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#you know how it is with that campfire lighting

rottenpumpkin13 · 2 days

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Whats happens when the boys™️ go camping on the beach?

Things That Happen At The Beach, A List

• The seagulls see Cloud as an easy target and attack him for his food. Zack rushes in to defend his buddy and ends up fist fighting a seagull. Zack loses.

• Sephiroth tries to relax in the sand and read a book, but Angeal's continuous use of a metal detector to "hunt for goods" nearby is giving him anxiety.

• Genesis is going on a drink run and is offering to get everyone else something too.

Genesis: Would you like a sex on the beach?

Sephiroth, not knowing it's a drink: I thought you'd never ask.

• Zack has gripped a seagull by the neck and is refusing to let go. The other seagulls are getting increasingly more agitated. Cloud pleads with Zack to let it go. Zack claims that the only way to deal with the seagulls is to "assert dominance"

• Genesis ia trying to take aesthetic pictures of himself for social media and doesn't notice that in half of them, Sephiroth is in the background losing a battle with a melting ice cream cone.

• Angeal is looking for the guitar he brought to sing campfire songs. Genesis burned it to build a fire. Angeal retaliates by burning Genesis' books in that very bonfire. The last anyone saw Angeal and Genesis they were trying to drown each other in the ocean.

• Sephiroth brings a book that aids in identifying crab species and a camera to catalogue them. Sephiroth finds a crab. He takes a photo of the crab with the flash on. This bothers the crab. The crab attacks him. Sephiroth flings the crab into the ocean. Sephiroth feels guilty and goes into the ocean to retrieve the crab.

• Sephiroth and Genesis try playing with a frisbee for fun. Sephiroth underestimated his own strength and ended up knocking Genesis out with the frisbee. When Angeal finds them, Genesis is still knocked out and Sephiroth is digging a Genesis-sized hole in the sand.

Angeal: ......

Sephiroth: I panicked.

Angeal: Oh my god.

• The seagulls are encircling Zack and Cloud. Cloud lights a beach towel on fire to try to ward them off.

• AGS go on a banana boat for fun. The boat driver warns them that if they don't hang on, they'll fall off. Genesis is the first to claim "Ha! We're SOLDIER. As if we can be bested by an inflatable water sled." On the first wave all three of them are violently thrown into the ocean. Genesis was the first to go and knocked Angeal and Sephiroth like bowling pins.

• Angeal finally intervenes and chases the seagulls away. He gives Genesis, Sephiroth and Cloud the task of fishing for their cookout while Zack helps him prepare.

Angeal: You guys know how to fish, right?

Sephiroth: Definitely. (Liar)

Cloud: Absolutely. (Liar)

Genesis: Of course (embellisher of the truth)

• 1 hour later they come back with Cloud tangled in a fishing line, Genesis with a small fish, and Sephiroth with a big fish. Genesis is fuming because he claims Sephiroth "invaded his fishing space and caught the fish that Genesis was meant to catch."

• Genesis and Sephiroth go paddle boarding for fun but end up having a makeshift sword duels with their paddles in the middle of the ocean. Genesis hits Sephiroth in the knees. This Angers Sephiroth. Genesis now has a total of 2 minutes to make it to shore before Sephiroth catches up to him and drowns him.

• Angeal wants to take some nice group photos to remember this day forever. They're in the middle of a nice group pose when the horde of seagulls come back for revenge.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #cloud strife #storytime

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 days

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Fly me to the Moon

Astarion x Tav

WORDS: 2.6K RATING: T PAIRING: Ascended!Astarion x Tav SUMMARY: just as they were settled, plans seem to change. (sort of a sequel to [x])

Despite having all the luxuries and money available to him now, Astarion preferred to sleep in a smaller bed.

When you had finished redecorating the castle, an arduous process as you didn’t realize how big it was until you started, Astarion had been left the bedroom per his request and actually did it a lot more modestly than you thought he would. Somehow you envisioned gold for every nailed down surface, ornate rugs patterned across the floor, mirrors or reflective surfaces anywhere he could put them to preen at his reflection any space moment; now that he had it back.

There was a bit of gold. 1 larger rug under the bed to keep the feet from touching cold marble first thing in the morning. More than a few mirrors. But the part that surprised you was how…average the bed was. Along with the grandeur, you thought Astarion would want a lake of a bed to dominate the room. He corrected you and said that a bed like that wouldn’t be necessary as his intention was to be wrapped around you every night for eternity, so all of it would go to waste.

That’s why it was so strange when you realized he wasn’t there beside you in your sleep.

You awoke and sat up. Scanning the dark room and landing on a small light by the desk on the far side with Astarion sitting at it. His handsome face pursed in thought but warmed by the candlelight. You slipped out of bed onto the soft rug and walked over to see what he was doing so late at night.

"Oh, hello my love. Did I wake you?"

You shook your head. Coming up beside him to see what he was working on. "What's all this?"

"Maps for our travels." He announced. Showing you one that was faded and worn. "Although, we may have to engage a new map maker or literary archivist for some updated ones. I think some of these are older than I am."

"But not nearly as pretty." You reply with a chuckle. Kissing his cheek. "Why the sudden interest in geography? I thought we agreed to stay in the Gate for a while. 'Set up camp'. Establish a base for your great dark empire."

"Eh. I changed my mind." Astarion said that as if he had changed it on a whim. Perhaps he had. But the work he had poured himself over led you to believe this was a thought that had been seeping for a while. "I realized; I haven't actually left the city at all in 200 years. Where that Nautiloid spit me out was the furthest I had traveled since....I can't remember when. And, if it hadn't, picked me up and spit me out that is, I would still be here. Trapped in the city. My new gifts have left me with a literally world of possibilities to break free of these walls. It would be a shame to squander them.”

You supposed that was true. Astarion’s ascension had given him a lot of new abilities. Including, but not limited to, his continued ability to walk in the sun. Which made leaving the Gate all the more possible. There was a big, bright new world out there. You could see why he would want to leave. “Hmm…so, where do you want to go first then?”

“I…don’t know.” He told you honestly. “I have the means to go anywhere and yet somehow…that seems more challenging than no choices.”

“A burden of options.”

“Exactly!” He seemed incredibly pleased that you got it, without having to explain or dumb it down for you. “Just so long as we don’t have to sleep in the dirt again, I really have no real opinion on where we go.”

“No feelings of nostalgia bedding down by a campfire?”

“Oh please….” He seemed less pleased with that quip. “Have you traveled anywhere? You know, for all our near deaths and how intimate we are now, I also just realized I know almost nothing about you. Other than your body and parts of your mind from the tadpole.” Astarion leaned in close to take your hand. “I’m such a cad.”

You chuckle at him. But you tell Astarion no, you haven’t traveled before. Not really. Not the far off, wonderous, exotic, or lavish places Astarion probably had in mind to show you. Different beaches down the River Chionthar. The country side. Nothing special.

“Good!” He announced when you told him. Spinning around and standing from his desk. “I want us to share all of this together. See it all for the first time, side by side, as my consort. And, be the first to make love to you on every continent imaginable.”

You lean in close when he leaned forward to kiss you. Coiling your fingers through his wavy hair as he pulled you in by the waist. “I suppose we should start packing.”

“Hmm…yes. But that can wait until later.” You let out a surprised sound when Astarion lifted you up in his arms bridal style. Grinning at you with that cheeky smile of his. “For now, I think we should practice a bit before our journey. You can’t just expect to make love on every continent without a little stamina training, yes?” You giggle as he carried you back to bed.

Once you were done, and sufficiently exhausted, you fell asleep dreaming of far off places and exotic shores. The smell of salt air. The warm feeling of tall grass. All of it in your mind’s eye, along with Astarion.

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pluvillion · 2 years

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"Dancing on the hood in the middle of the woods on an old Mustang, where we sang songs with all our childhood friends..."

— 2002; Anne-Marie

alongside Ellis and Zoey's render, i also made one for Rochelle and Francis. since the song was stuck in my head by the time i was making it, i had the exact prompt to use. the composition was generated by Dall-E 2 and the AI got the exact look i was going for.

i never realized how easy scene-building is if you have references. back then i assumed you have to make everything on your own which is completely out of my league - turns out you just need a bit of blueprint here and there.

i'm saying it now before you point it out - Francis holding a Fender Mustang whilst sitting on a Mustang was NOT ON PURPOSE. it was the only decent guitar model i could find at SFMLabs (nothing in the Workshop).

#sfm #source filmmaker #left 4 dead #left 4 dead 2 #l4d #l4d2 #rochelle #francis #rochelle l4d2 #francis l4d #mustang #camping #campfire #dark forest #fanart #do you guys know how much my computer was crying while i was making this?#i loaded too many lights just to get the campfire looking right #i haven't even loaded the program in 4k yet it's already dropping to 20fps when I'm doing anything

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chxrryhansen · 12 days

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𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍

Pairing; Dark!Rafe Cameron x Innocent!Reader

Warnings; CNC!!!! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. smut, extremely dark themes, unprotected sex, public sex, choking, drugging? (rafe manipulates reader into snorting a line) degrading terms (slut, whore) loss of virginity, tiny bit of blood, breeding kink, size difference, daddy kink, dumbification, dacryphillia, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!

Summary; Based on x.

authors note; i really thought about never finishing this because i just haven’t had the motivation or wanted to write in quite a while. but i’ve been neglecting you guys! so i tried my best to finish it, however i literally hate this fic so much so please don’t come at me bc i know its shit😛 its around like 1.3k words so… take it or leave it ig.

“Hey, so uh, you come here often?” The boy says, rubbing his nose with his right finger while motioning with his beer filled hand to the party further down the beach.

Your friend had dragged you to one of the weekend bonfires at the beach, kooks only of course. Which is exactly what you were, a sheltered, spoilt, kook. Right down to the core.

Your family had given you everything you ever wanted growing up, paying for homeschooling from the best private tutor on the island, buying you whatever the new pair of heels on the market was, but that never deterred your sweet heart.

You weren’t a prude and even though you were, you didn’t act spoilt, you appreciated everything your family did for you. You didn’t have many friends considering the private life you lived. Your best friend was your neighbour, both of you having grown up together, your father and hers both being in the same business really tied the strings in your friendship.

She was quite the opposite of you, partying every weekend, hanging out with boys and drinking to the point she was incapable of walking. Long story short, she had begged you to come, a promise of a sleepover and movie night afterwards.

Except that wasn’t the case. Within 15 minutes she had found a new man to latch onto, leaving you sitting by yourself on a wooden log infront of a small campfire someone must’ve ditched.

You looked up, a tall muscular boy with a backwards cap staring down at you, his pretty blues lighting up in the reflection of the fire. You didn’t answer him, being too caught up in the flare of his strong presence. His aura was engulfing, your body instantly being drawn to him.

You didn’t know it of course, but Rafe did.

One look at your pretty face and the sweet scent of your purity and he just knew he had to have it. A smirk appeared on the boys face as he took a seat on the log next to you, his eyes never leaving your own.

“Gonna’ answer me, sweetheart?”

“Uhm, n-no not really, it’s my first. My friends around here somewhere… not sure where she went.” You murmured.

