#And the woman was carrying a rifle

[bacchuschucklefuck]

this has been a roller coaster of a design journey but finally I can present you: class swap artificer!adaine and rogue!fabian

[ziracona]

Really happy someone in-game finally realized Minka is crazy.

[darkbluekies]

Cannot take what was never meant to leave

Yandere!king OC x fem!fairy!reader

Summary: Edmund walks out in the forest and finds something he never seen before: a tree fairy. Upon learning that he can't take her as long as her tree is there, he does the only thing he can think of.

Warnings: Edmund is a bit more insane than usual, reader is in a lot of pain, kidnapping, basically killing, use of an ax

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: this is HEAVILY inspired by Erutan's song "The Willow Maid"!! I have absolutely loved that song for ages, and after seeing PurestarMedia's music video of it on YouTube, I had to write something!! Edmund felt like the perfect fit for it!!

Summer is almost over. He can tell by a slight shift in the winds that colder times are approaching, even though barely any of the trees show any signs of autumn. He can't wait until he can bring out his thicker coat. He likes the colors of it much more.

Ten men he brought with him on his hunt for rabbits. They've decided to go into another part of the forest in hopes of finding anything.

Suddenly. A sound.

“Shh!” Edmund hushes and holds up a hand, signaling the others to stop.

He listens closely. It sounds like humming. It's a tune he has never heard before, but one that feels weirdly familiar — as if he has heard it in a dream or past life.

Quietly, they follow the sound until they reach a field full of small, white flowers. In the middle of the white field stands a tree with dark leaves. A scene taken straight out of one of the paintings hanging on the castle walls. Edmund notices someone sitting by the foot of the tree, resting among the roots. A woman?

The group of men creep closer. The woman is lying on the tree roots, leaning her head against the tree trunk, having a root under her knees for support. She's dressed in a long, white gown reminding Edmund of the small flowers. On her head rests a flower crown made of the very flowers. Her eyes are shut. Her mouth hums. 

A fairy.

One of Edmund’s men steps onto a branch on the floor, which snaps in half and pulls the fairy out of her thoughts. Her eyes snap open, revealing them to be deep and dark — and full of fear. She shoots up from her root and stumbles backwards, hiding behind her tree.

“Who are you?” she asks quickly. “What do you want?”

“You are a fairy”, Edmund says, still in disbelief.

“Yes … what do you want?”

“Have you seen any rabbits around here?”

She peeks out from behind the tree.

“What do you want them?” she asks and seems to notice the rifles hanging over their shoulders. “I'm not assisting you in killing harmless creatures.”

Edmund meets her dark eyes. They're hypnotic.

“You humans are despicable sometimes”, she says. “Killing innocent creatures who haven't done anything to you.”

“If I wouldn't, someone else would — man or animal.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Yeah, we should move on. We have rabbits to hunt.”

He can feel her eyes burn through his back as he walks back over the field of white flowers. He hopes that she will watch him until he disappears into the forest.

“Did you have a good hunt, your majesty?” his secretary asks as Edmund and his ten men come back to the castle.

“Caught a few rabbits”, he answers and smiles, thinking of the memory. “We encountered a fairy.”

They start to walk inside. 

“A fairy?” the secretary asks and holds the door into the castle open for the young king.

“What do you know about fairies?” Edmund asks. 

They walk down the large hall.

“I know that, like humans, there are different types of fairies”, the secretary says. “You found her in the woods, you said?”

Edmund nods. 

“She’s probably a tree fairy”, the secretary continues. 

“Yeah, she was sitting by a tree … almost like it was holding her”, Edmund says, furrowing his dark brows as he thinks about it. 

He holds out his arms as if he was carrying a woman, imagining her knees bending over his right arm and her back supported by his left … her head resting on his shoulder — like she had done to the tree bark. 

They walk into Edmund’s office, closing the door behind them. 

“What do you know about tree fairies?” Edmund asks and throws himself in his chair. 

“I know that they live in the woods and that they are connected to a particular tree. They feed off of sap from the tree and flower nectar — and if their tree bears fruit they eat that too.”

“What happens if they eat something else? Like meat? Or potatoes?”

“I don’t know, your majesty.”

“Would it kill them, do you think?”

“Perhaps. What I do know kills a tree fairy is killing their tree.”

Edmund looks up at him. “What?” 

“Their life source is connected to their tree. They live as long as their tree does.”

“So you’re saying that a fairy can become hundreds of years? Thousands even?”

“Could be.”

“Interesting.” He sighs and throws his head back. “You should have seen that thing. Before she noticed us she looked so … peaceful. She was resting and humming a tune. When she realized that we were there she flew up and hid behind her tree. All of that seemed so young and naive. Her tree wasn’t that large either. I think I’ve found myself a young fairy.”

“The fairy seems to interest you.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet a fairy. I didn’t believe that they actually existed. But now, I’ve found one. I think that I’m going to make her my wife.”

The next day, he returns with his ten men and his secretary, dressed in his autumn coat. On the way to the glade, Edmund picks a few flowers with the biggest nectars he can find, hoping that they will be a good enough gift. He is going to ask her to marry him. 

She is walking around the white flowers, picking up a few and putting them in her flower crown. She looks up as they come. This time she doesn’t look as startled, but there’s something wary in her eyes. 

She’s beautiful and delicate, there’s no denying. Edmund needs her. Every fiber of his body needs her. She needs to be his wife, to be the mother to his children. He refuses to leave without her. 

“What brings you back?” she asks as Edmund gets close enough, but doesn’t sound like she wants to know. 

He can tell that she wants to get back to her tree. She gives it quick glimpses and takes small steps back towards it. 

Edmund holds out the flowers towards her. She hesitates before taking them out of his hand. Her fingertips barely graces his skin. Her touch is humanlike, kind and delicate. 

“Thank you”, she says and smells them softly. 

He smiles. He wants nothing more than to hug her, to hold what belongs to him in his arms, but he has to ask the question first.

“I want you to marry me”, Edmund says. 

The fairy drops the flowers in shock. They disappear underneath the small, white ones. Edmund furrows his brows.

“Marry you?” the fairy repeats, shocked. “How could I possibly-? No, no, I shall not.”

Edmund stares at her, eyes darkening, unable to understand how anyone could turn down his proposal. Women would travel far and wide to hear those words come from his mouth, and this fairy — who does she think she is — doesn’t even think twice before rejecting him. It should crush him, but instead it has the opposite effect. He will not leave without his fairy. 

He looks over his shoulder, at his ten men. “Seize her.”

Just as the ten men are about to grab the fleeing girl, his secretary grabs his shoulder. 

“Your majesty, don’t”, he says quickly. “That won’t be possible. She can’t leave the glade.”

“What do you mean?” Edmund scoffs.

“She’s connected to that tree.” He nods towards the tree in the middle of the field. “She can’t leave it.”

Edmund glares at the tree. That damn tree. The woman runs through the flowers towards her tree, hugging it tightly. Edmund finds it humorous how she thinks a simple tree could protect her. He could do it a hundred times better, will do it a hundred times better. 

He sees how she sinks down by the tree, huddled up by the tree bark, crying. Soon, she will search for comfort in him, not a damn tree. 

“We can’t take her”, the secretary says. “I don’t know what would happen if we tried, but as long as that tree is there, we can’t remove her.”

Edmund doesn’t answer as he walks back into the forest. The ten men follow him. His secretary keeps a distance. Edmund feels like he could explode with anger. He had pictured himself leaving the forest with his new fiance hand in hand. But he will not give up. He will get his fairy. 

He returns a third time the next day. This time he’s by himself … and this time, he’s brought an ax. Determined to take her with him. She will be his wife. This time, he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. He will not walk away empty handed. The thought consumes him as he marches through the forest, towards the glade. 

He can see her lying in the same spot he had seen her the first time. This time, she’s not humming. She opens her eyes as he gets nearer and jumps to her feet as her eyes fall on the sharp edge of the ax. 

“No!” she screams in pure panic. “No, what are you doing?! Don’t!”

Edmund lifts his hands and lands a blow on the bark, cutting away a piece. To his right, the fairy screams in agonizing pain and clutches her heart. He continues to hit the tree. The woman continues to scream. She cries in pain. 

It takes longer than he expects. He takes his eyes off the deep cut in the tree and turns them towards her. She’s lying between the roots, curled up with her hands pressed against her heart, crying and screaming. 

“Please stop!” she screams and sobs so that her entire body trembles. “Y-You’ll kill me! Please s-stop, please! I’m begging y-you!”

If he continues to hit the tree, she will die. 

Edmund will have to bring a piece of the tree with him and replant it in his castle’s garden so that it doesn’t die — so that she doesn’t die. He continues to chop. She continues to scream, cry and plead for him to stop. 

A loud creaking echoes through the air. He watches as the tree bends in half and falls. The fairy stumbles upon weak legs and hugs her fallen tree, sobbing. 

With the ax, Edmund manages to dig up root systems of the tree. He holds it in his left hand and grabs the fairy’s wrist tightly with his right. He yanks her up on her feet. 

“You belong to me now��, he says. 

She only sobs for an answer. She tries reaching out for her tree, but Edmund pulls her with him. She stumbles. He drags her into the forest. 

“Please …”, she sobs. “Please …”

He doesn’t know what she begs for. The tree is fallen, he can’t undo what he has done. 

“Please, I’m in so much pain”, she pants. 

He doesn’t listen, doesn’t have time for it. He has to get her to the castle, where he can lock her in, so that she can’t escape out to the forest again. 

He can feel her collapse. Edmund gasps and watches her lie lifeless on the ground. He shoves the tree roots in his pocket and hurries to check her pulse. She’s still living, for now. Edmund stresses to pick her up. Her limp body rests in his arms as he runs out of the forest, towards the castle. 

He runs into the castle yard, into the hallways and out to the garden. He lays the fairy down on the grass and hurried to dig a hole with his hands. Oh, how he hates the feeling of dirt under his nails. He can’t think about that now. 

He places the root in the hole and covers it with the soil. Edmund runs over to the fountain, cups his hands and fills it with water. He runs back and forth until enough water has been poured over it. He feels for a pulse on the fairy’s neck. There’s still a faint pulsation underneath his fingers. He removes his coat and places it on the ground beside the tree root before lifting the fairy onto it. He caresses her face. 

“You actually got her.”

He looks over his shoulder at his secretary. He stands there, looking at them in disbelief and horror. 

“Is she dead?” he asks. 

“No, not yet”, Edmund replies  breathlessly. “I brought a piece of the tree here and I have replanted it. She should survive. But we need flowers — lots of flowers. And anything else a fairy might eat. We need to nurture her back to life.”

“I’ll prepare some honey water, I think that should be drinkable.”

Edmund sits by the fairy, waiting patiently. 

Hours go by. She doesn’t move. Barely breathing. Edmund wonders if he she has fallen into some kind of limbo, where the tree is barely alive, and so is she. If the tree doesn’t survive, neither will she. He has to nurture both. 

He feeds the tree water and nutrient dense soil and tries to pour droplets of honey water into the fairy’s mouth. Sometimes she responds by swallowing softly, and sometimes let it drip out of her mouth. 

Hours turn to days. Days to weeks. As the tree slowly grows roots in Edmund’s soil and become stronger, so does the fairy. Edmund doubts that she will ever become as strong as she was before. The tree will never be in its full glory again, and neither will she. She can’t walk, her body is too weak to move more than a few minutes. He lets her rest by her short stub. When he can’t stay with her, he watches from afar, from one of the windows. She’s always curled up, hugging her stomach as if she’s got cramps. The poor thing never smiles anymore. 

He holds a glass of warm honey water in his hands as he walks out to the petty excuse of a tree. It'll take years to become as big as it originally was, but it will never be the original tree.

“Hi”, Edmund says softly and sits down beside the fairy, holding the cup to her dry lips.

She doesn't seem to care what she gets fed anymore. Maybe she hopes that it will kill her.

In a sense, Edmund has killed the fairy.

She drinks slowly.

“I don't know what to feed you when winter comes”, he says. “I have harvested a lot of nectar and sap, but I don't know how long that will be good for.”

A tear runs down her cheek. Edmund wipes it carefully.

“My fairy, don't worry”, he whispers reassuringly. “I will figure it out.”

He wishes that she could respond, but he hasn't heard her voice since that day she screams in pain — when he killed her.

He stands up, gives her forehead one last kiss before walking back inside. In the beginning, he used to have guards watch over the garden to make sure that she wouldn't run off, but he realized that as long as that tree is there, she isn't going anywhere.

[r3starttt]

BEHAVE

PAIRING: Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

SUMMARY: Being her controversial young girlfriend but she's sooo mean about it.

CW: Mean Caitlyn. fingering and public sex if u squint. A mix of Cait act 1 and after act 3 because that eye patch makes her so hot.

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @fakevalentine

A/N: this was a headcanon but it's too long so, enjoy(? also I apologize because this is very self indulgent and maybe it doesn't feel like it's Caitlyn at all but who cares!

* first post of the year!!!! ahhhh praying I can write so much more

"Do you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?" Caitlyn’s voice brushed against your ear, a velvet whisper laced with reproach as her hands rested on your shoulders. She guided you through the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, her touch light yet insistent. The weight of her name—Kiramman—still carried its unyielding responsibilities. These endless soirées, gilded in pretension, were as much a part of her world as the air she breathed.

You hummed in acknowledgment, your brow furrowing as the opulent liquor in your glass shimmered with each step. The crystal caught the golden glow of chandeliers, creating ripples of light that danced with the cadence of your movements.

"I distinctly recall telling you not to speak to her," Caitlyn said, her voice low but firm, a melody of restrained fury and high-society decorum. And there it was—why she was upset. Her words, precise as a scalpel, made the realization cut deeper.

Jealousy. It wasn’t the first time.

She was a woman molded by singularity, the only child of a family whose legacy loomed large. Years of hard work and calculated poise had shaped her, yet even Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t immune to the corrosive sting of possessiveness. She had drawn comfort from women, and in doing so, learned too much about how easily temptation could unravel the strongest resolves. She knew what could happen when the wrong hands reached for what they desired.

"And I didn’t," you replied, your tone measured but pointed as you placed emphasis on the pronoun. "She spoke to me."

But you knew the defense was weak, the excuse thin. It wasn’t about who initiated the conversation—it was about the way you let it linger, the playful barbs you traded in defiance of Caitlyn’s clear wishes.

"Look at me."

She halted, steering you into a quiet corner where the hallway stood mostly empty save for the occasional passing silhouette. Her grip shifted to your chin, blue-painted nails biting just enough to demand your attention. Tilting your face upward, her single piercing eye—framed by the violet eyepatch that gleamed under the estate’s polished lighting—locked onto yours.

"That woman," Caitlyn said, her tone laced with hate, "will go to any lengths to provoke me. She is petty, immature, and cannot tolerate the fact that I chose you." The emphasis on you was punctuated with a fleeting brush of her thumb along your cheek.

"And why is that?" you countered, tilting your head slightly, an air of defiance laced in your words. You knew the unspoken truths hidden in her gaze, the ghosts of her past lovers lingering in her quiet. You weren’t the first to occupy her bed, but you intended to be the last. Still, the question hung in the air, daring her to acknowledge the vulnerability that simmered beneath her jealousy.

Her posture shifted, the tension momentarily releasing as she let go of your face, her hands finding yours. "Behave," she murmured, her voice carrying a polished warn. "You’re not some foolish girl in need of coddling , are you? Didn’t you insist I treat you like a grown woman and not—what was it?—a 'sweet indulgence,' like those other girls you claim I once entertained?"

Sharp, clever, and unrelenting , Caitlyn always knew how to turn the blade back on you, her wit as honed as the rifle she wielded with such precision.

"I’m merely observing," you replied with a shrug, feigning indifference though the sting of her words lingered. "You seem awfully afraid of some women. Almost as though you know them too well."

Her laugh was soft, almost a scoff, but her grip on your waist tightened. Caitlyn wasn’t one to retreat. Instead, she seized the moment, her free hand taking your glass and setting it on a side table near the staircase alongside her own. Without a word, she led you upward.

The quiet intimacy of the stairwell was a stark contrast to the party below. The golden light softened as you ascended, and with each step, the air between you grew heavier, thick with the unsaid.

Your heels echoed against the polished marble, mirroring hers as you followed her onto one of the estate’s many balconies. Caitlyn left the balcony door ajar, the muffled hum of the soirée seeping through like a distant murmur.

Her lips grazed the delicate curve of your neck, warm and insistent. "Do you know what I used to do?" she murmured, her voice low-- confessional. Her hands found your waist, steadying you as though she feared you might falter under the weight of her words.

"I would take them home," she began, her tone as smooth as the feel of her hands on your skin. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, a possessive gesture had you folding already. "I would ask about their lives, their dreams... enough to slip beneath their guard."

Her lips traveled upward, brushing the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, before stopping just next to your ear. "And then," she continued, her voice a breath against your skin, "I would lean in, cup their necks, let my gaze linger on their lips... kiss them."

As the words left her mouth, she mirrored the act with you. Her fingers glided to the nape of your neck, holding you firm, her lips capturing yours with a deliberate fervor. The kiss was unhurried yet commanding, a declaration rather than a question.

"I would undo their clothes, piece by piece, savoring the soft of their skins." Her hands traveled down, tracing the contours of your frame with reverence until her fingers found the hem of your dress. Slowly, she gathered the fabric, the rustle of it rising in harmony with the quickening beat of your heart.

"I would caress their thighs," she continued, her voice dropping with promise. Her hand slid beneath the folds of your dress. She paused there, letting the silence be filled with the distant hum of the party behind you.

Her gaze met yours again, piercing. She pressed her knee in between your legs, her fingers making small circles over your clothed clit, feeling the fabric damp under her touch. A smile spread on her face, almost a mocking laugh escaping her as her forehead leaned closer to your own. "Yeah? feels good, doesn't it?" Her breath hovering over your lips before you nodded, opening your lips further to try and get a kiss she denied.

"I would love to feel how wet they got... listening those whimpers and the many obscenities spilling through such pretty lips." Her other hand went behind your waist, digging her fingers into you.

Your head tilted down as you got pressed into the railing. Worried that someone might see.

It wouldn't be new to them. Cailtyn had been caught endless times by those working for her or around her- and she couldn't care less. Making her girls go louder each time.

"I loved to hear how they pronounced my name in between gasps." Her wet lips pressed another kiss into your neck. Her hand guiding your hips to move against her leg as she slid her fingers up and down your covered slit.

