#It was the morning so there was dew on the ground

[sturnsmia]

𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑳 | 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑵𝑬

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉… in the kingdom of eveloria, the princess is weeks away from her coronation and under pressure to marry a prince for the sake of her kingdom. though she dreams of freedom and a life of her own choosing, she unexpectedly falls for a knight—someone forbidden to her. as her coronation approaches, she must decide whether to follow her heart or fulfill her duty to the crown.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔…none!

in the kingdom of eveloria there is elegance woven into every cobblestone and beauty drapes over the land like silk. the castle, a structure of towering, pale lilac spires that glisten like morning dew, rises from the heart of the kingdom. wisteria vines cascade from balconies and curl around marble columns, their blossoms a delicate shade of violet that matches the royal crest and your family’s legacy.

beyond the castle grounds, a gentle hillside rolls down to the town of petalbrook, where the kingdom’s people live and work with a quiet, faithful pride. in petalbrook, narrow, winding streets lead to bustling squares and markets alive with laughter and life. each shopfront is painted in warm hues; doorways are adorned with flower boxes bursting with camellia, lavender, and soft pink roses. lanterns hang from wrought iron posts, their light casting a warm, inviting glow over the cobbled streets as evening settles.

here, tailors craft exquisite garments, weavers create silken fabrics that seem to shimmer with magic, and bakers prepare delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar. the townspeople bow their heads with gentle smiles as you pass through, a testament to their loyalty and quiet adoration. there’s a sense of harmony between the princess and the town, a connection between royalty and the people that feels as natural as the lavender-scented breezes that drift through the kingdom.

eveloria is yours to rule one day, a place of beauty, of elegance, and of stories that wait to be told. but as dawn breaks each morning and paints the castle walls in shades of lavender and gold, you wonder what destiny awaits you in a land so steeped in grace and mystery.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

the castle gardens were your favorite sanctuary, a place where you felt free. the air was rich with the scent of blooming violets, lilacs, and roses, and the sun gleamed between the leaves of ancient oaks that shaded the pathways.

in the heart of the garden stood a delicate fountain, it whispered with a steady trickle of water, its basin filled with lily pads. It was your favorite place to escape—to pretend, if only for a moment, that you were just a teenage girl and not a princess preparing for a throne.

you sat on the soft grass near a patch of wildflowers, your fingers brushing through the silky fur of a small gray bunny. it twitched its nose at you, its large eyes blinking as though it trusted you completely. you giggled softly, offering it a handful of baby carrots you’d snuck from the kitchen.

“you eat like the royal horses,” you teased, watching as it nibbled away at the palm of your hand. “you’d fit right in at the banquet table, though I doubt mother and father would approve of your table manners.”

the bunny gave a soft hop, as if in response, and you laughed, the sound light and carefree. it was rare for you to feel this free. but your peace was shattered by the hurried crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. you looked up to see ashley, a maid, hurrying toward you. her usual composure was replaced by urgency, her blonde hair slipping loose from its bun and her hands gripping the folds of her apron as she picked up her skirts to quicken her pace.

“princess,” she said, slightly out of breath as she curtsied. “the queen requests—no, demands—that you come inside at once.”

you frowned, your fingers still gently stroking the bunny’s fur. “what could she possibly want now? i’ve finished all my duties for today.”

ashley hesitated, glancing at the bunny before lowering her voice. “she insists you dress immediately. princes from other kingdoms are arriving soon. she wants you prepared to make a…good impression.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. you sighed, carefully carrying the bunny out of your lap, into the cool grass beside you “of course she does,” you murmured, the joy of the moment slipping away like petals on the wind.

ashley offered a sympathetic smile but said nothing. it wasn’t her place to comment. “i’ve laid out one of your finest gown, the one with the flowers embroidered along the hem. you’ll look…perfect, your highness.” you gave the bunny one last affectionate stroke before standing, brushing the grass from your dress. “perfect,” you echoed with a trace of bitterness. “isn’t that always the goal?” with a reluctant glance at the garden, its flowers swaying gently in the breeze, you followed ashley back toward the towering castle.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

ashley’s hands worked at the laces of your corset, pulling them tighter with each tug. you winced slightly, gripping the edge of the vanity table as the pressure against your ribs increased.

“sorry princess, i’m nearly finished,” ashley murmured, her tone apologetic but firm. “it needs to fit perfectly, or your mother will have my head.” you let out a sharp breath as she gave one last tug. “i think she’s more worried about my waist fitting perfectly than the corset.” ashley smirked faintly, smoothing down the back of your bodice before stepping around to check her work. “there we go. perfect.”

perfect. you were beginning to despise that word.

she moved to your hair next, brushing through the curls with quick, practiced strokes before twisting and pinning half of your hair into an intricate updo. a few loose strands were left to frame your face. as ashley worked, you stared at your reflection in the mirror—a girl who looked every inch the princess of eveloria but felt worlds away from her true self.

a lavender ballgown lay draped over the chair beside you. it was sewn with delicate embroidery of silver vines and tiny violets, catching the light with every movement. the off the shoulder ruffled sleeves were sheer and enchanting on your arms.

the skirt flared gently from the waist, cascading to the floor with a hint of shimmer woven into the fabric. along the hem, a subtle border of violet blossoms was stitched in silver thread, adding just the right amount of detail without overwhelming the dress. a thin silver belt cinched at the waist, adorned with a single amethyst stone in the center, tying the look together with a royal touch. ashley carefully lifted it from the chair, her hands steady as she held it out for you.

“step in, please,” she said softly.

you obeyed, lifting your arms as she slid the dress over your corset and adjusted it to fit snugly. the fabric felt luxurious against your skin. as ashley fastened the tiny buttons along your back, you heard the door creak open. you didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“ah,” your mother’s voice rang out, sharp and approving, “there she is. my beautiful daughter.” ashley stepped aside quickly, curtsying as the queen strode into the room. your mother’s presence was commanding, her gown as grand as the throne she ruled from. she studied you with a critical eye, her gaze lingering on every detail before a small smile curved her lips.

“you look stunning,” she said, stepping closer. “the princes’ will be stunned the moment they see you.”

you turned toward her, keeping your expression neutral. “thank you, mother.”

she approached the vanity, picking up the tiara that glittered there, its diamonds catching the light. “but there’s one final touch.” you stood still as she placed the tiara gently on your head, adjusting it so it sat perfectly in place. her hands lingered for a moment, and she smiled at your reflection in the mirror.

“there,” she said softly, her voice tinged with pride. “a true princess. tonight, you’ll show them why eveloria deserves the strongest alliance, and why you deserve the finest match.”

her words were meant as praise, but they felt like shackles. you nodded politely, hiding the storm brewing inside you. your mother turned to ashley. “have her ready in the grand hall in ten minutes. we mustn’t keep our guests waiting.”

“yes, your majesty,” ashley said, bowing her head. your mother left the room without another word, the click of her heels fading into the corridor. ashley glanced at you in the mirror, her expression unreadable.

“you look…lovely,” she said softly, though there was something in her tone that felt like sympathy. you smiled weakly at her and took a deep breath, smoothing the front of your gown. “let’s go princess, your prince charming awaits you.”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

the grand hall was alive with the murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the distant strains of the musicians. you moved gracefully from prince to prince, but each introduction left you more exhausted than the last. one by one, they presented themselves: a prince from the northern isles who bragged endlessly about his fleet, another from the southern desert whose flattery felt insincere, a quiet, nervous boy who couldn’t meet your eyes for more than a moment. wach had their faults—too snobby, too quiet, too dull, or far too eager to list their kingdom’s wealth. none of them saw you as anything more than an object, a prize to be won.

finally, you came face to face with prince james of silverglade, the son of eveloria’s closest ally. you had seen him only a handful of times at formal events, but each interaction had left a sour impression. his reputation preceded him—silverglade was nearly as powerful as eveloria, and james carried himself as though he were king already.

“your highness,” he greeted with a deep bow, his crimson robes swishing dramatically.

“prince james,” you replied, curtsying and forcing a polite smile.

your parents, standing nearby, beamed with approval. your father stepped forward, clapping a hand on james’s shoulder. “it’s been too long, james. you’ve grown into a strong young man, your father speaks highly of you.”

“as he does of you, your majesty,” james said, his voice smooth and self-assured. “silverglade has always cherished its bond with eveloria. and I must say, princess, you grow more radiant with each passing year.”

your mother smiled warmly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “we’ve always considered your family like our own. the future of both our kingdoms is built on trust and strength.” her words were pointed, and you felt the weight of their meaning pressing down on you.

prince james turned back to you, his sharp eyes glittering. “of course. together, eveloria and silverglade could be the strongest and powerful of them all. our kingdom would secure a golden age for generations to come.”

your stomach twisted at his assumption, but you managed to keep your expression neutral. “a kingdom must also be built on understanding and kindness, wouldn’t you agree?”

prince james chuckled before meeting your eyes again, “kindness is good for morals, but it does little to win battles or command respect. strength, wealth, and power, are the currency of rulers. surely you understand that.”

you scoffed at his tone, sensing the condescension beneath his words. “strength isn’t measured by how much you take or command, prince james. it’s determined by how much you give to those who need it. i see that alliances are built on more than power and wealth. they require understanding, respect and qualities that go beyond appearances.”

his laughed lowly at your speech, “oh, but appearances matter, don’t they? after all, a queen must be admired, even envied. it’s part of the job. you understand that, don’t you?” his words stung, not because they were true, but because they reduced you to nothing more than a symbol, a pawn in a game of power.

the smugness in his voice ignited something in you. you felt your chest tighten, your patience snapping. “perhaps,” you said sharply, your voice rising, “but some rulers forget what it means to lead. power without compassion is nothing but greed.”

your mother’s eyes widened slightly at your tone, and your father cleared his throat, a signal to temper your words. but prince james only raised a brow, his smirk unshaken. “you’re spirited, princess y/n. i admire that. though perhaps that fire should be directed toward ruling, rather than… sentiment.”

that was enough. without another word, you turned on your heel and swept out of the hall, ignoring the startled murmurs that rippled through the room. as you walked up the grand staircase, the voices from the hall faded, replaced by the pounding of your heart. you barely noticed your parents attempting to gain your attention and the guards standing at attention as you reached your chambers, slamming the door shut behind you.

meanwhile, downstairs the tension hung heavy in the air. your mother smoothed her gown, her expression frozen in attempt to keep her composure, though the tightness around her mouth betrayed her irritation.

king andrew let out a soft sigh, stepping closer to the prince. “my daughter is… passionate. she has always spoken her mind.”

prince james nodded his head, his expression unreadable. “a commendable trait, your majesty. though perhaps a sharper focus on duty would serve her well.”

queen evelyn’s smile was tight. “she will rise to the occasion, as all great rulers do. she simply needs time to adjust to the weight of her future responsibilities.”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

hours had passed since the disaster of the evening, but the weight of it all still clung to you. as you sat on the plush cushion by your bay window, your knees drawn close to her chest, the folds of your pale nightgown draped softly around you. the beautiful dress you had once worn pooled on the ground beside the corset. your father’s voice lingered in your mind, sharp with disappointment as he chastised you for storming out.