Rafes smirk widened, how blessed he was to have stumbled upon a sweet, innocent, little bunny like you.

“S’okay. I can keep you company. Name’s Rafe.”

The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a little white baggie filled with a powdery substance. Noticing your stare he asks “You want some?”

“What is that stuff?” you mumble, knitting your eyebrows together in confusion.

“This shits the good stuff, s’ like powdered sugar. Gets you feelin’ real good, one line of this and you’ll feel on top of the world, sweetheart.” he smirks moving closer to the point your knees touch, yet his eyes still don’t leave your own.

“C’mere, lay back a little.” and do you do.

Without question.

Which of course stirs Rafe’s dominant instinct, he just cant stop thinking about shoving you onto your knees and fucking your throat til you choke on his fat cock.

But he’ll save that for later.

Rafe proceeds to pour a little powder onto your chest, sitting perfectly above your perky tits. He then reaches into his pocket and picks out a bank card, then using it to create a smooth line on your chest.

He moves in. Snorting the line right off your tits. A tingly feeling appeared in between your thighs. The sensation of his hot breath on your chest making your own increase.

He leans back and looks towards the sky, his curtains framing his face as he does so, lifting a finger and closing a nostril he sniffs deeply, sighing in relief afterwards. “See, easy as that. Your turn, beautiful.”

“M’kay” you shrug.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Rafe shifts on the log, lying down on his back and spreading his lets wide. He repeats the process on his abs, pouring the coke, creating the line and then ushering you forwards.

“Remember. All you gotta’ do is cover one of your nostrils, and use the other to sniff it right up. You got that?”

“Mhm” You nod excitedly.

“Ah ah ah. Use your words.”

“Yes Rafe. I got it.” You whisper, your pretty doe eyes staring up at him.

“Good girl.” He groans as you begin to snort the coke from his abs. His cock is painfully hard which obviously you didn’t notice, his pre cum leaking from his swollen tip, desperate to have your soppy cunt wrapped around it.

Within 5 minutes the drugs had hit you.

Your head was spinning and your control of your own body wavy, your movements restricted.

“I-i feel kinda fuzzy. Don’t like it…think i’m gonna’ go home now.” Rafe debates begging you to stay, but a better plan crosses his mind.

An eery smirk appears across his handsome features. “How about i walk you, s’ not safe for a pretty girl like you to be out in the dark all by yourself.”

The second you’re out of sight from the beach a hand wraps around your mouth, Rafe’s body pressing your own against a tall tree, blocking any escape. Your eyes go wide in fear, tears beginning to well up as you attempt to scream.

Your tears should make him irritated, angry even. But it doesn’t. It only turns him on more. His dick growing harder by the second.

“Shut the fuck up or i-i swear to god i’ll slit your throat. Can’t believe you kept this innocent act up. I can practically smell how soaked you are you fuckin’ slut.”

Before you can even think of screaming you’re cut off by your own wail as Rafe’s cock disappears between your folds. He bottoms out in one harsh thrust, your legs become slack as he grips your hips, holding you upright on his length.

“So fuckin’ tight. Gonna’ fuck you so good you’ll forget your own god damn name.” He growls.

The sound of clapping skin begins to echo, the skin of your ass turning raw due to his brutal thrusts. The tears don’t stop, only beginning to mix with the drool and sweat leaking down your face. Your wails and whimpers turn to moans as your cunt soaks his length.

Rafe knew you were perfect, that’s why he picked you. But this just proved him right.

“Fuckkk. You like that? Who knew you’d be such a dirty whore f’ me.” He chuckles, throwing his head back in ecstasy, yet his thrusts don’t slow. His pace almost animalistic.

The sensation of your pussy clenching tells Rafe what he wanted to know.

Rafe lets out a loud groan. “Jesus. You’re gonna’ fuckin’ cum aren’t you? Getting off on your rapists cock. Ask me. Ask daddy if you can cum.”

His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Please can i cum daddy? I need it s-so bad.” You whine, shifting your hips back and forth, fucking yourself on his shaft, your back still pinned against the tree.

“Cum. Cum for daddy. Holy shitttt, pussys grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice.”

Your cream coats his cock as you scream, biting your lip harshly to try and muffle your pleasure.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if the whole beach heard that from here you dumb slut.” He groans, lifting a hand to fist your hair, tugging harshly.

His thick cock continues to pummel your insides, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.

As Rafe looks down he notices a glint of red at the base of his shaft. The sight of your cream and blood alone brings him closer to the edge.

“Gonna’ cum in this pretty cunt, can’t wait to fill you up, baby. Daddy’s gonna’ cum.”

His release is met with a loud growl, his balls throbbing as his load fills you, thick ropes of his hot cum shoot into your pussy.

“That’s ittttt. fuck. Taking my cum like such a good girl.”

Rafe is slow to pull out, inching you off his cock as he pants trying to catch his breath. His hold however never leaves you, ensuring you don’t fall due to the brutal fucking you just received.

His attention is grabbed at the sound of your sobs, his thumb swiping over your cheek and collecting your tears. His pretty blues stare into your own, almost waiting for you to run.

But you don’t.

“Shh Shh Shh. No more tears. Daddy’s gonna’ take care of you from now on.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #rafe obx #outer banks #rafe #rafe smut #dark rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #drew starkey fic #outer banks smut #outer banks fic

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ghostaholics · 9 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw 2

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moonlitdesertdreams · 23 days

Text

On the Surface

A/N: Nothing important, please enjoy and send me more ideas! Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader, Lucy MacLean WARNINGS: None Summary: Lucy knew traveling with the Ghoul would be tough, but no one told her it would be so... weird. Especially when he stops to pick up another companion along the way.

Word count: 1.2k+

(GIF credit to @talesfromthecrypts)

Lucy surely didn’t know what to expect when she trudged along after the Ghoul and Wilzig’s dog, charmed by its new companion.

She followed, weighed down by the revelations Moldaver had laid bare. It had pulled the curtain away from her entire life and ripped her heart to shreds. Between seeing her father flee and leaving Maximus, her mind was heavy with pain.

The Ghoul was absolute zero on the comfort scale. He walked silently, only breaking it to mutter hypothetical questions at the dog- so affectionately called Dogmeat- and cough dryly. Lucy decided they had to have been walking for hours through sparse woods and dry ground before a flickering light appeared on the horizon.

And after everything she’d been through, she fully expected another fight.

But the Ghoul seemed to gain some motivation at the sight, and moved along at a quicker pace than they had been. Lucy was able to make out the shape of a small campfire burning, less than ten feet away from a fairly large, but crudely-built cabin. It was tucked into a patch of dead trees, and had what she thought to be clothes hanging on clotheslines outside. Even the dog was excited, barking loudly and jogging up to the cabin.

Lucy stopped a few yards away, apprehension freezing her limbs into place. The Ghoul continued on, hopping lithely onto the front porch and knocking at the door. Again, she expected the occupant to come out, guns blazing, and be killed by the man at her door.

Maybe he’d even make Lucy carve pieces of them off to make jerky again.

What she didn’t expect was the door to open, and the Ghoul to crack a smile she’d never seen. A figure- a woman- stepped out onto the porch. Lucy watched them exchange a few words before the woman leaned in towards the Ghoul and…. hugged him?

What the fuck even was this place?

The Ghoul, always cold and callous with Lucy, chuckled out loud. “Miss me, sugar?”

When she pulls away, the woman is beaming. “Every day.”

Lucy probably looks like a whole fool, jaw gaping and brow furrowed in confusion. She stares at the woman, who eventually turns an eye to her.

“What’s this? Gettin’ some on the side, Cowboy?” The still unnamed woman trots off the porch towards the Vault-Dweller.

Upon closer inspection, the woman doesn’t appear as angry as her statement. She’s got long hair wrapped into a complicated braided style to keep it up and out of her face. There’s a smattering of freckles over her sunburnt nose, and a jagged scar running the length of her right cheek. The gnarled tissue pulls her mouth into a scowl, but she’s otherwise well-kept. She’s probably three or four inches shorter than Lucy, but no less intimidating.

“Calm down, woman.” The Ghoul bites. “This is Lucy MacLean.”

The woman pauses, looking back to him for confirmation before staring back at Lucy. “MacLean, eh? I can see it.”

Spurs clank as the Ghoul takes those slow, scary steps towards the woman. “Thought you might be interested in comin’ along. We’re followin’ her dad. Hank.”

A smile twists the lady’s lips, fighting against the wretched scar on her face. “Come on in. We can leave in the morning.”

And that’s how Lucy finds herself in the rickety cabin. The woman- who still hadn’t offered up a name, much like her Ghoul friend- had led her to a room and tossed a scratchy blanket and pillow in behind her. Despite her gruff exterior, she had told Lucy there was a pantry in the kitchen full of non-perishables, and cans of purified water hidden in the back. And though water sounded beautiful, Lucy was more stoked about the water purifier connected to the house. She was told there was cold but clean water in a makeshift wash room to clean up.

So Lucy took her time to freshen up in the first relatively put-together place she’d been since coming up from the Vault. The little cabin did have lights, thanks to a generator that hummed along outside. She was able to scrub the grime from her face and hands, and attempted to do the same with her Vault-suit. There was an old Nuka-cola bottle on the floor in the washroom with ‘SOAP’ scratched across it in cursive. It lathered like any other that Lucy remembered, and she felt like a new person walking out of the wash room and back into her own little space.

Unsurprisingly, her empty stomach reared its head in protest, and she decided she’d make one last trip to the pantry before bed. There were no voices outside of her room, just the humming of an old Television setup she’d seen on her way in. Lucy tiptoes back to the junction of the living area and pantry, but stops dead in her tracks. The lights are all off, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust.

The living area right inside the door, the one she’d passed by on her way in, was occupied by both the Ghoul and his mysterious friend. However, instead of the simple sofa she’d observed prior, it was now pulled out into a bed.

A bed in which the woman and the Ghoul were curled up, completely unconscious.

Lucy almost feels bad intruding on the situation, but she’s more bewildered that anyone could show such affection towards the irradiated man she’d come to hate over the past few days. And they’re not even just sharing the bed, they’re tangled together and… cuddling? The Ghoul is on his back, head propped on a pillow and hat still on his head but tipped down low to hide his disfigured face. The long coat he’d worn day in and day out is hanging over the armrest beside his bandolier, guns easily accessible. And the woman, looking relaxed as ever, is curled up on her side with her head on his chest. The Ghoul has one arm curled around her shoulder, the other loosely gripping his inhaler device as he sleeps.

Lucy collects her jaw off the floor and scoots along to the pantry, snagging a couple ration bars and a can of water before heading back. She tries not to look again as she goes back to her room, but the temptation is too great. She pauses, turning back only to hear the click of a gun being cocked.

In the darkness, she can only see the whites of the Ghoul’s eyes and a flash of teeth. “Move along, Vaultie.”

Lucy obeys, and practically dashes back to her room.

So when they move out in the morning, Lucy pretends not to notice anything. When the pair stops their trek and leans in close to murmur directions at each other, Lucy taps away at her Pip-Boy.

