prestigious club had been a cherished dream for years, and now, the reality of it was overwhelming. You basked in the euphoria, savoring the moment, until Mattheo's voice abruptly shattered the joy that had filled your soul.

"Professor, if I may," Mattheo spoke up, his tone surprisingly earnest as he straightened in his chair; his jaw tensed and his eyes dark. "I was actually wondering if she could tutor me in Potions as well...I could definitely use the help...it's been rough, to say the least."

His request hung in the air, creating a pause charged with unexpected tension. The elation that had filled you moments ago now mingled with apprehension as Dumbledores gaze darted between the two of you, his demeanour shifting as he leaned back in his chair.

"That would be up to her, Mister Riddle...I would imagine you'd struggle with doing all three, my dear witch...how about you think on it, and get back to me in a weeks time with what you'd prefer to do, yes?"

With anger simmering beneath your skin, you nodded and mustered a fake smile as you stood up. You extended your hand, shaking Dumbledore's firmly, concealing the turmoil within you. After exchanging polite goodbyes, assuring him of your prompt response, you spun on your heels with a sense of urgency that left Mattheo in your dust. Ignoring his calls that faded into the distance, you marched toward your dorm room, determined to shut out the world and the infuriating presence of Mattheo Riddle.

Right now, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him--nothing at all. But of course, he wasn't having that.

The heavy, urgent pounding on your door reverberated through the room, rattling your bones and intensifying your annoyance. Mattheo's relentless assault on the door seemed never-ending, refusing to halt for even a moment. Fearing the spectacle he might create in the hallway and the questions it would spark among your peers, you reluctantly decided to put an end to the commotion.

With a surge of anger-fueled determination, you swung the door open, gripping a fistful of his tie between your infuriated fingers as you pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind him, the noise echoing your frustration, and you kept your grasp on his tie, shoving his back up against the wood of your door.

"Potions?" you hissed, your voice laced with seething anger as you pressed against him. "In the name of the four fucking founders, Riddle, potions?"

He blinked, clearly startled by the intensity of your rage. "What-"

"You're about to shatter one of my lifelong dreams just because you can't handle a cauldron and some bloody ingredients?" you spat through gritted teeth, eyes burning with fury. "Are you genuinely that hopelessly inept?"

Your response was met with a suffocating silence, his lips parting as if searching for words that never materialized. His jaw clenched, his eyes darting away briefly, a clear sign of his inner turmoil. The weight of his silence only fueled the blaze of your anger.

"Haven't you taken enough from me?" you hissed, the emotion in your tone nearly tangible. "Haven't you wreaked sufficient havoc on my life?"

Mattheo's eyes darkened, his irises smoldering with unspoken fury as he silently wrestled with his words. His fists clenched at his sides, the intensity of his emotions evident, yet the silence persisted. You could practically feel the weight of his suppressed anger hanging heavily in the air.

"You really have nothing to fucking say, do you?" you spat, your voice sharp with disappointment. "The arrogant Slytherin prince, always ready with a cutting remark, suddenly struck dumb when he's called out...how utterly predictable."

You scoffed, your frustration mounting as his inability to respond only fueled the fire of your own indignation.

"You're unbelievable." You said, finally releasing his tie and spinning away from him, moving across the room with deliberate pace before you spun back around, meeting his dark eyes from against the opposite wall. "I'm happy that your grades are improving under my guidance but I think you'll have to find someone else to tutor you in potions...I'm sorry, Mattheo."

Riddle blinked, stepping forward. "I don't need help in potions."

You paused. You weren't sure if you'd even heard him correctly. "What?"

"I don't need help in potions." He repeated, taking another step.

"You don't-" your brows pinched, your words falling short as Mattheo veered closer. "But you-"

"My grades are bad, yeah," he said, voice low and hoarse. "But I'm not failing. And I certainly don't need a tutor."

Your chest constricted. You weren't following him. "Then why? Why'd you say that to Dumbledore?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw locking with tension. Swallowing hard, his throat worked as he landed himself roughly an arms length away from you, his eyes darker than the midnight sky and twice as intense.

"Because," he said, taking a singular step closer. "I don't want you anywhere near him."

His words slammed your chest so hard you almost fell over. "Excuse me?"

"My brother," he said, his tone flat and unwavering. "I don't want you anywhere fucking near my brother."

Your jaw dropped, the air catching in your lungs. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions engulfed you, each one sparking a fire in your core that you desperately wished to ignore. Your head spun, torn between the lingering anger and the new surge of shock and disbelief at his words.

"You're not serious..." you spat, peering up at him as he loomed over you, hastily taking a step back to create some distance between you. "Riddle, please tell me you're fucking joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he replied, his expression carved from stone, taking another step closer and erasing the space you had just tried to create. "Huh, Raven? Do I?"

Anger swelled inside you, clouding your vision. "You've lost your fucking mind," you said, your voice dropping so low you weren't even sure if he'd heard you. "You're being controlling, Mattheo. That's...you can't just..."

Mattheo tilted his head, backing you up against the wall, a predatory glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip. "I can't, what?"

Your throat went dry, his hands pressing against the wood on either side of your head. "You can't just-"

Your words were cut short as Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. "Can't what, Raven?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Go on, spit it out."

Gods, curse him. Curse him to bloody hell.

"You can't just control my life like you own it, Mattheo," you whispered against his lips, ignoring the fiery desire that flared within you, something you fought fiercely to suppress. "Outside of that classroom, you don't hold any power over me."

Mattheo's lips curled into a sly, taunting smile, his eyes glinting with challenge. "Oh, Raven," he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper, "you have no idea how wrong you are...inside that classroom or out, you're mine to control...I believe I've proven that today--you'd have never gotten the offer to join that fucking club if it wasn't for my improved grades."

You scowled, your back pressing firmly against the wall as his lips trailed down to your jawline. Frustration mingled with desire, a dangerous combination that sent your senses reeling.

You cursed yourself inwardly, loathing the way your resolve seemed to crumble under his touch. Why did a boy this bad have to look so fucking sweet? Why did a boy this bad for you have to taste so fucking good?

"No...you're wrong, Mattheo..." you whispered, your voice trembling, trying to inject conviction into your words despite the turmoil inside you. "You're so fucking wrong."

"Am I, Raven?" He teased, his voice smug, one hand shifting to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. "So you're saying, that if I told you to get on your knees for me, right now in the middle of your dorm room like my good little whore, you wouldn't do it?" His lips grazed your ear, your lids fluttering involuntarily. "Or...if I told you to take off your shirt so I could cum all over those beautiful fucking tits of yours, you'd say no...hm?"

Your breath caught in your throat, his touch and words igniting a fierce battle within you. As much as you knew the next words form your lips were an entire fucking lie, you simply couldn't help yourself. Merlin knows your body and mind were betraying you, all you had left was your mouth--which was never known to go down without a fight.

"That's right, Riddle..." you whispered, your voice barely audible, betraying the tremor in your resolve. "I'd say no...one million times over I'd say no..."

Mattheo groaned, the noise reverberating down your spine as he breathed it directly into your eardrum. Your thighs screamed in need at the sound--your stomach flipping as his hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your neck.