You held behind onto the railing, using it to impulse your body as you wished against her fingers and her body and just enjoy yourself while using her. Your lips pressed too tightly to not let any sound out.

Your eyebrows furrowed to a point it hurt. Caitlyn made you mad, she knew how to put you in your place every single time.

"Be a good girl and let me hear you, love." She pressed herself closer to you again, her fingers busy with your wet. She had minutes that felt endless just rubbing at your clit over your clothes, providing you the friction of her knee against your cunt or her fingers over your hole- teasing to pull your panties aside and fuck you-- But that was it.

And maybe all of it had you falling for her one last time. Opening your lips to moan and whimper against her own. She wanted the show and if she asked so nicely why would you deny her?

But just as you felt like maybe there could be a way to convince her to fuck you like you wanted, she stopped. It was almost too abruptly it hurt.

"Go to the bathroom and compose yourself," Caitlyn instructed. Her grip tightened on your chin, tilting your face upward with a practiced ease that left little room to argument. The intensity in her eyes was an unspoken demand.

"I will not endure the embarrassment of your behavior tonight." The sharp edge of her accent making each syllable bite. Her fingers pressed into your cheeks, just enough to remind you of her control, her authority over this moment. "Your age is already... challenging for me. Do not make me regret this, love. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the motion awkward under the restraint of her hand. A wave of heat prickled at the corners of your eyes, tears threatening to spill, not from pain but from the raw sting of her words. Your voice came out small, broken, as though the very air had been stolen from your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you murmured an apology barely audible, stifled by the weight of her fingers against your face.

"Don't apologize," she snapped, the command as firm as it was cold. Her gaze bore into yours, cutting through your composure. "Just do as I ask. Prove to me that you're capable of being what I need you to be."

Her lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breath warm, intimate, yet void of comfort. "Show me you're worth it-" She paused to make it clear, it was a warn if not a threat. "And never, ever speak to her again. Not a word, not a glance. Or it's over. Is that clear?"

There was no room for negotiation, no softness to temper her gaze. Her words were final. Like anything else around her, it was an unspoken contract you had no choice but to sign.

[friskyfreddie2024]

America: You Fucked Up

You could have chosen Hope. You chose Hate.

You could have chosen Empathy. You chose Enmity.

You could have chosen a New Beginning. You chose the Nazi.

We could have finally been rid of this cancer on American democracy. He could have been banished to obscurity, remembered only as the worst president in American history, and finally held responsible for his numerous crimes.

The ignorant, racist, misogynistic, white supremacist, pathologicial liar is now going back to the White House. He is a convicted felon, an admitted sexual predator, a total fraud, and a demented old man. He belongs in prison.

What did you do?

You ignored that the U.S. economy is the strongest in the world, that inflation is at its lowest level in four years, that unemployment is at its lowest level in three years. You believed the lies about how terrible the economy is. I knew better.

You forgot about his 30,000+ lies while he was in office. I remember.

You forgot about his complete mismanagement and ignorance over COVID, resulting in the deaths of over one million Americans. I remember.

You forgot about the saber rattling over military exercises in the pacific, when Kim Jong Un threatened us with nuclear missiles, causing us to fear whether we'd see another day. I remember.

You forgot about waking up every morning dreading to hear the latest abomination he tweeted. I remember.

You forgot about "very fine people on both sides." I remember.

You forgot about "only the best people" like Betsy DeVos, Rick Perry, Tom Price, Scott Pruitt, Steve Mnuchin, and many others who were given cabinet positions despite having zero qualifications for the job. I remember.

You forgot that 40 of his former cabinet members and dozens of former generals and officials refused to support him, saying he was "unfit to serve." I remember.

You forgot about January 6, "fight like hell". I remember.

You forgot that when he was told that his vice president was secured because the rioters wanted to kill him, he said, "So what?" I remember

You forgot about The Big Lie, "Release the Kraken" and 60+ failed attempts to overturn the election in the courts. I remember.

You forgot about "I just need you to find 11,780 votes." I remember.

You forgot about "They're eating the cats! They're eating the dogs!" I remember.

What now?

When a woman suffering an ectopic pregnancy dies because she doesn't have access to medical care, that's on you.

When they take away your neighbor, your co-worker, your friend, and deport them, that's on you.

When a woman is forced to suffer the agony of carrying her rapist's baby to term, that's on you.

When a transgender kid harms themselves because they can't get the medical care they need, that's on you.

When your middle-class taxes GO UP, while billionaires get even more tax breaks, that's on you.

When schoolchildren are killed by an assault rifle in a mass shooting, that's on you.

When children grow up ignorant because you banned books and dictated how history is taught, that's on you.

When Grandma can no longer afford a comfortable life because the Social Security she paid into all her working life, and provided income on which she now depends, has been cut, that's on you.

When violence against Jews, Asians, Hispanics rises again, that's on you.

When prices on the goods you buy skyrocket due to tariffs, that's on you.

When Ukraine, deprived of our support, is overrun by Russia, that's on you.

When the U.S. is the laughing stock of the world (as we were 2016-2020), that's on you.

What should you have done?

You should have exercised critical thinking skills, recognized the thousands of lies you were being told, recalled that his administration had four years to live up to his promises and failed at all of them. You should have realized that he is a profoundly stupid individual who doesn't give a shit about you or your family or anything except himself.

You had the last nine years to see that, and you still fell for his bullshit.

[rynbutt]

pierced. pt.2 | spencer reid.

When you hadn't heard from Spencer in 3 weeks you thought you'd jumped the gun a bit... Or maybe he was just nervous.

pt. 1 | pt. 3 | pt. 4

cw: fem!reader, mentions of periods, mentions of alcohol, kissing, fluffy <3

a/n: i got carried away :,)

The bar bathroom smelled of booze, sweat and another third thing you’d rather not think about.

You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, leaning over the sink to fix your lipstick with your finger and thumb. You fished around in your purse, pulling out the black tube of lipstick and plucking the cap off. You puckered your lips, admiring the matte colour in the smudged bathroom mirror that you dare not touch.

You were trying to be social for a change, perhaps meet some new people and make some new friends. After all, you didn’t know anyone and the cute FBI agent you met and gave your number to hadn’t called you since your interaction 3 weeks ago. You tried not to mull over it but you thought you landed a cutie, thinking he found you attractive too; he did find your boobs fascinating, the least he could do was buy you a drink. 

A pub crawl probably wasn’t the best place to start with making friends, it wasn’t really your thing. But after some of the new hires who started along with you invited you out to a pub crawl (you just happened to be sitting in the break room at the same time) you decided to just give it a shot. You soldiered through dinner and the first two bars you followed them along to, but when they left without you at the third, you were ready to down one more drink, call a cab and curl up with Tofu on the couch. 

You leaned over the sink, adjusting your black mini dress over your shoulders before grabbing your purse, letting out a tired sigh at your failed attempt at establishing some much needed friendships in this huge city.

“Shit, shit, shit! No-” A woman cursed from the stall behind you, sounding like she was rifling through her purse. 

“Are you okay?” You asked softly, knocking on the stall door.

“Oh, uhm, yeah… actually, do you have a tampon or something?” She asked quietly, seeming embarrassed.

“Shit, yeah, I do,” you quickly said, rifling through your purse for your stash of pads and tampons. A must whenever you go to bars, you never know when you or someone else will need it. “Here,” reached over the stall door, holding it as far out as you could for her. 

“Oh my god, thank you, you’re an angel,” she breathed a sigh of relief, taking the tampon from you. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled to yourself.

“I’m going to get you a drink as a thank you.”

You chuckled softly, “oh, please. It’s really no trouble.”

“Ah- ta ta ta, I insist,” she retorted. 

Maybe you would make a friend tonight.

You stood by the basins as she flushed and pulled the stall door open. She wore bright pink heels and her hair sat in perfect curls over her shoulders, with thick glasses perched on her nose. She exuded sweetness. 

She smiled at you sweetly, “you’re a lifesaver.”

“It’s all good, I always have extra on me,” you grinned. “Just in case.”

“I like where your head’s at. The one time I didn’t bring my normal purse,” she laughed, washing her hands with the miniscule amount of soap left. “I’m Penelope Garcia,” she stuck her hand out for you to shake.

You shook her hand, “Y/N L/N.”

“I love your dress, you look gorgeous,” Penelope said, the two of you leaving the grotty bathroom together. You glanced down at your black mini dress, smiling to yourself at the compliment.

It had been a while since you broke it out of your closet. It was your favourite though, hugged your curves perfectly and had long sleeves that kept you warm but a deep neckline to show off your cleavage. 

“Thank you, it’s been a while since I’ve worn it.” You replied, letting Penelope link her arm around yours as she ushered you to the bar through the crowd of people. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” she suddenly asked. 

You laughed at her abrupt question. “No… Why, you got a cute friend?”

“I do!” She exclaimed excitedly, making you chuckle. “He’s real sweet, you should totally hang out with us… That’s if you’re not here with anyone?”

“No, no, I’m not. Well, I was, but they left-”

“Without you?!”

“I don’t know them that well, it’s fine. I mean I just moved here.”

“But girl code? You never leave a girl by herself in a bar,” Penelope said, clutching her necklace, she seemed far more offended than you were. 

You and Penelope continued to talk and laugh at the bar while you waited for the line at the bar to subside. She asked you all about how you liked moving here and when you told her about your cat Tofu, she insisted on seeing photos. She bought you a tequila sunrise and ushered you over to the booth she said her friends were sitting at.

“Everyone, this is Y/N, she just saved my life,” Penelope exaggerated, introducing you to the very official looking group of people seated in the booth. 

But you lost interest in them quickly when you spotted Spencer Reid, the man who apparently doesn’t own a phone. 

“Oh, hey,” you said, your voice raising an octave as you pointed at Spencer. 

Spencer furrowed his brows, almost not recognising you without your tight baby blue tank on, “Y/N?”

“It’s Dr. Can’t Call Back,” you teased. The man you recognised as Agent Morgan let out a laugh, clapping a hand over Spencer’s shoulder.

“Wait, you know Reid?” Penelope asked.

“She lived in the apartment across from a crime scene, we interviewed her,” Morgan explained before staring down Spencer, “And little boy wonder managed to get her number and didn’t call her.”

“What!” Penelope exclaimed. “She’s hot!”

You covered your mouth as you laughed, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I’m sure he only took my number to be polite.”

“Oh he did not,” A blonde woman laughed. “He talked about it for days.”

“Oh, really?” You raised a brow at Spencer, who was almost beet red at the sudden spotlight on him. Penelope ushered you next to Spencer into the booth, the two of you pressed together between Morgan and the blonde woman.

“Yeah he did, couldn’t get him to shut up,” Another woman with dark hair said.

“I was going to call you,” Spencer said defensively. “But I got busy-”

“More like nervous,” Morgan retorted with a laugh.

Spencer sunk into the plush leather of the couch and you spent the next hour learning everyone’s names and learning that they were all in the FBI. Now that they knew who you were, there goes your chances of being a sexy drug lord.

It was nice to feel included, everyone asking you about your new job, where you grew up, what you liked about moving here, you finally made some new friends. Penelope sealed the deal when she gave you her number, promising to take you to lunch some time to thank you for your heroic act in saving her.

You glanced at Spencer as he shifted uncomfortably next to you, “you wanna get a drink?” you asked, attempting to get him away from everyone and talk to him. 

He nervously moved some of his hair out of his face, “Yeah…Yeah sure,” he replied quietly, a slight nervousness in his voice.

The two of you slid out of the booth and you grabbed his hand as you pulled him to the bar. His hands were clammy with nervousness but he didn’t let go of your hand until you dropped his hand, leaning on the bar.

“So…”

“I was going to call you. I really was,” he said quickly, letting out a shaky breath.

You laughed at his nervousness, “It’s okay, Dr. Reid. I’m not holding it against you.”

“Spencer,” he corrected. 

“Right,” you smiled, “Spencer.”

“Here, look,” he pulled his phone out of his pocket along with the note you left him, which was cute, considering it kept it on him for this long. He glanced at the note and quickly dialled your number. Your phone buzzed in your purse and you answered the call. “There, now you have my number.”

“Nice save, pretty boy,” you saved his number in your phone, typing his name into your phone along with a little heart. 

“...You look… very nice,” he said nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You grinned coyly at him, “thank you. You look very handsome yourself. Though, I feel like you always look like that,” you flirted.

“I try to look presentable,” he replied, not really picking up on your flirting tone. “I have an important job.”

“Of course,” You laughed lightly, your fingers reaching up to gently fix his collar. Your fingers grazed the side of his neck and his breath caught in his throat, gulping back the lump of nervousness that formed. You were really pretty, someone he considered way out of his league. 

After you gave him your number, he spent the entire car ride back to the BAU staring at it, heart thumping loudly in his ears at the idea of seeing you again. He tried calling your number a couple of times and got nervous because he had no idea what to say. Would he ask you on a date? Obviously. But what do people do on dates? He had to be assertive, come up with something and be confident, but his mind went blank staring at your number. And wikihow really wasn’t helping.

“Hey guys, we’re off,” Emily walked over to you and Spencer at the bar. “Hotch’s hailing a cab.”

“Oh, right. Do you need a cab? I-I can cover it,” Spencer looked at you, reaching for his wallet.

“I live nearby actually, it’s just a couple blocks away. I’ll just walk,” you smiled. 

Emily frowned at you, “this late? That’s not safe.”

“I’ll walk her,” Spencer quickly said. “I’ll catch a cab from her place.”

“Oh, Spencer, you don’t have to do that,” you squeezed his forearm.

Spencer waved you off, “it’s safer if I walk you home.”

Emily glanced between the two of you with squinted eyes. She smiled cheekily, wiggling her brows at Spencer, “...be safe.”

Spencer scoffed at her implication, making you giggle. You picked your purse up off the bar stool and let Spencer lead you out of the bar. You said goodbye to Penelope and JJ, waving the rest of them down as Spencer waited for you to say goodbye.

“Keep him safe, pretty girl!” Derek called from the cab window.

“Will do!” You chuckled.

The more you thought about it, the more you realised it was probably a good idea Spencer was walking you home. You had learned a lot about your new home over the last 3 weeks but having Spencer, who you came to understand was a bit of a genius, proved to be very convenient. Spencer seemed to know where he was going more than you did, you just followed along next to him, your shoulders occasionally bumping. 

“How long have you been in the FBI?” You asked, linking your arm with his. He nervously let you do so but you could feel him tense under your touch. “This okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay… Uh, I’ve been in the FBI for four years, two months and two weeks exactly,” he replied, “...Eidetic memory, I tend to keep track of that kind of stuff.”

“Mmm, I’ve always had a thing for dorks,” you flirted with an airy laugh.

“I’m not a dork,” he retorted defensively through a laugh.

You looked up at him, “Only joking, Spence. Intelligence is attractive.”

He beamed internally at the nickname. Sure, JJ called him Spence, but it sounded like honey when you said it, made his heart race and his skin run hot. The two of you walked in comfortable silence and you yawned quietly, not realising how tired you were until you left the overstimulating environment of the bar.

He walked you up the steps of your apartment building, waiting for you to take out your card that let you into the building. You pulled the door open and Spencer reached to hold it open for you. You paused, turning to face him.

“Thank you for walking me home. I really appreciate it,” you smiled. 

“It’s okay, I wanted to make sure you were safe,” he replied, exuding a kind of nervousness he wasn’t before. 

You laughed lightly at how adorable he was before pressing up on your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He tensed under your touch but soon relaxed. You pulled away and began laughing, “Oh shit, I got lipstick on your cheek.”

You pulled your sleeve over your finger and began smudging it away. Spencer suddenly grabbed your wrist softly, taking a deep breath of courage and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You barely had time to register it and as soon as it started it was over and he pulled away, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“I… I’m sorry,” he quickly said, “Shit-”

“Woah, Spence. It’s okay,” you grabbed his hands, trying to recapture his attention as his eyes stared at everything but you. “Hey.”

“I don’t know why I did that,” he laughed nervously.

“...Maybe you should kiss me again?” You suggested, doe eyes staring up at him. His breath caught in his throat as you leaned up again, arms hooking around his neck as your lips brushed his softly. Your voice was quiet when you spoke, “Do you want to kiss me again, Spencer Reid?”

“...Yeah,” he muttered out. You grinned before leaning in to kiss him, hands cupping his face as his hands landed on your waist nervously. He kissed you with a gentleness that left you dizzy. He was clearly nervous but you stroked his cheekbones with your thumbs as he deepened the kiss, tilting your head back like he wanted to consume you. 

He pulled away, forehead resting against yours. You laughed gently at the smear of lipstick over his lips, your thumb coming to rub it off as best you could.

“Mm, that colour suits you,” you chuckled. He let out a breath of a laugh as he pulled away from you, moving a piece of hair out of your face. “I don’t usually kiss men I haven’t even gone on a date with.”

“Well, I don’t kiss girls… end of sentence,” he replied.

You laughed at his response, unhooking your arms from his neck and stepping into your apartment building. “Well, you’re good at it, Spence. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Well… Will I see you some time?” 

“Call me back first,” you teased.

Spencer stared at the pavement and laughed nervously, letting you kiss his cheek one more time before you left him at the door of your apartment building, heading to the elevator. You waved at him as the elevator dinged and he waved back with a tight lip smile.

You leaned against the cool metal of the elevator wall, grinning like an idiot as you watched the numbers above the door light up. You suddenly felt your phone vibrating in your purse. You pulled it out, half expecting it to be your mother calling. You smiled as Spencer’s name appeared on your phone, you answered, holding it to your ear.

“Hi, Spencer.”

“Can I take you to dinner?” He asked, his voice breathless as you assumed he was trying to catch a cab. “Tomorrow night?”

“I’d love to,” you grinned.

“I’ll pick you up… maybe don’t wear a tank top.”

a/n: kinda obsessed with these two, i'm creating a taglist if anyone wants on :) just send a message to my inbox <3

[mssalo]

safety - Part: I

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of military past, Manipulation, Power dynamics, Joel needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.

4k

Enjoy!

Part II Part III Part IV Part V

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel Miller wasn’t the type of man who sought peace or ease.

He’d spent too many years living a different kind of life-one built around routines of survival, discipline, and a level of alertness that never quite faded.

Now, back in Texas, he carried that constant vigilance like a second skin.