There’s even a time where she returns from gathering water to find them locked in a kiss, coats swaying in the Wasteland wind. And Lucy had immediately backed up, lingering in the treeline until they broke apart.

The displays of affections continue with the travels, and it wasn’t odd to wake up to the sight of the woman curled beneath her Ghoul’s arm, content as ever. Days pass, and Lucy doesn’t mention it. It’s kind of cute, she comes to think. She didn’t dare mention anything in fear of the Ghoul’s wrath.

So their odd trio trots along through the desert, letting Dogmeat take the lead.

And Lucy? Well, she's learning to be blissfully ignorant towards the abnormalities on the surface.

----

thanks for reading, much love ❤️

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

#fallout imagine #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x f!reader #The Ghoul x Reader #the Ghoul x you #cooper howard x oc #fallout tv series #lucy maclean #walton goggins #fallout fiends #possessive!cooper howard #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout new vegas #ghouls deserve love too #the ghoul

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birdiewriteslit · 4 months

Note

Omg I love Persassy LOL. I was thinking maybe you could do an imagine where Percy knows about Luke and Reader but doesn’t like it and sasses them all the time but so basically Luke and Reader are kind of having a “date night” but in Luke’s cabin and they’re just like laying in his bed and stuff but the morning after, Percy is wondering the Reader is because the Reader is his half sister and like he goes the Luke’s cabin to ask him where Reader is and he finds them asleep in the same bed and he gets mad and sassy and starts lecturing Reader and Luke while they’re all confused because they just woke up🤣🤣

omg yes i can totally do this

luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

warnings: persassy (do i even have to say it?), fluff, general show plot ignorance

Percy was staring at you with an unpleasant look on his face as you stole glances at Luke from the Poseidon table.

“Can you not do that in front of my dinner?”

Luke met your eyes from across the room. He grinned at you and you smiled dreamily back at him. “Do what?”

“Ogle him,” Percy said as though it was obvious.

You snapped your gaze to Percy’s. “I’m not ogling him.”

“You so are. Please refrain,” he persisted.

“How about you refrain from having an attitude?” you countered.

“This attitude is your fault,” he sassed, flicking a pea at you.

You caught it before as it rolled off the table and flung it back at his face. He flinched as it hit him and it fell on the floor. “You’re impossible.”

Percy shrugged. “You love me.”

You didn’t say anything. You would be lying if you denied it. Percy seemed to understand anyway, as he held back from sharing any thoughts about Luke for the rest of the meal.

If there was one thing you knew about your half-brother, it was that he was a little menace. He was always telling off your boyfriend for random things. These things mostly consisted of Luke’s actions in hypothetical situations Percy had made up.

He was also always telling you that you were too good for Luke. You were sure he would say that about any guy you dated though, because Luke was probably the best guy around.

He was always nice to Percy, and he easily combatted his sass, which you honestly thought Percy secretly enjoyed.

Deep down, you knew Percy actually liked Luke and looked up to him a lot, not that he would ever admit it.

After campfire that night, Luke was at your cabin, swinging the door open and calling your name.

“What do you want?” Percy responded rudely.

“Take a guess,” Luke said, unbothered.

“Percy, watch your attitude,” you said, walking toward the door and giving Luke a quick kiss.

“Bleh. Stop being nasty in here,” Percy objected.

“Lucky for you, we’re leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t answer him and let the door swing shut behind you as you left the cabin.

“Y/n?” he called from inside.

Luke held your hand as you walked together to his cabin. Some of his siblings were asleep when you entered, and some of them let out a few teasing comments, but all of them were used to you sleeping there every once in a while.

“Lights out,” Luke said, flipping the light switch. A few campers groaned in protest before collapsing onto their beds.

You climbed into Luke’s bunk after him and he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you into his chest. You relaxed into his touch, falling asleep quickly.

The next morning you were not awoken by the sun, but by your brother. “Well, well, well,” he said, standing over the bunk with his arms folded.

“Perce?” you said, sleep evident in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t in the cabin when I woke up, so I used my critical thinking skills, and here we are,” he explained.

Luke stirred next to you, taking his hand off of your hip to rub his eyes. “Baby? Has the conch blown yet?”

“Yeah, thirty minutes ago. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. How irresponsible,” Percy scoffed.

“Next time, we’ll sleep in our cabin, so you can wake us up at the right time,” you suggested.

Percy scrunched up his face in disgust. “Absolutely not. I don’t need to hear whatever weird stuff you freaks get up to. I need my beauty sleep, but you probably wouldn’t understand that, Luke.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Luke asked, offended.

“Hurry up and get dressed. I hate sitting alone,” Percy demanded and left you and Luke alone in the cabin again.

You turned back into his warmth, refusing to get out of bed. Luke got the message, pulling the blanket up over you. Percy could survive one day without you at the table.

#birdiewriteslit #birdiewritesfics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #pjo fanfic #pjo disney+#pjo tv show #pjo series #daughter of poseidon

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honeysmoonn · 4 months

Text

just the sweetest thought of drawing on luke’s back…

warnings: use of y/n once, barley any dialogue, flufffff

a/n: oh lord… this was meant to be very short but i got carried away😭i hope to improve my writing skills in the near future! pls lmk how you feel abt this and pls pls sent requests!!!

sneaking out past curfew was against camp rules, everyone knew this. but luke was a counselor, couldn’t he get a free pass to see his girlfriend? you and him thought yes. there were countless nights the two of you had either snuck out to sit by the lake or venture to each others cabin for the night just to have to sneak out early the next morning.

of course, all this sneaking around had its moments of regret. once you had comfortably situated yourself beside luke when a kid woke up claiming she had a headache. in the dim lighting of the cabin at night all she could see was the unfamiliar silhouette of a woman in luke’s bed. she let out a scream, calling for luke, claiming there was a “scary lady” in his bed only to find luke laying next to said scary lady. the two of you tried your best to keep her from waking the others, but it was too late. the once calm hermes cabin was bustling with fearful campers. you were quick to jump out of the bed and assured everyone that you were not there to hurt them, the girl raised an eyebrow at you.

it was unfortunate, but you and luke were forced to reveal your secret to the hermes children. on the bright side, neither of you had to worry about someone seeing you now.

tonight, you drug you slippered feet over the dirt path leading to the hermes cabin wearing a sweatshirt that wasn’t your own snd that smelt like campfire smoke and wood. it was a size too big for your frame, but like has left it over in your cabin too many times to be an accident so you decided to keep it.

everyone was already sleeping, everyone but luke. he sat on his bed impatiently waiting for you to show up. it had become second nature to the two of you, and luke could barley lay down without the comfort of you beside him. his ears had become ultra sensitive to any sounds, waiting to hear the familiar gentle knock on the window closest to his bed; yet the only noise was the soft snoring or the rustling of bedsheets from the other hermes children sleeping soundly.

his hands found their way to a battered and bruised notebook sitting on his bedside table. you, apollos daughter, the artist, had left your notebook in luke’s room once again. to you, it was a simple and annoying show of your own forgetfulness. but to luke it was so much more. at lunch in the mess hall you would often sketch, but you didn’t let anyone see it. to be honest, luke did really want to see what you were up to all this time but he respected your decision for privacy. but this, your notebook in his room meant (at least to him) that you trusted him. and that’s what mattered most to him.

a short and simple sound of three knocks on the glass window made luke immediately jump up. your figure stood outside the window and his face got red and hot upon seeing his big hoodie over your body. his hands move almost like clockwork as they unlock the window and slide it up, taking a moment to look down at you. you smiling up at him, you who already knows what he’s about to say.

“the doors unlocked, y’know.” he says in a hushed tone as his hand reached out to you. “always is for you.”

you smiled up at him, taking his and in yours. “i know,” once inside luke didn’t waste anytime before pulling you into his strong and comfortable embrace.

“i missed you.” he mumbled into your hair, pressing ghosts of kisses against your skin. his delicate hands expertly traveled down your body to rest on your waist. “i’m literally like, crazy for you, girl.” in between his words like couldn’t stop pressing kisses to your forehead as he pulled you down to the mattress.

a muffled groan came from only one bunk down, causing you to stifle your breaths. luke’s love struck eyes looked up at you as he situated himself on top of the thin sheets. “i’m crazy for you, too.” you pressed a kiss onto the space where his skin and think shirt met, a silent gesture that luke immediately followed up to, peeling the material from his body.

even after months of dating luke still fell victim to the way your eyes graced his body. he felt as if he was one of the gods the children at camp worshipped from the way you kissed all the right spots and told him all the right things. son of theives, and yet you were still the one who stole his heart.

luke went to lay on his stomach, the way he always did with you. but instead of you under him, he frowned when you didn’t lay next to him. “baby,” he whined in a sleepy voice and you felt your heart flutter.

“you trust me, right?” you fingers gently traces the muscles around his shoulders. truth be told, luke trusted you with his life. if the world was crumbling to the ground you would be the one luke would run to. the stars could fall from the sky at any moment and luke would grab them and give them to you. if he had the power, he would make you a goddess. he trusted you to be a better immortal than any of them ever had.

he nodded. “of course, always.”

you hummed a soft response. luke wanted to stay awake, he wanted to see what you had in store for him, but with sleep threatening to plague his mind and the comforting feeling of you sitting on his back was enough to knock him out for the night.

there was no such thing as sleeping in while living in the hermes cabin, so luke rose as the sun did. not to his surprise, you had slipped out the door before he could kiss you good night.

if it weren’t for chirons glares or the endless jokes from the hermes kids and your half-siblings, you would spend every night with luke, really.

and yet this morning luke woke up to the right side of his bed empty and a post it note stuck to his forehead. the yellow paper read: “you fell asleep before i left, see you tomorrow xoxo” reading it made luke feel weak with admiration, he carefully folded up the paper and slid it into his pillowcase.

sun shone through the tallest tree tops down onto camp half blood as the early risers began to scatter themselves across camp, participating in multiple activities. the weekend were always dullers, yet far more calm then the usual routine of the regular week. one of the preferred activities for some of the older campers was the occasional weekend getaway to the lake. there was a secluded lake clearing just a small walk off from the path, hidden deep in the woods; but the older ones liked to take their own days off, basking in the sand or wading in the cool water.

today, both you and luke had been invited by clarisse to spend the day together at the clearing. you obviously agreed, and you spent the whole morning packing a day backpack for yourself and luke, filled with water bottles and snacks and towels, not forgetting luke’s favorite bikini of yours wore under your camp shirt and cutoff denim shorts.

just before the clock struck 9am, luke found himself waiting for you to finish doing your hair before heading out for the day. “i dunno,” you continued you rambling to your boyfriend as he admired you through the mirror. “maybe sword fighting isn’t for everyone. especially not me, i mean, archery i can do. hand to hand, yeah sure. but sword fighting.” after making sure your hair was suitable for swimming and sitting in the sun all day you turned to luke, who looked at you as if you had just graced him with the blessing of the sun.