"And if I asked you to kiss me?" He murmured, his intense gaze locking onto yours. "Would you still say no then?"

Your heart was beating so hard you were certain he could hear it. "I...I would..."

"Yeah?" He said, his voice a sultry whisper, wetting his lips as he glimpsed yours. "You sure about that, Raven?"

Your lungs sputtered, trying your best to keep your composure as you nodded, glimpsing his lips now. "I'm sure, Mattheo..."

His nails dug into your neck, every inch of your body ablaze as your gaze darted between his dark, intoxicated eyes and his plush, inviting lips. You cursed yourself, the internal struggle fierce and unrelenting. You cursed yourself so intensely, you could almost taste the bitterness of your own self-reproach.

"Mm." He hummed, grazing his lips over yours with feather like precision, before he pulled back. "And what would I have to do to change your mind, huh? Do you want me to fucking beg, princess?"

A low, desperate sound escaped your lips, a primal mewl reverberating in your chest. "That might help..." you breathed. "Maybe if you got on your knees while you did, it'd be far more effective..."

"Fuck...I've created a monster, haven't I..." he huffed, smirk teasing his perfect fucking lips, both hands falling to your hips as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you. "A beautiful, slutty little monster..."

You were speechless, body blazed with desire, torn between the intense pull in his eyes and the irresistible temptation of his lips. Holy fucking hell you wanted to kiss him so unbelievably bad, you weren't sure how much longer you could continue playing this little game; the desire only strengthening as he ran his hands along your curves, rough palms smoothing down your thighs as he peered up at you--chocolate curls sitting messy over his forehead, his dark eyes burning wounds into your flesh.

"Kiss me, Raven..." he whispered, holding your sight, voice strained weigh desire so intense it was palpable. "Please, fucking kiss me."

That did it. That absolutely did it.

Without a second thought, you bent at the waist, seizing his tie and directing his mouth to yours, your lips crashing onto his in a feverish, desperate kiss. At the passionate connection, a low moan slid past your teeth, your fingers entwining in his hair, deepening the kiss. His tongue sought entrance, and you willingly granted it, eliciting a low, primal growl from him. His hands tightened around the backs of your thighs, anchoring you in place, not daring to move an inch higher.

Mattheo nipped your bottom lip, smirking as he tugged on it gently before releasing it, blinking as he met your eyes. "I love the way you moan for me, Raven..." he purred, hands slowly moving up, slipping under your skirt. "You have no idea what I could fucking do to you."

You whimpered as his hands slid higher, gripping your ass under your skirt, his face dangerously close to your sex. Your fingers curled tightly into his hair, gripping the strands within your palms as your entire body quivered. His lips left a trail of hot, fervent kisses along your outer thigh, igniting a path of tingling sensations in their wake.

"Gods..." you moaned, unable to form any other coherent word as his hands explored and caressed places on your body that no one else had ever touched before. "Mattheo..."

"Fucking hell..." he groaned, his grip tightening. "If you do that again I might not be able to stop myself Raven...I might have to rip this fucking skirt off and make you moan my name over and over until it's the only word you remember..."

Your breath caught in your throat, your head spinning in a whirlpool of desire at his words. Every fiber of your being trembled, quivering under his touch. Mattheo pulled himself up to his feet, his hands still firmly gripping your ass as he pressed himself against you, the strength of his grip pulling your crotch against his. Even through the fabric of his trousers, you could feel his aggressive erection pressing against you.

Involuntarily, you moaned again.

"Mhm, that’s right...” Mattheo hummed, wet lips grazing your ear. "…and you say I don't have control over you..." he purred, licking a slow line up the side of your throat. "You're fucking melting for me and I've barely touched you, Raven..."

His mention of control snapped you back to your senses, not wanting your earlier anger to be neutered so easily, despite the lake pooling between your thighs for this cunning enigma of a man.

"I'm still mad at you, Mattheo..." you managed to croak out, head falling back as he pressed his lips to your neck. "You can't keep doing this...you can't keep sweet-talking me out of my anger for you.”

"Is that what you think I'm doing here?" He huffed, one hand leaving your ass and gripping your hip with enough force to shatter your bones. "Maybe I just can't keep my fucking hands off of you...maybe I like knowing I'm the only one who's ever touched you like this, the only one who's ever fucked your throat and seen those perfect tits of yours...maybe I don't like sharing...maybe I don't like the thought of my brother getting you alone and trying to take what's mine..."

You whimpered, chest constricting. "And you told me not to get attached?" You said, ignoring the burning, screaming flames that ignited at his admission. "You're utterly delusional...I'm not your fucking toy-"

“Yes you are.” He huffed, a deviant grin crawling over his lips. "And believe me, I'm not attached, princess..." he said. "I'm possessive, and there's a fucking difference. I know my brother...I know exactly how he operates."

"If it's anything like how you do, then I can understand your concern." You scoffed, not even attempting to hide your smirk. "But I'm not a child, I don't need protection. And believe me when I tell you, one irritating Riddle man in my life is more than enough."

His jaw tensed at your words, and he loosened his grip, almost fully releasing you, but not quite. "You can do all three."

You paused, lips parting, but he cut you off, sensing your incoming confusion. "Tutoring me in advanced magical studies and potions…plus the stupid club. You can do all three."

"What?" You were dumbfounded, nearly speechless. "I-I can't, Riddle...Dumbledore said-"

"He's only saying that because he thinks you'd actually have to tutor me in potions...we can just make him think you are...imagine how impressed he'll be when you tell him-"

"Oh, Mattheo! That's brilliant!" You beamed, excitement filling your eyes, all of your earlier anger and concern and disappointment seemingly flowing from your flesh, dissipating into the charged air. You gripped his face, giving him a kiss on the cheek, smirking as you pulled back. "You really changed your mind rather quickly."

"I see how much it upset you." He shrugged, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't want to interfere with your goals, Raven. I just want you to know that even though he's my brother, I won't refrain from kicking his fucking ass if he tries anything."

Your jaw fell open like you wanted to reply, but words would fail you, and he smirked. “Tell Dumbledore you’ll do it. And I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Without giving you the chance to respond, he spun around, briskly making his way out of your dorm without another bloody word--leaving you entirely at a loss, unable to comprehend what the hell just happened.

————

CHAPTER FIVE->

[total-dxmure]

ೃ࿔ “INVISIBLE STRING THEORY” MASTERLIST

the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

total word count: 13.8k

𖦹 chapter one- grief is a difficult thing for anyone to navigate, but ellie finds it impossible to tread through her bottomless depression. all roads seem to lead to nowhere and everyday is a struggle. after a run in with the law after a ptsd episode, her close friends decide that it's do or die. a quick phone call to joel is all it takes to turn her world upside down. moving back to wyoming is a last ditch effort to save the scarred marine. the woman has no idea what's waiting for her back home. . . or who.

𖦹 chapter two- it's easy to pretend that things are normal when she's with joel. she can put on a brave face. grin and bear it, as they say. your sudden appearance in ellie's life hits her like a battering ram, and she finds it impossible not to be drawn to you. joel lets her know that you are no stranger to loss. the two of you seem to have a lot in common. a lost engagement ring, a smitten ellie and a minor mental breakdown.