“you have to think beyond yourself,” he yelled. “this is about the kingdom, not just your feelings.”

you nodded at the time, your lips pressed into a thin line, but your chest had burned with frustration. it wasn’t that you didn’t care about eveloria—your cared so deeply it hurt. but no one seemed to understand that this constant pressure to be perfect, to be what everyone else needed, was crushing you.

you leaned your forehead against the cool pane, staring out at the quiet kingdom of eveloria. from here, you could see the faint glow of lanterns in the distant town, the chimneys of homes still trailing thin ribbons of smoke into the night. it all looked so peaceful, so far removed from the noise and tension of court, where laughter and life still buzzed in the taverns and homes. your people. your future.

but tonight, the weight of it all seemed unbearable.

you knew your were blessed—privileged beyond measure to live in such luxury, to have the power to shape her people’s lives for the better. your parents meant well, you reminded herself. they always did. their insistence on forming alliances and securing eveloria’s future came from a place of love and duty. but they couldn’t see how much it weighed on you, how every demand, every expectation felt like another layer of chains wrapped around you.

your reflection in the glass stared back at you, pale and tired. you didn’t look like the radiant princess the court expected. you looked like a girl who just wanted to breathe. you closed your eyes, letting the stillness of the night wash over you. but even here, in the quiet of your bedroom, the weight of her responsibilities pressed against your chest. you always had to be perfect for her people, for her parents, for the future of your kingdom.

a soft breeze fluttered the curtains, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. it called to you, promising a reprieve from the grand marbled walls that felt too small tonight. you opened her eyes and looked out again, your gaze falling on the moonlit paths winding through the flowers and the soft glimmer of the small fountain in the distance.

before you could second-guess yourself, you stood up from the cushion, your bare feet padding softly against the cool floor. you grabbed your sheer coverup dress from the arm of your chair and draped it over your shoulders. you glanced at the door to your chambers, knowing the guards wouldn’t disturb you at this hour, and then turned toward the balcony.

you don’t hesitate before climbing over the stone railing, your hands grip the trellis as you descend. the wood creaks softly beneath your weight, but you barely notice. when your feet finally touch the soft grass below, you let out a shaky breath, your chest loosening a little. the garden stretches out around you, glowing softly under the moonlight. winding paths are lined with lilacs, violets, and roses, their sweet perfume filling the air. the sound of the fountain draws you forward, its gentle trickle like a lullaby in the stillness of the night.

you reach the fountain and sink onto its edge, your fingers brushing against the cold stone. for a moment, you simply stare at the rippling water, the silver reflections shifting and dancing. the events of the evening replay in your mind—the shallow conversations, the hollow smiles, the way not one prince cared about your thoughts, only the crown on your head.

a tear slips down your cheek before you realize it, and you swipe at it quickly, as if denying its presence might make the feelings disappear. but another tear falls, and then another, until you finally let yourself lie back on the grass beside the fountain. the cool earth presses against you, grounding you as you stare up at the stars, your vision blurring.

the stars above seem impossibly distant, glimmering faintly through the tears that continue to slip down your cheeks. you close your eyes, letting the soft hum of the garden and the trickling of the fountain surround you. here, at least for a moment, you can let the world fall away.

you sniffle softly, brushing the back of your hand across your damp cheeks as you lie by the fountain. the cool grass beneath you soothes your bare feet, but the ache in your chest remains.

“princess?”

the sudden voice startles you. you sit up quickly, twisting around to see a figure standing at the edge of the path. it’s one of the knights, his silver armor faintly glinting in the moonlight. his helmet is tucked under his arm, and the soft curls of his brunette hair catch the pale light. his blue eyes meet yours, steady and concerned.

“what are you doing here?” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend. “i came out here to be alone.”

his brow furrows slightly, and he takes a cautious step closer, keeping his tone gentle. “i was patrolling near the garden and saw you come out here. i just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

you huff, irritation flaring as you cross your arms. “i don’t need a guard to babysit me, even if my parents might think otherwise.”

he doesn’t flinch at your words, his expression calm but earnest. “your safety isn’t about duty,” he says softly. “it’s about care. and whether you want it or not, i care.”

his sincerity catches you off guard, and your anger deflates almost instantly. guilt tugs at you as you glance away, brushing your hand against your dress. “i… i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to be so harsh.”

he steps closer now, his boots crunching softly against the gravel of the garden path. “you don’t need to apologize, princess. it’s been a long day for you, hasn’t it?” you let out a soft sigh, your silence speaking for you.

he hesitates for a moment before lowering himself onto the fountain’s edge, keeping a respectful distance. his movements are careful, measured, as if he doesn’t want to intrude. “do you want to talk about it?”

you glance at him, surprised by the question. the knights you’re used to never ask questions like that—they’re strict and silent, their presence a reminder of the sturdy castle walls. but something about him feels different: his kind eyes, the way he doesn’t look at you like you’re untouchable.

“it’s just… everything,” you admit finally, your voice quieter now. “the princes, the expectations, the constant weight of doing the right thing for the kingdom. i know i should be grateful, but sometimes it feels like no one sees me. they only see what i can offer them—power, wealth, alliances. not who i am.”

he nods, his gaze steady on yours. “it must be hard to feel like everyone’s only looking at the crown, not the person wearing it.”

the way he says it—so simply, without judgment—eases some of the tension in your chest. you nod slowly, letting out a shaky breath. “it is.”

he offers a faint, reassuring smile. “well, for what it’s worth, i see more than that. i see someone who cares about her people enough to cry for them, someone who just wants to be understood. and that’s someone worth seeing.” his words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. instead, your gaze lingers on him, studying his face for the first time. there’s something familiar in the softness of his expression, in the way his curls frame his face and his eyes hold steady on yours.

“what was your name?” you ask finally, your voice quiet but curious.

he blinks, as if surprised by the question, before answering. “chris. christopher sturniolo, technically, but just chris is fine.”

“thank you for being with me chris,” your lips curve into the faintest smile.

“anytime,” chris says, his voice soft, but his gaze steady.

for the first time in what feels like hours, the weight in your chest eases just a little. the stars above seem brighter now, and the ache of the evening feels a little more bearable. chris sits quietly beside you for a moment longer, his presence a steadying force in the stillness of the garden.

he shifts slightly, glancing back toward the castle. “i should get back to my patrol,” he says gently, rising to his feet. “before your father decides i’ve abandoned my duties and has me reassigned to cleaning the stables.”

you let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising you after such a heavy day. “i’ll make sure to tell him you were keeping me safe.” you look up at him, a part of you reluctant to let the moment end. “thank you, chris, i really enjoyed talking with you.”

his blue eyes soften, and he gives you a small, reassuring smile. “it’s no trouble, princess. try to get some rest, okay? you’ve had a long day.” you nod, returning his smile faintly.

he lingers for a moment, as if wanting to say more, but instead bows his head respectfully. “goodnight, princess. sleep well.”

as he turns and walks down the garden path, his silhouette fading into the shadows, you smile to yourself and feel a quiet sense of comfort settle over you.

𝐱𝐨𝐱𝐨, 𝐦𝐢𝐚 ♡

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: HELLO HELLO, i have been wanting to write this series for so long but im a procrastinator so i put it off for a while. also when we talk about the princess’s sheer coverup dress thing, just imagine sabrina carpenter’s babydoll dress she wears on tour, just longer okay lolol. im super super excited to see how this story plays out hehe i have so many ideas!!! send me messages in my inbox for requests or just to chat :))

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⋆˚࿔ ౨ৎ ˚. ᵎᵎ @sirenedeslily @freshloveee @ifwdominicfike @matt5sturnioloo @pleasebendmeoverxxx

[lunawolfiefoxy]

I have a scar of the back of my head and under my right eye

scars in fiction: I got this trying to save my lover from an assassin- but tragically, I was too late. now I carry the mark of my failure with me always, and I can never forget~

scars in real life: so I was trying to open macaroni sauce with a paring knife

[hellishjoel]

wild like the west

3.3k / pairing: cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: joel and his cowgirl warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), implied but unspecified age gap, joel is technically reader's boss (so power dynamic stuff), swearing, dirty talk, pet names (baby girl, brat, etc.), unprotected p in v, pussy pronouns, asphyxiation kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clean up on aisle reader's stomach, reader is described having hair but otherwise (I believe) reader is a blank slate, no use of y/n, barely edited A/N: I unfortunately have not stopped thinking about a game joel miller x yellowstone crossover, and I feel like he would like this to be his long, happy life. I also haven't written for joel since may which feels like a sin! sorry baby!

It doesn’t matter how many ass bruises you get, or the pain of repeated thrashes to your knees from getting bucked off; this unruly horse will bend its spirit to your will. 

Half the job of purchasing new horses for the Miller Ridge Ranch is breaking them in like a pair of new shoes. 

Any cowboy, or for you, cowgirl, knows that a horse can sense your personality and fear from a mile away. If you sprout fear, it won’t trust you to be the guide on its back. It’s a mutual thing to trust one another. It’s the trust Joel thrust upon you after loyally working at the ranch for a handful of years. Sure, you were young, but you had a good head on your shoulders.

He perches his cowboy boot on the low fence rail, teeth gnawing at a toothpick as he watches you with careful eyes. The morning dew settles over the long grass and tall trees, untouched by man, fostered by nature. With the sun clawing at the horizon, the land turns from a pale blue to a beaming orange glow.  It’s beautiful here, peaceful. You imagine this is the life that Joel always wanted, craved. He’s not from around here, he’s got too much Southern twang to be from these northern Montana woods. 

Life guided him up here and he never turned back. 

You can feel the horse grow agitated under your haunches, whinnying with anxiety as it takes a few rough steps backward in the ground-up dirt. 

“S’okay, boy, take it easy, easy,” you coo in a gentle voice that lets the horse breathe through its panic. You grip the colt’s mane at the very base of his neck, right by the horn of your saddle, gently scratching that sweet spot that seems to bring him some tranquility.

You’re the only one who seems to calm these beautiful boys. 

“You got a habit of gettin’ in’ta trouble before it even knows to start lookin’ for ya.” Joel’s southern drawl rumbles deep from his chest, stepping into the training ring and crooking his first two fingers in your direction. 

“I got it, Joel,” you say insistently, guiding the horse by a little squeeze of your boots to its belly in Joel’s direction. 

“Know ya do.” Joel stops at the horse’s chest and pats its neck, large and calloused hand stroking down its coarse mane as he stares up at you, squinting from the morning sunlight. 

His eyes are starkly brilliant in this light, typically a dark brown, now a glowy amber under the brim of his black cowboy hat. “You know that part of learnin’ how to be a cowboy is lettin’ them break in their own horse. Hop down.”

A sigh leaves your parted lips as you unhook one boot from the stirrups and throw yourself off. Taking the reigns, you walk with Joel back to the main fence. 

“You’re too nice to ‘em. I hired you to be a bit more…” He pauses indefinitely, tilting his head.

“Ruthless. I know.” Your eyes connect, both hardened after years of this long life. One day of being a cowboy felt like a year at any other job. 

The plan was plain and simple, a route you’d taken a hundred times with a crew that changed on and off for the past couple of years. The cattle were in need of fresh resources, lush grass to graze on, and streams of pristine crystal water. Up through the valley they’d go. 