“i think your good.” he shrugged, picking up your backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, his hand locking with yours out of instinct as you began to walk.

you shoved his shoulder playfully. “you’re my boyfriend, you have to say that.” he sent you a grin back.

the walk to the clearing was peaceful. birds singing to each other while butterflies told secrets to the flowers. as you got closer you could already hear the joyful sound of your friends laughing and already playing in the water.

walking out of the forest onto the rocky ground you and luke were immediately greeted by chris, dean, and clarisse with smiles and laughter. while you hugged your friends hello luke took the liberty of taking your light yellow beach towel and lay it out for you for later. of course, he knew you better than you knew yourself, and he knew that right after you exited the cool and refreshing water your body would shiver and he would be the one to wrap you in his arms to warm you up.

leaving your tee shirt and shorts of the rocks you patiently waited for luke to do the same. he made a silly face then shed the layer of cloth covering his chest.

much to his surprise, chris and dean burst out into laughter. luke’s brow furrowed. “what?” he looked to you for reassurance, and you just smiled.

“i think you got a little something on your back, luke.” chris snickered while clarisse shoved him roughly, that shut him up. luke craned his neck, trying to see what was on him.

you grabbed his shoulders and turned his back to you. his skin was tan from the summer sun, but on top of that was an array of doodles and drawings that covered him from his shoulders to lower back. his muscled back was now delicately traced over with by flowers and stars. the sun and moon kissing each other good night. in your mind it had been you and luke.

luckily, your friend blair came equipped with her own digital camera. “oh! y/n, luke, smile!” she exclaimed. you smiled at the camera with a hand on luke’s shoulder, his back was to the camera but the tattoos decorating his skin were radiant in the sunlight leaking through the trees. it hadn’t been your intention to draw on luke’s back, but once you started you couldn’t stop, artistic mind letting all your emotions fade onto luke’s shoulders and spine. you drew you and him as flowers, as trees, as stars. there was always an invisible string tying the two of you together throughout every universe, every life time.

blair was convincing enough to have chiron to let her print the photos from that day at the clearing. she gifted you and luke the best photo of you posing next to your art, luke’s hand in yours and you grinned happily. after spending another night in luke’s bed, you left the photo on his nightstand.

he hung the photo on his wall next to his pillow to remind him of not only how talented you were, but how much you loved him, to be able to grace him with your talent.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fluff

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m00nlight-ramblings · 3 months

Text

Touch Me

Repulsed by touch due to years of trauma, Astarion now wears gloves in his every day life. But once he starts to adventure with you, he slowly starts to rebuild his trust in others, when one night, he can't bare to not touch you any longer.

Pairings: Astarion x fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, light discussion of trauma, swearing, fluff. 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 4.5k

Requested: yes

A/N: Okay so I got carried away with this one lol. Happy to be back writing some good ole BG3 smut teehee. Graphic made by me, I don't give permission for my work (graphic or writing) to be shared without my consent.

You hadn’t really noticed Astarion’s gloves before, for the first few days of adventuring. You figured that they were just for defense, to help keep his body safe in combat along the journey. You were also far too busy trying to figure out the whole tadpole-in-your-brain problem, along with the myriad of enemies seemingly popping out of nowhere, to be concerned with your camp companions’ fashion senses.

But one evening, when you were headed to the nearby creek to quickly wash yourself in a moment of calm, you stumbled upon a rock, covered in familiar looking clothing.

Astarion’s clothing.

His gloves laid on top of the bundle of clothes, the brown leather muted in the soft moonlight. You paused for a moment and turned to look out into the deep creek, and not even five feet away, Astarion stood.

You realized he was fully nude so you shrieked and turned around. “Sorry! I didn’t realize you were here!” You apologized profusely. You heard Astarion gasp behind you and the motion of water, feet padding over to the rock. Clothes started to shuffle and you heard Astarion murmur under his breath.

“…completely nude, as if my clothes on the rock weren’t a dead giveaway that I would be naked! Trying to bathe and have peace and quiet for one second this entire journey…”

“Look, I said I was sorry-” Without thinking you turned, but luckily Astarion was fully clothed, except for his gloves. He seemed more concerned with fixing his outfit than what you were saying, so you gently reached out to touch his wrist to get his attention. “I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t see anything, anyway-”

The second your fingers touched Astarion’s wrist, he shouted, ripping his arm back as if you had just shocked him.

“Don’t touch me!” He bellowed, his voice dark. It scared you for a moment and you stood absolutely still, silence hanging between you. Astarion didn’t even look at you, just down at his wrist, as if he had been burned.

“What…I’m sorry? Did something happen-”

“Just…don’t touch me,” His cool demeanor was back as he gracefully slid the gloves on, “Alright? Just…don’t.” He had finally looked up at you, his ruby eyes shimmering. His expression was unreadable, but you nodded slowly.

“Alright…I won’t.”

You stared at him for a bit longer, trying to understand what was going on in his head. Was it…fear? Rage? You weren’t quite sure…all you knew was that without meaning to, you had somehow crossed a boundary with Astarion, who was already like a vault.

Without another word, Astarion walked back to camp. You sighed heavily and eventually bathed, but the entire encounter was so odd that you didn’t quite know how to move forward with it.

The next morning, while the sun was still rising, Astarion found you by the campfire as you cooked your breakfast. Uncomfortably clearing his throat behind you, he seemed a bit sheepish. Wringing his wrists (clad in the gloves), he shifted the weight on his feet in his graceful, Astarion way.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” He asked. Nodding, you stood, wiping off your pants. Astarion stared at you for a minute, his eyes darting back and forth between yours. It was increasingly apparent that he didn’t know how to start the conversation, but you waited patiently, afraid you’d somehow set him off again.

“I…want to apologize for last night,” He eventually said, “The whole…situation…with my gloves, I mean. I…” He sighed, searching for words, “I have a hard time with touch. I have for a bit…because of my past with Cazador. When I woke up, thrown from that Nautiloid, I realized gloves made me feel better because I technically don’t have to touch someone when I…well, when I touch them. And since I was no longer under Cazador’s thumb, I snagged the first pair I could find off of…well…some poor dead body on the beach and it’s been better ever since.”

Taking in what he was saying, you nodded, staying quiet. “So…you wear gloves. Because you don’t like touch.”

“Quite frankly, I’m repulsed by touch,” He calmly replied, throwing a hand back, “200 years in a body that I had no control over will do that to you, I suppose.”

“Okay. That makes sense.” You said plainly, forking a piece of pork belly into your mouth.

Astarion tilted his head, confused. “It does?”

“Yes. I mean…I believe you, and everything.”

“You do.” He stated, but it sounded like more of a question, like he didn’t understand.

Shrugging, you nodded, “Cazador forced you to use your body against your will to do his tidings, and now that you have the ability to act for your own for the first time in a very long time, you realize that there are boundaries that make you feel more comfortable. It makes perfect sense.”

Astarion opened his mouth to say something, but immediately shut it. “Well…look at you. Knowing so much about me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” You smiled and pat his shoulder gently, “Thank you for sharing that with me. I understand…and will be aware of it.” You go to walk away, but turn and look at Astarion, “I know what you’ve been through was unbelievably awful, so you don’t have to…but if you ever feel the need to talk to someone about it, I’m here for you.”

Astarion stood, frozen. He nodded so small that if you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve missed it.

“Thank you.” He eventually said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were locked on the ground. In a flash, he was striding towards his tent, his hands behind his back, as if the conversation never happened. Watching him walk to his tent, you shook his head.

You knew Astarion was full of secrets, but you weren’t quite sure how deep those secrets went.

The following weeks had tore through your body harder than any training you had been through. Every night when you went to bed, it seemed like a body part you didn’t even know you had was aching.

Currently, you were a little way away from camp, leaning against a tree, trying to get any semblance of reprieve that you could. Your eyes were closed, but you were nowhere near sleep, as the crickets chirped around you.

“Darling?” Astarion’s voice called out gently. You waved your hand in the air so he could track you down.

“Over here.” You mumbled, your arm feeling like it was 600 pounds. You brought it back down to your side and sighed heavily. Suddenly, you smelled chicken. Opening your eyes slowly, you saw a plate of food in front of you. You followed the arm holding the food and saw that Astarion had knelt beside you, presenting the food.

“Dinner,” He spoke plainly, “Gale just finished cooking. I thought you could use some help since your ass was devilishly kicked by those goblins earlier today, so I brought dinner to you while you were resting.” He smirked as you took the plate of food, barking out a laugh.

“Funny that you just had to bring up the fact that I didn’t perform my best today.” You started to slowly bring the food to your mouth, the taste melting on your tongue. You moaned softly in pleasure – he never shut up, but gods, Gale cooked a good meal.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t perform my best, either.” Astarion sat beside you now, his back resting against the large tree. He sighed as well, leaning his head back.

In the past few weeks, ever since the evening you had accidentally touched his wrist, you two had become closer. You were the only one to know his secret, a vulnerable piece of the Astarion puzzle. He trusted you to keep his secrets safe, and you did – like you had said, that’s what friends were for.

You ate in a comfortable silence as Astarion stared up at the moon, his face gleaming in the soft glow. Though you two were friends, he was undeniably handsome – you found yourself looking at him longer than necessary, butterflies popping up in your stomach when he would come into your tent to just converse, or when he was next to you in battle. You didn’t know when it started to change, but slowly, your feelings had deepened, which scared the shit out of you. Even now, with no words exchanged, your head felt light as he sat beside you, his familiar scent comforting you.

“Beautiful moon out tonight.” Astarion commented softly. You murmured in agreement, placing the plate and fork next to you now that you were done eating.

“Were you able to hunt tonight?” You asked Astarion.

He chuckled, “Always looking out for me,” He spoke gently. He then turned to look at you, his face soft, “Yes. I did…earlier. Thank you for your concern.”

You laughed softly and shrugged, even though it took all of your effort. You closed your eyes again, “You know me. I need to make sure everyone eats, even if your version of eating is slurping up some boar blood somewhere-”

Suddenly, your hand felt like it was enveloped, and chilled to the bone. Your eyes sprung open and you looked down. Astarion was holding your hand in your lap.

Without his glove.

Your mouth parted in surprise as you looked at him in shock. “Astarion-”

“I know.” He interrupted, smiling proudly.

“You’re…holding my hand.”

“I know.”

“Without your glove!”

“I know.”

You smiled back at him. Both of you sat there in silence, smiling at each other like two goons. You didn’t know what to say, so you started to stutter.

“But…how? When? You’re…feeling-”

“Not with everyone,” He said, “But with you…it’s different. I went to bed last night, thinking about how I wanted to…feel you. Touch you. Really feel you…hold your hand. With mine. Skin on skin,” Suddenly, he turned sheepish and looked down, “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Mind?!” You sat on your heels, gripping his hand tighter, “Of course I don’t! I’m…excited for you! Proud of you! Hells, I-”

Suddenly, Astarion’s lips were on yours. Cold, but gentle – he pressed lightly and pulled away almost as fast. As he pulled away, he looked at you, his eyes uncertain.

“I hope…you didn’t mind that, either.”

A deep blush grew on your cheeks as you smiled and shook your head, “Definitely didn’t mind that.” Your voice was low, quiet. You knew this moment, though on the outside seemed so insignificant, was a monumental moment for Astarion.