𖦹 chapter three- you're tired of waking up in bed cold and alone. abby would have wanted you to find joy again. . . so why can't you? ellie shows up bright and early to help you with your duties on the farm, which is when you realize just how irresistible she is. for the first time in a while you feel comfortable to be yourself around someone, and she feels the exact same way. she shares some hard truths about herself and discovers what was once lost to you.

𖦹 chapter four- to be continued . . .

ೃ࿔ fic "soundtrack"

i fall to pieces - patsy cline

i walk the line - johnny cash

big black car - gregory ivan isakov

blue eyes crying in the rain - willie nelson

streets of laredo - marty robbins

plastic jesus - tia blake

almost gone - my terrible friend

death don’t have no mercy - rev. gary davis

i’m so lonesome i could cry - hank williams

god’s gonna cut you down - johnny cash

[norrizzandpia]

My Name (LN4)

Summary: Y/n and Lando have a painful past together. When they go their separate ways and are left to pick up the pieces, Lando realizes he can no longer hear the woman he loved’s name without feeling deeply ashamed.

Warnings: this is the most angsty thing i ever written. TOXIC!LANDO TO THE MAX, lots of language, insinuations to sex, this is absolutely horrific i am so sorry its very painful and sad NO HAPPY ENDING (word count is a little over 4k)

Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?

Some people had chapters they could never bring themselves to read out loud. Lando’s painfully silent chapter was Y/n. His nights were swallowed whole by the looks on her face when he let her down once more, the moment when she first thought he didn’t care about her in the way she did. Y/n was a recurring nightmare and a sobering remembrance for him.

FIVE YEARS PRIOR

“Lando, I have someone I want you to meet.” Max murmured to him as they glided through the crowd of rich sponsors. His best friend giggled under his breath as the groups separated like a sea, revealing the most beautiful woman.

From the moment he saw her, Lando knew he had to have her, “Please tell me it’s her.”

Max shook his head, his body lighting up as Y/n smiled at him and hugged him tightly. The two turned to the racer, still grinning, “This is Y/n. Friend from London.”

Lando thought she was perfect, down to the teeth peeking behind her upturned lips. His hand extended out for her hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

”You as well.” Her voice was sultry, soft. Her hand fit right in the palm of his. Her body drawn to him, his to hers. Lando wanted her in his bed yesterday.

Sensing some sort of tension, knowing it was sexual, Max slid from the grasp of Y/n. He clipped his head down as a form of goodbye before leaving the two to turn from strangers to friends, maybe more in store.

The beginning of Lando’s favorite part of his life and the downfall of whoever he was before he met her.

TWO MONTHS LATER

Whether it was because of her overwhelming, albeit attractive, confidence or the fact that she was Max’s friend, Lando didn’t ask Y/n out right away. Instead, he tiptoed around her, so did she, but he only stopped when picturing her when he was touching himself got to be boring. She only stopped when he showed up at her door with flowers, ready for their date.

“I love pink roses.” She smiled, lightly taking the bouquet from his hands and disappearing into her apartment.

He closed the door when he stepped in to follow her. His feet took him to her kitchen, where she leaned over the counter and filled a vase. His eyes bounced around the walls, peeking out into the living room to see heaps and blankets and pillows.

His hands in his pockets, “I hoped you would.”

She thought it was supposed to be a romantic gesture. Lando’s hands were touching the curve of her waist before he finished his sentence, his mouth next to her ear, “I’m glad you do.”

She made the mistake of turning around, part of her would later wonder if that was giving him the wrong idea.

Still, his lips met hers in a heated kiss, his body pushing hers further into the hard granite. She had been attracted to him from the start, gotten to know him over the two months he hadn’t actively tried to pursue her. She really liked him. That was the reasoning which led herself to being wrapped up in sheets with him a half hour later.

They never made it to that first date.

PRESENT

Lando’s eyes burned with all the flashing lights. Even after a race win, the joy could never subside the anxiety he got from all the press.

The first reporter, her name tag reading Clara, beamed at him. It reminded him of Y/n’s perfect teeth.

“Congratulations, Lando, on an incredible race! How are you feeling right now?” She spoke quickly. She pushed her microphone into his face.

His hands gripped the railing in front of him, “Amazing! This feeling will never get old.”

Her face dropped slightly as she glanced behind her, to the cameraman he presumed, “We would love to talk more about your stellar race, but we do want to ask for your thoughts on the allegations surrounding Y/n Y/l/n over hostile workplace behavior.”

His heart squeezed. He wished people knew her. Not the girl he ruined, but the woman he knew she still was deep down, past all the things that happened between them. His cheeks flushed, “Y/n is an amazing person. She has a kind heart. I just hope people can see that.”

He prayed that Clara would drop the subject. Lando would kill to clear Y/n’s name for her, maybe that would makeup for all the pain he caused, but she would never give him the light of day, even for that. People associated him with her and it tore at his insides. There wasn’t a day that went by that the taste of her name in his mouth didn’t feel like a type of betrayal.

Clara’s eyebrows moved up, “So, you think the allegations are false?”

He huffed, “I’m not speaking about the allegations. I’m simply speaking about the woman I knew.”

Whoever she was now, he didn’t know enough to comment.

FOUR YEARS PRIOR

“Oh, fuck, Y/n, that was amazing.” Lando breathed, his chest rising and falling quickly from beside her.

She laughed, “Happy for you.”

His body turned to the side, his head propped up by his arm, “It was nice having you here.”

She was quiet for a moment, trying to decipher what that sentence implied. She thought she knew, she just didn’t want to face it.

Y/n’s hand traced his arm, “It was a good time.”

Lando pulled away from her, slipping from bed and pulling his pants back on. Loud and clear, she thought.

Still, she tried. Pathetically. Her shirt slid over her body as she grumbled, “Do you wanna go get some food?”

From her view of his back, she saw him tense, “Uh, I can’t, Y/n. Sorry. I’m super busy right now.”

She sighed softly, too quiet for him to hear. He turned around, fully dressed now. She stood, shirt and underwear on with no towel to clean herself. Completely rejected. A small piece of her heart chipped away.

She nodded, “Okay, yeah, no problem. I get it.”

He rushed out of the room, “Yeah, thanks! Feel free to let yourself out! I’ve got some errands to run!”

The door slammed shut immediately after. She took a moment in the silence to gather her messy mind. Maybe he was genuinely busy. Maybe he didn’t mean it that way. He said it was nice having her there.

He couldn’t have meant this in a mean way.

Like any girl in love with someone they thought they were too unworthy of having, the excuses began.

ONE MONTH LATER

Deja Vu flooded Y/n’s senses as Lando rolled off her body. The sinking feeling that her time with him was over mixed with the familiarity and it proved to be a horrific experience.

Her hand reached out to grab her pants that had been discarded on the floor when his voice rang out.

“Do you wanna go get food?” He asked, head turning to look at her as if it was the most regular thing.

Her hand stopped just above her jeans, “What?”

Lando sat up from bed, no longer in a rush to throw his clothes on, “Do you want to go get food with me?”