He’d settled in a small, secluded home just outside of Austin.

The area was quiet, isolated, the kind of place where nobody asked too many questions.

The locals respected boundaries, and Joel had made his clear. He kept to himself, lived a simple life, and preferred things that way.

People complicated things—something he wasn’t interested in anymore.

Most of his days followed a routine that he clung to with the same intensity he had in the service.

Early mornings were spent with coffee and silence, the smell of pine trees drifting through the windows of his old, weathered cabin.

Afterward, he'd take to the woods, either hunting or just walking trails he knew as well as the lines in his hands.

Out there, he could let his mind focus on something tangible—the tracks of a deer, the feel of the rifle in his hand.

There, his senses sharpened again, always on alert.

Joel’s awareness never dulled, not even after all these years.

Every noise, every shift in the wind or crunch of leaves beneath his boots, kept him on edge.

He was always scanning his surroundings, ready to react.

He knew it wasn’t just about the hunt.

It was the way his brain had been wired, after all the years of needing to be ready—whether it was for survival or something worse.

It wasn’t paranoia, just the reality of a mind that had been trained for danger. He told himself.

He didn't see many people. He didn’t want to.

But the thing about always being on edge was that it left little room for rest.

At night, the memories clawed their way in—images he’d rather forget but couldn’t.

Sleep was shallow and rare.

Even when he managed to drift off, he was often jolted awake by some phantom noise or sensation.

And once he was up, it was hard to shake the feeling that something or someone was out there.

He’d get up, check the locks, sometimes even patrol the perimeter of his land just to make sure.

In the quiet of his cabin, with only the crackling of a fire or the hum of the wind for company,

Joel would pour himself a drink.

Whiskey, usually. Something to dull the noise in his head, to take the edge off the constant tension that never quite left him.

But he never drank too much. He couldn’t afford to. He needed to stay sharp, always ready—just in case.

His life wasn’t complicated, and he liked it that way. He didn’t need company or connection, not anymore.

He kept things simple: survival, routine, and the solitude of the Texas wilderness.

It asked nothing of him, and in return, he didn’t have to share the parts of himself he’d buried long ago.

· · ─────

Waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat had become part of his routine, and after tossing and turning for hours, Joel would get up, make coffee, and try to focus on the small tasks that anchored him.

The sun was just beginning to rise as Joel Miller pushed the key into the ignition of his truck, the familiar rumble beneath him a small comfort in an otherwise uneasy world.

He had always been an early riser, but lately, the habit had turned into more of a necessity.

Driving out into the quiet Texas morning was one of those tasks.

The roads were mostly empty, and Joel preferred it that way—less to watch for, less noise, fewer things to trust.

He liked things simple.

Routine. Predictable.

After everything, it was easier to stick to what he knew, to keep the world at arm's length.

It was safer.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as his eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the road ahead and the landscape around him.

There was no telling who or what could be out there, even in a sleepy Texas town.

He wasn’t stupid enough to let his guard down, not after everything he'd seen.

Trust was a currency he couldn’t afford to spend, not anymore.

He kept the radio off, preferring the silence. It gave him space to think, to process.

Most of the time, though, it just made him more aware of the quietness around him.

Every little creak or snap of a twig was magnified, every shadow cast by the rising sun something to take note of.

He didn't trust the peaceful exterior of the world anymore.

Too much could change in an instant.

It was exhausting, always being on edge like that, but Joel had learned to live with it.

He couldn’t imagine doing things any other way.

As he drove further down the road toward the camping&outdoor supply store, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the distance—a flicker of motion between the trees.

His heart quickened, and his foot instinctively lifted off the gas pedal.

He slowed down just enough to check the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the tree line.

Nothing. It could’ve been an animal, but Joel’s mind didn’t let him settle on that.

Even when he convinced himself it was probably just wildlife, he remained alert, tension rippling through his muscles.

"Could be anything," he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tighter. "Ain't takin' chances."

The camping store was a bit of a drive, but Joel didn’t mind.

The solitude of the open road helped him clear his head, as much as his thoughts would let him, anyway.

Hunting was something he could still rely on.

He didn't need anyone else for it, and it gave him an excuse to get away from people.

He wasn’t much for conversation these days, always keeping interactions short and transactional.

He liked the supply store too; the guy who ran it knew not to ask too many questions, just handled the sale and let Joel be.

It suited him fine.

As the store came into view, Joel exhaled, his mind already running through what he needed to pick up.

The truck tires crunched against the gravel as he pulled into the lot, parking in a spot that allowed him a clear view of the entrance and the surrounding area.

Old habits.

Joel turned off the ignition and leaned back in the seat, taking a moment to observe the store.

His hand absentmindedly reached toward the glove compartment, where his gun was stashed, just in case. He didn’t need it often, but knowing it was there kept him grounded.

After a few seconds of scanning the area and feeling satisfied that nothing was amiss, he stepped out of the truck.

The supply store wasn’t busy, just a couple of people browsing inside.

As Joel stepped into the store, the familiar scent of leather and canvas greeted him. Country music hummed low in the background, and the quiet atmosphere brought him a sense of calm.

The simplicity of the place was something he appreciated—straightforward, nothing complicated.

Just the way he liked it.

His boots thudded softly on the wooden floor as he made his way toward the back, scanning the shelves for the hunting gear he needed. It was his routine, one he kept to himself.

The sudden crash jolted him like a gunshot.

Joel’s instincts took over, his body reacting before his mind caught up.

His hand flew to his side, fingers brushing the handle of the knife he always kept on him. His eyes darted around the store, scanning for threats, muscles coiled tight and ready.

He felt that old familiar rush of adrenaline—the kind that came from years of having to be on guard every second.

His heart pounded, the edges of his vision sharpening as he prepared for the worst.

But then, he saw her.

Just a girl. Bending over, trying to gather the gear she’d knocked to the floor. No threat. No danger. Just her.

Joel exhaled slowly, the tension easing out of his shoulders as the world settled back into place.

He let go of the knife, though his pulse still hammered in his ears. He hadn’t been expecting someone like her to trigger that reaction. Not here. Not now.

But for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

She was clumsy, but calm—no panic, no rush to fix what she’d done.

It was as if she was used to things slipping from her hands, not bothered in the slightest. That softness, that ease, it drew him in like nothing else had in a long time.

And even though the tension from the noise had faded, he found himself still rooted to the spot, watching her.

His eyes trailed over her, catching the way her long, soft looking, hair tumbled down her back, how her tender fingers fumbled with the items before her.

She was a mess of soft edges, and he hadn’t seen anything that soft in years.

He’s not used to that.

His world had become hard, sharp, filled with things that made sense, with people who didn’t get too close.

People like him, always on edge, always prepared.

She stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and for the first time, Joel saw her face.

Young. Too young. Early twenties, maybe.

Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, her lips parted in what looked like mild embarrassment as she glanced around at the mess she had made.

But it was her eyes that hit him the hardest.

Doe eyed, wide, bright, completely unguarded.

So easy to read.

She looked right at him, her gaze catching his, and Joel’s breath hitched in his chest.

What was this girl doing? Looking at him like that?

She wasn’t supposed to look at him that way—not with that kind of openness, that kind of… trust.

Her blush deepened as her gaze flickered to the ground, but not before Joel saw it creep up her neck, warming her face.

She was blushing because of him.

When was the last time that happened?

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, her voice light, soft, but not the irritating kind of soft.

It was smooth in a way that made something settle in Joel’s chest. Normally, he hated small talk.

People’s voices grated on him. But hers didn’t.

Her voice wrapped around him, warm and gentle, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, Joel didn’t hate it.

“I didn’t see you there,” she continued, letting out a nervous laugh, her hands brushing against the fallen gear.

“I swear, I’m always knocking things over.” She smiled shyly, that blush still clinging to her cheeks, and Joel’s chest tightened again.

She was yapping—just rambling on in a way that would’ve made him turn his back on anyone else. But he couldn’t move.

He was locked in place, listening to her soft, musical voice as if it was something he hadn’t heard in years.

Maybe because it was. Maybe because no one ever talked to him like this anymore.

Most people avoided him.

They saw the hard set of his jaw, the cold glint in his eyes, and they stayed far, far away.

And that was just how he liked it. Less mess, less trouble.

But not her. She was still standing there, babbling about how clumsy she was, her voice a soft hum in his ears.

Joel felt something shift inside him, something he wasn’t sure he liked. He didn’t know her.

Shouldn’t care about her babbling, or the way her scent—something fresh and sweet—drifted toward him, making his head swim.

But here he was, standing there, drinking in her voice, her scent, like he hadn’t been around anyone like her in years.

Which, to be fair, he hadn’t.

Joel cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak, though his voice came out rougher than he’d intended. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he muttered, his words gruff, but his feet still rooted to the spot.

Her smile widened, and her eyes lit up.

The warmth in them caught him off guard. He wasn’t prepared for that.

“Thanks for not laughing at me,” she said with a small, bashful laugh, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her jacket. “Most people would’ve.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “Why would I laugh?”

She shrugged, glancing at the gear still scattered on the floor. “I’m kind of a mess.”

Her words didn’t sit right with him. How could someone like her—someone so soft, so full of light—call herself a mess? He is a mess.

But before he could respond, she smiled again, her lips curving up in that sweet way that made his chest tighten all over again.

And that scent… God, he couldn’t place it, but it clung to her, swirling around him like a warm blanket.

His mind raced, cataloging every little detail about her.

Her soft pretty eyes. The way her smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle just a little. The way she smelled, like fresh air and something sweet. Vanilla?

He was reading her, studying her like he used to study his surroundings, picking up on every detail.

But none of it made sense. She didn’t make sense.

Normally, he’d be long gone by now. His thoughts already moving on.

But she was still talking, still smiling up at him, and instead of walking away, he just… stared.

She cleared her throat again, glancing down at her hands before looking back up at him.

“Do you work around here?” she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little shyer.

Joel blinked, realizing he hadn’t said a damn thing in what felt like minutes.

He shook his head. “Nah, just pickin’ up some things.” His voice sounded foreign to him—rough, cold, not at all the kind of tone that matched the warmth she was giving him.

But she didn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving up in that smile again.

“Oh, cool. What are you picking up?”

Joel stared at her, unsure of why she was still talking to him, still smiling at him.

But he found himself answering her anyway. “Just some gear. Hunting stuff.”

Her eyes brightened, her smile widening even more. “Oh, hunting! That’s cool. I’ve never been, but I always thought it seemed kind of… peaceful, you know? Just you and nature.”

Peaceful? Joel had never thought of hunting as peaceful. Necessary, sure. But peaceful? Not in the way she was describing.

He grunted, not sure how to respond, but she just kept smiling, her voice still light, still soft.

“Oh, gosh,” she said, standing up with a bundle of fallen gear in her hands, a sheepish smile on her face. “I could never hurt an animal, though. I don’t know how people do it. Like, I get hunting and all, but... me? No way. I’d be useless out there.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, still caught between the sharp edge of his earlier reaction and the softness of her voice.

“Right,” he muttered, nodding slightly, feeling more awkward than he had in years.

“Well,” Joel grunted, his voice a little rougher than intended, “it ain’t about enjoyin’ it. It’s necessary. You do what you gotta do.”

And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t understand why he didn’t just walk away.

He should’ve. He should’ve grabbed what he needed and left.

But something about her—her scent, her smile, her softness—kept him rooted in place.

He wasn’t good at this. Talking. Interacting. Especially not with someone like her—someone who looked at him like he wasn’t something to be avoided.

But she was smiling at him, her eyes wide and innocent, like she wasn’t aware of how the world really worked.

Before he could say anything else, he saw her blush deepen, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

She was nervous, but not in the way people usually got around him.

She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t backing away.

She was blushing because of him.

Hm?

As the awkward silence stretched between them, Joel cleared his throat, the sound rough and abrupt.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been standing there, just staring at her while she kept talking, her soft voice filling the space between them.

He needed to go.

This whole interaction had lasted far too long, longer than he was comfortable with.

His chest tightened with a mix of confusion and frustration, and he could feel the tension creeping into his limbs, urging him to move, to walk away.

She was still smiling at him, her eyes bright, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

“Right,” Joel muttered, his voice gruffer than he intended.

“I should… get goin’.” He nodded awkwardly toward the hunting gear in his hand, using it as an excuse to leave.

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes flickering with a hint of confusion.

“Oh, sure! No problem,” she said quickly, her voice still sweet, but there was something softer in it now, like she wasn’t quite sure what she’d done wrong.

Joel could feel her eyes on him as he turned away, the tension in his shoulders growing with every step he took.

He forced himself to keep walking, not allowing himself to glance back, not letting himself think about the way her scent still lingered in the air around him.

As he pushed open the door of the shop, the cool air hit his face, a stark contrast to the warmth that had been building inside him.

He needed to get out of there. Now.

“Have a good day!” she called after him, her voice still light, still warm.

Joel didn’t respond.

He just kept walking, his boots heavy against the gravel as he made his way to his truck, his mind already trying to shove the whole interaction into the back of his mind.

It shouldn’t have affected him like that.

Joel climbed into his truck, the door creaking as it shut with a heavy thud.

The sun was setting, casting a golden light over the horizon, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he sat there, staring straight ahead.

He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled deep in his chest.

That girl—he couldn’t get her out of his head. It didn’t make sense.

Her smile. The way her cheeks flushed when she looked at him.

The softness in her voice, the way she smelled—fresh, sweet, and somehow... so pure.

His brow furrowed as the memory tugged at him, gnawing at the edges of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He hadn’t felt like this in years—hadn’t felt much of anything, to be honest.

And yet, there it was. Something stirring inside him, something he couldn’t ignore.

With a grunt, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

He needed to get his mind straight, back to reality, back to the things that actually mattered.

Surviving.

Not some girl in a supply shop.

It couldn’t be because of her.

But as he shifted the truck into gear, his grip on the wheel tightened even more.

He couldn’t deny the physical reaction in his body—the tension building low in his gut, the heat rising through his chest.

Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his breath catching for a moment.

He hadn’t even noticed it before, hadn’t allowed himself to.

But now, as he adjusted himself, the realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

He was hard.

His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of it settling low in his gut.

How long had it been?

He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt like this, the last time his body reacted this way.

But it couldn’t be because of the girl in the shop, right?

“Jesus.” He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening as he fought the urge to dwell on it. “There was no way.”

She was just a kid. I mean, a woman sure. But so young, soft, innocent.

Completely the opposite of everything he was—everything he’d become.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened even further, his mind racing.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, shouldn’t be feeling this way.

But the more he tried to push it down, the more it rose to the surface.

Her voice, the way she’d blushed when she looked at him, the scent of her clinging to the air around her like a warmth he hadn’t known he needed.

Joel shifted again, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. He’d drive home, clear his mind, and forget about it.

Forget about her.

But as he drove down the empty road, the tension in his body only seemed to build. It had been years. Years since anyone, or anything, had made him feel like this.

And the truth gnawed at him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

It was because of her.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

moodboard:

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

New series incoming!! Thank you for the nice comments, they make me the most motivated to keep writing. :)

[babyfoxflower]

The Hunter and the Hunted

Human! Alastor x Fem! Reader

*Disclaimer: This story is an AU and does not follow Hellaverse canon. Alastor is pretty much just a hetero, if this offends you in anyway, then I suggest you block me and go on your way.*

Synopsis: This the story of Alastor and the love of his life, his huntress, the charming Y/n Rosier. A rare beauty out on the bayou, his heart is instantly stolen by her. He’ll do anything for his beloved, even if that includes murder.

Story Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Violence, Blood, Hunting, Murder, Mentions of Child Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, 1920s Attitudes Towards Women

Chapter One Next

Alastor looked up at the now darkening sky. It was getting late and the only thing he managed to find on his hunt were a few measly rabbits that he stuffed into his hunting sack to make carrying multiple of them easier.

“At least we can make a stew out of these,” the disappointment clear in his voice.

He was hoping he’d find a nice big stag to bring home. His mother was quite fond of venison, and even had a special jambalaya recipe that included it. But he knew what ever she made would be delicious.

He took off his glasses and gave them a quick cleaning, he forgot his cleaning cloth at home and had to use his shirt. A bad habit he knew, but it was better than nothing.

He straightened them back onto his face, “Alright, time to go home.”

He started his way back, humming to distract himself from the lousy feeling in his chest.

“GOD DAMNIT!!!” A voice yelled from deeper in the forest.

Alastor stopped dead in his tracks.

That sounds like a lady. I wonder if she needs help.

His gentleman nature would not allow him to ignore a damsel in distress, so he set off in the direction of the voice.

“FOR HEAVENS SAKE! MOVE YOU DAMN STAG!”

Alastor was taken aback when he finally found the source of the noise. It was a woman alright, but a woman who did not match the voice that was coming from her mouth.

She was so beautiful, that Alastor almost couldn’t believe his eyes. He had never seen such a lovely creature in all of his twenty-three years of living. He blinked his eyes a few times to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Please, move,” a little whimper escaped from the lady, which snapped him back to reality.

She seemed to be trying to pull a stag with what looked like a makeshift pulling device made out of rope and twigs.

“Excuse me, Miss. Do you need some help with that?” Alastor asked her, while approaching slowly as to not frighten her.

She jumped at the sudden noise before quickly turning her head around to see who was there.

“Oh, thank god! Yes please, Mister. Could you please help me if it’s not too much trouble?” A look of relief on her pretty face.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I’m always willing to help out a lady,” he smiled kindly.

“You’re too kind, Mister! I was scared that I would never be able to get this thing back, haha.”

“May I ask how you ended up in this predicament? Did you find this stag dead?” He queried.

“I shot this stag myself,” she motioned her head to the rifle in her hand that he somehow managed to not notice until she pointed it out.

Hmm, must have been too distracted by her beauty.

“Ah I see. Please forgive me, Sweetheart. I didn’t notice your gun. And might I also ask about this contraption?” He pointed to the device.

“Oh! I just threw it together, I thought it would make it easier for me to move this damn thing, but it did nothing,” she glared at it.

Alastor shook his head, “You ladies are quite clever, far more clever than men. But sometimes, however, you need a man’s strength,” he said while easily lifting the large animal over his shoulder.

She blushed, marveling at him, at how strong he was, “I can’t argue with that.”

She led the way to her house, making small talk.

“So, what’s your name, Mister?” She asked, smiling softly.

He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten to introduce himself, his mother would scold him if she was here.