The cowboys and cowgirls were gathered on their horses, Joel sat atop his beautiful black mare, eyes piercing his crew even behind his tinted sunglasses. Any season besides summer in this state demanded thick, warm work wear. Joel adorned a chocolate brown Carhartt and thick denim jeans under old, worn-out brown chaps. 

“I want Wyatt and Jack to take front, Bo and Sadie, swing, Jess and June on the flank, Tucker and Sammy on the drag. Wear your bandanas, it’s gonna get dusty back there,” your eyes flick up to a string of confused faces, “any questions?” 

“Why do we have to go through the valley? We’d have to push hundreds of cows through open water,” Bo mutters, disdain for a woman making all these choices for him, perhaps. 

“Yeah, n’I can’t swim. Never learned.” Another pipes in. 

“Then you’re a goddamn idiot,” old man Wyatt gurgles up a chuckle. Wyatt has been a cowboy longer than you have been alive. He raised you up to be tough with a streak of kindness that could never be washed away. He gives you a tight nod of reassurance as you sigh weakly. 

All this tomfoolery seems to be a bit much for Joel’s taste. “She’s takin’ questions about the plan, not your ‘pinions on it. I tell her what to do, she tells ya’ll what to do. You question her, you question me. So do as she says, or you answer to me.”

Joel’s always had a tight hand on the crew. He intimidates them. He is their boss, after all. They have a problem with you or this ranch or anyone else, they answer to him. Joel takes off his sunglasses and narrows his eyes on Bo, the newest cowboy with a pretty big mouth on him who bucks just as bad as your new colts. And his dead eyes are set on you. 

The rest of the crew sets off towards the direction of the cattle herd, everyone except Bo. 

Your head jerks upward in his direction, your own eyes narrowed. “You wanna say somethin’?” You ride alongside Bo, who seems to be wrestling with his stupid thoughts. But before he gets a chance to say anything, Joel intervenes. 

“Got a fight in you? It starts an’ ends with me.”

Bo looks between both of you, simply scoffing before he backs his horse off and trots along towards the crew. 

The view from the top of the valley is beautiful, all yellow and golden, with a pale blue sky and tall trees that harbor the secrets of the forest. Joel used to tell you it would whisper to him, warn him. Your chestnut-colored horse stands tall next to Joel’s, and both of you are overseeing the herd and the crew working together. 

“Not as bad as I thought this was gonna be,” Joel mutters, turning his head in your direction. You’re unrecognizably quiet. He’s never known you to be so still. 

He watches as your fingers anxiously twirl your horse’s mane. “You undermine me in front of them, and they don’t respect me, Joel.” 

So that’s what got you so stiff. He takes in a deep breath of mountain air, crossing his wrists over the horn of his saddle and glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. Your hair blows in the wind, gentle and flowing. Almost graceful if it wasn’t in this wild west. Your beauty was city beauty, he was surprised you ever found your way out here. 

“Bo’s as green as grass. He needs to learn not t’talk to you like that. And if he needs to learn from me, so be it.”

Keeping your lips zipped, your eyes scan the points that use the dogs to guide the herd in the right direction. The swings and flanks work the mid to back-mid to maintain movement, and the drags stationed at the back ensure that any loose stragglers keep up. 

Joel rolls his eyes and sighs, reaching his hand across to your horse’s reigns, keeping your horse tucked to his side. 

“C’mon, Cowgirl. Spit it out.” 

“You go about defendin’ me, it looks like we’re sleepin’ together,” you gripe, “and I don’t need our crew slingin’ the slander that I got my job fuckin’ the boss. I don’t want that shit, Joel.”

Joel shifts his jaw from side to side, silent as he usually is. His tongue muscles over the right words, the words that will settle that ball of uncertainty you have nestled in your gut. 

He settles on the truth. 

“We are sleepin’ together.” 

Shaking your head, you steal your reigns back from Joel and gently nuzzle your boots against the horse’s underbelly. “Well, maybe that should end.” 

Joel watches on with a small smirk as your horse is set in motion down the grassy hill. He shouts loud enough for his voice to carry down from the high ground. “You set those boys straight, or I’ll have to keep doin’ it for ya.”

You sling back your middle finger in his direction, both of your horses riding side by side now as you follow the crew through to the valley. 

Joel sighs upon entering his large, private cabin, resting his cowboy hat to air out on a hook by the front door. His clothes wreak of his musky sweat, and the shower calls his name. He walks stiffly. Joel’s thick thigh muscles are as strong as iron from riding his horse, and his back cracks each time he inhales.

But he can’t deny that this life was made for him. 

Training to be a carpenter, earning pennies on the dollar to work in the hot Texas sun, and for what? Building someone else’s dream property? He had his own dreams. 

The ranch was his dream.

He always had a profound appreciation for nature and the outdoors. 

Fuck the city, fuck car horns honking obnoxiously, fuck the traffic. He found more fulfillment in listening to the wind flutter through the trees and would much rather hear the moos of his cattle than impatient commuters at six in the morning. 

Plus, he’s never felt more free or independent. This was his land, and he made the decisions on how it was run. Hiring the sassy cowgirl from the metropolis just happened to be a nice bonus on lonely nights when there wasn’t much left to his whiskey bottle, and the ride into town was more than twenty minutes for a new one. She sated him all the same, better, even.  

Despite years of riding and wrangling, you’re so fucking soft. You have soft eyes, a pretty voice, and satiny thighs. Your lips are plush against his weathered ones, and you don’t seem to mind sitting in his lap with his rougher-than-barbwire hands feeling over your body. 

But in turn, you’ve made a little soft spot in his wild like the west heart of his. And he swore he’d never settle down; you seem to have the same intentions. 

Things were easy. Nice and easy. Almost routine. 

The bunkhouse would be busy with cowboys and cowgirls playing card games, drinking their beers, singing to the music on the radio, and talking nonsense. You’d slip out after dark and wind up upstairs in his bed. 

He recalls you saying something about how his bed is more comfy than the ones in the bunkhouse. 

“Whatever you say, darlin’.” 

Tonight was no different. Fresh from his shower with a towel secured low on his waist, he hums curiously at the sight of you sprawled out across his bed. No more than a minute later, you are tugging it loose from his frame and letting it pool around his ankles. 

“Thought you said you were done,” Joel muses with a hint of teasing. You sit up from the bed on your knees and wrap your arms around his broad trap and shoulder muscles. 

“I ain’t a quitter,” you mutter against Joel’s mouth, feeling his tongue glide along yours as he explores you freely. 

He sheds your clothes, feeling your freshly showered skin and hair under his rough palms. He can’t help but touch you like you’re his, like he owns you. But no man can possess the wind. 

You kiss as he slips you under the bed’s cool sheets, drunk on the way you move so pliantly under his guidance. His lips move to the slope of your neck, his greying whiskers scratching your skin before he washes over the irritation with more kisses. 

Joel’s hands slip between your legs, cupping your clothed center in one hand. Your eyes light up at the friction, mewling up a moan of his name as he massages over the wet spot growing on your panties. 

“She’s already soaked, darlin’. You been thinkin’ ‘bout this?” Joel muses, sitting up properly to peel your shirt off your body, two fingers curling around the hem of your panties and chucking them mindlessly on the floor. 

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly as he’s about to slip down between those pretty legs of yours. 

“What?” He asks, damn near annoyed. 

“I can’t wait,” you beg breathlessly, his eyes meeting yours. “I-I can’t, I’m beggin’ you, please. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel sighs but ultimately nods. It’s not what he wants, but sometimes you both need a quick fix. 

Joel’s body parts your legs, a grunt escaping the depth of his throat as he ruts his hips against your own. 

“Good idea,” he mutters against your mouth, leaning down and distracting himself with your kisses as he lines his length up and down your soaking center. 

You sharply inhale as he enters and the sound is music to his ears. He feels your nails carving into his back muscles as he sinks himself in deeper deeper deeper, both of you panting with eagerness by the time his hips are flush with your own, lost in where you end and he begins.

You let out a string of moans as he reels himself back, only to return to your depths with a snap of his hips that releases a shrill whine of his name from your throat. His forearms are buried in the fluff of the pillows on either side of your head, forehead against forehead, his hips grinding against you now. 

The friction is enough to make your head spin. You can feel the coarse hair of his happy trail tickling your already anxious pearl. 

“Fuck,” you huff out, letting your hands slip down his back, knowing that if you want him to pick up the pace, you’ll have to ignite his fire. In one quick movement, your hands drag themselves up Joel’s back, your nails creating etched lines that raise red once you finish at the very tops of his shoulders. 

Joel releases a long, low groan in response as his eyes snap open to meet yours. The sting of pain creates heat along Joel’s spine. His jaw is wound tight as he brings his large hand to wrap around your pretty throat, thumb on your chin to force you into staring straight at him. 

“Such a goddamn brat,” he growls, adding pressure to the column of your throat as he begins to pound into you harder and harder with each thrust of his hips. You cry out his name, a cacophony of your panting moans and your slick squelching against his hips fill your ears. The ecstasy of losing just a smidge of air is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

He’s obsessed with the way your eyes gloss over in lust, your body jerking up the bed with each powerful thrust he gives you. Your mouth hangs open, gasping for air that’s just out of your reach. 

“You take it, baby girl, you keep takin’ it. She’s so fuckin’- goddamit, so fuckin’ good for me,” he pants, feeling the warm air dissolve against your skin as Joel begins to swell fatter inside of you. 

Perfectly slick and warm, he loses himself in your pussy. You squeeze and choke him, his orgasm only building as you whimper how good he feels. 

“Holy fuck, Joel, please please please, right there, ohmygod you’re gonna make me-” you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as you grip onto his forearm that’s still holding your delicate throat, your other hand gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. He knows to squeeze a little harder as you fall apart, the euphoria of the combination sending you over the edge. 

Joel’s holding on for dear life, always focused on putting you first, always trying to prove your jokes of him being an old man wrong. But he can’t deny he’s nearly finished twice now, your pretty cunt all nice and warm for him. 

What’s wrong with pushing you over the edge a little?

Joel abandons the hold on your throat as you still are witnessing the aftershocks of your orgasm, his two thick fingers circling over your swollen clit. 

Joel smirks as your eyes snap open, your jaw dropping wide as you silently scream in pleasure. He nods sadistically, smirking as he overstimulates your already twitchy clit.

“You’re gonna give me another, right here, right now,” Joel grunts, stilling his hips as he’s buried to the hilt inside you, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as your gasps and strangled moans fill the room. 

“Fuck, Joel I don’t think I can,” you cry out, bracing the wrist of the hand that’s still working figure-eights around your pearl. Joel watches as your chest rises and falls quickly, nipples at peaks as you continue to clench repeatedly around his cock. 

 “Know you can, baby, cum on this cock again. You’re a strong cowgirl, ain’t’cha? You been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day, getting this pretty girl drilled by me, know ya have.”

And he’s right. Shamefully so. Denying Joel looks good in and out of his cowboy attire is just nonsense. The way he rides his horse with his thighs snagged tight around its middle, gnawing on his toothpicks to ward off the need to smoke a cigarette or chew; at this point, it’s everything that he does that turns you on. 

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy to give him a second one. 