Some place within herself ridiculed her for nodding her head so eagerly. It was beginning to feel like she was trying to earn his love.

His hand around her waist moved to link in her palm and she finally felt like something to him. When he sat across from her at the quiet and secluded diner they found five minutes after leaving his apartment, his eyes bore into hers. He studied her like a thing he loved.

Maybe he finally did.

PRESENT

When Lando closed the door to Max’s apartment, he was met with hushed and frantic whispers. He walked slowly down the hall toward his best friend’s voice, clearly in distress.

“Y/n, I don’t understand that can’t be true. You’re not that person.” He gave, hand clutching his phone.

Lando heard murmurs on the other line before Max was cutting her off, “No, I don’t care how much you’ve changed over the years. I know you and I know you aren’t the person these people are saying you are. You wouldn’t scream at people because they got your coffee order wrong. You wouldn’t fire people over one small mistake. You wouldn’t humiliate others publicly to make some sort of statement. You just aren’t that person.”

More murmurs before Max’s interruption, “No! I know you know ‘this is how you run a business’ is such a bullshit excuse. If this is you, then please let me know where Y/n is because I know for fucks sake this isn’t it.”

The responses on the other line jumped in volume, Lando being able to make out some of the words. Y/n was yelling, truly yelling. Telling Max that he wasn’t a good friend, not supporting her through whatever was being alleged.

Lando’s ears rang. This wasn’t her, he knew that. Everybody knew that. She was a bright spirit, she wasn’t now. She was a hollowed out version of who she used to be and Lando knew he had taken every bit of it. He held what she once was in his hands and this was her trying to move on without it.

He wanted to give it back to her somehow, revive the life she once led, but he was so ashamed to show his face to her. He knew it would only be met with an anger he wouldn’t be able to forget.

He couldn’t hear anymore of her turmoil. Too many memories were being brought to the forefront of his mind. Maybe it was selfish, he had proven to be on many occasions, but he stepped into the room.

“Lando’s here. I have to go.” Max rushed.

The line clipped before he could even get his full sentence out.

Max stared at his phone for a moment, studying the contact picture he hadn’t changed for years. Standing off to the side, Lando could make out Y/n’s smile, her perfect teeth, and lightness in her eyes. It was a living testimony of someone that was no longer there. Someone who had lost themselves in it all. He knew it because he had gone through it. In the midst of Y/n, Lando had lost sight of himself. Part of him wanted to blame his behavior toward her on that, but there was no excuse. He had to live with the knowledge he was capable of causing such psychological damage on someone else. Someone he loved. A personal, endless hell.

Max sighed, “Hey, mate.”

It was quiet, exhausted and Lando knew Max didn’t want to talk about it, but something in him urged to hear, “That was her?”

Max nodded, “Uh, yeah. She’s just trying to fight the allegations right now.”

Lando set the takeout down on the desk, “I assume it’s not going well?”

Something switched in Max, his eyes turned cold, “No, Lando, it’s not going well. And, frankly, I don’t know why you’re even going here with me right now”

Lando put his hands on his hips with his eyebrows furrowed, “Going where with you?”

Max’s fists curled, “I forgave you for the way you treated her, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a sore spot. She’s lashing out at people, ruining her reputation, because you put her through a shit show. I’m not saying this is wholly your fault, but you had such a major fucking role in it and, to be honest, sometimes I can’t fucking look at you without seeing her and everything she has to go through on top of all the shit you did. You don't have the right, in my mind, to ask me about her.”

”I’m not trying to start anything. I still care about her.” Lando said, hands turning upwards as if he was lost.

Max scoffed, “Care about her? Fuck you! Care about her, my ass. You used her for sex, Lando! You took and then you gave, you took and then you gave. Such a twisted cycle that she never even asked for, looked for, deserved. You have no right to sit here and say you care about her. I care about her.”

The two friends had had such a hard time finding a peaceful ground in the moments after Y/n and Lando’s blow up. Max was protective over her. He entrusted Lando with her and Lando had thrown her back in his face like she wasn’t someone to be cherished. Part of him would never forgive Lando for that.

They wondered if that would be the final straw.

Lando breathed out, “I think you need some space. I’ll leave and if you want to talk things out later, call me. I don’t want to push something with you that you don’t want anymore.”

He turned around, prepared to walk out, but Max whispered, “Like you did with Y/n?”

The McLaren Driver spun around, “What?”

Max’s arms crossed in front of his chest, “You heard me.”

The fire in Max’s eyes masked pain, Lando knew that because he had lived it. Max didn’t want to fight him, he wanted this battle to be over. In a moment of growth, Lando set aside the anger in his own head and walked out the door. Hoping for a day where Max could look at him and see something other than the one moment in his life where he ruined something so perfectly his.

TWO YEARS PRIOR

Lando had DNF’d. Max and Y/n watched on as he took his gloves off, forcefully throwing them to the ground in frustration. A worker coaxed him into the car waiting to take him back to the garage, Lando shrugging him off and throwing himself into the backseat.

Andrea’s fist collided with the table he was sitting in front of and Jon ripped his headset off. Lando had been so close to securing a win, but one wrong swerve and he had gone spinning off the track with no opportunity of recovery.

Lando’s return was quick, his body storming through the room and darting up the stairs to privacy. Y/n and Max just glanced at each other, both knowing how he got with these things. Part of her wanted to go up there, hug him and tell him how amazing he was, but she also knew he needed time to be alone. Process things. She just wanted the best for him.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Lan <3

Come up to my room?

She smiled. Lando hadn’t opened up to her that much over the year and a half they had been fooling around, whatever you wanted to call it, but she had always wanted him to. She had tried to ask him about family life, stressors he was dealing with, and he would answer, but it was brief and then his lips were on hers again.

Maybe he had finally come around to letting her in like she had him.

Y/n Y/l/n

Coming xx

When she got to his room, her knuckle hit the door once before it was flying open and he was pulling her in. She laughed as he kissed her, thinking it was meaningless. But, when his hands tried to pull her shirt off, she pulled back.

She cocked her head, “What’re you doing?”

Lando stopped, “Fucking you?”

Her heart dipped down, “What?”

He looked at her like nothing was wrong. Did this mean nothing to him?

”Lando, don’t you wanna talk about what just happened?” She tried, but he just kept playing with the hem of her clothes.

He nodded and her confusion almost subsided. Almost, “Yeah, with some kisses and an orgasm.”

His lips met her neck and a slimy feeling washed over her body. The first time she felt self-hatred in the presence of him. What was she doing?

Y/n pushed him off, “No, I don’t want to have sex right now, Lan.”

His hip popped out and he stared at her, “Why?”

She shrugged, “Because I don’t. That should be enough.”

He looked at her as if he expected sex. Like her rejection was some sort of betrayal. He didn’t just appreciate being with her?

Lando groaned, “Ugh, whatever. Okay. I have to get changed so I can go to the debrief.”

For once, she didn’t try to argue to stay. Something didn’t feel right about his hands on her anymore.

Something wasn’t kind about their situation anymore and it wasn’t the love she knew she had for him.

THREE MONTHS LATER

Y/n Y/l/n

Can I come over? We need to talk.