“Alastor. Alastor Hartfelt. And what might your name be, my dear?”

“Y/n Rosier. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alastor!”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I assure you that the pleasure is all mine,” he replied.

Y/n blushed, she had rarely been called beautiful by anyone outside of her family.

“You’re quite beautiful, yourself! I’ve never seen anyone with such a pretty complexion before, and your eyes, they’re such a lovely light brown, not to mention your chestnut hair…did I just say that out loud?”

Nice going, Y/n! You probably freaked the gorgeous man out!

Alastor was the blushing mess now, his heart pounded inside his chest. He even nearly dropped the deer.

Me? She thinks I’m beautiful? Why does that make me feel both so happy and shy at the same time? Pull yourself together, Alastor!

But he quickly regained his composure, “You did, haha! Thank you, my dear, most people don’t compliment my appearance.”

“Well, they should! Such a handsome man deserves to know it.”

They continued to converse. He told her about his mother and her cooking, how there was no one who could make better food. She told him how she had to do all the cooking and housework, because of how frail her mother was.

She talked about her three little sisters, how much of angels they were. Though she admits that it’s hard having to act almost like their mother.

“I’m their big sister, not their mother. I just sometimes wish that Mama would feel better enough one day to actually be our mother again. That’s a terrible thing to say, isn’t it? I’m sorry for going on about my problems.”

“No, your feelings are valid. And you’re correct, you’re not their mother. I understand your frustration. My mother sometimes treats me like I’m still seven years old.”

“Are you her only child?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s it then. You’re her baby! Of course she doesn’t want to let go of your childhood. But I also understand your frustration.”

He knew that. But it was nice hearing out of her mouth, she made it sound all the sweeter. He loved his mother. She was a kind soul, not a gentle soul by any means, but a kind one. Y/n seemed to be both kind and gentle.

“I want to be my Mama’s baby again, but I haven’t been that since the first of my little sisters were born,” she looked thoughtfully out into the distance.

“Well, one day you’ll have a husband to take care of you.”

“Yes, until I have a baby and then this whole thing will just repeat itself.”

“You don’t have to have a baby.”

“Hmm, what do you mean?”

“You can be married without having to have children. I know if I ever get married, unless my wife really wants children, we’ll probably never have them. Not that I don’t like children or anything like that but I can’t see myself as a father.”

Y/n stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. But then she smiled, “I don’t want children either! I wish more men thought like you, Sugar. But I know once I get married, I’ll be expected to birth many children and keep my husband’s blood line going.”

Alastor looked at the tops of the trees, “That’s the thing, I couldn’t care less about ‘continuing my blood line.’ In fact, I think it should just die with me.”

“Why?”

“I hate my father.”

“Oh. I didn’t care for mine either.”

Y/n then changed to more lighthearted topics. Going on about her hobbies outside of doing housework. It turned out she played the piano and sang just like he did. Of course, her piano was an old hand-me-down going back generations. But it played just fine.

His heart wouldn’t stop pounding as walked beside her. He was so charmed by her. Her looks, her kindness, the way her nose wrinkled up when she laughed. It was actually kind of overwhelming. Sure, he interacted with beautiful women before, but something was different about her.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was almost like she had bewitched him in the best possible way.

Little did he know that she was equally as charmed by him as he was by her. She loved the formal way he spoke, how much of gentleman he was, how bright his smile was. It gave her butterflies in her stomach.

Finally, they reached her house. It was a one-story cabin with a little picket fence surrounding it. Suddenly, three adorable little girls came running to Y/n. She got on her knees and embraced them.

“Why were you gone so long, Y/n?”

“We were worried.”

“We missed you.”

“I know, I know I was gone for far too long! I missed you little ones too,” a motherly tone in her voice.

Alastor smiled, “What cute little girls.”

They looked up at him and then back to their older sister, their eyes asking if it was okay to talk to him.

“My little darlings, this is Mister Alastor. He helped me bring home that big stag,” she pointed to the dead animal.

They turned to him and smiled, “Thank you, Mister Alastor!”

“It was my pleasure, dears.”

Y/n got up, “Come on, I’ll show you where to put the deer,” she turned to him.

She led him to a shack behind the house, it was full of tools for gutting and skinning. In the middle was a table, she told him to place it on there.

“I cannot thank you enough! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to feed my family. Thank you so much, Alastor!”

“Please, Sweetheart, again it was no trouble at all! I’m glad I could be of assistance to you and your family.”

The tallest of the little girls came up to him, “Excuse me, Mister Alastor. Will you be joining us for dinner?” Her eyes full of sweet innocence.

Y/n’s face lit up, “Yes, why don’t you join us! It’s the least we can do to repay you.”

“Thank you kindly for the offer, but I have to get home to my Mother. She’s also counting on me to get dinner home,” he motioned to the sack tied to his belt, “Perhaps another time though?” He looked from the little girl over to Y/n.

“Of course! Stop by anytime! You’re always welcome here now,” her smile couldn’t possibly be any sweeter.

Alastor tipped his cap, “Adieu, my dear. And adieu to you, little dears.”

“Adieu, Alastor!” Y/n waved to him.

“Adieu, Mister Alastor!” The little girls said in unison, waving their little arms.

I hope I see him again soon.

“He was handsome, are you going to marry him, Y/n?” Her littlest sister asked.

“She’s not going to marry someone she just met, Louise!” The middle one said.

“Now, Marie don’t shout at Louise. But no, I’m not going to marry him.”

“Awww. You two would be so cute together!”

Y/n pinched the girl’s cheek.

“Annalise, come help me prepare for supper.”

“Yes, Y/n!” The oldest came running to her big sister’s side.

Alastor got home just before sunset, much to the chagrin of his mother.

“Boy, you better have a good reason for being home so late! I was getting worried,” she looked at him sharply from her rocker.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I brought home some rabbits for dinner,” he kissed her cheek.

“It took that long to catch some rabbits?” She said teasingly, taking the sack from her son.

“I met a girl,” was all he said before going upstairs to wash up.

———————————————————————

Alastor lay awake in his bed that night. He stared at the ceiling, counting the wooden panels. He often had insomnia that caused him only to get three to five hours of sleep.

“Y/n,” he whispered.

I wonder if she has trouble sleeping. Or is she someone who sleeps like a baby? I wonder if she snores, I bet it’s cute if she does.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? He had just met her that day but already she was causing him to lose sleep.

Is she a side sleeper? Would she mind if wrapped my arms around her waist and hold her close? What if I stole a kiss or two? Would she wake up with an adorable annoyed face?

Alastor grinned just thinking about what it would be like….

What if I kept kissing her all the way down from her lips to her neck? Would she moan at the sensation? What if I nibbled and sucked at her neck? Would she like it? I bet she would. I bet she would beg for more.

What a sight that would be. But he had to stop such thoughts, since did not feel like cleaning his sheets the next day.

He turned to more wholesome thoughts. Like what kind of food did she like? Would she like it if he cooked for her? Did she like venison or did she just hunt it out of necessity? Does she like jambalaya?

What a silly question, everyone in Louisiana likes jambalaya.

He thought about what it would be like coming home to her everyday. Her sweet smile, her warmth. Her wonderful laughter.

“Alright, I have to see her again soon. Or else I’m going to go mad.”

He decided to visit her next week, he figured it would be enough time in between. He didn’t want to come off desperate.

Finally, he rolled over on his side and managed to get a few hours of shuteye. In the morning, his mother would shake him awake and tell him to get ready for church. Then he’d tell her that he’s a grown man and doesn’t have to go to church. She would then do the sign of the cross, and cry out to the Holy Mother to please bring her sweet little boy back.

He loved his mother a lot, however the devoted Catholic side of her was something he could do without. But of course he would go to church with her, because again he loves her. And would do anything for the people he loves.

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 1

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Fuck me, that's what I get for not wearing my helmet tonight. Jason came to with numb hands and legs, burning shoulders, a gag tight in his mouth, and a pounding headache. His ears rang and a groan escaped his throat before he could keep quiet. He slowly cracked an eye open and when he wasn't blinded took stock of the situation he was in. He was kneeling, tied to a post behind him and in the middle of what appeared to be a magic circle of some kind. At the edges of the circle there were candles, a bright Lazarus green, and beyond that were robed figures.

Great, cultists. Perfect. The ringing in his ears started to fade as chanting filled the room. After the first repetition of unfamiliar words the flames of each candle one by one turned black, and once it came around, the edges of the circle started to glow bright green. The glow followed the path written in what Jason assumed was blood until the entire thing was glowing bright enough that Jason had to squint to try and make out any of the symbols and commit them to memory, any little thing could be a clue after all.

As the chanting got louder and louder, the glow shone brighter and brighter. He could feel a build up of energy and his hair began to stand on end like lightning was about to strike. The light became blinding and the pressure in the air built up until he felt he couldn't breathe, he could smell ozone in the air and suddenly the light returned to normal, he collapsed forward and his cheek hit carpet.

"Oh my Ancients! Are you alright?" He heard a feminine voice say and let out a pitiful groan. "That's probably a dumb question, one second let me grab something to cut those ropes and I'll help you up."

He heard shuffling and opened his eyes to a purple shag carpet with the magic circled burned into it and registered the ozone scent shifted to a burning smell. He tried moving his arms and yelped in response. He heard a thud and a quiet curse as his apparent savior stopped rifling through their drawers with a quiet "Aha!" He turned his head towards the sound and his mind stuttered to a halt for a moment.

Stood there, with a sword at least as long as the Demon Spawn is tall, was a woman Jason would expect to find in Themyscira. She stood almost seven feet tall with long red hair pulled back into a high ponytail braid, a helm-like crown adorning her head. Muscled shoulders had a black capelet from one and a pauldron on the other. She wore golden bracers like Wonder Woman on her forearms and armor similar in shape, but black with a symbol blazoned across the chest, under the armor she wore a teal toga. He turned his attention to her face and found a sheepish expression in those teal eyes.

"I absolutely forgot I had my sword with me today because of the council meeting. Let me just-" she quickly strode forward and cut first his feet and then his hands free, and after giving up on the knot, carefully cut the gag from his mouth. She knelt down and helped him to sit more comfortably. "Do you think you can make it to the couch? it's very comfy, I use it when I need a break between council meetings."

Jason tried standing and his legs protested feeling like pins and needles and tv static. He shook his head and she nodded thinking to herself. "Okay then, here."

Jason blue-screened as he realized he was suddenly being held in a bridal carry by this woman like it was nothing. He blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears as she carried him to her honest to god fainting couch and placed him upon it like a swooning maiden.

"So, um, hi, my name is Jasmine, please just call me Jazz regardless of whatever you hear anyone else here call me. Do you need some water? I'm gonna order some water, and some painkillers maybe? Honestly, I'm just gonna ask them to send one of the yeti healers to take a look at you and I'll need to ask someone who can read ghost speak to translate whatever brought you here." She rambled and made her way to one of the doors and spoke with someone just outside.

Jason laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to get himself focused on the situation at hand. So facts so far: he was just used as a sacrifice of some kind, he was teleported somewhere unknown to him at this moment, and whoever he was sacrificed to seems to be some form of royalty and was arguably the most attractive and so far kind woman he's ever met. He nodded to himself and carefully pealed the red domino mask from his face.

"Jason." He said to her as she turned back to him after closing the door. She stopped for a moment, eyes wide. "My name, it's Jason."

She blushed a moment. "Right, yes, nice to meet you Jason, I wish it was under literally any other circumstances." She said walking forward to shake his hand.

"So, uh, where are we?" He asked, gesturing to what Jason assumed was a window, but wasn't certain because the sky was green and purple and had floating doors and islands in it.

She closed her eyes and seemed to take a fortifying breath. "Right. What do you know about the supernatural, besides the obvious that apparently magic circles work?"

Jason thought about what he could say here. Should he bring up his time in the All Caste? Should he bring up the Lazarus pits? I don't know enough about the situation yet. "I know that magic is real, kinda hard not to what with heroes like Zattana and Raven making headlines and the fact the city I live in is hella cursed."

He watched some tension leave her shoulders, but not all the way. "Good, I won't have to go over that particular world-shattering revelation, though I'll probably ask you more about those heroes you were talking about, I haven't heard of them." Jason was stunned for a moment, but she continued. "We are in a sort of, Between. We are in the Infinite Realms, the existence between existences. The Infinite Realms is the space between the dimensions of the multiverse. We are currently in the castle of the ruler of the Infinite Realms, more specifically my office." She hesitated before continuing. " I'm, sort of, the Queen Regent actually." She said embarrassed.

Jason processed that for a moment, and she let him. So, the multiverse is real, and he was apparently just sacrificed to the ruler of the dimension between dimensions. She let him sit with that information, letting him come up with his own questions, when there was a knock at the door.

"Excuse me your majesty, you called for a healer and scholar? I had not left yet from the earlier council meeting and figured I could be of assistance." A tall yeti with ice for one of his arms and frozen horns atop his head appeared in the doorway. What also appeared seemed to be a literal skeleton that pushed a tea cart with a pitcher of water and little finger sandwiches on it into the room and left again.

"Frostbite! Perfect, first, can you take a look at Jason, he was apparently sacrificed and judging from the blood in his hair he at least has a head injury. Then the circle he appeared in burned itself into the carpet, I'm still not great at reading ghost speak, especially in an older dialect, I can't figure out what it says." Jazz spoke in a rush as she walked toward the cart to get some water for Jason.

Frostbite had a kind smile as he turned to Jason and pulled out a first aid kit from seemingly nowhere. "Yes, hello, you must be Jason. How are you feeling? What hurts in particular?" Jason went along with the examination, and gladly accepted the glass of water from Jazz as she handed it to him. "Well it looks to me like you mostly just need to rest and maybe take some painkillers. Here," The yeti carefully handed him a small cup with two over-the-counter pain pills in it. "Alright, now let's take a look at this circle!" He stood to his full height, carefully ducking to avoid knocking his horns on the chandelier. He observed it for a moment, humming to himself from time to time. "Right, so this appears to be a binding ritual, somehow tied to the Solstice celebrations. Typically it entwines the soul of the sacrifice to the being they were sacrificed to. Somewhere in the archives there is likely more information about it, but you'll probably have to spend quite some time searching."

Jazz looked pained for a moment. "Okay, do you think it can be broken?" Her face showed hope, but with an underlay of resignation.

Frostbite thought for a moment. "There are some, though most are permanent. I can send over some of my scholars to help locate the correct ritual, I would suggest asking the Master of Time as he would know for certain, but you know how they can be." He straightened before bowing to both Jazz and Jason. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Queen Regent and Lord Jason, I must make my way back to the Far Frozen to gather those to help your search. Good day." With that, the yeti left the two of them alone.

Jazz sighed heavily and put her face in her hands. She growled, frustrated, before she straightened after having made a decision. "Okay, so you're probably going to be staying her for a little while while we figure all this out. Let me show you to a room so you can rest a bit, and I'll have one of my aides bring you some clothes so yours can get washed too."

She led him through the passageways of the gothic castle, it's black stone bricks and tapestries of silver seeming to glow. They stopped at the third of a row of doors and went inside. The room was large, twenty-foot ceilings and a bay window with a sitting nook framed by two large bookcases stood across the room. A massive bed with an intricate quilt portraying what seemed to be a battle between supernatural entities was braced against one wall with a grand fireplace on the opposite wall.

"The door to the left of the fireplace leads to the bathroom, the first thing I did when I took over was make sure there was hot water and large soaking tubs in all the bedrooms here. There should be bathrobes of varying sizes in the closet that offshoots the bathroom. If you need anything, I'm probably going to be in my office for the next few hours and there is always the bell by the door for stuff like, food or whatever. Um, I guess I'll leave you to it?" She shuffled nervously out the door, leaving him standing there, hand half raised in an awkward wave goodbye.

He chuckled to himself for a moment before striding over to the bed and sitting down to start unstrapping his body armor and boots. Once stripped to his boxers, he made his way to the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find not only a large soaking tub, but also a shower with a bench to sit. He quickly showered all the grime from the last few hours from his body, careful to get the matted blood in his hair untangled. Once finished, he started filling the tub before walking towards the closet where he found not only bathrobes, but also bath salts and bath bombs. Deciding to indulge, he grabbed one of each in similar enough scents and dropped both into the bath tub before easing himself into the hot water. He hissed at the temperature before it started easing the aches across all his muscles. He shut off the faucet and then leaned back and allowed himself to think.

So, he thought, I am in an alternate dimension, in the castle of the extremely attractive Queen Regent of said dimension, and my soul is apparently bound to her for the foreseeable future. He thunked his head on the walls of the tub contemplating the facts laid before him. He startled, shooting forward with his back straight.

"Wait a minute!" He said to himself. "Wait a god damned minute!" He smacked his forehead with his hand and ran it through his hair. "I'm in a romance novel plotline! Bound to an entity of unknown power against my will, but the entity is actually a kind and beautiful woman! Holy shit! I can't screw this up!"

Decision made, Jason Peter Todd, closeted romance novel enthusiast, began to plan.

[charlottearthistory]

‘The Sea is Mine’ (2016) - Sliman Mansour

‘A woman, a girl, and a boy raise their hands high and march along a beach. They hold a pen, a paintbrush, a rifle, an olive branch, and the Key of Return, while a white dove soars above them. The backdrop captures a beach scene where people are engrossed in relaxation and leisure, seemingly oblivious to this determined small demonstration. Mansour ensures the inclusion of fundamental elements of the Palestinian struggle within the painting. While the pen and paintbrush symbolize creativity, the rifle signifies resistance, and the olive branch and white dove represent peace. The key stands as a symbol in the Palestinian struggle for the right of return for refugees. Through this painting, Mansour conveys a steadfast commitment to carry forward the Palestinian resistance in all its manifestations, even amidst the world's self-absorption and inattentiveness to the Palestinian plight.’

- words by Rana Anani

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Jay Halstead NSFW Alphabet 

This is a small apology for my hyper-fixation on my Rewind, Remix, & Replay (Burgstead story). I know it’s not a common pairing or a reader insert but it has been so much fun to write. I’m totally hooked on the couple. If you have any interest you can check it out HERE. 

 Anyway, enjoy some sexy Jay Halstead content! (I forgot how long these take to write) 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

Jay is all about aftercare. He will only leave the bed to clean himself and you up, or grab you something if you need it. Jay’s favorite way to give you aftercare is through physical touch. He wants to hold you, kiss your skin, tangle his finger in your hair. He wants the intimacy of having pillow talk or the playfulness of wrestling around or tickling you until you are begging him to stop.  