Your nails pierce into his skin as your hands grip his biceps, mewling and moaning something wrecked, feeling the warmth gather deep in your belly once more. 

“Keep fuckin’ me, I didn’t say to stop,” you pant.

Joel disguises his laughter by meeting your lips with his own, giving you messy kisses that taste better than perfect ones. His hips and fingers work in tandem to force you over the edge. You’re shaking under him, your thigh muscles twitching with excitement, legs wrapping around his middle as he grows closer to his own finish. 

Just as he feels like he’s going to give way, he can feel your pussy clenching around his aching cock, his tip brushing so perfectly against that spongy spot that sets your insides alight. 

“Fuck,” he grits, ripping himself loose of your perfectly wasted cunt as he yanks over his length. One, two, three more times, and he’s spilling warm spend across your belly. The pretty splatters are like a Jackson Pollock. He stares in awe at how pretty you look getting finished on. 

The bed dips as he falls into place beside you. He doesn’t lay idle. He reaches for some tissues from his bedside table, politely wiping away his mess as you stare at him with lustful eyes. You were so fucked out. Sorta cute. 

“Quit,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes. 

“You ain’t as old as I thought you were.” You whisper, a smirk tugging on the corners of your mouth. 

Joel chuckles softly at your familiar tease. He's heard it countless times, but it never ceases to make him roll his eyes and pull you closer to him. He kisses your forehead affectionately, his voice carrying a hint of playful banter.

“You gonna keep remindin' me about my age every chance you get? Don’t stop ya from comin’ back each night.”

You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heart thump. 

Joel’s got one arm slung around your shoulders, the other on your thigh that’s draped across his middle. His strong hand works slowly into your tired muscles. You play with the greying curls on his chest, taking note of the dark, nearly black ones still speckled throughout. 

“Goodnight, old cowboy.” You say, patting his chest, hearing his slow laughter rumble from his chest. 

“G’night, pain in my ass.” 

main masterlist | notifications blog

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Sweet Temptation - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer’s a pervert and so are you (a.k.a Spencer doesn’t know how to control himself when the team goes camping)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This isn’t that accurate to canon but I don’t really care, I just love the concept of pervert!spencer and wanted to write something filthy ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i wrote half of this half asleep so give me a little grace pls, not proofread cuz i never do oops

TW: pervert!spencer, bau!reader, panty stealing, dubcon, public sex, outdoor sex, oral sex (reader receiving), penetration, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cum eating, softdom!spencer, afab + fem reader

Rating: R, 18+

——

When one of the higher ups suggested the BAU team go on a wilderness retreat, you figured it’d be at some cushy wellness resort with cheesy team-building exercises and sleeping in cabins, not a campsite in the middle of the woods, with only a flimsy tent floor separating you from the hard ground.

You didn’t want to be here, truthfully you felt that the team was a little too close to each other at times, and there certainly wasn’t any bonding you could do out here that couldn’t have been done back at the office. You were cold, the rocky dirt beneath you was hurting your back, and you could not get to sleep for longer than twenty minutes at a time no matter how many times you tossed and turned into different positions.

You had enough, and decided to try your luck at a walk to wake yourself up until the rest of the team was up. You unzipped your tent, careful to be quiet to not wake anyone, and stepped out into the fresh morning air. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon, and the hazy orange hue was almost enough to make you understand why you were on this stupid trip to begin with.

You began your trek down the trail, the sound of birds chirping and the light layer of dew coating the underbrush making you feel momentarily like you were in a fairytale. Maybe a return to nature wasn’t such a bad thing. You came upon a small clearing, just through a slightly overgrown offshoot of the trail, and decided to take a closer look at the wildflowers growing there. There was a small overgrown picnic table in the center, the perfect place for you to sit and take in the beauty of nature.

You sat there for what felt like hours, your eyes fluttering shut as you slumped down against the table, finally getting some much-needed sleep in your blissful surroundings. The abrupt ‘snap’ of a twig startled you awake, and you almost fell back off of the withered bench. You looked around through hazy eyes, watching as a tall figure approached you. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the bright light of mid-morning, seeing that the figure was none other than Spencer Reid.

“How long have I been out?” You asked, rubbing your eyes.

“Not long, the rest of the team just left on the hike, I volunteered to stay back and wait for you.” He explained, pushing his hair out of his face. You weren’t sure how honest he was being, the telltale nervous lick of his lips telling you that at least part of what he was saying was a stretch of the truth.

“Were you watching me sleep?” You jokingly accused, playfully pushing his shoulder. His face turned bright red, and for a second you thought you might’ve been right. He said nothing, shaking his head before turning around and walking quickly away from you. A flash of pink fabric caught your attention, just a sliver sticking out of the back pocket of his shorts.

“What’s this?” You ran up behind him, snatching the fabric out of his back pocket. You stopped in your tracks, mouth hung slightly open in shock when you realized what you held in your hand. It was the pair of dirty panties you had changed out of before bed last night, the pair that you had sworn you put in your laundry bag.

“What the fuck, Spencer?” You raised your voice, holding the pair up so he knew you’d caught him.

“I-I can explain!” He frantically tried to reason, taking a step back from you.

“Oh really? Explain to me why you pulled a pair of my dirty underwear out of my laundry bag while I was sleeping, I would seriously love to know what rational explanation there is for that.” Your heavy sarcasm was almost too exaggerated to take seriously, and to your detriment it had blood rushing to Spencer’s cock. He attempted to stutter something out, but it was all jumbled nonsense.

“I don’t need an explanation Spencer, you’re a pervert, plain and simple.” You scoffed, backing slowly away from him.

“You always walk around in those short skirts, how else am I supposed to react?” He attempted to defend himself, starting to gain a small bit of confidence as he took steps to close the gap between the two of you.

“That’s awfully misogynistic Spencer.” You retorted, the initial shock of the situation starting to wear off.

“Every time you bend over in those skirts I get an eye full of your underwear, and you know what? I think you’re doing it on purpose.” His accusation wasn’t entirely incorrect, you had noticed him staring at your ass the first couple times you wore a shorter skirt to work and thought it’d be fun to embarrass him a little. You never thought he’d resort to this, though.

“That’s bullshit.” You laughed, taking another step back until your back hit a tree, stopping you in your tracks.

“Really? Then why did you bend over right in front of me in those shorts last night?” He pressed his hand against the tree about your head, leaning over you. He may still be the slightly awkward, nerdy Spencer you knew before he did time, but prison surely did bring out an incredibly intimidating side of him. Now you were the one with nothing coherent to say, simply swallowing your pride as you looked up at him.

“I think you want me just as badly as I want you.” He breathed, his free hand meeting your waist. He leaned down, lips brushing yours until you raised yourself onto your toes to close the kiss, wanting to swallow him whole. The kiss was intense but short-lived as Spencer pulled away, his hand on your waist turning you so you were facing the tree. He dropped to his knees behind you, hands gripping the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down, exposing your bare cunt. Your slick was already starting to drip down your thigh, the thought of getting caught fucking your coworker in the middle of the woods only spurring on your arousal.

“Look how wet you are, and you think I’m the pervert?” He teased, not giving you a moment to react before his tongue was between your folds, drinking up all of your wetness. You leaned your cheek against the tree as he ate you like he was starving, his hands kneading your ass as his tongue explored every inch of your needy pussy. Just as he began sucking on your clit, the two of you heard someone coming up the trail outside the clearing.

Spencer scrambled to his feet, his hand covering your mouth as he wrapped his arm around your waist to shield your bare bottom half from view. You carefully listened, waiting for the couple’s conversation to fade as they walked past before Spencer finally let his grip on your waist go, continuing to hold his other hand over your mouth.

“I need to feel you.” He whispered, pushing his pants down to free his erection. He grabbed your shoulder, pushing you forward against the tree again before kicking your legs further apart, the head of his cock prodding your entrance. You whimpered against his hand, pushing your hips back in encouragement. He pushed into you, your wet cunt gripping every inch of his thick cock, stretching you out just enough to bring tears to your eyes. He filled you up perfectly, like he was made for you, and it grew increasingly hard to swallow your moans.

Spencer’s hand over your mouth could only muffle so much, but you didn’t care about getting caught anymore, you just needed him to fuck you as hard as he could. He started at a quick but steady pace, but you need more. You tried to talk against his palm, only creating confusion until he pulled his hand away just enough for you to speak.

“Harder.” You whined, holding onto the trunk of the tree for dear life as he granted your request. Each thrust of his hips against yours was almost brutal, his free hand digging fingertips so hard into your hip that you knew they’d bruise. Spencer had never been more grateful for his eidetic memory, knowing that he’d be able to remember how perfectly your ass rippled with every slam of his hips each time he wanted to relieve himself in the future. He finally dropped his grip from your mouth, the now free hand wrapping around your front and moving down your stomach to your clit, rubbing quick circles to match his pace.

“S-spencer, I’m not on birth control.” You choked out, sensing that he was as close as you were.

“Then let’s make a baby.” He groaned.

“Oh God!” His empty threat pushed you over the edge, your walls pulsing around him as you bit your forearm to stifle your cries of pleasure. Your knees began to buckle, Spencer’s grip the only thing keeping you standing as he came inside of you. He held you close, waiting for you to come down before pulling out, his seed dripping down your thighs. He brought his hand down to gather the extra, bringing his semen-covered fingers to your lips.

You didn’t have to be told what to do, sucking them clean as you caught your breath. He pulled your underwear and shorts back up your legs, helping you straighten up before doing the same with his pants.

“You really are a pervert.” You broke the silence, turning to face him.

“Oh yeah, like you’re completely innocent in all of this.” He quipped, wiping the slightest bit of his cum off the corner of your mouth.

“You might’ve just knocked me up in the middle of the woods, I think you win that title, Spencer.” He was blushing again, somehow shy again after the dirty things you’d just done together.

“I’ll take you into town to get the morning after pill, the rest of the team shouldn’t be back for a while still.” He took your hand, guiding you out of the clearing to start the walk back up the trail.

“I wouldn’t mind having your baby.” You told him, causing him to trip on a rock on the path. He caught himself, laughing it off, but secretly wishing he could pull you into the tree line and fuck you all over again.

——

Tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[mandarinmoons]

Hello, how about Spencer with an outdoorsy reader. She is always on hikes and goes on long backpacking trips when he’s out of town for a case. Mostly because Spencer isn’t the hiking type.

Anyways what if when she’s just on a day trip while he’s working a local case and she finds a body. She calls him immediately and that’s when the team discovers Spencer has a girlfriend and she’s not what they expected.

I love this idea! x

The morning sun shone through the window as you were sitting by the kitchen table, admiring the dew drops on the glass and the gentle sound of the birds singing outside. It looked to be a perfect morning and with the air feeling so crisp and fresh, you were excited to go on the small hike you had been planning for the past few weeks. Work had been hectic and a little retreat to one of your favorite places was just what you needed.

After getting dressed, filling your water bottle and packing some snacks you took off to your destination. You thought about getting your boyfriend Spencer to tag along with you, but knowing how that went down last time, and that he was working, you had to enjoy the trails all by yourself this time.

“Spence, c’mon! We’re nearly there!”