Lan <3

Sure

She walked into his apartment with hesitation. What she had identified as a comfortable space no longer felt that way. Now, she stood in the foyer as if she didn’t know the layout like the back of her hand.

Lando looked at her expectantly. It mirrored the way he had eyed her that afternoon in his driver’s room. She hated it.

“We need to talk about what we are.”

Lando’s eyes bulged, “Why? There’s nothing to talk about. We both know what we are.”

Y/n shook her head, “Well, I don’t. I thought I did, but I’m starting to think I’ve been a little naive.”

Naive? That was not a word Lando would choose to describe Y/n. Gullible, maybe, but naive? No. She wasn’t that.

He led her to the living room, hand falling around her waist and lips pecking her neck out of habit when they fell onto the couch. She pulled away, “Stop, Lando.”

The softness in her voice, the way it sounded broken down, made him search her face for answers.

He got them when she began speaking, “Lando, for the past year and a half, I have done everything a girlfriend would do. I have cooked for you, run out to complete errands so you weren’t stressed, come to your house at night when you couldn’t sleep, stopped seeing other men because I felt tied to you exclusively, loved you. You have done none of that. I’ve gotten flowers, but that’s rare and I’ve gotten gifts, but it’s been for my birthday and weeks late. I give you everything I have. I give you my time, my energy, my body, my feelings, everything. You’ve given me on and off moments where you treat me with some level of respect, but I have never gotten the amount I deserve. I can’t keep doing this when all I feel like is a random fling.”

Lando stuttered. He knew this was coming. He knew the way he had been treating her, giving her things occasionally so they would hold more value and pulling back when he felt like it, would catch up to him. But, to think she was in love with him and expected the same from him, was not something he was prepared for. He was speechless as he looked at her. What was he supposed to say? She was a fling.

The moment that would haunt him everywhere he went: the small drop in her face when she realized he wasn’t fighting her. The knowledge that what she had felt all along was what she had been.

She deserved more.

She stood from the couch, “Oh my god.”

Lando stood with her, “Y/n, I am so sorry. I-”

She slapped him across the face, “Who do you think you are? Giving me flowers, taking me out to dinner, giving me a taste of what it’s like to be treated with dignity by you just so you could keep stringing me along. You manipulative piece of shit!”

The anger in her eyes mirrored Max’s whenever he got mad. He worried that would be burned into his brain every time he looked his best friend’s way.

Lando grabbed her wrist when she turned around, spinning her back, “Y/n, you have no idea. I didn’t mean for it to be this way. I’ve always wanted you. I want you.”

She pushed him away, “Want me how? Want me for my body? Want me for sex? Want me for some fucking orgasms? Is that what you’ve reduced me to?”

He tried to find the right words. There were none. “I thought we were having fun! I didn’t know you were falling for me.”

She rushed into the kitchen, grabbing her purse while yelling, “What’d you think I was doing sticking around all this time? For the sex? You’re good in bed, but not that fucking good. You’re a sick fuck.”

She reached the door and he stood in front of it, forcing himself to memorize the fury that was slowly fading away to deep sadness, “Y/n, I care about you. I don’t know how I feel about you, but I know it’s more than a fling.”

Lando waited for her reply, but she just smacked his shoulder and began to cry, “Don’t say that! That’s so fucking unfair! I’ve been in love with you for a year and you don’t even have your feelings figured out for me? You’ve been fucking me for almost two years and you have no clue if you hate me or you love me? Grow up!”

Her tears bled through the fabric of her shirt as she stared up at him. The deep color of her eyes was magnified by the glossiness. He loved her eyes. Did that mean he loved her? He was furiously trying to sort out the feelings he knew he had for her in the short amount of time he had. He didn’t want her to leave. Was that cruel?

In his silence, she found everything she needed. Pushing past him, Y/n ripped the door open. Her face turned back to him, a version he didn’t recognize, and she whispered, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Her parting words struck his soul, so raw and real. He knew that was what she wanted him to remember if he chose to block the entire conversation from his mind.

No matter how hard he would try, Lando would come to find he would never be able to forget the blip in his life. Her fast pulse under his fingers when he grabbed her wrist to the way she condemned him, it was all there. Lingering and plotting to remind him of their presence when the syllables of her name were uttered.

Maybe he did love her, he was starting to realize that, but that would never matter now.

”You should be ashamed of yourself.”

PRESENT

Lando moved the oatmeal around in his bowl as he scrolled through his Instagram feed. His TV played some random news station in the background in the living room, one he was half listening to. But, the moment the anchor spoke her name, Lando was dropping his phone and bringing his full attention to the screen.

A picture of her popped up, a headline below and one Lando couldn’t bring himself to read. He was too enthralled with her picture, remembering the times she used to smile at him that way.

”Y/n Y/l/n has officially stepped down from her CEO position at her famous boutique. She and her team released a statement this morning, apologizing for the strain she put on employees and other board members these past two years. She explains in the statement that there is no excuse for her actions, but she is heavily remorseful for them. She promises to work further on herself out of respect for the people she affected, changing her ways. She also briefly mentioned in the statement that she will be paying thousands of dollars to each employee she fired under wrongful termination. Y/n explains that the business has always meant the world to her and it is painful to let it go, put it in the hands of someone else, but she knows this is for the best. She wishes the business and all employees a more positive life after having impacted their’s negatively for so long.”

Lando stood in his living room, hands by his sides, as he read the screenshot posted on the TV. His hands shook and his palms sweat, tears pricking his eyes.

She loved that job.

This was his fault, no matter how much he tried to say her actions were under her control. It hit him fully then and there. Y/n changed him for the better, taught him how to treat someone you love, and he ruined her. He took the perfect girl with the perfect teeth, perfect hair, beautiful smile, and twisted her insides into someone who lived with rage. She never knew rage until him. He introduced it to her.

Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?

A/N: sorry pookies sending all my love after this bc it broke ME idk how yall are doing

TAGS: @jehun

[rynwritesreid]

Kiss it away| Spencer Reid

A/N:This is my first time writing a sub Spencer, so it may not be as good as my other smut pieces. But I still hope you enjoy. This is also partially requested as someone wanted a sub!Spencer. Please tell me if you want more sub! Spencer. I’ve also started writing the first chapter of Mind Games, and honestly I’m really looking forward to posting it on here.

Summary: Spencer is suffering with a migraine, you find a natural way to help relieve his pain, with some natural analgesics.

Content: Smut and fluff. Fem!reader. Dom!reader. Sub!Spencer. established relationship/dynamic Praise kink. Handjob (M!receiving). Oral(M!receiving). Vaginal penetration (P in V). Cream-pie. No mentions of contraception. Pet names (Good boy. Sweet boy). Migraines/pain. A tiny mention of Spencers addiction(literally in passing/referencing why he wouldn’t want medication). Vulnerability. Caring reader. Use of Y/N. Suggestive ending. 18*

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer, the man known for talking people’s heads off and giving everyone unwanted statistics, was being unusually quiet. In fact he didn’t really seem to be all there. He kept rubbing his head and couldn’t seem to be in bright rooms for prolonged periods of time.