He smirked and nodded, “Good. Because when I was thinking about how I wanted to hold your hand, I was also thinking about how I wanted to kiss you, as well.”

You leaned into him and kissed him, pressing your lips on his a little firmer than last time. Smiling, you pulled away slightly, “I like when you think like that.”

Astarion chuckled, his bare hand moving up the sleeve of your blouse, “Good to know. I��ll have to keep that mind next time I start thinking.”

The Shadowlands had boasted not only the worst atmosphere you had ever experienced, but also the worst sounds to ever grace your ears. It seemed like every time you heard a bird squawk, or a bush rustle, you jumped 10 feet in the air. You were thankful that you had Astarion by your side at night, otherwise, you weren’t completely sure if you’d get any rest at all.

Your nights with Astarion could only be described as wholesome, for the most part. Though his gloves were now off in the presence of your tent – his comfortability of touching you without them pretty much 100% - he still couldn’t get past his history when it came to sex. The moaning in each other’s mouths as your tongues danced with each other only amplified how desperate you were for each other, but every time, it wasn’t right. And that was okay.

But gods, did you yearn for him in every way.

Astarion was currently holding you, as you read on your side. You could tell he was sneaking peeks at your book because every so often, there was a “humph” or gasp coming from his lips softly. And when you tried to turn the page too fast, Astarion would gently touch the corner of the book, preventing you from moving to the next page.

“I can let you borrow the book when I’m finished, you know.” You said, giggling in his arms. He smirked and kissed your neck, his breath hot in your ear.

“But isn’t this much more fun, darling?”

You dog-eared the page and put the book down, turning in Astarion’s arms so you were facing him. You gently placed your hands on his chest, looking up at him. Every time you touched him with skin-on-skin contact, you made sure he was comfortable. Astarion smiled and nodded, placing a peck on your forehead. Slowly, he kissed down your temple, to your cheek, and to your jawline. You sighed heavily, your arms wrapping around his neck. He hummed as he kissed along your jaw.

"Astarion..." You breathed. Your hands found their way into his hair, and when you started running your fingers through it, he moaned slightly.

Suddenly, gently, Astarion's cold hand had found it's way in between your legs, tentatively pressing against your clit through your underwear. You gasped at the sudden sensation, pulling back. Looking at him confused, he blushed slightly.

"I need you," He murmured quietly, brushing a lock of your hair back, "I need to feel you. All of you. I want to take you...desperately."

You smiled and slowly rolled your hips forward, towards his fingers. The pressure made you moan, and you tried your hardest to not roll your eyes back.

"Are you sure?"

Astarion nodded. His hand quickly pulled back and found it's way by his side, "But...I may...um..." His gaze followed where his gloves lay on the table near your bed. You followed his eyes, and looked at the gloves. You smiled and kissed him.

"Put them on."

"Are you sure? It's just that...well, I don't need them to touch you anymore, obviously, but when I think about making love, it can get overwhelming-"

"Astarion," You cut him off gently, staring into his eyes, "If you need to wear your gloves to feel comfortable making love to me, then you can wear 30,000 pairs at the same time. As long as you feel comfortable doing it," You kissed him quickly, "And can still take off my pants."

Astarion laughed and reached behind you, slipping the gloves on. His bashful look gave way to a smile, his eyes darkening in a way that you hadn't seen before. He enveloped you in a kiss, grabbing hold of your body around your waist.

"I am going to fuck you until you see stars." He grumbled, pressing his erection into you. Capturing your lips in a rough kiss, you moaned into it, the sudden portrayal of Astarion’s arousal sending heat to your belly. He gently guided you on your back as he straddled you, never breaking the kiss. Finally he leaned back, staring into your eyes.

He was truly a captivating sight - his fair, taught body seemed to glow in the light of your oil lamp. His eyes - usually a bright ruby - were now almost so dark they were onyx. He smiled at you, causing you to turn bashful under his gaze. You felt his hands make quick work of your pants, pushing them down to your ankles. You aided him by kicking them off your feet, your heart racing.

Was this finally happening - were you finally going to make love with Astarion? Your head swam as his gloved hands glided down your sides, taking in every inch of you. He shook his head, still smiling.

“You are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.” He whispered, his eyes inching towards your (now soaking) center. Gracefully, he slid down the bed, not breaking eye contact with you. Achingly slow, he spread your legs. Settling on his belly, his head dipped to your core, his nose so close it tickled the hair that encased it.

“Astarion…” You murmured, your hand resting on his head. You watched him lick his lips before he lightly pressed his tongue to your clit, sending a wave of pleasure through your whole body. You physically felt like your senses were on overdrive - every muscle was tightened, anxiously awaiting his touch.

“You can’t rush perfection, darling,” He purred, one of his fingers finding their way to your clit. He gently rubbed the finger over your bulge, teasing you, the leather of the gloves an icy contrast to your growing heat. “I’m going to savor this moment. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

He was staring at you; a moment suspended in time. The only sound in the tent was your whimpers, trying to muffle it so the others didn’t hear you. Astarion’s signature smirk never left his mouth - he was the notorious tease, so why would he be any different in bed?

Suddenly, his tongue delved into you, immediately lapping up your juices, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Your hands found his head, desperate to grip anything in their path. Once you felt his hair you couldn’t help but give a tight tug, to which he groaned into your cunt, the vibrations driving you crazy.

“You like that, don’t you?” He teased, pulling back slightly to speak. He still smirked, his tongue softly darting back to your clit. You bit your lip and nodded, the only way you could currently respond without screaming in pleasure. He dove back in, sending waves of sensation through your body - the coil in your belly started to tighten as Astarion took your clit in his mouth, sucking gently.

Shifting your head to the side of the bed, you pressed your mouth into the pillow, yelping in pleasure. Suddenly, you felt the leather of Astarion’s glove grabbing your cheeks, forcing your head forward. When you opened your eyes you saw him hovering over you, body slightly raised from your pussy.

“Don’t,” He commanded, the other hand working circles on your clit, “I want everyone to hear. I want the whole world to hear how good I love you.”

“Astarion…” You whimpered, your voice trailing off as he was back in between your legs, licking you into another dimension. You did as you were told, your head lolling back on to the pillow so you were looking at the ceiling of your tent, your vision going fuzzy. Your orgasm was quickly approaching, your muscles so tight you felt like you had to jump out of your skin. You knew Astarion sensed it - he slipped one arm underneath you to give himself better leverage, and was now lapping at you roughly, hungrily.

“I-I…I’m going to come,” You breathed, your strength failing you to use your full voice. You looked down and saw Astarion smiling into your cunt, the vibrations on your clit causing your legs to shake around his head. He stared at you from his position, which was just the push your body needed to reach ecstasy.

Your orgasm washed over you as your back involuntarily arched, a hand gripping so hard on to Astarion’s head you’re surprised you didn’t hurt him. His voice was screamed from your lips - definitely heard by everyone in camp - and you couldn’t think of anything else as you saw stars. Your chest felt like it was on fire as you heaved, trying to get control of your breathing. Astarion lapped at you for a few moments more as you felt your orgasm, finally pulling back to give you a moment to breathe. He stood on his knees and wiped his mouth, the smirk never leaving his face.

“You taste incredible.” He said, slowly raising himself from the bed. He undid the strings of his pants and pulled them down, his erection popping out. Leaking with wetness already, you couldn’t help but stare - this was the first time you were fully seeing him naked, and you were in awe of his form. Just seeing him fully aroused was enough to get you going again, and once he crawled back on top of you, you immediately spread your legs for him. He kissed you, and the faint taste of yourself made you moan into the kiss - his tongue was sloppily dancing in your mouth, all sense of romantic etiquette out the window. He was needy, whimpering into the kiss.

You felt him align himself with your entrance and you pressed one of your hands to his cheek, causing him to look up. You smiled softly.

“Are you sure?” You asked gently, delicately cradling his trauma in your hands. Your heart was racing in your chest - out of all the lovers in the land, you couldn’t believe that Astarion had felt comfortable with only you.

He smiled and nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, “I’ve never been more sure of anything else in my entire life, darling. All 200 years of it,” You felt him adjust himself on top of you and he smiled, his eyes darkening again, “Now; stop being so nice so I can ravage you so good you can’t walk tomorrow.”

You both chuckled as he pressed himself into you, your laughter giving way to a low hiss as he immediately filled your aching entrance. Your pussy was begging for a break since you had just orgasmed mere moments ago, but the ache felt so good, you couldn’t help but moan. Astarion maintained eye contact with you, his mouth slightly parted, as he slowly began to rock into you, his hips falling into a rhythm.

“Gods, you are so fucking tight,” He spoke through gritted teeth, “Make my cock feel so good.”

Beads of sweat began to appear on his forehead as he rocked quicker into you, his eyes falling heavy. You moved your hips upwards, gaining better leverage so he could go deeper. When he hit your spot, you both moaned in pleasure, and you gripped the sheets next to you.

“Astarion-” You groaned, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You dug your nails into his back and pulled him closer to you, “Fuck! You make me feel so good!” Your breasts bounced with every thrust and you arched your back, “Harder, please!” You whined.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He mumbled in your ear, his words hot on your face, “You’d like me to fuck you ‘till we broke this bed, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You gasped, digging your nails harder into his back, “Please, please - give it to me!”

Astarion started to slam his hips against yours, the wet sounds of skin filling the tent. With every thrust, he groaned, his face becoming slightly red. A gloved hand appeared around your neck, and he stared into your eyes. You smiled slightly and nodded, and only with your consent did he start to squeeze, holding you in place as he fucked you.

“Tell me you want it. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Hells, Astarion! You make me feel so good,” You screamed, both of your hands going to his around your neck, “Please, don’t ever stop fucking me.”

Your voice was a whine, desperate for sweet release of your impending orgasm. If your first one was intense, this one was indescribable - Astarion’s cock slammed into you in a rhythm he was slowly losing control of. He took his hand off of your throat and held on to your hips, trying to gain control of his thrusts as he closed in on his own orgasm.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours!” You screamed immediately, your hands wrapping around his neck again, “I’m yours! This pussy is yours - forever! I’m yours forever.”

Astarion smirked as he looked into your eyes, “Good girl.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss you. He bit down on your bottom lip hard and as he pulled away, he licked away the tiny bit of blood that had sprouted.

Suddenly, his expression changed as the trusts fell out of time. He became sloppy, his mouth open, his eyes closed. His climax was close, so you wrapped your legs around him, drawing his cock closer into your aching cunt. Slick with both of your juices, Astarion’s cock slid in and out of you, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Darling, I’m close,” He breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, staring into yours, “You’re going to make me come.”

“Come for me,” You said bringing your hands to the sides of his face. Your own orgasm was close - you were sure that if you felt him spill inside of you, you would tip over the edge for the second time that night. You smiled, tears of pleasure threatening to fall from your eyes as your body was being pounded into the bed, “Fill me.”

Astarion rested his forehead on yours. With a loud moan of your name, his entire body tensed, his climax spilling into you. His gloved hands dug into the side of your hips and suddenly your orgasm appeared, washing over you all at once. You pressed your body into his, screaming his name, your bodies close enough to feel as one.