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) 

Jay’s favorite body part of himself is his hands. They are rough and calloused from hard work and his time carrying around a gun in the desert. They can hold a sniper rifle and make perfect aim as well as run through your hair when you lay together in bed, or pull an orgasm out of you as you ride his fingers. 

Jay’s favorite part of you if asked would be everything. He loves your body and always claims he can’t pick just one part of you to be his favorite. But you have noticed his fixation on your ass. He is always slapping it as he walks by, grabbing it during sex, or sliding his hand into your back pocket. He had even bit your ass a few times when he had the opportunity. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) 

Jay loves to come inside of you, it makes him feel connected to you. He will stay inside of your tight warm core until he goes soft. When he finally pulls out he likes to watch his come drip out of you and down your thighs mixing with the wetness of your arousal. He will clean the sticky mess but takes gratification in knowing that his DNA will linger on you long after he has wiped it away.    

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

One of Jay’s favorite things is to be woken up by you giving him head. There is just something about starting his day with his cock in your mouth. He doesn’t even care if it's just a warm-up and you guys end up finishing with sex.  

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) 

Jay has plenty of sexual experience. While Jay prefers committed long-term relationships, he had his Casanova days in his early twenties and after bad breakups. He has learned and perfected how to please a woman. But Jay knows that no woman's body is the same and he makes it his mission to learn how to please you.          

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) 

Jay’s favorite position is with you on top. He likes watching you bounce on his cock. Your breast in his face with easy access to his mouth. His hands can grab your hips or ass to urge you on.  He can kiss you and rub slow circles on your clit. He can let you take charge letting the pleasure roll over him or he can rock up into you to meet your thrusts.   

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) 

Jay can be goofy during sex. He likes the banter your relationship has and it often leaks into the bedroom. Sassy comments or jokes can have you both laughing into each other's kisses. Once or twice you had got each other laughing so hard that you had to take a break mid sex to catch your breath.  

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) 

Jay keeps himself trimmed for the sake of hygiene when he is single. When he is busy it drops low on his list of worries well below food and sleep. When he is in a relationship, he is more on top of it making sure it stays in his normal routine. He is more aware of the length of his facial stubble too. He doesn’t want to leave you with a constant healing beard burn. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) 

Jay wants intimacy in his relationships. It’s not romantic in the normal aspect of flowers and fancy dates. It’s getting to know you, the banter you share, the drag of his stubble against your skin as he kisses every inch of your body. It’s being tangled together naked afterwards sharing soft kisses. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) 

Jay was in the military for years so he knows how to jack off quick and efficiently. Jay doesn’t masturbate a lot. He does it more for stress relief than anything else. He usually does it while in the shower for quicker cleanup. If he is in a relationship, he will get himself off if you are not in the mood, but he has to go without for a while before he even considers it.    

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) 

Jay likes to have sex in public places. The threat of getting caught makes the experience more thrilling. He also has a praise kink. He wants to know how good he is making you feel. He loves to see you flush with his praises and tell you what a good girl you are.  

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) 

Jay's favorite place to have sex with you is on the bed. There is plenty of room to do an array of positions with the comfort of a soft mattress and sheets. Jay is also a sucker for having sex with you pressed against walls. Whether it's your hands holding yourself up as he pounded into you from behind or your legs wrapped around his waist nails digging into his shoulders. Jay is also a fan of having sex in semi-public spots- he enjoys the thrill of almost getting caught. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) 

Jay is pretty easy to get in the mood. Flirty banter, heated looks, and caressing touches will pull his mind to dirtier things. Jay is a visual man so seeing you in lingerie or his clothes is a big turn-on. The two of you pulled an all-nighter when you were draped across his bed in nothing but one of his flannels unbuttoned, red lipstick, and his dog tags hanging between your breasts.   

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) 

Jay will not do anything that could cause you physical harm. He is okay with spanking, restraining, and even some light choking- leaving little bruises and love bites but never wants to cross the line where something could actually hurt you. Jay is very monogamous. That along with his possessiveness and jealousy makes the idea of another person joining you guys in bed an immediate no.   

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 

Jay has a talent with his tongue and it’s not just for his sassy smartass remarks. His oral skills are otherworldly. He can get you off in a matter of minutes with just his mouth if he isn’t in a teasing mood. He is a fan of using his fingers too. If his mouth or fingers can make you feel pleasure on their own, how much will you receive with both? Jay doesn’t like to stop when he starts either. Your legs are shaking and have come twice already and are edging on overstimulation. You’ll just have to wait until he is finished. 

Jay loves receiving as much as he enjoys giving. He will thread his finger through your hair pulling it back into a ponytail. He likes to tug the strands but mostly it makes it easier to see your eyes. It does something to him to see you on your knees, your face flushed, cheeks hollowed, sucking on his cock eyes locked with his. Jay likes to thrust into your mouth and loves it when you swallow but he will never force you to do either and will give you a warning before comes.   

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

Jay knows there is a time and place for both. He leans towards the more rougher side pace. The friction of your bodies together, the bouncing of your breast, his hips snapping against yours. There are days that he wants slow intimate lovemaking. He will lay you down and worship every inch of your body, caressing all your dips and curves. He will rock into purposefully letting you feel every inch of his cock rubbing inside of you.  

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) 

Jay loves quickies. Life is busy and there isn’t always a lot of time for long drawn-out sex. If an opportunity arises for a quick fuck he almost always says yes. He had on more than one occasion locked the two of you in a bar bathroom, hushing you as he fucked you from behind. He likes the thrill of not having a lot of time and having a chance of being caught.  

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

Jay is a risk taker, the man has spent years in the army and likes a good adrenaline rush. He is down to try any position you can find or come up with. Jay likes to have sex in public, he likes the risk of being caught. It’s a challenge for him- can he get you off or fuck you while keeping you quiet enough to not get caught? Can he turn you on enough for you not to care if you do?  

You guys have got caught once in a bar parking lot. Luckily the person in question didn’t know you were having sex and just thought you were making out heavily. You were still fully clothed except for your panties. The skirt of your dress was spread over his lap covering the fact that he was buried deep inside of you. Both of you were so turned on that you continued with minimal thought after the person had made it to their car. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) 

Jay has a high stamina. He is more willing to give up sleep to pull an all-night sexathon. If you are up for another round, most likely so is he. He just needs fifteen to thirty minutes for his refractory period. He is more than willing to keep you warm up with oral, fingerfucking, or just making out with caressing touches. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

Jay isn’t a huge fan of toys. He won’t be offended if you ask to use them with him or add them to your sex play. He will use them and use them well but he would rather get you off himself. He is more into restraints and blindfolding his partners.  

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) 

While Jay is a massive flirter and likes to tease you outside of the bedroom, he isn’t a big teaser sexually. He is a complete pleasure junky- your pleasure. He wants to make you feel good and is more likely to overstimulate you with orgasms than to edge you with teasing. He does it occasionally when he feels like you are being a brat and needs to be taught a lesson.     

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

Jay isn’t necessarily loud but he is a groaner when he has sex. He likes to dirty talk in bed and loves to make you moan as loud as he can. You can get him to be pretty loud too with the right encouragement. Mostly it is a string of curses that turn into moans as you clench around him.  

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) 

Right after Jay returned from deployment he was touch starved. He didn’t feel like himself enough to build new relationships or even maintain old ones. He spent his first few months bouncing from one girl's bed to the next using a fake name. During that period the sex felt mechanical and didn’t do much for him but it did give him the physical contact that he was craving. He would completely wear his partner out so he could lay there and hold them after they fell asleep. Unfortunately, it never really helped barely taking the itch away. He often left their beds feeling more empty and isolated than before.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Jay has an athletic build, and his body all smooth lean muscles. He has strong arms and broad shoulders. He had a washboard stomach with six-pack abs and a cut V of his hips. Jay is above average in the length of his cock easily hitting six and a half inches when he is hard. His dick is on the slender side but still thick enough that it takes your body time to adjust to him when he first slides in.    

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) 

Jay has a high sex drive. He would prefer to have sex three to four times a week if you are willing. He is insatiable when he comes back from long UC operations. He can’t keep his hands off you or his lips to himself. When he is working bad cases or is having PTSD flashbacks his sex drive tends to drop drastically or cause dry spells.     

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Jay wants to make sure you are taken care of after you have sex so he stays up until he is sure you have gotten the aftercare you need. He enjoys basking in his relaxed state, clear mind, and tired body, after his orgasm for as long as he can. You usually fall asleep first unless it has been a multiple-round night and you are curled up with him. Jay is a light sleeper from his time in the army and will wake up if you get up or move around too much in your sleep.  

[catdia]

Grayson with a Chubby S/o

she met you in the undercity, you were introduced to each other by Vander in his bar.

you were the new bartender

Grayson never expected a goddess behind the counter instead of the usual Vander. She only ever came strictly for business

but something about the way you smiled at patrons while serving drinks, the sway of your wide hips as you carried beers to tables, hand stuffing tips inside your cleavage, knocking the teeth out of a guy that touched you too friendly for your liking made her become a regular

she prayed in her office everyday that some idiot for the Undercity would make a scene in Piltover so that she could report it to Vander

Grayson was daydreamed about you. having your full figure pressed against hers as you pointed at which drink you liked most on the menu

how beads of sweat rivered down your breasts after lifting new inventory

your dirty mouth as you cursed out customers that didn’t pay or Vander for not giving you a proper 15 minute break at rush hour

the way you squished her biceps and felt her muscles she worked hard to maintain as you greeted her

you never charged her for the drinks she got, but always found the same amount on the table when she left

you called her your “favorite enforcer” while giving her the finger. Grayson loved your fire

on countless occasions did she watch you fight of enforces that were violent to innocent bystanders. they were left bruised to the bone. whatever punishment that she had in mind was far to kind next to your bloody one

her fellow comrades feared you more than Vander in many ways. You were cruel to the strong and protective to the weak

making a name for yourself both in Piltover and The Lanes

when you first got acquainted you thoughtthat she was there for you

“In my defense your buddies got what was coming to them. I don’t especially like child beaters. And good thing that I only just broke a leg. And not a neck.”

“I’m not here for you. I have to speak with Vander.”

you were in love the first moment she took off her oxygen mask. and what a voice. a beautiful woman with bird like features. what you’ll do to be trapped in her claws…

you poured her a drink, leaning over the wide oak counter. pushing your breasts up. watching her eyes roam your skin

“Ohh — what a bummer. I would have loved to be dragged to Stillwater by such a lovely thing as yourself. You enforcers tend to be on the— What’s the word? Ah! Brutish side.”

“If it weren’t for your connections to Vander you would have been arrested by now. And if it wasn’t me, you’ll be right on your way to a life long sentence. But between you and me, we can always use more people to shallowout the bad apples.” she said taking a gulp of her drink. smiling at you with her lovely lips.

she introduced herself as Officer Grayson. shaking your hand with a gentle grip. what a powerful woman. and how you craved that

“I like you Officer Grayson. Let me get The Hound for you right quick.”

you saw that she was a decorated officer by the silver and gold on her uniform. Rifle secured on her back

you loved her uniform, constantly flirting with her by fixing her collar and stealing her enforcer hat

saying you like women in blue

“Tell me Sheriff, does its ever come off?”

you asked, now on your 5th drink. running your hands over Grayson’s jacket. playing with the small medals she had hanging from it

“For you my dear, it will come off in a heartbeat.”

she is a romantic. waited months before even kissing you. you thought she didn’t take the hint with the constant flirting

Grayson just wanted to properly court you, giving you extra large tips and bringing gifts from top side as peace offerings

gifting you fresh roses in marble vases

dancing with you at the bar as love songs were playing

lifting you of the ground (which made you extremely horny) in order to spin you in her arms and dip you into a kiss.

but once all formalities were left aside you jumped her bones on a slow night. you closed The Drop early one evening when Vander was away on smuggling business

she this time came to scold you about the the guns you stole from the Kiramman’s trade ship.

“Do you know what have you done?! The guns you stole are worth more than money. It’s the skin on my back that is going to —“

you shut her up with a kiss. you knew about her connections. you just wanted an excuse for her to come down for YOU. not herself hiding behind a stupid purse snatching to come and speak to your boss as a buffer to get your attention

stripping her uniform of as you pushed her on a tableless booth. thanking Sevika for breaking the table when she landed on it amidst a gambling brawl

“You r-really know how to get out of trouble.”

having Grayson’s legs over your shoulders as you eat away at her cunt. Her hand on top of your head, shirt unbuttoned. Moaning as you lapped her clit. Each breast in one of your palms

Grayson’s head hitting the wall behind the plush leather cushions. a glass of whiskey on the other hand

legs intertwined and cunts touching. rocking against your bodies until your clits throbbed. gasping for air between kisses. cumming on each other’s sex

Grayson wanted to get you out of The Lanes as soon as possible. out of the violence and toxicity

even though you were a beacon of light. caring for the children of the streets and a shoulder to cry on when the hardness of the underground was too much to bare

calls you darling, love, angel, dove

you make fun of her cigarette mom voice

Grayson is a big gift giver, she is the head of the enforcers and that means she makes big girl money

you can expect everything from clothing, jewelry, lavish spa days you name it

“For you, my love”

Grayson wrapped a gold and emerald necklace around your throat. you have never experienced such luxury before

you bagged yourself a sugar mommy

gave you a massive diamond ring when she proposed to you

you had a small wedding in The Last Drop. only very close friends were present. once the news got out that Grayson married a woman from the under city she was met with whisperers, and for a long time hesitation from other enforcers

Marcus was especially pissed that his commander was meddling with the undecity

but once he saw you bringing lunch to Grayson and extra for her subordinates he developed a FAT crush on you. Grayson has caught him more than once looking at your ass as you walked away

you laughed at Grayson’s poor excuse of hiding her jealousy. always touching and kissing her in front of her acquaintances to show your loyalty to her

even the council questioned her decision of your marriage. you were like oil and water to the outside world

“With no disrespect Councilors, but what happens in my bed doesn’t limit my ability to protect this city.”

Grayson once needed to pull you out of the councilors office because you may or may not have tried to choke Salo to death because of a comment he made against your lady

Mel developed respect for you. she occasionally invited you for tea and talked about social troubles between the two cities

If it wasn’t for you, then the new education and water systems wouldn’t have taken place in The Lanes. making life down there more livable

Grayson equally hates going to Piltovan social events as much as you do. but it’s part of her job to keep the rich socialites entertained

the only highlight of the event was going dress shopping with you. admiring your curves as you walked out in different gowns

she paid for every single one you liked

“You can always wear it for me at home, darling.” was her excuse

she looked ever so exquisite in the two piece suits. always color coordinated with your dress.

Grayson got bombarded by half assed praise for keeping the “trenchers” at bay. While you got ignorant questions about your uprising

you always found each other in outdoor balconies. Sipping on good champagne and looking at the shadows of Piltover

you eventually met little Caitlyn. An excellent shot and even more excellent character.

both of you trained under your wife in the art of gunmanship

Grayson taught you how to properly assemble, clean and shoot a rifle/guns

chest pressed against your back, both hand holding your gun filled ones. Staring at a blue and red bullseye. Fingers slowly descending to your abdomen, then hips.

“Now, dove, the only thing more important than a bullet is the gun in which it’s shot from. And for the gun, the only thing more important than its bullet is the purpose of which its fired.”

every solo training session end with one of you backed into a tree with your legs spread by the other

you’ve had sex in her office countless of times. Covering each other mouths while fingering your pussies.

her nose feels sooo good when you sit on her face. Grayson makes sure to grab your lower tummy fat as a form of restraint to keep you on her.

you definitely play cops and robbers. but roles reversed. You tie her up with her handcuffs in bed. naked with her enforcer hat on your head.

she has a home gym. you constantly drop in on her doing weight training and pull ups. watching her pull her shirt up to wipe off her face sweat, happy trail on her lower abs

she flexes her arms at you, you call her your sexy lady

loves seeing you in silk dress pajamas. the smooth shinny fabric hugging the crescents of your tummy and back

talked about having a family a few years before officially retiring, in which you’ll happy carry a child for her

Grayson definitely wants you to join the enforcers. you wanted to slap the shit out of her when she asked. but instead you laughed at her face, believing it was a joke.

it wasn’t. she left the acceptance letter and badge on the coffee table. telling you to think about it. how the department needed more people like you. that she couldn’t handle it all herself without you

“What threat did you use to get me in, Gray?” you drank your coffee. now bitter to taste

“Only that my Kiramman friends will pull their funding.”

“And?”

“That I’ll break off the peace with The Hound.”

and with the love and admiration they had for her, you certainly believe it

but the Vander one? not a chance. he would rather die than break a trust such as this

the night Grayson told you that she was going to make an arrest for the Jayce Talis case you made up your mind.

even if the uniform made your soul itch it was a better choice than doing nothing

you planned on telling her in the morning while having coffee before her shift

now you just stood there, looking at your wife’s white marble bust. at her funeral as her body was being lowered underground

white roses covering her still and cold flesh

little Caitlyn crying on your shoulder, while Marcus didn’t even look at you in the eyes the whole ceremony

you really were starting to believe that the place you once called home was a hell hole

and oh how you wanted it to be burned to the ground

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - Three

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. - You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time. - content warning for marital rape after the second break. - ao3

previous

“Come,” says Hans, tugging on your arm, “let’s get you ready for the ceremony.”

Your husband-to-be leads you up the porch steps and into the house, long legs carrying him ahead so fast you must practically jog to keep up with him. You stumble when you enter the house—the interior is fantastically well-appointed, with papered walls and carved wood furniture, framed photos hanging beside paintings, pressed flowers, hunting trophies, rifles and knives and old farm equipment. The floor beneath your feet is polished and smooth, spread over in places with thick, fringed rugs. You don’t see much more of it after your initial impression; Hans pulls you along at a clip.

Even such a brief glimpse, though, proves your long-held assumptions about Hans and his livelihood; his family has done well for itself, over the years. The kitchen, dining room, and sitting room are all separate from each other, and the manor’s first floor alone is larger than the small farmhouse you grew up in. Your family always made an effort to present a comfortable, clean home, but it seems downright drab in memory now in comparison to this.