 

Even when you two were at home together, he wouldn’t talk much to you. Instead, he would shut himself in the spare room with the lights turned off and the curtains drawn. You didn’t know what to do, or how to help. You knew he wouldn’t want any medication, so all you could do was try and offer a helping hand.

 

Before going to work one morning, you decided to ask him if he was okay to go to work. You were sure that everyone would understand him wanting to stay home if was feeling this ill.

 

“Hey, Spencer. Are you okay? You’ve being acting off lately. Are you sure you want to go into work today? We’ve not been called out into the field or anything.”

 

Spencer looked up from his coffee, his eyes bloodshot and distant. He gave a weak smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

 

"I appreciate your concern," he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "But I can't stay home. I need to keep my mind occupied, even if it feels like it's tearing me apart."

 

You watched him closely, the worry etching deeper lines upon your face. Spencer had always been a man of routine, finding solace in the structure and predictability of his work. But now, there was something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface.

 

"Spencer, please," you pleaded softly, taking a step closer to him. "You don't have to suffer alone. We can figure this out together. Maybe it's time to seek some help."

 

“I’ve already being to the doctors; they couldn’t see anything wrong. So, please let me go into work.” Though his voice barely crept above a whisper, you could sense the anger.

 

You sighed, feeling the weight of his frustration and desperation. You knew how much he valued his work, how it gave him purpose and stability. But seeing him like this, so lost and distant, it tore at your heart.

 

“I’m going to call in sick, handsome. Please join me in staying home today, let me take care of you.”

 

Spencer's eyes flickered with uncertainty, a mixture of gratitude and resistance fighting within him. He seemed torn between his desire to protect you from the darkness that plagued him and his fear of burdening you with his own struggles.

 

"I don't want to hold you back," he whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "You deserve someone who can give you the happiness you deserve."

 

Your heart ached at his selfless words, for they only made you love him more. You reached out and gently cupped his face, your touch tender and full of reassurance.

 

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice laced with determination. "Happiness is not something I seek outside of us. It is in being with you, in trying to help shoulder your burden. Let me be here for you."

 

His eyes searched yours, tears shimmering in their depths. Slowly, he nodded, relinquishing the weight he had been carrying alone for far too long.

 

“Okay.” He whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "Okay, maybe staying home with you today wouldn't be such a bad idea."

You called Hotch, who was very understanding, and told him that you were both taking the day off work.

 

You closed all the curtains and kept only a little lamp on and told him to make himself as comfortable as possible. His sat down on the sofa, with his cup of coffee in hand. You decided to do some research, to see what possible ways you could help ease his pain.

 

Through your research, you saw that orgasms can help, as they act as a natural analgesic. You didn’t know if that was something Spencer would be willing to try, but you knew it was worth a shot.

 

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and determination as you approached Spencer. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, you gently placed a hand on his thigh.

 

"Spencer," you began softly, trying to find the right words amidst the heaviness in the room. "I've been doing some research, and I came across something that might help... It's a bit unconventional, but... orgasms can actually act as a natural analgesic. They release endorphins that can alleviate pain and promote relaxation."

 

Spencer blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. You could see the wariness and scepticism etched across his face, but there was also a glimmer of hope.

 

“Would you like to try it; you don’t need to do anything. I’m going to do all the work.” Spencer's gaze met yours, his apprehension slowly fading as a small spark of curiosity ignited within him. He knew the pain that haunted him was not physical, but if there was a chance that this unconventional method could provide even a momentary respite from the torment in his mind, he was willing to give it a try.

 

"I trust you," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability and gratitude. "If there's a chance it might help, then let's give it a shot."

 

“Now that’s my good boy. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?” Your voice was light, soft and caring.

 

You led him into the bedroom, making sure that he would be comfortable. You slowly took of his clothes, making sure to be delicate.  You could feel the tension and anticipation building between you as each article of clothing was removed. Spencer stood before you, his naked body exposed and vulnerable. You took a moment to appreciate the sight before you, the way his gaze met yours with a mix of trust and longing.

 

With gentle hands, you guided him to lie down on the bed, his body sinking into the soft sheets. The dim light cast a warm glow across the room, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt like a sanctuary from the outside world.

 

You positioned yourself beside him, your fingers trailing delicately along his skin. Every touch was deliberate, filled with tenderness and a desire to ease his pain. Slowly, you let your hand travel lower, caressing the sensitive skin just below his belly button.

 

Spencer's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with measured anticipation. His eyes never left yours, as if seeking reassurance that this act of intimacy was meant to heal rather than exploit.

 

“I love you, my sweet boy. I would do anything to help you. Do you understand?”

 

Spencer nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you too," he replied, his words filled with gratitude and vulnerability. He trusted you implicitly, knowing that your intentions were pure and genuine.

 

As you continued your gentle caresses, your fingers slowly descended further, tracing the outline of his growing arousal. The weight of his pain seemed to lift slightly as pleasure began to replace it, inch by inch. Your touch was delicate and purposeful, seeking to provide comfort and relief rather than raw desire.

 

Spencer's breath hitched again, a soft gasp escaping his lips as your fingertips brushed over the sensitive head of his penis. His eyes fluttered closed momentarily, his body relaxing into your touch as you continued to stroke him with soothing care.

 

With each stroke, the tension in his body seemed to dissipate further. His muscles softened beneath your touch, the knots of anguish gradually unravelling as pleasure washed over him in waves. In this moment of intimacy and vulnerability, he allowed himself to let go of the weight he had been carrying. The pain that had consumed him for so long began to fade into the background, replaced by a newfound sense of relief and release.

 

You watched the transformation unfold, your heart swelling with both love and pride. This was more than just physical pleasure; it was a catharsis, a moment of respite amidst the storm that raged within Spencer's mind.

 

As you continued to stroke him, your movements became more purposeful, more focused on unlocking the pleasure hidden beneath the layers of his pain. You could feel his body responding to your touch, his breath quickening and his muscles tensing with anticipation.

 

"Let go, Spencer," you whispered, your voice laced with both tenderness and command. "Surrender to the pleasure, let it wash over you and carry away the darkness."

 

His eyes snapped open, meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and trust. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he allowed himself to fully surrender to the pleasure that enveloped him. The heaviness in his mind melted away, replaced by a blissful ecstasy that radiated through his body.

 

You continued to stroke him, your movements steady and sure, attuned to his every response. The room was filled with the sounds of his gasps and moans, mingling with the soft rhythm of your touch. With each stroke, the tension in his body unravelled further, making room for a profound sense of release and relief.

 

Spencer's muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his body trembling on the precipice of something powerful. His breath hitched as he teetered on the edge of climax, teetered on the edge of being released from the chains of his pain. And then, with a shuddering groan, he let go.

 

His whole body convulsed as an intense wave of pleasure coursed through him, washing away the thoughts that tormented him.

 

“Oh, my sweet handsome boy, look at the mess you’ve made. I guess I better clean it up, huh? Would you like that?”

 

Spencer didn’t answer for a while, he was still coming down. As he caught his breath, he let out a “yes”. You lowered your head, making sure to give him a trail of kisses.