As your bodies spasmed together, you saw Astarion smile. He peppered a gently kiss onto your lips, a soft moan escaping into your mouth.

“My darling,” He whispered, his body still on top of you, “That was…divine.” He was out of breath, his voice ragged. As he slowly moved to your side, still inside of you, you nuzzled into his chest, trying to steady your own breathing.

“Thank you,” You whispered, sighing contently, “For trusting me enough to be able to do that with me.”

Astarion tutted and started to stroke your hair, “Thank you for being the person that you are…so that I can feel safe enough to trust you.” He looked down at you and kissed you.

Sleep crept upon both of you; and neither you nor Astarion made a move to clean up the sticky aftermath between both of your legs. As you drifted off to sleep, still naked in Astarion’s arms, he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. You smiled contently - you could get used to this. It seemed the whole world was in your arms as you both held on tightly to one another, an unspoken bond between the two of you grown stronger.

Astarion slid his gloves off before he fell asleep.

---

A/N: I had a blast writing this one...please reblog if you liked it! Comments mean the world to me! :)

#astarion x oc #bg3 #astarion #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion headcanon #astarion x reader #astarion fan fiction #astarion romance #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x you

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qwimchii · 8 months

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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 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 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 😵‍💫

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

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renoed · 4 months

Text

sweet tooth | halsin x reader

❥ — PAIRING halsin x afab! reader

❥ — SUMMARY Halsin had been tiptoeing around your advances since you had met; he had made his eagerness clear to you but refused to follow through with it, always with something else on his mind. The more he opens up to you, though, the weaker his resolve is to stay entirely focused on other, supposedly more important matters.

# NSFW, MDNI: smut below the cut, outdoor sex, food play (specifically honey), oral sex, spit, praise, fingering, finger sucking

"If I manage to break the curse… perhaps then I can show you just how grateful I am."

Halsin had been tiptoeing around your advances since you had met; he had made his eagerness clear to you but refused to follow through with it, always with something else on his mind. The more he opens up to you, though, the weaker his resolve is to stay entirely focused on other, supposedly more important matters. It isn't until tonight that you notice it.

When you set up camp, you notice that he's put his tent quite a distance away from anyone else. You often found him in a location that was further from everyone (he liked his solitude, you assumed), but the space between your tent and his would make it seem as though you were strangers. From your place next to the campfire, you could hardly see more than an outline of the druid.

It's when he doesn't join you for food that you begin to worry - had he decided he didn't want to travel with you anymore? Was he going to leave without warning?

"Gale," you grab the brunet's attention after you finish eating, "thank you again for cooking. I was wondering: do we still have that honey? I remember Halsin saying he has a sweet tooth—I thought it might be appreciated."

Gale's lips quirk up at your question, a suggestive eyebrow raising as he answers your question, "I believe we do, you should be able to find it—unopened—in that trunk besides the other camp supplies. I hope you make better use of it than I have."

You try your best to ignore the implication of his words, but suddenly the camp fire feels a lot warmer and the cool breeze is soothing against your cheeks. As you walk off, mumbling a thanks, you hear a light laugh from the wizard.

With a jar of honey and a small satchel of berries (you had remembered picking them up a few hours prior, excitedly rummaging for them in your bag) in your hands, you stood a few feet away from Halsin's tent, trying to find the courage to start a conversation. Usually it didn't feel difficult; if anything, you found him to be one of the easiest to talk to. But with the thought of him no longer wanting to travel together—no longer enjoying your company—it was as though you had become enwebbed, unable to move closer.

It felt like you were there for tens of minutes before Halsin appeared from his tent, turning to look at you, a soft 'oh' leaving his lips.

If you weren't already stuck in place, you had become so when his eyes met yours.

"I didn't realise you were here, apologies," his voice is gentle and he steps towards you in the dark, "did you need something?"

You look down at the jar in your hands and will yourself to speak, "You didn't eat with us, so I wanted to make sure everything was alright, I suppose."

A beat.

"—And I remembered you telling me you liked sweet things. I wanted to give you this."

Halsin lets his eyes drift down to your hands, which were now outstretched, before meeting your gaze again. His lips curl up into a smile and you swear that you can see the stars reflected in his eyes. It hits you that, if he really is thinking about leaving, you might not get another opportunity to talk to him like this again.

"I don't know what I've done for a gift, but thank you. Really."

He takes a step closer, taking the items in his hands, as he continues, "I'm sorry for not joining you, my mind has been rather… preoccupied, and I thought it best to spend some time alone. I've also been enjoying the company of the stars: aren't they beautiful tonight?"

You shift your eyes to look at the night sky. A crescent moon hangs amongst a cluster of stars, stretching out across the darkness. He's right, they are beautiful.

"You said you've been preoccupied? If you need my help, you know I'm just an ask away," the sincerity of your words causes a small chuckle to leave his lips, gaze falling from the sky to his feet.

"Believe me, I would love for you to help, but that would be an unfair request."

The statement is slightly confusing; he seemed to have no issues asking for help with considerably difficult tasks prior. You could hardly fathom the sheer size of a task was if Halsin felt he couldn't ask for your help.

Betrayed by your expression, he lets out another laugh, louder this time, "you misunderstand, it's simply a matter of personal frustration. Unfortunately, I've managed to get rather pent up."

It isn't until you hear those words—'pent up'—that you realise the meaning behind them. You recalled him making an off-hand comment at the Tiefling party about how he was ‘sure that we could get out any pent up feelings'. He had never acted on his words, of course, but he had put them out there nonetheless.

"It wouldn't be unfair at all," your voice comes out quieter than you intend it to, "actually, I'd be more than happy to help and I think you know that, Halsin."

His eyes meet yours again, expression still soft and gentle under the soft glow of the moon. He takes a step towards you, so that your chests are almost touching. You don't break eye contact, newfound confidence surging through you.

He brings his face close to yours, peering down at you, “you’re sure it would be alright?”

You nod in response, his eyes momentarily widening before he uses his free hand to lightly hold your upper arm. His voice is a soft whisper when it leaves his mouth, “Gods, I can’t tell you how long I have wanted this.”

Halsin closes the space between you, drawing you into a kiss. His hand shifts from your arm to your cheek, the pads of his fingers are rough on your skin but they’re the last things you’re thinking about with his lips pressed to yours.

The kiss is quick, almost polite in its softness, and as Halsin pulls away, you feel your brows furrow.

“Your expression betrays you,” there's a humour to his tone, “would you like me to try again?”

You answer his question with another kiss, hands wrapping around the back of his neck and fingers tangling into his hair. It's deeper this time, more passionate, needier, and when Halsin's tongue brushes against your bottom lip, you're quick to comply with the silent request.

When you lightly tug on his hair, parting from the kiss, a low groan tumbles from his lips and rushes straight through you.

"You're good at this," his thumb brushes your cheek as he kisses you again. His kisses move down your face and neck, occasionally licking and biting at the skin until a shaky exhale leaves your lips. Your legs feel weak and every inch of you is warm, rushed heartbeat echoing in your ears; if you weren't so distracted you'd assume he could hear it.

When he pauses his movements, you take the opportunity to tug on his hair again, letting one of your hands fall from his neck to his chest, slowly getting lower, "just good?"

He hums when your finger tugs on his waistband, "amazing. Perfect, even."

You slide your hand underneath his shirt and he takes a sharp inhale at the contact. It had been so long since the last time someone had touched him like this; it had been longer since he had wanted to be touched—and to touch—so desperately. As you try to lift his top, though, he pulls back and gestures to the jar in his hand. You expect him to just put it down and continue, however you're left slightly disappointed when he breaks away from you entirely and opens the jar. His fingers dip into the jar, pulling out a string of glistening, viscous honey and bringing it to his lips.

You're left to watch helplessly, his tongue dragging from the base of his fingers to the tip and humming at the sweetness of the substance. It was impossible not to let your mind cloud over with images of those same fingers covered with your slick, dipping them into his mouth.

"Come here," it's a command, but it's gentle, easing you into doing as he says, "try some."

Halsin dips his fingers into the honey again, this time lifting his fingers to your lips. You take them in your mouth and run your tongue across them, enjoying the taste of the honey but entirely more focused on keeping your gaze locked with Halsin's. He lightly pumps them in and out of your mouth, cursing under his breath when you move your head to match the gentle pace.

You'd become used to Halsin being so composed and articulate—seeing him reduced to swears and fervent touches made you crave more of him, releasing his fingers and pulling him into another feverish kiss. You both moan into it, hands wanderings across each other's bodies: groping and grasping, trying to remove articles of clothing without pulling your lips away.

His hands land at the top of your thighs, tugging on them in a request for you to jump and hook your legs around his waist. He holds you in one arm with ease, using the other to tug at your shirt.

You kiss his neck, his grip tightening around you in response as his eyes flutter closed to enjoy the sensation.

"Please," he breathes out your name like a prayer, "I want you."

Leaning back, you stare into his eyes, kissing him again, "Gods, I thought you'd never ask."

Halsin puts you down and you rush to undress each other, sharing kisses whenever your hands aren't in the way. His body is incredible, and you're caught unashamedly staring from your sitting position as he tugs off the last of his clothes.

"You're really beautiful, you know?"

He smiles at your words, letting his eyes wander across you in a similar manner, "beautiful isn't enough to describe you."

When he gets onto his knees you can't help yourself from thinking of the sight as holy.

You watch as he dips his fingers into the honey jar and lifts them above your legs, letting it drip onto your skin like a gold glaze. It's cold and sticky but when he drags his tongue against you, licking the honey with it, you've all but forgotten the feeling.

His other hand, free of honey, lightly trails between your legs before stopping and running a finger between your folds.

"Fuck, you're soaked" if you weren't so eager, you'd be embarrassed. He had hardly touched you, yet your body was already begging for more.

He presses feather-light kisses up your inner thigh, taking his time as he follows and licks at the trail of honey, occasionally stopping to suck and nip at your skin, smiling when a soft gasp is drawn from your lips, "good girl."

Before he stops between your legs, he shifts to your hips and continues his upwards trails. You whine at the feelings of his lips around your nipple, lightly grazing his teeth against it while he thumbs and rolls the other in his fingers. You aren't sure if it's what he's doing or just him, but the touch is enough to make you moan, lightly bucking your hips into him.

"Impatient are we?" he chuckles, kissing back down to your thighs

When he's tasted the last of the honey, spread across the top of your thigh, he moves back slightly and watches as you squirm in anticipation.

"Did you want something else from me?" his voice is low and sickly sweet as he grabs your right thigh, rubbing soft circles in the skin with his thumb.

You nod in response, gasping out a slightly frustrated 'yes please', which is all he needs to start kissing again, trailing up the skin until his lips land on your cunt. He places one more kiss before using his tongue, dragging it upwards until it prods at your clit. You feel yourself throb under him, lightly bucking your hips forward as he drags his tongue in slow, circular motions.

He presses a finger inside you, thrusting a couple of times before curling it up. You moan under his touch, moving a hand to thread into his hair, desperately helping to create friction by grinding against his mouth.