There’s a bit of a bustle going on as Hans tugs you along—you hear movement in the kitchen, punctuated by the clang of dishes moving to and fro. A rough voice grinds out something short, and a couple of cowboys emerge with covered dishes that they set on the dining table before they return back into the fray. In the sitting room, an older woman with short, sandy brown hair sits at a desk, spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She glances up at you, betrays no interest, and then ignores you.

“You’ll meet everyone at the ceremony,” Hans says. He directs you up the stairs. “Right now you need something nice to wear.”

“O-oh,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirt as you climb the steps. The fabric, purchased at a discount after you’d saved pennies and nickels for months, suddenly feels thin and insubstantial between your fingers.

Hans brings you into the main bedroom, equally well-designed with molded wood paneling and brass lanterns on the walls, where he goes to a chest at the foot of the massive bed four-poster bed. Everything you’ve seen so far in this house is much finer than what even the most well-to-do farmers back home could display; you used to imagine that wealth like this could only be within the reach of select few businessmen on the east coast. You never imagined you’d have the chance to marry into it.

“I think this should suit you,” says Hans, turning to you with a stack of clothing in one hand.

You take it from him when he proffers it—a skirt, blouse, and jacket, you find. The fabric is silky in your hands, glossy and cool to the touch and very fine. You shake out the skirt; yards of bustled fabric tumble open to reveal pleated gathers, elegant bows, and velvet trim. The paired jacket is much the same, with pearl buttons down the front, and the accompanying blouse is a weave of tight, delicate lace.

Your earlier fears are soundly confirmed; you are in no way dressed for a wedding to Hans König. Gaz had only been trying to be kind; being here, now, seeing the kind of splendor Hans lived with every day, no one could make the mistake that you could measure up on your own.

“Thank you, Hans,” you say, face warming with embarrassment.

“Think nothing of it,” says Hans, looking you up and down expectantly. “Go on.”

You blink. “Ex—excuse me?”

Hans raises his brows as if it should be obvious. “Why, let’s see you in it, dear girl.”

You blanch. Surely he isn’t suggesting…“But—well, Hans, we aren’t—we haven’t—”

“My dear, I’ve already promised to marry you. Why would I go to such expense on a wedding merely to fool you into showing me your underthings?”

You drop your gaze to the floor, cheeks burning. “It’s not proper.”

“Bah,” says Hans. He takes the clothes back from you, tosses them onto the bed, and brings his hands to the buttons down your front. “It’s not like I won’t see this again in a few hours.”

You are rooted to the spot. He unbuttons your dress with an alacrity that startles you; in a few short moments, he makes an opening wide enough to slip over your shoulders, and unceremoniously he pushes the collar open and lets the dress drop to the floor.

You blink several times. You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time; do they feel suddenly like they’ve been skinned? Does the air suddenly feel much closer, more real than it had before? You remember shearing season on a neighbor’s farm, the angular planes of shortened fleece cropped close to twitching flesh. The sheep had looked unfinished after the deed was done—like wooden figurines only partly whittled.

When you look to Hans’ face, you find him gazing at the tight space where your chemise tucks into the line of your corset. Then, as if in a dream, he reaches out with one huge hand and cups the mound of one breast.

The air vacates your lungs. It’s the first time a man has ever touched you this way.

When young ladies of a certain age gather to socialize, matters of discussion inevitably tend toward the prurient. Your peers delighted in sharing the wealth of erotic experience they’d accrued; trysts in larders, late graveyard meetings, dizzying accounts of hands and mouths in places that sent shame pumping hot and curious through your veins. You lived vicariously through their adventures; opportunities for your own, with three older brothers and a protective father, were nonexistent.

The embarrassing fact is that in matters of your marital duties, you received no practical education.

The one time your mother, a modest woman, saw fit to tutor you, she’d taken you out to the small enclosure in which the family goats were kept. The animals were useful for milk and occasionally meat, so there was always a breeding pair at hand. This occasion, they served the additional use of instruction; the male was rutting.

Your mother had made you watch as the billy mounted the nanny, and shoved its little goat prick into her hindquarters. The billy seemed mindless with want, ferocious, gyrating its hips uncomfortably, which the nanny took with what seemed like resigned patience, if it was paying attention at all. Once the billy finished, it dismounted, chewed its cud a little bit, and walked off. The nanny seemed unperturbed, rather detached from the whole thing, and similarly continued with whatever it had been doing before.

“It’s about like that,” said your mother, unable to look you in the eye.

So you have little knowledge of the matter.

And you have no idea what to do now, as your husband-to-be fondles you and stares down at you with what seems like only idle interest. Hans’ thumb brushes over the space where your nipple would be, hot even through layers of cotton and whalebone. The fine hairs on your arms raise, standing straight up.

What are you supposed to do now? Touch him back? Your stomach turns over at the thought. Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how. Hans is touching you so casually, as if you’ve been his wife for years, but you are as poor in wifely instinct as you are in everything else.

“Lovely,” he says, eyes locked on the place where your chest is rapidly rising and falling.

You inhale shakily. This is fine. He wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t—of course it’s all right, you’re to be married within the hour. It’s only your breast, and only his hand, and it’s over your clothes. It’s fine.

“May—” your voice comes out dry. You clear your throat. “May I dress now, Hans?”

He smiles. You note that he has a thin-lipped smile, and his eyes do not crinkle at the corners. “Of course.”

-

When the guests have all arrived, when the world around you is bathed in the orange-gold light of the setting sun, and when the mandolin plays the bridal chorus, you join Hans König under an archway of lupine and Indian paintbrush. Evening gives way to night as the last day of your old life comes to a close, ending as you say the words that until now you’ve only whispered in the night at your bedside.

For better—for worse—as long as you both shall live. Over and over again, until your tongue recognized the shape of them like the Lord’s Prayer. As if practicing them enough would speed the hour to you all the sooner in which their vow became real.

Hans kisses you for the second time, and then together, arm in arm, you turn to face the congregation’s applause.

Stars begin peeking white faces through the dimming sky as the band strikes up a tune, and as the reception commences, you must shake hands with the whole county. The priest John MacTavish insists upon introducing himself first—a younger man, with vivid blue eyes and an unusual haircut, gives his congratulations in a husky Scottish brogue entirely inappropriate for a man of the cloth. He’s followed by the sheriff, Simon Riley, who practically chases him off—another tall man, near to your husband’s height, and twice as broad. Curiously, he wears a bandanna across the lower half of his face. His greeting to you is gruff, short—polite in a way that seems unnatural for him.

Next is a slightly older woman, splendidly dressed in lace-trimmed taffeta. She comes over to kiss your cheeks in the French style. Hans ducks his head as she smiles at you; you can’t help but feel similar trepidation. She is terribly striking, with delicate creases on either side of her mouth and a mysterious twinkle in her eye.

“The hotel in town is my establishment,” she tells you. “The bath house, as well.”

“Oh,” you say, “how lovely.”

Her smile quirks at the corners; she looks at Hans, then back to you, and softly chucks your chin. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Madame, thank you,” your husband says quickly as your face sets to blazing. “I believe others would like to speak to us, as well, if you don’t mind.”

She gives you another enigmatic smile, tightens the light chiffon wrap around her shoulders, and leaves you to the banker and his wife, who both eagerly step up to talk your ear off.

Farmers, other ranchers, ramblers and gamblers and trappers; it seems everyone in the state has come to pay you their respects, and they all want to meet you at the exact same time. The rough voice you heard in the kitchen manifests itself in the form of a burly man with mutton chops, who introduces himself as John Price the saloon owner. A young woman with an unsmiling face named Ms. Boucher tells you your first purchase at her dry goods store will be discounted by five percent, as a welcome gift from her to you. She punctuates the statement with a narrow-eyed look at your husband, but you have no time to wonder at it before the next guests capture your attention.

A whole line of Hans’ cowboys, headed by the woman you saw working at the writing desk when you arrived, form up to tell you their names and pledge you their loyalty, still dressed in their wrangling leathers but bathed and combed and polished for the occasion nonetheless. The woman introduces herself as Kate Laswell, the foreman.

“I took care of the accounting after Anna passed,” Laswell says to you. “Tomorrow I’ll go through the books with you. It’ll be your job from now on.”

“Now, Kate, you shouldn’t discuss business at my wedding,” says Hans, politely, but somewhat terse. “And besides, that would be far too much for my new bride.”

“Hans, I told you,” you say earnestly, referencing a summer letter, “I want to be a part of things.”

He smiles genially at you—but the expression seems tight. “Of course, dear.”

“Tomorrow,” Kate says to you. Curiously, she looks you up and down. Then, “You’ll need to see the tailor, as well, I think.”

Her words are not said unkindly, but they shame you anyway, reminding you just how poorly matched as yet you are to this life. When you’d put the dress on earlier, it had been immediately clear to you that it was not made to your measurements, but you hadn’t thought it would be so obvious to anyone else. Only Hans’ cowboys proceeding to introduce themselves saves you from having to respond.

One is conspicuously absent.

Unexpectedly, it hurts. Even though it shouldn’t. Gaz had only driven you here, after all. You’ve known him less than a day. It shouldn’t disappoint you, as you keep your eyes on the moving line, that he does not come forward, but it does.

In between meeting the county folk, you manage to get a few bites of the wedding feast—prime rib, lamb chowder, baked fish, seasoned potatoes, collard greens, fried tomatoes, sourdough biscuits, and three different fruit cobblers still somehow steaming from the oven. You and Hans cut the bride’s cake, an impressive sheet of angel food and ivory buttercream that he must have procured at outrageous cost; you are not embarrassed to wolf it down in front of Hans’ guests. It’s the sweetest, softest thing you’ve ever eaten, more delicate than you ever could have imagined any food could be.

As the sky darkens overhead, the faint cloud of the milky way coalesces in the light of the waxing moon, and the band takes up a lively jig as the wedding party sallies forth to the clearing to dance arm in arm. Your husband whirls you along with them, arm around your waist, and then you’re dancing, too, and the familiar two-step lifts your flagging spirits as the cool night air runs quick, soft fingers across your burning cheeks.

So what if some cowboy hadn’t made it to your wedding? You’re dancing with your husband, after months of longing for him; everything and everyone else is inconsequential laid up against this triumph.

Faces blur in the lamplight the night falls indigo around you, and as the music changes Hans twirls you into a new set of arms in a jaunt that has everyone exchanging partners. They hold you only briefly before the music changes again, and off you bounce to another, the world spinning around you faster and faster, jubilant and surreal, and then another—

Suddenly you are in Kyle Garrick’s arms.

He catches you like lassoing a runaway horse, taking your momentum into the pillar of his body as he winds you in close. One of his hands spreads warm across your back, fingers spanning what feels like the entire breadth of your waist. His other cradles your own in his palm, long fingers folded around it like an envelope. You fit against him easily, perfectly, like a couple illustrated in a storybook.

“Mr. Garrick,” you gasp.

“Mrs. König,” he says.

Suddenly you realize you’re out of breath. You take deep gulps of air, and Gaz’s scent permeates your lungs. Lavender soap and bay rum, polished leather, sweet hay. The soft, dense curls of his hair are combed and parted a little, and the short stubble he’d greeted you with on the train platform is tonsured down flush to his jaw.

He leans in closer to you, hovers his lips near to one ear. “You changed your dress.”

He doesn’t keep pace with the other dancers, or swing you around in time with the music; he lets the world slow around you both, the music falling away as he brings the pace of your heart down with soft line of his mouth and the steady, still look in his dark eyes. His hand on your back radiates so much warmth that it cuts through the evening chill just beginning to set in, as if his palm is directly against your naked skin.

You smile meekly. “It wasn’t appropriate for a wedding.”

His dark brows pull together; his hands tighten their purchase on you. You watch him avert his eyes from you, take a great breath in through flared nostrils.

“Mr. Garrick,” you say, feeling too honest, “do you disapprove of me?”

He snaps his gaze back to you. “Why would you think that?”

You swallow. “You don’t seem very pleased, whenever we talk, is all.”

Suddenly Gaz smiles—lets out a short, sharp laugh that bares his even teeth, shows the points of his canines. “That’s not your fault. I promise you.”

“Then what is it?”

He gazes at you. Lamplight casts the angles of his face in shadow, deepens the darkness of his eyes. His shoulder is solid beneath where your hand rests, shaped hard by a life on the range; you could lay the entirety of your weight against him, you think, and he wouldn’t even sway with holding you up. There’s something very present about Kyle Garrick. Something real. It draws you in like the earth draws the moon into its orbit.

“Do you really want this?” he asks you.

You blink. “Of course I do.”

“You hardly know him.”

“I’ve known him for half a year, Mr. Garrick,” you say, somewhat unsure how much explanation you owe this cowboy. After all, you’d vowed to earn his trust, as his employer’s new wife. “I know you might have some reservations about me. I understand, really.”

“No,” says Gaz immediately, dark brows low and serious over his eyes. “Not about you.”

“Mrs. König!” an accented voice calls.

Immediately the world speeds up around you again, music crashing back into your ears, wedding guests spinning and leaping around you, and you turn to see your husband standing at the edge of the clearing.

The dancing comes to a halt at the sound of his voice; Hans outstretches one hand toward you.

“I believe it is time for us to retire,” he says.

Gaz’s hands tighten on you again. You feel the eyes of the other dancers on the two of you, tight lines of attention between you and them.

You have felt it all evening, really—the undercurrent lining every conversation, the askance looks tossed at you and your husband when no one thought you’d notice. The pervading sense of some drama playing out just outside of your comprehension.

You turn to look back at Gaz. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. The wells of his eyes are ink-dark, opaque, eclipsed by something of a shape beyond your knowing. He says nothing as he holds your gaze, only watches you with an expectation so stoic, so resigned, that you feel almost guilty for releasing him.

He lets you go as if his grasp wasn’t even tight in the first place. You turn away from him, from the stone-hard expression on his face, and go to slide your fingers into your husband’s waiting hand.

Wolf-whistles populate the night air as he smiles approvingly, nods, and leads you away. Short bursts of knowing applause behind you draw your shoulders tight together.

“Ignore them,” says Hans, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm. “They’re just fools.”

You look back over your shoulder. Gaz still stands amid the dancers, a wide berth around him. His eyes have not left you; they pierce you in the night, sharp even as the distance between you grows.

You have only one other point of reference, aside from your mother’s tutelage, for how the end of this evening might go. A topaz glimmering in the folds of your memory.

Years ago, before the shine had worn off as it usually does with older siblings, you’d worshiped your oldest brother like he was Jesus Christ returned. You’d trailed after him like a newborn pup, dogging his every step, hoping your devotion would earn you even the smallest scraps of his affection. You’d watched his comings and goings like you could divine the mysteries of God from the merest angle of his movements.

One night, far past the time when everyone should be asleep, he’d slipped out of the small three-room house your family shared. You knew, because you slept closest to the door, and by then could recognize him by the rhythm of his footsteps. Like any nosy little sibling, you’d followed him out once you were sure he couldn’t hear you behind him.

He’d made his creeping way toward the barn, his path and yours lit only by a waxing moon. You remember, sneaking along after him, noticing a dim glow emanating from the cracks in the hayloft door, and guessed that your brother had realized he’d forgotten to snuff a lantern before going to bed—and now he was going to put it out, rather than leave a hay fire to chance.

He went inside. You were about to follow (no sibling, however divine, was exempt from a good ribbing, and nearly burning down the barn was excellent blackmail fodder)—when you heard another voice.

A female voice. Soft, and sweet, and welcoming.

Very little preamble separated that revelation from the next, and what you heard in the following moments rooted you there in place; movement. Rustling. For the span of a few heartbeats, nothing except for the crickets in the fields—and then, like the moon rising on a cloudless night—a growing chorus, voices high and low, moaning together in staccato.

You’d stood there, frozen absolutely solid, as it went on. The high voice lifted higher, and higher, carried on frantic, rapid breaths, until it cut off with a shriek that muffled so fast you knew your brother had covered the girl’s mouth.

Then—quiet, shared laughter.

So you know a little more than what the goats taught you.

Hans leads you back inside the house, where the lanterns have been turned to low, orange specks of light. You fix your eyes on the nape of his neck ahead of you as the two of you climb the stairs, making your way back to the master bedroom. The cacophony of the wedding celebration is far away; he opens the door, draws you inside, and shuts it behind him.

You stand in the middle of the room, looking at him. This whole evening has felt like a dream, but as you gaze at your husband, you suddenly feel like you’re waking up. You have not been alone with Hans since you met him, not really, and you realize he hasn’t felt quite real to you because of it. You almost feel as if you can see him, for the first time, see the words that have made him up in your memory coalesce into the flesh-and-blood man standing before you.

This is him. This is Hans. This is the man you love.

Softly, you approach him. Reach up with two hands to take his face in them; press your lips, shyly, unpracticed, to his.

“Hans,” you say, more softly than you have ever said anyone’s name in your life, looking into the pale blue of his eyes.

He gazes down at you. “Let’s get undressed,” he says.

It’s the moment you expected, but it daunts you nonetheless. You nod, step away from your husband, and he sets to the task—he shucks his coat, dropping it on the floor, and unhooks his suspenders. Swiftly you turn away from him when he begins unbuttoning his shirt, face blazing—of course, you’ve seen men undress before, you have three brothers, but this—this—

The reality of what you are about to do douses you all at once, soaking you to the bone. When you bring your hands up to the buttons of your bodice, they are trembling; you can barely get the tiny pearls between your fingers to undo them. You hear more clothes land on the floor behind you as you struggle, and then nothing. Stillness.

His eyes are heavy on your back. He is silent as you finally get the jacket off, and the blouse along with it; he is silent as you push the skirt down over your hips, the garment piling on the floor.

Your whole body is shaking by the time you’re down only to your chemise, shivering like a foal on new legs as you bare your shoulders. You close your eyes. There’s no need to be afraid as you shuffle the garment down your back. It’s only your husband behind you, looking at you as you bare your buttocks, as you step out of the split shorts, as the cool night air caresses your naked belly.

“That’s enough,” Hans says behind you when your hands go to the ties on your stockings.

You go still.

“Get on the bed, now.”

-

You focus on your breathing. Long breaths, in and out, as you crawl belly-first onto the mattress, which sinks luxuriously under your weight, softer than any bed you’ve lain on in your life. Suddenly, before you have time to adjust, the mattress sinks even more under you, and an envelope of heat and weight looms over you, pressing hard onto you, bare skin and the smell of sweat and the sound of another person’s breathing over you invading your senses.