You looked behind your shoulder to see how far behind Spencer was. You stopped and waited for a minute before you saw the lanky man in your view, breathing heavily and holding tightly onto the straps of his backpack.

“Hold on for a moment. I gotta…”

Spencer leans against the side of a tree, his face red and sweaty, even if he regularly chases down unsubs he’s clearly not used to hiking down these long trails.

Walking beside him, you offered your water to him, which he downed nearly half of it.

“How do you do this every week?”

“Practice my love, it takes practice.”

Chuckling to yourself at the memory, you walked ahead and took your time to admire the scenery around you.

It was nearing the end of summer and the leaves had already started to change colors and fall away from their branches, leaving them bare and withered.

Taking a few steps away from the route, you headed down your usual secret path to a small cliff that showed off a beautiful view to the town, a scene you were almost sure only you knew about.

Carefully making your way up the hill, you stopped in your tracks when you saw what seemed to be a shoe sticking out from the side of a bush.

Don’t let this be what I think it is

You were reminded of the case Spencer was working on and the details he shared with you flashed through your mind.

“Women in their late twenties to early thirties have been found dead in secluded areas, out in the woods and paths.”

You knew that with dating an FBI agent there was bound to be a moment where his work would entangle with your life, but you never expected it to happen in this way.

Slowly walking over to the foliage, your worst fears were brought to life when you saw a hand peek through the branches, covered in a crimson sheen, which was undoubtedly blood.

Trying to control your breathing, you pulled out your phone and dialed Spencer’s number. When the call connected through, your tongue went numb and you tried to figure out a way to explain your situation, which seemed impossible.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“No… no, Spencer I’m not-”, your breathing picked up and your head started to spin. You sat down on the ground to try and ground yourself a bit, breathing in and out through your nose to fight off the dizziness.

“Y/N, where are you?”

“I’m on the trail… Spencer, I think I found a body.”

-

The blinking lights on the police cars blinded you as you watched by the sidelines, a detective questioning you about how you made your discovery.

The longer you were questioned the more you felt the energy leave your being. Spencer took notice in your demeanor and quickly pulled you to his side as soon as the last of the questions were answered.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Tired.”

Spencer nodded and ran his palms over your arms, you weren’t cold and yet you weren’t able to stop shaking the entirety of the time you were interviewed.

“They’re about to wrap up the body and then we can go home, okay?”

Nodding as a response, Spencer guided you along to the car and let you be by yourself for a moment while he talked over details with his team.

Nearing his team mates, the last thing Spencer expected to see was a grin on some people’s faces.

“So, you and nature girl, huh?”

Derek was always one to make a quip over Spencer, which he didn’t mind, but regarding how everyone found out about this during such grim circumstances, now wasn’t the best time for jokes.

During the time Spencer was away, you managed to get comfy enough to close your eyes and get some snooze, but that was cut short by the engine being turned on and your seatbelt being clicked on.

“It’s okay, we’re going home.”

The car ride home was silent. Spencer would occasionally ask what you’d want when you arrived, but you didn’t have the energy to reply to him and simply replied back with either a nod or shake of your head.

You hadn’t felt this drained in a while. When arriving home you didn’t even have the energy to step out of the car and Spencer made his way to scoop you into his arms and carry you inside.

Inside the house, Spencer crouched down and took off your shoes for you, you looked down on him as his hands carefully undid the laces and slipped the shoes off, the gentleness making your heart clench.

“I’ll go make you some tea and we’ll lie down for a bit, how does that sound?”

Spencer looked up and his eyes met your glassy ones, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

“Oh honey,” standing up and taking you into his embrace, the tears took over and spilled over your cheeks as the distraught you faced today could no longer be hidden.

“How can anyone be that cruel?”

“I don’t know, angel.”

But that was a lie, Spencer did know how someone could be that cruel. In fact, he could list out the exact chemical reactions that needed to happen in someone’s brain in order for someone to behave in such an animalistic way, but he knew not to speak of them, at least not in this moment, because ignorance was bliss, and he did not want the only innocent miracle in his life to be tainted with the sorrows of his job, or should he say his primary life.

Taglist: @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @kimm4710 @niktwazny303 @reidsdaisies @mindfullycriminal @cumulo-stratus @gayfor-rosadiaz @gubsbuubs @multifandomsimp69 @chyozai @deppfanatic @potatovoyager @indyvelazquez @nini123 @justlivinginadaydream @kers505 @dan-the-womans-blog

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[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: gunplay (ghoap x reader) cw: the tiniest of dub-con if you squint 1.8k of this foolishness and im pretty sure i lost the plot somewhere but in my defense, guns don't interest me

When you wake, you notice that Ghost isn’t in the tent. His bedroll neatly rolled up and put away in its usual spot and by the looks of things, he's been gone for quite some time. You sit up, the morning light filtering through the tent's fabric— the soft, diffused glow creating gentle shadows on the ground.

Outside, the air is crisp and sweet, dew still fresh on the grass, damp beneath your bare feet. Soap's lone mare is tied to the hitching post, tail flicking lazily as she eats off the hay net.

The campsite is quiet except for the chirping of birds and Soap's deep, growling snores coming from behind you. Ghost isn't here. Ghost isn't here. The thought bounces around in your skull, heart loud in your ears as the realization begins to sink in.

You could get away, slip away unnoticed from these two who've kept you as their reluctant companion since they wrangled you up in a rowdy saloon a couple of towns back with your hand deep in someone else's pocket. "Behave and we won't give ya up for the meager bounty yer worth." Or worse. The three of you knew no one would miss you, no family or friends to claim the body if you ended up face down on a riverbank.

It’s now or never. Freedom stands in front of you in a glossy, white coat and a braided mane, but being Soap’s horse, even approaching her will be a gamble. You'll just have to risk getting bucked off and trampled on.

When you go back inside to gather the few belongings you've got, you spot Soap's gun belt in all its worn leather glory lying in a tangled heap in the corner, revolvers still snug in their holsters. He must've gotten in late from town, the reward for the bounty he turned in last night traded in for hooch.

A mistake. His costly mistake. And a chance to ride his mare relatively unharmed. Your fingers tremble as they wrap around the handle, the ingrained symbol digging into your palm as you tighten your grip. You may not be a gunslinger with the fastest draw in the West, but you do know what end to point at someone.

But Soap's a bounty hunter and a damn good one. His reflexes are fast— faster than they should be with his dense, muscular build.  You've seen him close gaps with an unnatural speed that’s left even the toughest men reeling. He's a relentless force of pursuit when he wants to be and keeping him at a distance is a losing game, especially when you've no prior experience using a gun. Your only option is to corner him, limit his options. Every man bends the knee to power, and right now, you've got it in your clammy hand.

You straddle him, knees planted firmly on either side of his lower ribs, and press the barrel onto the left side of his jaw. Incredible, not even a hitch in his breathing, as if you're not sitting on him with your full weight. Fisting the front of his union shirt, you tug, the sharp, sudden sting of his chest hair being pulled taut waking him out of his deep sleep.

His bleary eyes snap open, blinking away any traces of sleep within moments, the new day's light catching the edges of his irises, making them gleam with an almost otherworldly brightness as they sweep the tent for any real danger.

Your breathing turns ragged once they land on you, satisfied, a wolfish grin tugging at the corner of his lips, revealing a hint of teeth. Dread claws at your gut, your nerves rattled, but you meet his gaze head-on. There is no room for hesitation, for doubt, not when the man you've got pinned with his own weapon is more touched in the head than Ghost is.

"I ken I'm handsome but all ye ‘ad t'do was ask, hen. I'm achin' fer the hair o' the hound if ye got any, though." His tone gives away nothing, his body completely lax. Even the rise and fall of his chest is steady, slow. You know better than to believe he isn't waiting on you to make the next move to retaliate, so you don't move. Neither of you do.

"You'll take me to town and you'll leave me there. Compared to the other folk you rope up and dump at the Sheriff's feet, I'm worth nothing." You'll make yourself scarce, move to a different state, maybe. A new life, a decent one. Honest work.

His smile widens, the puckered scar on his chin stretching. "Didnae think to take my girl? She's righ' there, saddle 'n all." Soap must think you daft.

"I want to disappear without drawing a target on my head large enough for you to see from across state lines." He would've hunted you down for sport, at that point. Soap blinks once, thrice, and then you have a solid weight pushing on your back, sudden and unexpected, forcing your upper body forward, your shoulders hunching in reflex.

The very familiar scent of earth and mildly ripe sweat sends a shiver licking up your spine, locking every notch firmly into place. Why you hadn't heard him arrive at camp or open the flaps to the tent is now irrelevant. Ghost is here now and you've nowhere to run, definitely not with Soap grabbing onto the soft of your waist, tethers made of human flesh and bone.

The weathered leather of his glove feels unexpectedly soft as his fingers curl around your trembling hand. "If you're gonna threaten ‘im, ya gotta do it proper," he mutters, breath warm against the shell of your ear. His voice is a low, rolling rumble, the kind he takes when calming his panicked horse.

"Easy now, settle down, loosen your arm a little." It does nothing to soothe you, Ghost looming larger than the gun in your grip, making it feel almost insignificant— a mere prop in the face of his overwhelming presence and the voice in your head screams at you to bare your neck, submit, and hope he goes for your jugular quickly, death seemingly a better choice than whatever game he’s making you play. "Open up, Johnny."

He does so readily, a transparent string of saliva stretching between his top and bottom teeth. Ghost's denim-clad thighs bracket yours as he settles comfortably behind you, his barrel chest engulfing the entirety of your back with space to spare.

Soap lies there with his tongue out like a dog on a hot, summer's day, mouth open wide enough for you to see the ridges and grooves of his molars. Ghost forcibly moves your hand, metal scraping against Soap's stubble with a coarse, gritty sound.

“Lie still Johnny, ya hear?” his pointer finger hovering over the trigger. The lump that’s risen to your throat makes breathing hard, each swallow a struggle. You never intended to fire a shot, just hoped the threat of life and death would be enough to make things go your way. 

“W-wait,” you gurgle out but Ghost’s hand only tightens around yours. 

“Can’t get cold feet now, sweet’eart, not when Soap’s southern blood is pumpin’ ‘cause a you.” His-? You take notice of it then, the rigid swelling between your legs, pushing up into your center. As if to drive the point home, Soap bucks his hips while pulling you down, making the inseam of your pants brush against your pearl. 

“Oh-,” he does it again, and again, the leaden lump of dread that had once anchored itself in your belly begins to melt away, becoming an insistent ache that quickens your heartbeat and warms your veins, a mellow heat radiating from your core outward.

And then two things happen at once. 

Soap takes the pistol’s barrel into his mouth, slightly pursing his lips as he creates a seal around it, and his cheeks gently hollow as he bobs his head forward and back, and Ghost slowly weaves his unoccupied hand south, under your jeans and underwear, the roughened tips of his fingers quickly finding what you’ve been forced to neglect for months. 

Soap grunts, a gravelly resonant sound— rich and full— when you dig your nails into the meat of his chest as Ghost jerks erratic little circles on your puffy clit, sending shockwaves through your stomach, each wave headier than the last. 

“Can’t let ‘im ‘ave all the fun, eh?” The pressure on your waist is enough to ache, your flesh already throbbing beneath Soap’s hands, and the closer you get to the precipice, the harder they squeeze. 