His grip on your thighs tightens and he hikes one of your legs over his shoulder before slipping a second finger inside of you. It's overwhelming in the best possible way and when he leans back, only to spit on your cunt, you feel yourself clench around his fingers.

After a few thrusts, he lowers his mouth back onto your clit, flattening his tongue against it to lick and rub. His unused hand has an iron grip on your thigh, moving it so he could get his fingers deeper inside, curling them into you until a knot forms in your stomach. You instinctively grind your hips against his face, moaning as he begins to speed up. His actions are filled with need and when he feels your thighs twitch he takes that as a sign to continue, building you up to your edge.

You can only whine in pleasure when he moves his hand from your thigh to your abdomen, pressing down on it lightly. Your body twitches again and when he presses his tongue down onto your clit slightly harder it causes your thighs to instinctively close around him, bringing you to orgasm.

Halsin pulls away as you both catch your breath. From his position above you, he can’t help but think you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen. He takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean, sitting back onto his knees and taking his cock into his other hand. He strokes himself as you shift to sit facing him, legs weak and breathing still heavy.

Leaning forward, you replace his hand with yours before bringing him into another kiss. He grunts when you pull away, circling your thumb around his tip and pressing kisses onto his chest and neck.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice desperate and needy.

“Gods, Halsin, yes. I want this— I want you.”

You can barely finish your sentence before your back is on the grass again, caged in the druid’s arms. He pushes a knee between your legs and lowers himself to kiss you again. You’re ready to start begging him to fuck you when he moves to position himself at your entrance.

He doesn’t move, just lifts his head to meet your gaze with a teasing grin on his face, “I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me.”

You don’t care about your pride, cursing before sputtering out, “I want you to fuck me, please, Halsin.”

The reaction is almost instant. Halsin sinks into you slowly, gently, keeping eye contact until you’ve taken every inch of him. He thrusts into you, drawing out a whiney moan, and leans down to kiss and nip at your lips.

Your name tumbles from his lips, unrelenting as he grabs your waist to push himself deeper into you, “Fuck— you feel so good”

His full attention is on you, moving a hand so he can thumb at your clit while pounding into you. A broken gasp escapes you, tightening around his cock at the touch, which gains a low groan in response.

You're a writhing mess beneath him, hands searching for anything they can grab onto. Halsin slows his pace so he can adjust your leg onto his shoulder, leaning forwards and sweeping up both your hands into one of his. The position lets him hit even deeper, the feeling is overwhelming, unable to stop the endless string of moans leaving your lips.

His pace is relentless, only slowing to carefully adjust the position so he could keep thumbing at your clit easily. You lift your head and he meets you halfway in a kiss. He leans down to your ear, breathing heavy, and groans out your name, "I want you to cum for me."

Just the words themselves have you clenching around his cock again, but when he presses harder into your clit, already overly sensitive and stimulated, it pushes you over the edge again, moaning out his name. The sensation is enough to have Halsin on the brink of his own orgasm, pace stuttering slightly.

By Gods does he never want this moment to end, he could mistake it for Heaven.

Your name is all he can manage to say as he continues, pulling out of you almost fully before rocking his hips back into you. The hand on your clit leaves to grasp at your hips, pulling you down onto him. He can feel you throb around him, "I'm gonna—"

He pulls out at the last second, decorating your thighs and stomach with strings of his cum. The sight is almost enough for him to bring his tongue back down to your cunt, indulging in you more, but you're both exhausted and it takes everything in him not to collapse onto you.

"Let me clean you up," he manages between heavy breaths, moving away to grab a clean rag and wipe you down, "you're absolutely wonderful, I hope you know that."

Halsin leans down to kiss you; it's tender and gentle, you can't help but smile into it.

"I could say the same for you," comes your reply, "come lie with me?"

It takes no convincing before Halsin is lying at your side, arms wrapped around you. Any thoughts you had had about him leaving the camp are long forgotten and you can feel yourself begin drifting off in the comfort of his warm grasp.

reblogs are hugely appreciated ♡ [masterlist]

#halsin x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate x reader #bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate halsin #halsin #reader insert #smut #bg3 smut #x reader #renoed

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theminecraftbee · 6 months

Text

Here is how to slowly, completely, and irrevocably fall into having someone know your soul as well as you do theirs:

First, be enemies, but of circumstance. Neither of you were really on opposite sides so much as connected to them. You think he loved them, though, that side that was only your enemy by virtue of not being your ally. He loved them, even if he didn't spend as much time with them. You mock him for this. For calling their leader 'king'. (Later, you'll hold onto mockery like it's all you have. You know it's not a game and you know he was really king, but without your ability to make fun of what's happening, you won't be much at all.)

You have a best friend then. This, too, is almost an accident, although to explain all the ways it's also on purpose will take longer than you have to explain. He's wonderful, and loyal, and going to die. So you die fast and young first, before him. You die in front of your friend. You die in front of him.

You don't regret it, the dying young, because it means you die before anyone else can die for you.

Second, watch your best friend fall in love with him, although that phrase feels both too pedestrian and too much like it's overstating the thing that really happens. You have your own drama for too long to really understand how it happens, of course. You're too busy facing a betrayal that will scrape the inside of your soul forever. (To tell the truth, you've already forgiven him for it, but there's something easy about being each other's enemies, so you keep going, orbiting around each other in betrayal betrayal betrayal. But that's someone else who knows your soul, another story.)

Then your best friend dies, as does nearly everyone else. You sit around a campfire with him. You tell him that your best friend trusts him; you'll trust him too. He stands by your side near the end, the two of you running together, another man's memories on your lips.

You're not sure what you regret, then, but you know there's something that won't undo that's a part of you now.

Third, learn the value of choices, as the universe tries its best to take yours from you. In this one, the people you're by the side of is at once familiar and strange. The finalists who'd protected you last time are now an ugly mix of your chosen soulmate and your enemy by making that choice; you attempt to hold on to your ability to choose even as blood makes it clear you can't. (The universe tried to pick someone who would fit you well, you realize later. More people who know your soul that this story isn't actually about. You care for him too, is the thing; you care for choosing more.)

You don't see him much, this time. You respect each other, though. It's hard not to respect each other after everything that's happened. Still, you don't see him, and he doesn't see you. Instead, you see the end of the game. You nearly hold it in your fingers.

You regret. You regret deeply. You are so tired of watching people die, you think, and you regret more than anything else that you couldn't stop it.

Fourth, become enemies, but this time intentionally. Enemies, maybe, is a strong word; you're assigned co-parents, except bad, divorced ones. There's something hysterical about the whole thing, in both the comedic sense of the word and in the original, more concerning sense, especially given the way you all have thought about your best friend-now-son in the past. (Family ties are a thing you'll come to value; it's just that what the names are don't count, really, not when you do this again and again and again. Plus, it's nice to be able to have an excuse to yell.)

It's almost fun again. Maybe it's almost fun. You trade barbs with each other, and try to kill each other, and this time the consequences are light enough that you try to help each other, too. You see each other a lot. You're enemies, of course, but you see each other a lot, as you are: scared, and tired, and not as frightening as you appear, and happy, despite it all.

You don't regret much. You die fast and young, alongside your allies. You see his face before you do though, and you think he's the one with regrets.

Fifth, trip over him as you run across the first session of a new game. You don't know yet what this one will be, if it will be betrayals, or more stolen choices, or family, or fun, or anything else, but you look him in the eyes and make a choice. You will be friends this time instead of enemies. And it's nice. He and you fit together oddly now, but well, despite the oddities. You've had time to learn to, from a distance, and then closer and closer. (People seem baffled you're friends now. You wish you could explain that that's how these stories go sometimes.)

You're pretty certain he'll leave you when the time comes. He says he's a runner, and not a protector, and yet, when the time comes to betray you, you both know he won't hurt you, and you're both surprised anyway.

"You might regret this," you tell him quietly. You both have scars.

"You might regret this," he agrees. But you also both have choices.

"Okay," you say. "Have you ever fallen in love?"

"Cleo," he says, brushing your hair aside, and he doesn't answer.

"I don't think I have," you say honestly. "I think it's something else. Have you ever accidentally given someone a piece of your soul?"

"All the time," he says, and that's that.

The end is coming soon. You'll find out if you regret it.

#secret life smp #secret life spoilers #zombiecleo #ethoslab #a bee fic #trafficshipping #<- YEAH OKAY THIS IS A LITTLE MORE BLATANT THAN I NORMALLY AM.#you can read this platonically if you WANT but. it's. yeah it needs the tag.#anyway etho and cleo are soulmates but they're soulmates who very slowly and almost accidentally slid into being it #who built their way up to soulmates over time #do you understand me.#...also it DOES strike me the irony of tagging shipping on the fic where the lead SPECIFICALLY SAYS she hasn't fallen in love but #YOU KNOW. ITS THE VIBES.

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senualothbrok · 2 months

Text

Mortal pleasures

Summary: Gale has shown you how gods bond in the astral. Now, you show him how good mortal pleasures can be.

Word count: 2.1k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: NSFW. 18+. Smut. Gale x female Tav/reader.

More disclaimers: Oral sex (blow job). Vaginal fingering.

A/N: This fic is long overdue, because I am a Gale-deserves-a-blow-job truther. Dedicated to @practicallydeadinside-blog who I love more than words can describe!

----------------------------------------------------

“And that’s how I got this baby.” Karlach smacks the scar on her right thigh with a grin.

You nod absently. You can barely make out the jests that roar around your companions, their faces illuminated only by the campfire you huddle around on this spring night. Your focus is on him alone.

Gale’s gaze is sharp and hot, his lips curled in a sideways smile. He tilts his head ever so slightly. You do not move your eyes from him. It does not escape you, the dart of his tongue through the briefest parting of his mouth. You bite your lip.

Astarion coughs, slapping his knees as he rises. “And with that revolting tale, I think it’s time for us all to clear off.”

“What?” Karlach whines. “Already? Boooo…”

“Take a hint, darling,” Astarion drawls. “I’ve had enough of whatever this is.” He makes a gesture of distaste towards you and Gale.

You flush. Astarion chortles.

“Enjoy the magic, but please keep it down. We know how…verbose…the two of you can be.”

You shrink at the winks, grumbles and jostling of the rest of your companions as they file away to their respective tents. It was wishful thinking to hope they were not aware of your time with Gale the night before, when your souls bonded in the astral. To think that they could not see how both of you had been transformed by the experience.

There is a chill in the air, but your core flames. There is no embarrassment in Gale’s eyes. Only the raw heat of desire.

“Alone at last,” he breathes.

Tonight, he is unusually quiet. He lets his actions speak. You barely make it to his tent. He wraps his arms around you from behind, unlacing the straps of your bodice with uncanny speed. Your struggle for breath as his deft fingers clutch at your breasts, your shoulders, your hips. You have been waiting all day for this moment. To be with him, to have him all to yourself. To give yourself to him again.

You grind backwards against his thrumming body, aching for more of his touch. He clasps your chin to angle your neck back, as if he is starving to see your face. Your tongues glide against each other, frantic with hunger, a frenzy of moans. He tastes sweet and strong, like aged wine, and you cannot get enough. You can never have enough of him.