Then there’s something blunt nudging at the entrance of your sex. A hand on your hip, gripping tight. The blunt thing circles briefly, parting your folds, and then is pressing into you. Pressing in somewhere tight, somewhere that doesn’t want to open to let it in. You hold your breath. It presses harder, fighting the resistance, and then finally gets past it, just a half inch or so—and suddenly it hurts.

“Hans,” you whisper.

He hasn’t seem to have heard you. He pushes harder, just a bit further. There’s another wall of resistance, this one needling and far more solid. You gasp sharply at the dryness of it, the way his member seems to want to push your own folds up into you as it tries to get in, shoving, bludgeoning, and then, mercifully, Hans pulls away.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to suggest that maybe the two of you try this later. Clearly there is something about you that’s not ready for it—but then his hand is between your legs, smearing something slippery around, and just briefly he touches something that pulses with interest. You jolt as little sparks of pleasure dance through you but quickly burn out, and then, the blunt head of his cock is back, pushing in, much faster, much smoother, huge and hard—

Suddenly it is sharp inside you, razor sharp, paralyzing. You shriek in pain, tears welling acidic in your eyes, shocked, betrayed, and he keeps coming, an endless length of him forcing inside, making room where there is none, going somewhere it clearly must not belong—and then he groans, loud and guttural, and begins to pull out.

You don’t have enough time to mistake this for the end of it. He pulls out halfway and then rams back in, slamming against your body, punching what must be the very limit of the space he can make for himself in your body. Pain roars to life around his cock, radiating outward, a ripping and shredding that grows as he forces himself into you again, and then again, and then it’s happening for real, he’s begins thrusting so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs, slapping his hips against your backside as he grunts and groans behind you like a dumb animal. He batters some nexus of agony that sends you screaming, shrieking with every jerk of his hips, tears streaming down your face as you grip the blanket in clawed fingers.

“Please, Hans, stop, please!”you wail. “Stop, stop, stop—”

His hand grips back of your head, turning your face downward—pressing it against the bed, muffling your mouth and nose and eyes into the blanket—

He jerks against you as agony writes itself into your bone marrow. Your hands circle in on themselves so tightly you feel your fingernails bite into your palms. Any memory of laughter you ever had abandons you.

Then, suddenly, mercifully, he’s forcing himself into you as deeply as he can, groaning loud, and something warm blooms in you, squelches out warm and sticky as he pulls in and out a few more times. He stills then from his furious rutting, hanging over you, panting.

Then he pulls out. Your husband lets you go and rolls over, breathing hard on the bed. You lay absolutely dead still, shaking violently, every muscle in your body tensed up painfully tight.

“Hans,” you whimper, “Hans.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums.

“Hans.” Every nerve is vibrating with pain. “Hans, that hurt.”

There is a long silence after. So long, you start to believe that he won’t say anything; that perhaps, even, he’s fallen asleep, and your words have dropped like flies from the air between you before they reached him.

But he hasn’t fallen asleep. Your husband shuffles off the bed, lifts the linen, and shuffles back into it. The lantern light is dim in the bedroom, but light enough that you can see the nonplussed expression on his face.

“Anna got used to it,” he says finally, eyes closing. “You will too.”

And he turns on his side and says no more to you.

You lay there aching. When you drag your fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, streaks of red intermingle with the clear and the white.

Suddenly you want this day to be over. You want to close your eyes and dream that it never happened—or maybe, if you go to sleep, you’ll awaken to find that it was all a dream after all, and you’re still home, your mother cooking just outside the bedroom door. Slowly, you inch off the bed, finding the floor with your stockinged feet, and go to douse the lanterns.

The room is cold and silvery without their light. Darkness gathers in the corners, around the weak glow of moonlight failing to fully penetrate the curtains over the window. You gingerly swipe the cloth from a nearby washbasin between your legs, cleaning up the remnants of your husband’s pleasure, and then, with nowhere else to go, you return to the empty side of the bed and crawl stiffly under the covers.

He does not stir as you settle in beside him. You lay your head on the pillow next to his and fold your hands over your stomach.

Outside and far away, you think you can hear the band still merrily playing. The darkness deepens, and deepens, until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin.

-

next

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Quick! Info dump about your favorite blorbo!

König headcanons

NSFW content below the cut, 18 + only (These apply to yandere König as well, the toxic stuff is marked with a red flag 🚩)

Does like 50 crunches and 50 pushups first thing in the morning when he wakes up, as he has done since he was a teenager.

Will fix everything from cars to furniture. If the door is creaking he will oil the hinges immediately. Actually, he will treat every single thing in life as a problem... A problem he will fix.

He's great at math and physics and has vast amounts of knowledge about mechanics, thermodynamics, even things like quantum theory and other complex astronomy stuff.

He's completely clueless when it comes to following trends and memes. You have to explain every other tiktok to him. He rarely uses emojis but when he does, it's awkward and slightly intimidating because König doesn't know the hidden meanings behind them. If you send him an eggplant or peach emoji he asks if you need veggies from the store.

Loves your cooking (even if it's just microwaved mac and cheese). If you start to feed this man, you'll never get rid of him.

This is your classic mama’s boy who never had to learn how to cook and then went to the army and got used to the facility taking care of him so… yeah. Doesn't know how to cook but will try to help in any way he can! König is very excited to see you’re making food and wanders into the kitchen like “What are we making today?” You can try and give him a chopping board, an onion and a knife, but this poor man doesn't even peel the onion unless you tell him he has to remove the outer layer first...

Eats like a horse. Is secretly afraid that you run out of food. Goes to the fridge and if it's half full, he will not take the snack he was supposed to have, only comments: "The fridge looks empty." (It's not a passive aggressive statement, he's just worried.)

Also: everytime there's a crisis somewhere – he follows the news neurotically – König starts to prep. There's a month's worth of food stashed in one of the cupboards at all times. He also preps fuel, propane, medicine and the like.

Ruins all the fun when you're playing board games because he fusses about the rules so much. König holds the rulebook in his hand through the whole game and double-checks every single thing.

He's very clumsy, sometimes hits his head on the door frame when he's in a hurry or visiting a new place. He can't stay still either, always shakes his leg when he’s sitting. König needs a lot of exercise when he's not deployed to get all that energy and frustration out.

This has been discussed earlier but yeah, König even drops his mags sometimes in the field because he's too excited. He's a very capable martial artist though. Has done Savate, Escrima and Pekiti-Tirsia Kali and is very agile and precise with the double kali sticks he carries to field sometimes. Suddenly his clumsiness disappears when he has to knife someone, kick someone in the head or beat them to death with those sticks.

This is the reason König fucked up his sniper dreams too: having to control his breath, lie still for long amounts of time, then take aim and shoot a rifle vs. aiming during an adrenaline high, giving a tight spurt or two with his SMG… The latter just comes naturally to him! If you ask him how he managed to take down a human trafficking cell all alone König will say he simply "got carried away."

König goes to the gym a lot. Gets back super pumped and with an urgent need to make love. But not before he's had a cold shower! It's almost like a ritual: he has to torture himself with weights and cold water first before he can have his prize (= access to a woman)

Wakes you up in the middle of the night because he started to worry about petty, stupid things and then got a lil horny. Humps your leg or your back very, very slowly while grunting in your ear: "Hey... Hey. Are you sleeping…?" (Like. Yes, König, I was but I'm not anymore, thanks for asking)

Asks what kind of fantasies you have all of a sudden while you two are cuddling. Asks very detailed questions about them too. If you ask him what kind of fantasies he has in return, König will tense up and then say he doesn't really know, perhaps something like… a blowjob in the forest… And somehow you just know that his real fantasies are so perverse you don't even want to know more about them.

If you "nag" or yell at him, he might get a boner.

If you notice and get offended, ask: "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?!' König will freeze and look at you with a bewildered, obsessed stare and go: "Ja..?" while the boner situation in his pants gets visibly worse.

🚩 Would never go to bed before you've settled your argument. The problem is that it's very difficult for König to apologize because he always thinks he's in the right and that you simply need some time to come to that conclusion too. If you give him the silent treatment he will eventually come to you, gets all touchy and asks surprisingly demurely: "Are you still angry with me?"

🚩 The minute you forgive him or decide it was a stupid argument anyways, the demure puppy act disappears. König thinks he won and that it's time for some makeup sex ❤️

Has like the longest cock known to man. He has actual trouble finding comfortable underwear to fit that beast into. It's beautiful but intimidating, uncut, smooth and sleek. Not too thick but certainly not thin either. He likes to keep himself tidy down there too so the lack of hair makes this murder weapon look even bigger.

You two occasionally break furniture while having sex. It's mainly his fault (he gets carried away). He's very upset about it afterwards though, looks at the destruction he caused, muttering "Scheisse…" while rubbing the back of his neck. Then he tries to fix it while you're still there with your legs shaking and in need of aftercare.

If you remind him that he has other duties first, perhaps whimper his name in frustration, König will apologize and carry you to bed. He gives you that precious aftercare with unwavering passion and attention every time you ask for it ❤️ He's just a little clueless sometimes (König is also neuroatypical, either has AD/HD or falls somewhere in the autism spectrum)

🚩 Hates condoms with an intense passion. You're practically forced to take birth control pills or whatever so that he can cum inside you. This man's whining will ultimately gain a level that's absolutely ridiculous if you don't.

The first time you do it without the rubber, he sounds like he's about to cry. He tells you a hundred times how good it feels, and won't pull out until he grows soft and is kind of forced to do so. For a man who's never even heard of a breeding kink, he seems vehement about keeping his load inside you.

🚩Grunts and whispers loving but obsessive things in your ear while making love to you. You're mine, Say it, Promise that you're mine, I don't want to live without you, Why do you feel so good? at first… but as he approaches his peak, König switches to German. You have no clue what he’s saying, but from the way he spits those sentences through gritted teeth you get the feeling that it must be something desperate and that perhaps it's a blessing you don't understand his native tongue...

🚩🚩If you leave your phone on the table he tries to stalk it and check the notifications. He's so jealous it's unreal, if he sees you receive a message from some other guy König will start a circus. He needs to know all about your connection with this man. After that, he wants you to go through your contacts and show him how many guys there are and tell him what your affiliations are with them. If you're on social media König wants to go through your friends/those you follow. You have to give an account who they are and why you follow them.

🚩🚩🚩 You get a feeling he's forming a list of people he has to kill if you don't tell him they're just a cousin or something 💀

[jeridandridge]

Stained Glass Window

Young!Larissa Weems x fem!Reader. Pre Wednesday. My first attempt with these characters, please be kind.

In the late days of summer you drive your old blue pick up truck through Jericho with your hand out the window, the cool evening air dancing against your fingers. Driving towards the trail you discovered a couple weeks prior, you hum along with the radio making a mental note of the shops and cafes, everything so new to you.

Having lived with your mother your entire life, moving in with your father while you transferred to a college near by was another thing to adjust to. In the meantime you could retreat to the comfort and solitude of nature to unwind with your sketch book and inks. Driving down a winding dirt path underneath the lush green trees you park the rusty truck hopping out with your backpack slung over your shoulder hoping to find a peaceful spot for inspiration to strike.

Sneakers carrying you over soft dirt and twigs you find yourself alone in the trees, the dusk casting the area in a warm glow while the smell of a fire near by hits your nose. You don’t know where you’re going, but continuing down the path you stop in your tracks when you see a gorgeous building. Eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas you take in the sight of the gothic building, something beautiful and a little frightening, like it was right out of Bram stokers’ Dracula. Spotting a moss covered log, you slide the backpack from your shoulder eagerly rifling through the messy thing for your sketch book and the pens you carried everywhere.

Sat with the sketchbook in your lap and a pen between your fingers you glide the ink across the page noting every shade of grey, every withered brick, and every window in your memory completely blown away by the gem hidden away in the woods. Almost castle like, you wondered what it was. Perhaps it was a monastery or convent, or something else all together hoping that somehow you could get inside to admire the beauty. Moving your hand along the page you switch to another pen, this time adding thick lines and details to the building and the nature surrounding it.

Once your ink work was finished and you were satisfied with the result, you smile to yourself as you pack your tools away, looking around to see which way could lead you to an entrance. Moving around its brick walls you stop at a large rod iron gate, the name Nevermore Academy and its Ravens sit in the material blending in with its surroundings. As you reach out to touch the gate, twigs crunch and a car horn sounds behind you sending you bolting off to the side.

“Morticia you could have hit her!” A soft voice rings out, the passenger side door of the sleek, black car out of a black and white movie opens revealing long legs and ruby painted lips.

“She shouldn’t be out here.” The other voice huffs.

Taken aback by the woman looking at you, you’re frozen for a moment not able to answer the question hitting your ears.

“Oh my you’re a pretty thing,” the driver gets out, long black hair cascading down her back.

Shaking yourself out of it you nod to the driver and turn your attention back to the woman on the other side of the car. “Sorry, I just came across this place and got lost in the beauty.”

“Not your fault that my companion here doesn’t abide by the traffic laws.” The taller woman shoots the other a look.

Still in awe of the statuesque beauty across from you, you slyly eye her up and down noting her nice clothes and her hands. You have to snap yourself out of it before your thoughts and eyes lingered too long.

“The pretty thing doesn’t speak much.” The brunette crosses her arms, chin held high. “Not used to seeing outcasts much?”

Getting ahold of yourself you come back with a witty response, and the truth. “I don’t know what you mean by that but no, your friend has my attention is all.” You glance at the woman, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips when you see ivory cheeks dusted in a shade of pink as she looks away.

The brunette scoffs getting back in the drivers seat, engine purring as the car glides down the path without one of its previous occupants.

“Did she really just do that?” You quirk a brow in disbelief.

“Yes,” the woman signs softly, “Morticias never liked people ignoring her. Especially normies.”

You chuckle keeping the strap of your backpack between your fingers meeting the woman’s blue eyes.

“Outcasts and normies. Sounds like a weird version of West Side Story.”

The woman with silver hair steps a little closer, eyeing you suspiciously. “You truly don’t know what Nevermore Academy is?”

Shaking your head you shrug. “I just moved here not even a month ago, I had no idea this place was here. Found it with luck.”

“Found it with luck.” The woman hums giving you a soft smile.

Holding your hand out, you offer your name in a friendly greeting feeling warm and fuzzy when the other woman shakes your hand.

“Larissa. Larissa Weems.”

“Well Larissa, may I walk you up to the school?” You ask nodding to the gate.

“I’d like that.”

That was almost three months ago. In the late weeks of October you drive through the town, two cups of coffee in the cup holder as you head for Nevermore Academy. When you see the Ravens in all their glory, you pull off to the side waiting for Larissa. Moving your backpack on the floor out of the way with your sketchbook in your lap you smile when you hear leaves crunching and that soft voice you’ve grown very fond of in person and over the phone.

“Room for one more?” That beautiful smile appears, Larissa opening the passenger side door.

“There’s always room for you,” you beam handing the coffee over to her. Taking a sip from your own cup you have to hide the flush in your cheeks when you hear her let out a delighted sigh.

“I needed this.” She tips her head back into the seat.

The wind outside the truck picks up, the smell of the now dying leaves wafting through the cool air.

“What’s going on?” You ask softly, hand moving to rest on hers.

Larissa smiles at the action. “It’s been a rough month is all. With graduation in the spring, the headmaster is already giving me references and letters for future employers, but.” She sighs. “I don’t think I want to go teach or counsel anywhere else. Nevermore is my home, has been since I was a teenager.”

“I know this place is important to you, but why not go somewhere else, even for a little while?” You shrug. At this Larissa goes quiet, not willing to look at you at the moment while the gears turn in her head.

“Hey, forget I asked okay?” You say softly, “you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” You assure her squeezing her hand.

“Thank you, darling.”

Smiling with her bottom lip between her teeth she reaches over plucking the sketchbook from your lap, the soft worn leather between her fingers as she opens it up.

“Hey cmon,” you laugh not really trying to take it back. “Okay, Weems. I can’t be held responsible for what you see in there.”

“Is that right?” She hums flicking through the pages, glancing at you with a playful glint in her eye. long fingers carefully run over the pages, admiring all the work of the ink seeped into its pages. The library in all its two hundred year old glory, the old movie theater that opens for the holiday season, Nevermore, then she stops only when she sees a portrait.

“And there it is.” You tease trying to gauge her reaction to the portrait you’d done not long ago. Realizing early on in your friendship you had a crush on Larissa didn’t come as a surprise to you, she was smart, witty, top of her class, and not to mention beautiful. You’d even told your father of your new friendship, receiving encouragement despite Larissa being an outcast.

“You drew me?” She asks in awe, looking at the page.

She’d worn her hair down in soft waves once shortly after you’d met her, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run your fingers through silky locks. While your sketchbook was filled with architecture, it’s what you’re going to school for after all, other things sometimes made their way to the pages.

“I try to capture everything I find beautiful.” You say without apprehension, your voice sure and firm in what youre saying as you lean over a little closer.

“You truly think so,” she hums more as a fact than a question. Icy eyes search yours looking for any bit of fake sincerity but it never comes. The sketch book is put on the seat between you two as a pale hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin.

Crimson lips meet yours in a soft kiss, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. The smell and taste of coffee over takes your senses and you practically melt against her. Wrapping your arm around her waist you pull her closer, most definitely warming up on this cold autumn day.

From that day on you would go see Larissa at Nevermore or meet her in town after you were done with classes for the day. As your feelings blossomed into something more, you felt protective over her when you were in town. Strolling down the street one evening arms looped together you two were in your own little world, giggling and minding your business when you heard a group of grown men scoff and start to bother you as they sat outside a business.

“They let these kids do anything now a days. Those freaks should be locked up in that school.”

Larissa’s jaw clenches as she continues to walk but you, you’ve never been one to take shit from anybody. Pulling away from her you turn around on your heel putting your hands in your pockets with a grin that could only be described as wicked.

“Hey fellas, if you feel like being prejudice pricks feel free to hitch a ride back to the dark ages, k?”

The men on the bench shut up as you turn back to Larissa not giving them a second to say anything more. Arms looped together once more you keep your chin up and smile at your date.

“You didn’t have to do that, darling.”

“I’m not having gross old men ruin our date, Larissa.” You shake your head moving to wrap your arm around her waist.

“But they’re not wrong. Being a shape shifter is certainly freakish.”

Shape shifting. It’d taken months for her to tell you what her abilities were. She had never shared and you never pestered, never wanting to cross a boundary with her. She looked nervous, almost as if you’d act just like those men.