 

You lowered your head, pressing soft kisses along his abdomen as you made your way down to his spent cock. The taste of him was familiar and comforting, a reminder of the intimate connection you shared. With each gentle lick and suck, you cleaned him up, taking care to savour every drop.

 

Spencer's body relaxed further against the bed, his muscles loosening as a blissful satisfaction settled over him. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, the weight of his pain replaced by a gentle calmness that washed over him.

 

“You don’t we’ve finished yet though. Do you?”

 

Spencer's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting yours as a flicker of anticipation danced in his eyes. The words hung heavy in the air, a promise of continued pleasure and release. He shook his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

 

"No, I don't think we're finished," he replied, his voice filled with a newfound sense of confidence and desire. "I want to keep going."

 

You smiled back at him, a mix of adoration and mischief dancing in your eyes. Your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

 

"Good boy," you murmured, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let's see just how far we can take this."

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you leaned down and captured Spencer's lips in a searing kiss. Your hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing every dip and curve, as desire coursed through your veins.

 

Spencer's body responded eagerly to your touch, his hands gripping the sheets as he arched into your caress. His kisses grew hungrier, more desperate, as if he sought solace not only from his pain but from the world itself. There was an unspoken understanding between you, an unquenchable hunger that demanded to be sated.

 

You slowly lowered yourself back to his cock. As you worked your mouth up and down his length, your hand stroked his thigh, adding to the sensations coursing through him. Spencer's moans grew louder and more desperate with each passing moment, his body arching off the bed as he surrendered to the ecstasy that washed over him.

 

You could feel the tension building in him once again, his breath quickening, his muscles tightening. With a final stroke of your tongue, you brought him to the edge once more, guiding him over it with expert precision.

 

His release was explosive, his body convulsing in waves of pleasure. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste as if it were a decadent treat.

 

“Do you think you can give me another?” He slowly nodded your head, as he found himself unable to speak.

 

You moved off the bed so you could undress yourself. Spencer’s eyes scanning your body, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. With each piece of clothing that fell to the floor, Spencer's anticipation grew. He watched you undress, soaking in the sight of your bare skin, the contours of your body that held a promise of pleasure. The desire in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that demanded to be satisfied.

 

As you climbed back onto the bed, naked and eager, Spencer's hands reached out instinctively to touch you. Each caress was filled with longing and need, his fingertips tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every curve.

 

Your skin tingled under his touch, and you couldn't help but gasp at the electricity that coursed through your veins. It was as if every nerve ending in your body had awakened, craving the pleasure that only Spencer could provide.

 

With a gentle push, you urged Spencer to lie back on the bed, his body surrendering to your desires. Your lips sought out his with an urgency born from months of pent-up longing and anticipation. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and need.

 

“You haven’t been able to cum yet. Please let me help you out?” His voice was cracking, his eyes pleading for you to let him do anything.

 

“My sweet boy, I told you I was going to be doing all the work. Just relax.”

 

Spencer nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and desire. He allowed himself to sink into the mattress, surrendering control over his pleasure to you completely. You straddled him, positioning yourself just above his aching need, teasing him with the anticipation of what was to come.

 

You began to slowly grind against him, the friction between your bodies sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to build the tension and desire that simmered just beneath the surface. Spencer's hands grasped at your hips, pulling you closer, desperate for more contact.

 

But you kept your pace torturously slow, denying him the release he yearned for. Each time he tried to thrust upwards, seeking more contact, you gently but firmly held him down, reminding him who was in control.

 

"You're doing so well," you whispered as you leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. "Just a little longer. I promise it'll be worth the wait."

 

Spencer's body trembled beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought against the overwhelming need for release. His eyes were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. The intensity of his desire mirrored your own, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

 

With each tantalizing movement of your hips, you could feel yourself growing wet and swollen, your own need begging to be satisfied. But this moment was about Spencer, about giving him the pleasure, he so desperately craved. You would have your turn soon enough.

 

His moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with their raw intensity. With each passing second, Spencer edged closer to the brink of ecstasy. But you were not ready to let him go just yet. Your movements quickened, but only slightly, teasing him with the promise of release while denying him its full realization.

 

"Please," he begged, his voice thick with desperation. "I need to cum, please."

 

You smiled down at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of affection and dominance. You knew he was on the edge, his body trembling with need. But you wanted to push him even further, to take him to a place of ecstasy he had never experienced before.

 

"Patience, my love," you whispered, your voice silkily smooth. "I want to make you feel so good."

 

With those words, you increased the tempo of your movements, grinding against him with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure intensified, threatening to break through the dam of control that Spencer had managed to maintain. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body writhing beneath yours as he fought against the mounting pleasure.

 

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that swallowed his moans and pleas for release. Your tongue danced with his, an erotic ballet that mirrored the movements of your bodies. The taste of him mingled with your own desire, intoxicating and addictive.

 

With a final thrust, you felt Spencer's body tense beneath you, his release imminent. The grip of his fingers on your hips grew tighter as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure that washed over him. His moans filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that reverberated in your ears.

 

As he climaxed, you continued to move against him, prolonging his pleasure until he couldn't take any more. Wave after wave of intense sensation coursed through his body, leaving him gasping for breath, his limbs limp and sated.

 

You slowly eased yourself off him, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of your lips. The sight of Spencer lying there, spent, and thoroughly pleasured, made your heart swell with pride and delight. You had taken him to new heights of pleasure, pushed boundaries and explored desires you had only dared to whisper about.

 

“When you’re feeling better, I think you should reward me for taking such good care of you. Don’t you?”

~Join my taglist~

~Taglist~

@iluvreid @nomajdetective @drspencieee @katieeeee314 @evvy96 @oliviah-25 @starkid024 @emalynvtgtgfhvgg @krokietino @xohoneybun @spencerreidwifeee @purplepistachi0 @pleasantwitchgarden @bitchassbecky691 @piperb400 @queermaxwooo @gemofthenight @topguncultleader @luvpiercethekaty @anna-belle-xd

[4ngel-inc]

⊹ ˚. 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — 𝓜𝓔𝓐𝓝𝓣 𝓣𝓞 𝓑𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤𝓡𝓢 ᡴꪫ

notes — dazai meets you and begins to feel the tight hold he has on his dominant demeanor slipping. over time, he finds all he wants to do is serve you and please you.

tags — [ MDNI / 18+ ], fem reader, dom reader, alludes to depression, loneliness, dom/sub themes, choking, male masturbation, 1.1k words.

this is the first chapter of my sub!dazai series, "self-portraits." link to full series HERE !

life hasn't always been easy for dazai, but it has been simple. when he was in the port mafia, he focused on killing and being killed. and since he's found himself working at the armed detective agency, he's focused on making a living and enjoying a relatively peaceful life. and though there's nothing about his past he misses, he does find himself feeling empty sometimes.

and he's tried, he really has. but no amount of one night stands or bottles of sake or lives he's saved can fill the emptiness inside, it's simply a proven fact at this point. sometimes, it feels like he's suffocating, drowning in untamed emotions. other times, he feels hollow inside.

most times, he just feels invisible. and after all he's been through, though he hates to admit it to himself, buries it down and swallows it like the merciful pill he's always craved, he doesn't want to be invisible, doesn't want to be empty anymore. he wants to be seen, to be known, to be loved.

when did things change? dazai doesn't think he can remember the moment he began wondering what love feels like. maybe it was a couple walking hand-in-hand at the park, passing him by on their daily walk. maybe it's been creeping up slowly, a result of the relationship gossip he hears amongst his coworkers on a daily basis.

dazai's desire to love seems to grow a little more each night, like a cobweb forming in the corner of a room, unnoticed until it collapses. often, when he takes his bandages off before bed and doesn't recognize his own reflection in the mirror anymore, he wonders, could anyone love a man who doesn't know how to love?

even if he found someone, dazai tells himself he wouldn't know what to do—he wouldn't know what to say or how to feel or what to buy "you" for valentine's day. he's slept around a lot, but he's never greeted someone in the morning, always gone long before the sun comes up. he doesn't know how to be in a relationship.