“I didn’t lie,” you whisper when you break apart to breathe. “You’re a good kisser.”

He smiles against your lips before he plunges back in, lapping eagerly at your wet warmth. You are drunk from his musk, the sourness of sweat, the smoothness of sandalwood. You are not careful as you whip open his robe, shoving his sleeves down his arms, pushing them desperately down. You need to see him. You need to feel and smell and taste every inch of his quivering flesh.

He lets out a little laugh, surprised, not displeased. Then, with one swift motion, he wrenches your breeches off your quaking legs. You gasp at the force of it, the smouldering in his eyes. His fingers dive behind your panties, already damp with desire. He almost rips them off.

“I want to show you more,” he pants. “Everything you could possibly imagine. Let me show you.”

A crackle of blue thread sizzles between his fingers. A spasm of bliss tears through you like lightning, sending you gasping for breath. You burn for more of it. But you steel yourself.

Since your night together, you have not been able to get the idea out of your mind. You have been ravenous for it. And now is your chance.

You pull back.

“No.”

Gale falters, the blue light of his magic fading into the purple of his glowing chest. You press against him again, licking at his bottom lip, gently sucking it into your mouth. He buckles against you.

“No?”

You smile, teasing but resolute.

“Yesterday, you showed me how to bond the way gods do.”

Your hand trails down his abdomen, following the hairs that meander from his navel to his groin. His breath hitches. He hangs on your every word, your every move. You are not a wizard or a sorcerer, but he is under your spell.

“Today, I want to show you how good mortal pleasures can be.”

His eyes flash. Before he can object, you push him downwards and back, so that he is reclined on his bed roll. Uncertainty blinks across his features as you pull his briefs down to expose the thrust of his cock. You clench your thighs as a string of moisture trickles from your folds.

He stares at you on your knees by his side. You lean forward, taking hold of his shaft, so thick and long in your small hands. Dark pink and purpling, veins drifting down to a wiry nest framed by the muscles of his lean thighs. You wet your lips. His cock pulses in your fingers, a bead spilling from its tip as he exhales sharply.

“Gods,” he heaves.

You bend over. You are acutely aware of the way his body is suspended in the anticipation of pleasure. You can feel it vibrate, chasing after your touch. The tent is awash in his purple flame. You flare with yearning as you flick your tongue into his slit, gathering this first trace of his salty sweetness. He arches his back and groans.

“Has anyone ever done this to you?”

Your tongue traces a slow, winding stripe down the underside of his cock. He trembles. You look up at him, mouth open, eyes wide and expectant.

He swallows. “A long time ago. Once, when I was very young. It was…quick. Clumsy. Messy.”

You suspected this might be the case. There was no way Mystra would have ever lowered herself to give Gale such a human gift, and you cannot imagine Gale asking any lover for such raw, unbridled ecstasy. It makes you even more desperate. You want nothing more than to give this to him now.

“We’ll rectify that.”

You drag your tongue in a smooth circle at the base of his cock. He stifles a whine as his hips roll closer to your mouth. Gale’s longing is so palpable that it throbs wet and hot within you. But when you look up, he is frowning. He reaches towards you.

“My love,” he huffs. “You really don’t need to-”

You anticipated this. Gale prides himself on giving, not receiving. He never asks, for fear of being turned away. He cannot fathom that anyone would get on their knees to show him their adoration. That anyone would ache to give him this most mortal of pleasures.

“I want to, Gale.”

You take his straying hand and run your mouth over his palm. His eyelids flutter as your tongue flickers softly over the pads of his fingers.

“I want to taste you. I want to show you how good this feels. Please let me show you.”

It is not completely selfless. You have been dreaming of doing this to Gale since you shared a moment in the Weave. You enjoy this act much more than he knows. He will find out just how much you enjoy it.

He grasps for a response and fails. For an instant, you savour the sight of Gale rendered speechless by your designs. Then you resume your position, your face tilted upwards beside his growing hardness. You can see him unravelling at the sight of it resting against your cheek, hovering beside the shining plumpness of your lips. His brown eyes are almost black, dilated in a stupor of need.

“Or does this not feel good?”

He lets out a guttural moan as you slide his cock into your mouth. Your lips tighten around his girth as you roll your tongue around its head. You pump forward and backwards, once, twice, three times. With each stroke, waves of molten heat blaze through your centre, your clit swelling against your folds as you rock. Moisture trails down your chin as you draw back and look up at him.

“Do you like that?”

The sound that escapes his lips is a muffled plea. His face is flushed, helpless, urgent.

You grin. His back bows as you take him back inside you. You take your time, drawing out his pressure points, feeling for the rhythm of his pleasure. The slick sounds of you lapping and sucking at his cock fill the tent as you drive his length deeper and faster into you. Something about these wet, gulping noises makes you suddenly, overwhelmingly voracious.

“By the gods…”

You cannot decipher all the words that start tumbling from Gale now. You glide hungrily down to the hilt of his cock, thrusting it against the back of your mouth. Small bursts of his pleasure trickle down your throat like nectar as he shifts and sighs. Every blast of his yearning pools like lava in your belly. You whimper into his shaft, your hips grinding down into the bedroll, searching frantically for release.

As the storm surges within you, you realise that his groans are growing louder and closer together. You can feel him hardening, stretching your jaw with each tremor of your arousal. He fills you up so completely, there is almost no space for breath. You are famished, gorging yourself on him.

You are abruptly aware of urgent fingers pressing between your thighs, demanding entrance. You sit up, turning to face him.

“Allow me,” he rasps.

You shake your head, trying to push his hand away. He does not budge.

“Please. Can you not tell what your pleasure does to me?” His gaze is ravenous. “Let me. Please.”

It was not your intention to allow it. You were to give and not receive. But you are powerless to resist as his fingers nestle into your gleaming folds. When he finds your throbbing clit, you crumple against him. His groin rises to meet you, his cock twitching at your undoing. You suck him back into your mouth with a needy cry.

You do not need a tadpole to know each other’s feelings now. You can taste the hardness of his desire, as he can feel the wetness of yours.

You shudder against each other as the world becomes a chaos of purple spasms. All you know is the whirling of your tongue around the head of his cock as he traces frenzied circles around the centre of your fire. A hot stream of slick melts between your thighs as he bucks against you. You can no longer distinguish between his moans and yours.

As his fingers flutter in their maddening dance, your mouth quickens to match his speed. You are aware of his muscles tightening as you grind against his hand, rubbing at every coiled nerve until it is ready to snap. Your whines are muffled vibrations against his skin. He lurches and keens as you lap and slide up and down his shaft with increasing fury, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Then the ache within you explodes.

The world shatters into blinding shockwaves of white heat. It is all you can do to keep your mouth wrapped tightly around his swelling cock, your only anchor as you drown in the searing surges of your pleasure. As you writhe through the aftershocks, you feel a convulsion down his chest, snapping through his hips, jolting at the back of your throat.

He shouts out a strangled sound, his toes curling, his free hand clinging to the side of the bedroll. You quiver as the taste of Gale fills your mouth. You swallow each rush of his delight as he rides out the peak of his climax, his features twisting in the beautiful anguish of release.

You remain in that position as your breathing returns to normal. Slowly, your vision clears. His cock is still half hard and glistening as you part from it. You brush away drops of his spend from your lips and chin as you sit up, steadying yourself.

He looks up at you from where he lies panting, his tousled waves a tumble around his head. His face is radiant with passion. His chiselled abdomen heaves with the exhaustion of bliss. The mark on his chest glows a muted violet.

“That was…”

He has no words for the experience. His gaze is bright with awe, gratitude, adoration. Swollen with love. It glints with desire, still pure and unquenched.

You beam. “That’s how mortals do it.”

He pulls you into his arms with a throaty laugh.

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#baldurs gate 3 smut #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale fic #gale fic #gale romance #gale x oc #gale x tav #gale x reader #gale smut #bg3 gale smut #bg3 gale fanfiction #bg3 #baldurs gate 3

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phfenomena · 5 months

Text

“you’re my only hope of getting into heaven, angel.” || William H. Bonney x reader

giving cowboy realness fr

| WARNINGS- sexual innuendo

| William H. Bonney x Reader fluff

the morning air is crisp and clean as it filters in through the windows and propagates throughout the entire house. the sudden chill and the bright rays of light beaming into your eyes forced them open.

jesus christ it feels like the middle of january in here.

your gaze settles upon your still slumbering partner. you shuffle closer and wedge yourself into his arms, your chest pressing into his. he stirs lightly as you continue to make yourself comfortable, as if he’s a heated rag doll.

“what are you doing, angel?” he croaks above you, voice thickly laced with sleep.

you hum softly “nothing, just freezing in here. you’re warm, like a nice campfire.” he chuckles softly and pulls you closer. his head perks up to press a kiss against the top of yours.

“it’s so damn cold, i might already have hypothermia. you’ll have to warm me up better than this.” you nod as you talk and stare lightly up at him, your smile residing in her eyes.

“why don’t i get up and close the windows, doll? that might fix your deadly condition.” he muses from above you. you ponder the idea but ultimately reject.

“you’ll leave me alone and cold in bed. you said i was your sweetheart. how could you leave me when i’m on death's doorstep?” you pout and he rolls his eyes.

“you’re too dramatic for your own good.” he rubs his arms over every inch he can reach to bring your temperature up.

“i won’t let you go dying on me, darling. you’re my only hope of getting into heaven, angel, so we gotta go together. i’ll have to jump the gates if you go first.” he almost whispers against your ear, his voice still not wanting to wake up. you look up at him and smile softly, your hand trailing up and settling on the side of his face. “you’re a good man, billy. even if god didn’t let you into heaven, i’d run down to hell for you. atleast i wouldn’t be cold there.” you smile wide and lean up to press your lips together.

he moves his hand to rest behind your head as he attempts to deepens the kiss while slowing the pace that your lips meet at. he reluctantly pulls back and takes a deep breath. his hand trailing down and drawing shapes on your hip. “you know, i could think of a few ways to warm you up real quick.” he smirks against your lips and narrows his eyes while looking into your wide ones. raising his eyebrows he rolls on top of you.

“i think that sounds like a wonderful idea, mr. bonney.” you wrap your arms around his neck and admire him. his messy hair, his tired eyes, and his dopey grin plastered across his face. yeah, you’d follow him to hell.

“hey billy i know it’s real early but-“ jesse saunters through the bedroom door and stops with wide eyes upon seeing the encounter. “i’ll…come back later.” he quickly averts his eyes down to avoid eye contact and firmly shuts the door.

billy’s head hangs low as you both hysterically laugh and he rolls off of you. “works calling, angel. are you warm or do i need to stay in bed with you all day?” he spoke softly as he fiddled with pieces of your hair and the lace from your nightgown.

“i’ll be okay, billy. you better get goin’ before jesse comes back in here” you smile as you kiss one last time and watch billy undress then dress again. shamelessly eyeing him until he leaves the room, not without one more kiss.

you’d fight the damn devil for that man.

#billy the kid x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #billy the kid #william h bonney #william bonney #william bonney x reader #billy bonney x reader #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x reader

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