“Shape shifting huh?” You smile, “An ability like that must be just a bonus when you’re already so gorgeous.”

Larissa rolls her eyes reaching for your hand. “You are incredibly wonderful and ridiculous.”

“Thanks, honey.” You tease not wanting the moment to be too serious. “I really, really like you Larissa.”

“Does that mean if I asked you to accompany me to the yearly Nevermore dance you would?” She beams, her eyes crinkling.

Bringing her gloved hand to your lips you kiss her knuckles shivering from not only the chilly air but giddy excitement. “What’s the dress code?”

Larissa chuckles moving to wrap her arm around your shoulders. “This will be very exciting. Wear whatever you want, darling. It’s not strictly fancy attire, but most dress up.”

“I can do that.” You nod with a smile. “Now, back to business. Let’s pick some books out.”

Walking through town with Larissa made you walk a little taller, hold your chin up higher, and you were starting to realize you never wanted to lose that feeling. Not long later in the independent bookstore, you smile gliding your fingers across the book spines as you admire Larissa. You didn’t know what to call her really. You two could be considered a couple, and that sounded quite nice.

Finding a nice stack of books between the two of you, you jog ahead out the door to your truck opening her door for her. When Larissa gives you a beaming smile and a kiss to your cheek before climbing in. During the drive back to Nevermore Larissa’s hand stays on your thigh, her thumb rubbing the fabric of your jeans.

“So, my dad’s been asking about you,” you hum keeping your eyes on the dirt path, “he keeps saying ‘when am I gonna meet that girlfriend of yours?’ and I honestly haven’t felt like correcting him.”

The silver screen beauty looks over, the darkness of the truck and the woods not helping you see her expression clearly. Thinking you’d messed up, you open your mouth to speak but you’re cut off before you can say a word.

“Pull over.” Larissa instructs. Her voice is cool and even, not really helping what to think of the situation.

Stopping in the center of the path you put the gear shift near the wheel in park and hit the light on the ceiling. The light gives Larissa an orange glow, her eyes not giving you any hint of what she’s feeling.

“I’m sorry, honey I-“ you’re once again cut off, this time by soft lips in a feverish kiss that has your head spinning while your fingers flow through silver locks. Her tongue swipes across your bottom lip which you happily follow suit deepening the kiss. The taste of the hot chocolate you both had earlier still lingers, the sweetness somehow making the moment all the better.

Larissa breaks the kiss first not pulling back very far as she catches her breath in the still air of the truck. “Don’t apologize, darling. I’d been wondering if you were going to ask me. I’d thought maybe you wouldn’t want to after this evening.”

Shaking your head with a chuckle you loosely wrap your arms around her neck, lips meeting hers again in a soft kiss, staying in your own little part of the world for a little while longer.

When the night of the dance approaches, you stand in front of the mirror doing a once over of your black pantsuit and heels. Gold rings on your fingers you fluff your hair once more deciding you were happy with the ensemble. Your nerves got worse as you drove towards the academy, hoping Larissa liked what you wore and the single white rose you’d bought for her.

Pulling up to the school gate you take a breath realizing you’ll be actually going into the school this time, not just up to its corridors like you had to walk Larissa in months before. Parking your truck you look at the academy lit up, students out and about in fine attire. “You got this,” you hum to yourself. Getting out you carry the single white rose in between your fingers following a group of younger students. Going into the building you don’t make it far when you feel a hand on your arm.

“Darling,” Larissa’s red lips curl into a smile as she pulls you to the side, her fingers already playing with yours.

“Hi, babe. You look gorgeous.” You eye her up and down with a smile holding the flower out between you two, slender fingers taking the stem.

Larissa’s eyes flick down to the flower, her lips finding your cheek for a light kiss. “I don’t want my lipstick to stain you.” She chuckles lifting her hand to wipe the mark away.

“Oh come on, mark your territory.” You tease with a smirk, the sound of the other students and music around you drowning out as you and Larissa stand in your little corner, blue eyes shining at you.

“Perhaps I will. How about a dance first?”

Holding your hand out, you take Larissa’s in yours gently squeezing and enjoying the warmth. Weaving through the crowd of people dancing and talking you move with the beat of the song the band is playing, hips swaying until Larissa’s hands find their place sending a jolt through you.

Moving closer you loosely wrap your arms around her neck creating yet another comfortable bubble, just you two, the only people in the world. Looking at your girlfriend with a dreamy expression you tip your chin up meeting her eyes. You’re not sure how long you two dance, but eventually, you want to be alone with her.

“As nice as this is, there are too many teenage hormones around.” You nod to the door.

“Nineteen is still a teenager last time I checked, darling.” Larissa chuckles patting your hip. “Come, let’s get some air.”

Letting Larissa stand behind you guiding you to the doorway you rest your hands on top of hers shooting Morticia a wicked smile on the way out. The silver haired beauty catches the look, hiding her smirk as she leads you outside, jogging in the light rain to a secluded corridor of the courtyard. The cold rain is unforgiving as you two take shelter under the old stone, wrapped in each others arms.

“Now you’ve gotten me alone, what do you plan to do?” Larissa teases leaning down, lips only inches apart.

Arms wrapped around her frame you move up on your toes meeting red lips in a tender kiss. Warm hands cup your cheeks making your head tip back, turning you into putty in Larissa’s hands. Sighing into the kiss your hands glide up her back pulling her flush against you. The damp air doesn’t make you shiver, the warmth from Larissa engulfing you. Pulling back only slightly you admire icy blue eyes and kiss swollen lips.

“I think I took most of your lipstick.” You grin.

Larissa chuckles bringing her hand up, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I suppose I’ve claimed my territory.” She smiles repeating your words back from before. “Darling, I-“

Before she can say anything else, your brows knit together and your hands pat her hip as you hear grunts and clashing metal. “What the hell?” You ask moving out into the rain, a body falling to the ground as you do so making Larissa scream.

“Shit!” You jump back, wrapping your arm around your girlfriend. The body lays flat in the dirt, looking up you see a man holding a sword. “Larissa, come on.” You urge, tugging her hand.

Going through the closest corridor you end up in an empty hallway stopping for a moment to take a breath.

“I know that boy. Gomez, he and Morticia are an item.” She says quietly, almost irritated.

“Shocking, the entitled ego maniac is involved with a murder.” You hum thinking about the brunette. “Are you okay, honey?” You ask resting your hand atop hers.

“Yes, I’m fine, darling.” She sighs holding your hands. “Let us go back to the dance, I’m sure everyone will be alerted soon.”

Nodding you walk through the empty hall hand in hand, your heart thudding in your chest. You knew what this could mean for the school, how the small town will react to this news. You’re a ways away from the court yard, almost to the front of the school when you see flashing lights across the wooded area.

“You two!” A deep voice booms, footsteps coming towards you.

Looking down the hall you sigh spotting two police officers. Standing tall you hold Larissa’s hand gently squeezing. One officer is a small, stout man, the other tall and lean, although shorter than Larissa.

“You two, been in the courtyard tonight?” The tall one demands.

“My girlfriend was showing me around the school, we didn’t actually see what happened. Just- just the body.” You explain, the officers looking between you two.

“You,” the small officer points, “you’re not a student here.” He states taking out a pen and his notepad.

“She goes to school in town, the college.”

Larissa informs them.

“What’s a kid like you doing at this school? You can see this is dangerous.”The taller officer scolds.

“I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself thanks.” You all but scoff, tired of the insinuation that Nevermore students are dangerous. Sure, you were shaken by what you’d seen, but that didn’t change your mind about anything.

The officers look between you two, Larissa squeezing your hand once more. Fingers laced together you rub your thumb over the back of her hand not backing down.

“The school is on lockdown, you, you’ll have to leave like all the other guests, and you.” He looks up at Larissa, “we have more questions for you.”

Larissa looks at you giving you a tight smile of reassurance. “Go on, darling. I’ll be all right.”

Glancing at the cops for a second you sigh leaning up to kiss your girlfriend’s cheek. “Call me when you get back to your dorm, please.” You ask, the beauty nodding in response.

You don’t want to leave Larissa, but soon you find yourself shuffling out of the doors to the front of the school, fingers playing with the keyring in your pocket as you walk in the dark to your truck. Losing yourself in your thoughts, when you pull into your driveway you don’t remember driving home.

“Kid!” Your dad comes running to the driveway, pulling you into a hug as soon as you step out of the truck. “It’s all over the news some kid got killed at the school, I was worried.” He cradles the back of your head with his hand.

“I’m fine, dad. I think it was a crime of passion situation.” You shrug patting his shoulder, heading into the house.

“I don’t think I want you going there anymore.”

Hearing the words you knew would come, you sigh slipping your heels off as you step inside the house. The lights are dim, there’s a beer on the table, and the tv is turned to the news channel. Stepping closer to the tv set you see a reporter then Larissa in the background talking to the cops from before. Watching the screen, you sigh knowing you’re in for a heated discussion while you wait for Larissa to call.

“Dad,” you sigh plopping down on the couch, legs crossed. “I refuse to turn into these hateful people that say horrible things about that academy.” You start, “Did you know Larissa is already being asked to take over when the headmaster retires? She’s the same age as I am. She has a degree already. Just because those people are a little different genetically doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” You huff.

Still standing by the door, your dad stands with his hands on his hips shaking his head. “I don’t like it. Not one bit. I don’t want you around those people.” He points.

Standing up, before you can argue the phone in the kitchen rings. Bolting to the device, you pull it off the hook bringing it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Darling,” Larissa lets out in relief.

“What’s going on over there?” You ask tucking by the wall, seeing your dad sit down in front of the tv again.

“I don’t know, they carted Gomez off and Morticia is hysterical. The news reporters are not very forgiving either.”

Taking a shaky breath you nod holding onto the phone. “I know. People are already blaming all the students.”

Larissa’s end of the line goes quiet, a soft breath coming through the receiver. “Yes, I know already. I- I wanted to call and tell you that if this drives you away, I will understand.”

Her voice is so soft, broken, as it hits your ear. Seeing the school and a picture of the murdered boy on the tv screen along with your father looking at you with a stern brow, you sigh into the phone.

-

Larissa Weems knows how to run Nevermore Academy. With many years of experience with the school under her belt, not many things throw her for a loop. Homesick students, the usual pranks, she can handle. Come February when she learns Wednesday Addams, daughter of Gomez and Morticia Addams will be joining the students for the term, it makes her fumble. She has a few days to prepare and in doing so she hopes Wednesday is a better student than her mother had been.

The morning of Wednesday’s arrival is a normal one. Larissa gets up, does her usual routine of getting ready, stops at the local cafe, and enters her office at seven thirty on the dot. Her office is warm and cozy, it always has been, from the gorgeous fireplace, to the sketched portraits framed on the wall, and the pressed white rose encased on her desk.

The meeting with the Addams family goes as expected, full of snark and a feeling of irritation on both sides of the lavish desk.

“Larissa, dear. Is that a wedding band I see?” Morticia quirks a brow.

On a milky hand sits a gold band set and a pearl atop the gold, the engagement ring she loved so much.

“It is,” she smiles stating professional.

“I hadn’t heard. I had thought the students were enough for a woman like you.”

Before Larissa can respond, a light knock on the door and a head poking in catches her attention.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Larissa. I didn’t know you were in a meeting. I only wanted to drop these off.” You come in, blueprints rolled up in hand.

“Is that-“ Morticia starts,

“Long time no see.” You smile from where you stand next to Larissa’s desk, shoulders back and chin up high.

“Darling, I’ll sign off on these and bring them back to you before lunch.” Larissa smiles happily taking the papers. “These are plans for a new greenhouse, perks of being married to an architect.” She tells Gomez and Morticia.

The mustachioed man stands up, reaching over to shake your hand. “Gomez Addams, Tish and I didn’t know Larissa got married.”

You give the man a kind smile shaking his hand firmly. “We got married not long after Larissa took over here. After that dance all those years ago I knew I couldn’t let her go.” You say knowing that night went down in Jericho history. “I’ll leave you all to it.” You nod making your way across the office once more, the little girl in the chair biting back a smirk at her mother’s reaction.

Feeling Larissa’s eyes on your back as you leave you turn closing the door with a wink to your wife.

[connorsui]

Through Crossfire

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish x fem! Reader

Synopsis: In the heat of battle, Johnny finds himself faced with his worst nightmare, but his heart is torn between completing the mission and protecting the woman he’s come to care for deeply.

Genre/warnings: Hurt-comfort, violence, blood and injury, protective Johnny, Fluff and angst, battlefield tension, soft moments, Johnny lowkey wanna save you but stuff be hard …

note: I was watching the battle of Washington during my break, and I couldn't stop to imagine the reader and Johnny in that scenario

w.c: 1.3k

The sound of gunfire ripped through the air, the crack of bullets against concrete deafening as you and Soap took cover behind a crumbling wall. The mission had gone south fast, and the enemy forces had you pinned. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you tried to focus on the next move. But just as you shifted to peer around the corner, everything went wrong.

A sharp pain exploded through your side, the sudden sting of a bullet piercing your flesh. You gasped, stumbling backward and pressing a hand to your wound as blood seeped between your fingers. Before you could even process the pain, Soap was there, dropping the enemy soldier with precision before turning to you, panic flashing in his blue eyes.

“Lass, you with me?” His voice was rough, laced with urgency as he knelt beside you, his hands already finding the wound. “Where are ye hurt? Talk to me.”

His fingers pressed against your side, applying pressure as he glanced over his shoulder to check for any more hostiles. The battle raged on around you, but all you could focus on was the heat of his body as he crouched beside you, his eyes flicking between your face and the wound.

“I’m fine,” you managed to grit out, though the pain in your voice betrayed you. Soap’s brow furrowed, clearly not convinced. He ripped a piece of fabric from his sleeve, quickly wrapping it around your torso to stop the bleeding, the movement rough but efficient.

“Don’t lie to me, love,” he murmured, his Scottish accent thick with concern. “Yer bleedin’ too much for that.”

His eyes softened for a moment, thumb brushing over your cheek when he noticed the tears pooling in your eyes. It wasn’t often that you broke down on the battlefield, but the combination of pain and fear was threatening to overwhelm you. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “Stay with me, aye? Yer doin’ just fine.”

Despite the chaos around you, Soap’s touch was gentle, the comfort of his presence enough to keep you grounded. His body positioned itself between yours and the oncoming fire, shielding you as he fired back at the enemy, his focus split between taking them down and keeping you alive.

The world around you blurred, the sound of his voice the only thing anchoring you to reality. He kept murmuring to you, his voice low and soothing, though you couldn’t catch all the words. Every few seconds, his eyes would dart back to you, scanning your face, ensuring you were still conscious.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his hand slipping to your back, rubbing slow circles in an attempt to ease your pain. His other hand gripped his sniper rifle tightly, his eyes never straying too far from the battlefield.

“Stay awake, lass,” he urged softly, his thumb brushing along your cheek as your eyelids fluttered. “I’m not losing ye out here.”

His steady tone grounded you, and you tried to focus on his voice. The pain was unbearable, but somehow, the way he touched you—the way his thumb brushed lightly over your skin—kept you tethered to the present.

When the fighting finally subsided, Soap wasted no time in scooping you into his arms. Despite the urgency of the situation, he cradled you gently, holding you close as he sprinted toward the evac point. His breath was heavy, his heart pounding in sync with yours as he carried you through the wreckage, never letting go.

Every time you winced, he mumbled reassurances into your ear, his voice low and soothing. “It’s alright, I’ve got ye… Yer gonna be just fine.”

Once inside the helicopter, Soap’s composure began to crack. The medics took over, but his hand never left you—whether it was resting on your shoulder, your forearm, or the top of your head, he couldn’t stop touching you. His jaw was tight, eyes locked on your face as if he needed the reassurance that you were still there, still breathing.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the chopper blades. His thumb stroked your cheek, wiping away the smudge of dirt and blood. “I’m here, and you’re alright.”

Your vision swam, consciousness slipping in and out as the adrenaline began to fade. You could feel Soap’s grip tighten as you blinked up at him, your hand weakly reaching for his. His face, normally so confident and cocky, was etched with worry, his blue eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition.

“(Y/N)? Stay with me, aye? Don’t you close yer eyes yet.”

But then the world tilted, and you felt yourself slipping into darkness.

The sound of Soap’s voice pulled you from the haze, your eyes fluttering open to find him hovering over you. His face was pale, his lips set in a tight line as he shook you gently, his voice sharp with panic.

“Wake up! C’mon, stay with me!” His hand gripped yours, holding on as if he could physically keep you from fading away.

Your eyelids felt heavy, but you forced them open, blinking up at him as the pain in your side flared up again. You could see the relief wash over him when you finally met his gaze, his shoulders sagging as he exhaled a shaky breath.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “That’s it. Just stay awake for me.”

The medics were working on you now, cleaning and bandaging your wound as Soap sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours. He didn’t say much, just sat in silence, his body pressed close to yours as the helicopter carried you both away from the battlefield. His eyes, usually so full of life and mischief, were focused solely on you, watching every movement, every breath.

When the medics finally patched you up, Soap relaxed, though his hand remained firmly in place. He shifted closer, his head resting lightly against yours as exhaustion started to weigh him down. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his presence a constant comfort in the chaos of the day.

As the helicopter soared through the sky, Soap’s hand moved from your arm to your shoulder, then back to your hand, his touch never far. It wasn’t clear whether he was doing it for your comfort or his own, but either way, you were grateful for it.

When you finally landed back at base, Soap refused to leave your side, insisting on staying with you through the night. He settled beside you, his head resting lightly on top of yours as you drifted off into a fitful sleep, his steady presence the only thing keeping the nightmares at bay.

The base was quiet, the distant sounds of soldiers moving in the background as you rested. Soap stayed awake, watching over you even after the medics had assured him you were stable. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep, not when the image of you bleeding out on the battlefield still haunted his thoughts.

As the quiet settled around you both, Soap’s grip on your hand never wavered. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but they still found yours, watching you carefully. After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice low and rough from the day's chaos.

“Don’t scare me like that again, yeah?” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a small hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though the worry in his eyes was still clear.

You managed a tired smile in return, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try… no promises.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Aye, figured as much.”

But even in the lighthearted exchange, there was an unspoken promise between you, something far stronger than words could ever capture. In the end, that was all either of you needed.

I need johnny as my guard ...with a bow on his head