Metal clacks against tooth every time your body tenses, muscles constrict, unable to keep your arm steady even with Ghost’s iron grip over your own. Soap’s a slobbering mess, spit dribbling down his chin, pistol glossy with it as he sucks on it as if it were a man’s cock instead.

(Maybe he wants it to be.) 

A couple of hiccups claw up your throat as the sticky, wet sounds of Soap’s mouth get drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears as you teeter on the sharpened edge, Ghost’s pace on you turning frantic, almost violent, and—

“Keep those pretty eyes on Johnny, he’s been dreamin’ of lookin’ at ya in the face while you come.”

Ghost tossing the gun aside, metal skidding across the floor, and you’re coming apart with Soap’s tongue in your mouth, swallowing your every gasp and moan.

It tastes like the lubricant he uses to clean his gun. Metallic. Tangy. Slightly acrid.

You’re barely able to draw in a breath when Ghost is already tugging your pants off, waistband coming to settle snugly right below your arse, exposing only what he needs, a couple of fingers gliding along your folds, curling right at your entrance.

But he doesn’t do what you expect; for him to sink into cunt, fill it to the brim, distended until you’ve got tears clumping your eyelashes and blood on your tongue. 

(It’s been a very long time since you’ve last laid with a man, and not one has ever been as big as he in stature.)

Instead, he takes Soap’s bare length in one giant paw, using your creamy slick for better friction, and ruts his own heavy cock against it until they’re both spurting the warm spend Ghost crams into your needy hole with two fingers.

“‘M not fuckin’ you, not after your stupid little stunt,” he says as if he’s talking about the weather, and you’re not sure if laughing will stop the hysterical sob about to slither past your trembling lips. 

Soap stares up at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, content, satiated unlike you, and pinches your cheek with his fingers. “Next time ye want tae threaten a person—,” his voice peters off, and you can feel Ghost wiping his hand on the back of your shirt before reaching for Soap’s pistol and pressing a button, the cylinder dropping open.

Empty. Every single chamber is hollow, like the empty sockets of a honeycomb. “Make sure it’s loaded, sweet’eart.”

Un. fucking. Believable.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ green is the color of envy (and poison)

type of post: fic characters: neige, vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, vague possessiveness maybe angst idk, oooh drama author's note: I wanted a break from headcanons and had this strange urge to do a character study for neige. here I am, writing this at midnight

Neige Leblanche does not hate Vil Schoenheit.

The thought had not even occurred to him.

In fact, if you had even asked as much, his wide, doe-like eyes would fill with pretty tears, and he would ask you, in a trembling voice, if you really thought of him so cruelly.

Neige Leblanche did not hate anyone. On the contrary, he had so much love, it practically overflowed from him, touching the ground at his feet and imprinting itself on everything he held.

He was, for all intents and purposes, a vision of loveliness, a sunrise, morning dew on the petal of a white lily. He would have gladly, if you asked him, plucked each star out of the sky for you, written you a thousand songs, laid himself at your feet in adoration.

He was cupid, a chubby-faced, blushing cherub.

He had been content, for a time. Happy, even, with his little life, the family and career he had built with his own two hands, though you wouldn't know it from their softness.

Then, there was you.

You. You. The magicless prefect of Night Raven College. An otherworldly being. A hero.

You. So kindhearted, always gentle with the first years and animals. So polite, with him and his friends. So brave, facing danger and coming out unscathed. Your hope and gratefulness despite your circumstances reminded him, in a way, of himself.

There was no other explanation for it. You were sent for him.

Neige had simply never been so sure of anything. It felt right. It felt perfect. You were the one he'd been waiting for. You were his.

After the VDC, he couldn't stop thinking about you. You! You were perfect for him, his soulmate, and he didn't need to know you to know that. He'd never felt like this before, after all. It must be love.

You feel it too, don't you?

Limb by limb, he sews together a ragdoll of you in his mind. Something simple. Soft. Beautiful. Something for his thoughts to play with. He gives you a sword, one day, and he makes you a knight. He dresses you in the finest of silks, and he makes you a noble. He pushes up the corners of your sewn-together mouth, and he makes you smile back at him.

You're kind. You're brave. You're loving. You're loyal. You're chivalrous. You're anything he could want or need, anything at all, because you're his.

Why would fate lead him to someone who wasn't already perfect?

And, oh, how he wants to pick you flowers. Neige will make you breakfast in bed, and sing for you. Everyone loves him; and he loves everyone. But it isn't enough. You're his soulmate. Don't you know?

Why do you keep looking at each other like that.

You're so friendly, just like Neige, always so eager to please. Right? That's what it is. Right?

There could be no other reason for you and Vil Schoenheit to look at each other like that. As if you know something that Neige doesn't. As if you're having a conversation with only your eyes. What is that? What does it mean?

Why does he feel so comfortable touching you?

A hand on the small of your back, an arm around your waist. He corrects your posture with both hands on your shoulders. He taps your thigh when you're distracted. He holds your face in both palms to scold you for smudging the eyeliner he had so tediously put on you before coming here...

Why do you smile at him when he lectures you? Why does he smile back?

This strange, dizzying feeling, this tightness in Neige's chest, this unwelcomed weight, can't just be confusion.

He can only lie to himself for so long.

You feel it, too... don't you? Don't you get butterflies when you look at him? Don't you feel dizzy? Don't you think of him?

Vil murmurs something in your ear with a sly smile, and you laugh.

And you haven't even looked at Neige once yet. The thought makes him clench his fists under the table.

As this new, painful weight settles in his stomach, a dizzying thought sits with it.

Neige Leblanche is jealous.

Of Vil Schoenheit.

[sakkiichi]

CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

[jackalopenecropsy]

ok i'll indulge myself....

part 1(?) of biker gang!141 and an interesting fem grunge!reader... if u want more

cw; slight mentions of blood

The streets were pretty quiet this time of night. The only sounds to be heard were barking dogs or tires occasionally skidding in the distance. And the teenagers were never out this late in the fall, as school just started or they were working their dead jobs at the gas station or high school graduates pouring the same 5 drinks at a bar.

You liked walking around- even though it was maybe 1 or 2 in the morning- mainly because you had your scary guard dog with you, (who wasn't even a bit scary, he was just a police academy dropout with a fear of cotton swabs and squirrels) but also because the air this time of year smelled the best. It did wonders for your skin and sinuses, so why not? Walking around in the daytime was a lot more of a chore anyways, teenagers skating sporradically with fruity vapes on necklaces or older men just leaving their blue collar jobs for lunch while staring at you with unreadable expressions.

The northwoods, sigh. You'd told yourself that you'd leave it all the time when you were a kid. Over the years, a mix of the economy making that absolutely impossible and an aquirement of taste for small-town life made it a lot easier to accept the impossibility of it. Bartending and eventually being remote in editorial work kept you afloat in the small house you'd been able to buy flat out in the south side of town.

That part of town was just cemeteries and neighborhoods, neighborhoods and railroads, and gas stations and bars. As most south sides were. Another luxury of living where you lived was the copious amounts of streets and drag-worthy strips of old highway that laid for miles in one direction or another.

You used to work as a freelance flag girl for drag racers on some shitty craigslist copy, but quit l because the only racers that wanted you were full of white-claw drunk young assholes rooting for douchebag car modders who compensated for their dick sizes by throttling so hard that the pop of their exhausts sounded like gunfights. It was too loud and to risky and too tasteless.

But in the ends of the summer, it was taken over by the bikers. Not bicycle-bikers, but motorcyclists.

You were absolutely terrible at hiding your drooling depraved stares at every single one of them. The young women in skin-clad leather and red lipstick with matching sleek bikes, the finer-aged older men in their lean-back harleys with bandanas, the cute guys your age in their blackout helmets and their modestly-modded bikes. Oh, the variety, oh the taste. You had once thought about picking up biking yourself, but when you told your friends they all cackled at the idea. You were too absent minded at times; definitely from all the weed you smoked. Only half embarassed, you agreed.

Tonight was no different than the other nights of early Septembers before. Your dog lapped his tongue in the air catching stray dew drops falling from leaves overhead as you took your time walking accross the street. He swayed his tail so hard that you almost got knocked over a few times. The sound of a motorcyle revving in the distance made you slow your speed to a halt, listening intently, shamefully to see if you could get any bit of eye candy while out.

You recognized the sound of the engine, which soon became engines as the sounds came closer.

'Oh... a group of Kawaskis?? No... that's at least two more different motorcyles, but a few Kawaskis.. Do I hear a Harley?'

You blinked to yourself before shaking your head.

'God fucking damnit, you geek. You should NOT be able to tell what motorcyle model someone's riding from the fucking engine.'

Before you can shamefully walk back towards your house, you feel your dog tug harshly at his leash. You try to hold him back, but he yanks with one solid push of his back paws on the blacktop, and before you know it, you're hands and knees down on the hard ground as he's running full speed towards the sound of the motorcycles.

You groan in frustration as you stand up in a small bit of pain, your fishnets torn to shit as your palms and knees are scraped just enough to bleed a reasonable amount for getting launched by a 90 lb dog of muscle.

"Riley!" You shout and run at him, dodging a few trash cans along the street's edge as you do so. "Riley, goddamnit! Come back! Here boy!" Your converse were broken in enough to give you good ground as you chased him, and you almost grab his loose leash dragging behind him- until you trip over your own feet again just before you do.

You stay on the ground this time, unworried for your dog, as he's a big boy who knows how to not get hit by a car or get lost. More focused on the soul-eating embarassment of being outrun by a dog with more anxiety than a war veteran, and tripping twice in the process. You ignore the growing and stalling sound of engines beside- or in front, you can't tell being face down in the gravel- you as you're grovelling.

"Eh... excuse me miss? Are you alright?" You hear a gruff, dark voice mumble from just above you. You whip your head up to look at 5 people in bikers helmets just in front of you, their motorcyles off or stalling as they stand looking down at you on the ground.

"Oh- oh my- uh yeah- don't worry about me I'm great. I just tripped- nothing serious." You wave them off as you try and cover the growing fluster on your face. You stand and shake the dirt off your hands before swiping it off of your zip up, shaking it out of your gloves too. You look up to see none other than Riley, sitting contently behind the man in front of you, eagerly being pet by one of the bikers with a skull design painted onto his helmet and visor.

"Riley!" The biker looks up and your dog wags his tail hard enough to knock the bikers over too, and barks at you. "You are so not going to get any treats when we get home." He whines and continues barking, then twirls in a circle.

"You're dog's name is Riley?" The man in the skull helmet asks- and you suddenly become hyperaware of how all of the bikers are staring so intently at you. And those that have spoken so far have sickeningly thick English accents.

"Ah- yes, yeah. I was just on a walk and I heard you guys from the other street- but he just loves motorcylists so much, he took off on me. Usually he just waits until they pass us by. I'm so so sorry if he got in your way or anything." You scramble to try and seem somewhat normal as you switch between standing like a deer in their headlights, and holding your arms as the wind blew against your back.

"Ain't that a funny coincidence." The biker next to him stated, his accent thicker, and different. Possibly scottish.