"you." there is no you, only him.

—

it's a little embarrassing, really, how dazai's little crush on you forms. you drink the same coffee as him—decaf, room-temperature, and extra sweet. he's endeared, to say the least, when he hears you order in front of him at his favorite coffee shop one day, and the rest is history.

maybe it's because he wants so desperately to know what love feels like, but dazai finds himself drawn to you after that first glance, and he simply can't let go—there is something so magnetic about you, something that makes him feel a little uneasy, like there's nothing beneath his feet, but you excite him far more than you intimidate him.

he asks you out only a few days later, just happening to find himself behind you in line again, and, surprisingly, his usual sweet talk doesn't quite work on you.

"seriously? that's your pickup line? you're lucky you're cute, or i might have said no." the way you smile so confidently as you put your number in his phone, the way you seem almost amused, the way your fingers lightly brush his shoulder as you walk away that day, leave dazai reeling. he wants you. he has to have you. and he knows, once you're his, he'll do anything to keep you.

but what he doesn't expect, is to really, truly, show all of himself to you.

—

"do you. . . think i could kiss you?" dazai doesn't recognize the hesitation in his own voice, but there's something about the dynamic between you two that has him feeling lighter, like he can finally let go for once.

he never knew his parents, and the only real friend he ever had is long gone, only leaving memories in his wake, but dazai does want to love again—and he's hoping he'll get the chance with you.

as he awaits your answer, he begins to doubt himself, eyes cast down toward the pavement, kicking small pebbles off the steps to your apartment, but when he feels your hand slip behind his neck, he realizes not all is lost.

"you can do more than kiss me," you breathe into his mouth as your lips just barely graze his, "does that sound good?" it sounds fucking amazing.

an hour later, you're still making out heavily on your couch, but dazai wants more. he's waited so long for this, for someone to make him feel something, and now that he's found you, he's feeling all too much at once.

you seem to sense his restlessness, shifting slightly to kiss his forehead softly instead of his lips. "shhh, i can hear your mind racing. just calm down for me, yeah?" the way you're running your fingers through his hair, gently scratching, does soothe him, but it isn't enough to relieve his anxiety.

"i want more," he hates the slight whine in his voice, but he simply can't resist being an utterly lovesick fool for you.

"i do, too, but why don't we take it slow, honey?" your voice drips with seduction, confusing him—if you want to take it slow, why are you acting like this? how are you holding it together so well?

"w-what can i do?" dazai palms the rock-hard bulge in his pants, resigned to the idea he won't get to fuck you just yet. "it hurts, i need-"

"get yourself off for me," you cut him off mid-sentence, and his eyes widen as you state what you want so matter-of-factly. he's never met a woman like you, someone so refined, yet so bold. "that's right, osamu, i want to see you stroke yourself for me, think you can do that, baby?"

it's a bit pathetic, dazai thinks, how quickly he's stripping down for you, kneeling at your feet and jerking himself off, kissing your thighs and your ankles, but he's never been happier—never felt more free, than he does while worshipping you.

your fingers grip his neck ever so gently,  "think you can cum for me? are you gonna be my good boy, osamu?" 

god, you really are an angel to him.

[etherealinowrites]

love on the court | lmh

jock leeknow x nerd female reader

✮ ❝ lee minho, a 23 year old senior at levanter uni is the jack of it all. he was the captain of the football team, the president of the dance club, the resident chef and a loving cat dad of three cuties. it was unfair how he seemed to just have it all! good looks, amazing physique, never ending charisma and irresistible charm. safe to say, he was the most popular guy at your college, known for being the heartthrob and heartbreaker of everyone attending. but when he crosses paths with the shy and smart y/n, who is walking around, trying her best to keep her 8.5 gpa intact, he cannot help but feel he’s been wearing a mask all along. and why does only y/n have the power to take it off him? drawn to the silent beauty, minho feels his priorities change and who knows, maybe they fall in love? one thing is for sure, he has a whole lot to prove if he wants to win her heart and have his own love on the court. ❞ ✮

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

➺ genre: university/college au, jock minho, athlete minho, shy girl x popular guy trope, strangers to lovers, typical college romance, nerd y/n, goody two shoes y/n and rule breake minho. cliche. CLICHE. so fucking cliche. it’s basically a 2000s girly movie in 2023 with lee minho in it. also some smau to make it fun.

➺ warnings: eventual smut, crude language- sweating and profanity, partying, clubbing, drinking and alcohol, mentions of drugs (none of the characters take them but they’re mentioned), causal sex, hooking up (i mean they’re all over age and in college so the usual), issues of mental health (anxiety and panic attack related to exams and assignments etc), minors dni

➺ schedule: whenever i can find time (i’m a full time uni student AND a part time intern AND i freelance so please try to understand🩵) . releases: october 2023.

➺ word count: in progress

➺ series taglist (don’t ask to be tagged if you’re a minor!!) : @endzii23 @you-make-skz-stay @tinyelfperson @nattisbored @jetblackbelle @helpsplease @lolos-hoes @noellllslut @thevampiregoth @astraystayyh @seo--changbin @jisunglyricist @felinows @she-wintersoldat @abbiestearsricochet @miin17 @laryisthinking @jisuperboard @theboyz-jacob @aishjah @skz-streamer @semi-semiisbae @httphans @urmomma0324

@hanjisunginc @moasworld @vixensss @realrintaro @ilovehimyourhonour @binnielovie @idkluvutellme @gnfelix @yandere-stories @berrybearbear @brooklynie @justletmehavethenamemarsomfg @phtogravi @yeetlixs @ddazed-lhs @skzwife-02 @moonlyah @babigriin @m111nho @boi-bi-ahaha @leeracha @hxraiiii @reidsfav @doyouknowbtsswag @skzwife-02 @dariangarcia @chlodavids

(taglist is CLOSED)

✮ ✮ ✮

🩵meet the characters pt1

🩵meet the characters pt2

✨dynamics 📱

->chapter one | the meet cute - 3.5K

you make acquaintance of your uni’s football team captain

->chapter two | the strike - 📱

the two friend groups have some heart to hearts

->chapter three | twitterati - 📱

the people of the uni are the biggest gossip mongers ever

-> chapter four | locker room talk - 5K

apparently the guys talked about you. oh, and minho wants to take you out. nothing big. (you were freaking out)

…..more to be added