"You watch it- It is a good name for a dog like this." The skull-helmet points an authoritative finger at the scot before patting Riley's head again. The man in front of you laughs heartily and takes his helmet off, revealing an older- FINELY aged man with hair in a short, short pulled back light brown and gray spotted ponytail. His mustache pulled down into a scruffy beard by mutton chops, giving him a real grizzly harley-rider look. You swore your jaw dropped when he took it off, and you were quick to cover your mouth when he smiled at you.

"I'm sorry about that miss- You've got a good dog protecting you. My names John Price." He walked up and took your hand from your face, squeezing it lightly. "My boys back there are harmless. You seem to have roughed yourself up a bit." He tilts his head as he leans back and looks you up and down, still holding your hand. Oh how deeply thankful you were that he was blocking the headlights from illuminating your red face.

"Yeah- I'm fine though, really! I just, can't keep up with Riley if I tried." You laugh and tremble a little as the cold air catches up to you. He raises an eyebrow- and fuck it gets to you because it makes him smirk a little bit too.

"Well, no offense but you look like you're in no condition to walk home like that!" A woman's voice comes up from behind Price's. You squint at the light when she comes up, and you see a blonde woman about his age with smile lines and blue eyes that could knock you down to your knees yet again. "My name's Kate, don't let John here scare you, he's just an old man." They banter a bit as you stare into space, begging any ethreal being to show you a sign that this is real life.

'Fuck being bisexual, god hates me.' You curse to yourself as you smile shyly at her.

"We can give you a ride home if you'd want! I wouldn't feel right letting you have to get yourself home with blood down your legs." Price motions with his free hand at your torn fishnets, rocks littering the cuts on your leg.

"Oh- I don't want to impose or anything, and I'll have Riley!" You struggle to keep yourself still as the wind continually stings.

"Lass, you're shakin' like a leaf in this wind." The scottish man shakes his head in his helmet, leaning back against the flat of his bike.

"You ain't getting home with just a dog draggin' you forward." The gruff voice of the skull-head from beside him made you look away in embarassment. They were all right, you were blocks away from home, and you didn't have your phone on you either.

"Um.. If you're sure you don't mind... but what about Riley?"

"He can ride wi' me!" The scott excitedly patted the flat he was leaning on, shuffling a few top panels to show a compartment on the back of it that had a hooking mechanism for leashes. Assumedly he had dogs too, and how greatful you were for it.

You sigh in relief that you wont have to limp home in your misery, as strong as you are, the chunk of you lost twice to the blacktop actually hurt more than you'd ever want to admit.

Before you can take a step forward, you're lifted off your feet and holding the shoulders of Kate. She laughs as you gasp and sets you on the back of skull-head's bike so you can backpack him, right next to Riley in the odd formation their bikes created.

"I promise he's not as scary as he looks- right Simon?"

"I don't bite." He chuckles deeply and you tense against his back as he does so. "You might want to hold on tho', I'm not exactly the easiest ride." You blush, hard as he says it, and the group laughs loudly as they start their bikes.

"Oi, treat her nice Si." A soft voice jeered from the last bike to Kate's right. "Or else I'll have to take her off your hands."

"Nice try Gaz."

"Boys! Quit scarin' her." Price chuckles and lights a cigar as he revs his engine. "Or else she wont wanna see us again. Now where do you need us to take you, love?"

'Ah.' Was all that crossed your mind as you locked your arms around Simon's waist, and you all shot off down the street.

[risuola]

VII — WHAT IF...? // F. READER x TOBIRAMA SENJU

Tobirama never wanted children and not one of you ever brought the topic up, but now, as you grow more and more intimate and comfortable with each other you wonder, what if...?

contents: smut, reader discretion is advised — 2,1k words

a/n: i need to tell you guys that i'm so incredibely grateful for the positive feedback i got from you readers! i know that Tobirama isn't the most popular character in Naruto and i chose him to make this series about (because I love him, that's why) and it makes me so happy that you enjoy his little persona too! ❥ also, i'm very sorry for posting so rarely for this series, i was stuck in where to take the story now.

POLITICALLY LOVELESS || SERIES MASTERLIST

“God, I’m so damn busy.”

Tobirama’s low, deep voice rumbled against your skin as he kept latching his lips along the edges of you. You let your nails gently run across the pale flesh of his sides, your hands long gone underneath the dark ink-blue fabric of his blouse, yearning for the warmth of a man that has your heart in a tight grip for way longer than you’d ever suspect. The marks he was leaving at his wake matched the color to the ones you were painting on his back and you couldn’t help but grin with satisfaction when he hissed near your ear. The stinging sensation of your scratches fueled his fire even more and only seconds passed before your pants were pushed down and underwear got ripped into pieces. The heat of your core now exposed to his whims, starved tremendously for any touch of his, and you whimper – the sound nearly pathetic, as he moved his fingers along your dripping slit, spreading the slick and making their way around the pulsating bud.

“My love,” you breathed again, leaning your head against his peck, inhaling the subtle, fresh scent that always stuck to his body. A mixture of tangerine and pepper, a hint of sandal wood hovering above the soft undertone of morning dew and rain. “My god, I missed you.” You spoke, but what was leaving your mouth was incoherent, it was airy and broken; stuttered between the expert circles Tobirama was massaging right into your nervous system.

“I missed you too,” he replied, quiet against the crown of your head, taking in your aura and impatiently moving his fingers a little bit further, making them slip right into you. One by one, he was focused on stretching you out, the tight ring of muscles clenching around his digits as he moved them back and forth.

“Tobi, please–“ you whined, gripping onto his sides with enough force to ground yourself.

“You think you are ready for me?”

“I do, please,” there was no hint of uncertainty when you begged for him to fuck you. Right there, on his desk, in his office in the hokage tower. There was no worry in you, no thought about his brother few doors further down the hall, no nothing that could convince you that it wasn’t the best idea and it seemed your husband has just as little concerns because it didn’t take him long to be inside you.

A low, gravelly groan escaped his throat, vibrating against your lips that glued to his throat marked their way across the sensitive skin over his Adam’s apple. It’s been too long since he felt you that close, it’s been too long since he was able to just lose himself in you, be vulnerable in the loving embrace of your body, be the person he never got to be publicly and instead of thinking and analyzing, just letting himself feel. And then, he was sure, that if ever he wished to feel anything, it was you he wanted to experience. It was you since the day he saw you for the first time, led by a servant in your family palace, blinded and obedient but bearing a beauty that tainted his thoughts perpetually.

Tobirama will always remember the feeling of your body – the soft curve of your shoulder he kept his hand on to lead you out of your village, the gentle brush of his fingers against your cheekbones when he took the blindfold off your face, revealing the eyes in which he got lost with no return. You were nothing more than a girl he just met back then, a wife-to-be but someone unknown and yet, his heart knew on the spot that things will change. And they did, he knew it’ll happen, but he wouldn’t dare to wish his life to turn out so dramatically different to what he predicted. Love was a feeling as foreign as fear to his heart. A heart he thought was frozen and nothing more than a dot in the constellation of organs that kept him alive. The beat in his chest has never had any more meaning than to keep his body going and the very same beat now goes crazy, rumbling against his ribs whenever he sees you. Tobirama knew his life will change, the very moment his head was filled with terror and uneasiness when Hashirama passed him the decision regarding the arrangement. He knew about all the shifts in his day to day life he will simply have to commit to and yet, the most vibrant of his dreams, the most brave and perverse could have never created what he had now. You.

You, on the desk he’s used to work at. You, with your plush thighs wrapped around his waist, your hands gripping onto him for just a fraction of support, panting out moans, so light and breathy, against his lips, quietly escaping only for his ears to hear. With your core clenching, aching to accommodate him whole and yet, greedy enough to take everything, to want more. Senju would never imagine he will be blessed enough to hear his name spoken with so much love he could actually feel it seeping through the sound of it.

You kept squeezing him and he kept losing his mind over every twitch your walls did around him. You were a work of art, he thought as his eyes followed the lines of your body. An arch of your back now prominent, and the only thing that kept you from falling flat onto the desk was a pair of his hands, strongly holding your waist to himself. Your eyes were absent, your mind long gone into the realm of pleasure and yet, your fingers stayed on his biceps, squeezing the flesh and wandering, hungry to have more of him.

“Tobi–“ you breathed out, the name just barely sliding on top of the air you were panting out and you pulled yourself closer to him. Your palms now found their way to his back, stretching the fabric of his blouse to feel the skin underneath it and you leaned into him, as he leaned into you. Your foreheads touched, noses squeezed together as the final moves of his hips brought both of you over the edge. Your breaths mingled together, a soft, broken sounds made for a cacophony of love you just shared and you shut your eyes to just feel him fully.

“Welcome back home,” your husband whispered finally, kissing your lips shortly after your smile acknowledged his words. The gesture was soft, languid and though you knew it was carrying much more than just concluding the sex. There was love that it carried, emotions unraveling with each movement of his mouth against yours and you felt the warmth spreading all over your body.

“I missed you too,” you replied, softly and quietly, slowly breaking the kiss off but not shying away from marking the line of his jawline with few more wet spots. “Let’s get cleaned, shall we?”

* * *

Watching Tobirama fight was one of your favorite things to do ever since you got to marry him. It amazed you every time you had a chance to witness his training and your husband never failed to take your breath away with how skilled and precise his movements are, how much control he has over nature releases and how well he wields the sword. Of course, the moment he offered you to join him while he trained with Kagami, you said yes without a second thought.

The boy from the clan of fire has become a part of your family in a way. Ever since you gave him a hand, helped him go through the traumatic events that happened with his biological parents, you kept an eye on him. With regular visits at his new home, you got to know his new parents – lovely people – and you really attached yourself to the little kid. He was growing so fast, warming your heart and soul as you watched the smile on his face and pinched his cheeks every time you had a chance, because soon he’ll be too big for you to do so any longer (you’ll try anyway). Kagami was a constant guest at your house, spreading his warm aura across the place where you and your husband live and making you smile every time you saw him, because the few days you got to take a close care of him were the sweetest memories you held onto. You’ll never forget the way he clung onto you, with trust and a kind of love that a child gives an adult that it feels safe with.

Tobirama grew to love the boy rather quickly – though he was reluctant to admit how fast it happened, but you knew he felt the intense need of care in just few days of little Uchiha in his life. Now it wasn’t a secret anymore – your husband openly treated the kid as if it was his own and even though he strongly believed that kids shouldn’t be exposed to war and violence, he was very supportive when it came to trainings. Even on the busiest days of his schedule, he always found a moment or two to spare for the cheerful child that came to visit the hokage tower every time he was around.

“Tired already?” Senju asked, watching the brunette gathering up from the green grass on one of the meadows that were more of a training field than a piece of greenery. An open space so big in comparison to the almost eight-year-old tiny human and yet he bravely raised up to his little feet, clenching his fingers around the handle of his kunai.

 “No!” He called out, panted and a small smile tugged on your husband’s lips as he got into his stance yet again. It was a spectacle of trust and power and you admired your man for being able to perfectly calculate how much strength he can put into every move of his body to make the little one hustle just enough.

You, as you sat on the side, resting on the soft blanket and surrounded by homemade food you prepared to feed both boys after they’re done and some bandages and first aid supplies that you knew will be needed to tend scrapes and cuts that Kagami will most likely be covered in after the session. All those little, harmless wounds you’ll later kiss and wrap around, tickling the child and basking in the sweet sound of his giggles muffled by the pieces of rice and meat you’ll give him.

You smiled, then sighed, feeling a sentiment washing over you. A slight tension made your muscles twitch and soon you found yourself pressing a hand onto your belly. You wished to have children, not always – but now, as you found love in the village that confidently you call your cherished home, more and more often you catch yourself thinking.

Tobirama didn’t want any offspring, at least that’s what he told you few days after the wedding – as he was explaining to you the mechanisms of the arrangement and briefing you through his visions of the future between you and him, he mentioned that his brother will secure the bloodline, therefore he has no wish to have kids himself. It’s something you agreed on, then slightly intimidated by his cold and calm persona, but three years had passed since you and him got bonded by knot of matrimony and as you think of it, none of his predictions came to life.

Sometimes you chuckled mentally, knowing how far off is what you have now to what he told you he think will happen. It was meant to be loveless, it was meant to be dry and distant. He told you that he’s sorry for the future you were given to, that he’s not going to love you just like you deserve but then, he did just that. He swore he’s cold, that his heart isn’t capable of sharing feelings as romantic as love but Tobirama loves, and he loves hot. Every kiss and stolen touch with him burns right into your soul, warms you from the inside, makes you happy and cherished, and you knew, deep inside of your heart, that his mind changed long time ago. You knew, deep down, that he’s content with what you built together, that he’s happier than he ever would be if your marriage turned out as he thought it will.

And so, you wondered if his will to have children changed as well? You never talked about it with him, never asked and he didn’t as well. Lost in the constant rush of his busy schedule, from meeting to meeting and from fight to fight, Tobirama stayed quiet about the issue and you, now leading the anbu, never had guts to bring it up either. But now, as you sat there, basking in the warm rays of the summer sun, you wondered what if…?

taglist: @garouaddict @bluebreadenthusiast @nelivv @drthymby @humongousdreamlandbear @darlingxoxo15 @gaozorous-rex-blog

[strawberrychampayne]

i guess you aren't oblivious anymore?

bradley bradshaw x fem!reader

warnings: some swearing

word count: 2393 (I'm so proud lol)

summary: bradley wants her to forgive him but she's not letting go so easily. good thing he remembers something he told her a few months prior that might just win her over

ring ring ring

Glancing over at her phone she clicked the stop alarm button. Rolling over her shoulders slumped as she thought the past 2 days over in her mind. Bradley showing up the night before wasn’t something she was expecting. Had he really meant what he had said or was he just trying to get her to talk to him? 

As easy as it would be to maul over the previous night she had a job. One that took years of training she might add.

As she stood up she decided that she’d have enough time to go for a run before work. Something she did to clear her mind. The breeze that would sweep across her neck and shoulders would distract her from her problems even if it was only a half hour. Grabbing her purple sports bra and sweats she climbed into them, almost tripping and falling. Snatching her keys, phone and headphones she stepped out of her house. Narrowly missing the pink tulips that laid on the ground beside her feet. She missed them completely, not even sending them an accidental glance and took off. 

After running three and a half miles, sweat dripping down her body, Y/N returned home. As she walked up the door she glanced down and saw the flowers awaiting her. Freezing, she paused trying to unlock her door. She turned her head around to see if she could spot the sender. Was it Bradley? Did he actually remember her favorite flower? Did this mean-

Absolutely not. She was still mad at him. He was a dickhead when he wanted to be. Wrapping her hand around the stems, her hand felt wet. The morning dew coating the flowers and giving them a shine. I guess it was a start to an apology. Not that she cared about one, right? 

The water running down her sore body encased her in warmth. Pooling at the bottom of her shower and sliding down her drain. Washing away heaps of sweat and regret. She hated how showers made her reflect on things. Maybe it was because they warmed her up or maybe because they made her feel rejuvenated when she finished. She wondered if she had been too cold to Bradley. Maybe she could’ve heard him out. She didn’t want to stress herself out, she had work to do today. Turning up the soft music playing in the background she sighed. My Girl filled her ears. Typical. 

—---------------------------------------------------

Rooster could feel the stares of the people around him. Everyone was looking at him, judging him. It was in fact only Hangman and Phoenix but their stares felt like everyone. They were judging him as he walked up.

“So, how’d it go loverboy?” he heard Hangman remark as soon as he was in earshot.

“Looking at his expression that resembles a kicked puppy I’d say not good.” Phoenix added, a look of pity on her face. 

Rooster gave them both a pointed look. His lips in a tight, thin line for a moment as he thought of what to say. He could downplay the whole thing and avoid the teasing remarks of Hangman or he could be honest and get helpful advice from Phoenix.

He stupidly chose his first option.

“I don’t think that's any of your business. It went fine, not perfect, but fine.” Rooster replied, a grimace apparent on his face. Glancing over his shoulder he watched as Magnet walked up to the doors. Was she moving in slow motion? He excused himself and all but ran to the door. Wrapping his hand around the cool metal he pulled it open. 

“Magnet.” he whispered as she walked through the door. “I just want to apologize again, I-”

He closed his mouth quickly as he saw the look she gave him. Had he not known that Magnet was a sweetheart who could barely kill a fly he might’ve even been intimidated. He watched the sway of her hair (and her hips, he can’t lie) as she walked away from him. Not even sparing a second glance to him.

His head hung in shame and embarrassment he walked back over to Hangman and Phoenix. 

“And here I thought you said “it went fine”, correct me if I’m wrong but that didn’t look fine to me.” Hangman said, cockyness but also a sense of pity coming off of him. 

“Shut it, Hangman” Phoenix said, slapping his torso with the back of her hand. 

—---------------------------------------------------

It had been 4 excruciating hours of work. Y/N walked to the lunch room, her packed lunch in hand. It didn’t help that she couldn’t get Bradleys stupidly gorgeous face out of her mind. It was like her heart wouldn’t listen to her mind when she was begging for images of his face to leave her mind. 

Glancing around the room she found Phoenix in their normal spot. In the beginning of training the two of them claimed the table as their own, not even letting the rest of the daggers sit with them. It was a girl debriefing table as they called it. Somewhere they could share their feelings without the judgment of the sassiest group of men to ever walk the Earth. 

Before she made her way she quickly glanced around the room for Rooster. She had figured it was time she’d start calling him that again, but not Roos. He’d lost that privilege. She scanned the tables full of people eating and laughing with each other, not seeing him anywhere. Weird. 

—---------------------------------------------------

While Magnet didn’t see him, he saw her. He was waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in. As he watched her make her way to her usual table he sped walked towards it. He saw as Phoenix’s eyes widened as they raced, unbeknownst to Magnet. She could see Rooster was gaining on her. Her face turned into a grimace as he got to the table quicker and pulled out Y/N’s normal chair. Rooster watched as Mag stopped in her tracks. Glancing towards the exit he thought maybe she’d make a run for it and leave. With a sigh of relief he watched as she finished the inner battle she was having and walked the distance separating them. He watched as she gracefully sat down and he pushed her chair in. 

“Thank you.” was quietly mumbled, so quiet that Rooster could barely hear it.

“I’m sorry, come again?” Rooster said, genuine confusion in his voice. 

“I said, thank you, Rooster.” Y/N replied, annoyance evident in her voice. 

“Well I see we are back to you calling me by my callsign. Y/N please just let me apologize for-” Rooster began. 

“Don’t push it Bradley. This is the girls table. Thanks for the chair thing but you need to go. Goodbye Rooster.” Y/N said, cutting him off. 

“Right. I will see you later Mags.” Rooster said, his face turning slightly red from embarrassment. He turned and began walking back to his normal table.

“That was tough to watch, Rooster” he heard Hangman remark.

“Yeah Rooster, that was the shutdown of the century.” Payback added. 

Although they all teased him for his setback he couldn’t help but notice the looks of pity from around the table. 

—---------------------------------------------------

“That was sweet of him. Don’t you think Mags?” Phoenix started, giving her a look.

Y/N wasn’t paying attention to Phoenix. She was too busy in her head replaying the interaction that had just taken place. It was sweet of him to do but did he seriously think that would win her over?

“Mags?” Phoenix repeated.

“Huh?” Y/N said, glancing up from the plate of food that she was moving around with her fork. 

“I said that it was sweet of Rooster. Don’t you think so?” Phoenix repeated. 

“Yeah, um I didn’t think he was going to do all that.” Mags replied 

“Mags, you do know you can talk to me, right?” Phoenix asked, her voice sincere.

“Yeah, I um, yes I do.” Mags said, her voice thick from the urge to start crying. 

“Y/N? What's wrong?” Nat asked, reaching over to grab the woman's hand. 

“Do you want to go talk in the bathroom?” 

With just a nod from the other woman, she stood up while grabbing her arm and directed them both to the bathroom. 

“Tell me what's wrong.” Phoenix said, her voice stern. 

“I just don’t know what to do. I want to forgive Bradley so badly. I just can’t. I can’t get the image of his face when he called me a friend. And I know that I can’t be mad at someone for not wanting me back but that's just the thing, he said he liked me too. He confessed it to me but I just can’t get past those words coming out of his mouth. I want to so badly Nat, I promise I do.” Y/N said, she was crying now. 

“Oh honey, I promise it’s going to be okay.” Nat said, pulling the girl into a hug. 

“I need to go, I have so much work to do.” Y/N said, pulling away from the woman. 

“Okay. I promise it’s all going to work out Mags.”

“I hope so.”

To: Rooster

You need to fix this.

  Read 12:33

I know.

Read 12:35

—---------------------------------------------------

“Come on Mags, just come to the hard deck I promise it’ll be fun” Hangman all but whined at her

“Hangman, I really don’t want to come. I want to go home, get on my pjs, eat some ice cream and cry to a Disney movie.” Y/N said, a hand on her hip as she looked at the man.

“That can be done tomorrow.” Hangman said pulling her up, “You are going and thats final.”

“Alright alright Mom. Let me just get my stuff.” Mags said, giving Hangman a look. 

—---------------------------------------------------

To: Bagman

Did you get her to come?

          Read 4:00

You really owe me. 

Read 4:06

     I know.

            Sent 4:12

—---------------------------------------------------

Pulling up to the Hard Deck, Y/N sighed.

“Do I really have to go?” Y/N said, trying to give her best puppy dog eyes. 

“Yes. Now let's go.” Hangman said, stepping out of the car with Phoenix and Y/N. 

An ughhh was heard from behind them. Phoenix letting out a chuckle at Mags antics. The three of them walked up to the doors. Y/N took a deep breath and stepped in behind the duo. Glancing around the bar she took notice of who was here and who wasn’t. Payback, Bob, Fanboy and the others. No Rooster. She didn’t know if she liked that fact or not. 

“He’s not here yet.” she heard Hangman whisper in her ear. 

“I wasn’t even looking for Rooster.” she said, attitude evident.

“Never specified who.” Hangman said with a shrug of his shoulders as he walked away. 

“Asshole.” Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes. 

With a huff she made her way over to the bar. Sending Penny a little wave she watched as the older woman made her way over. 

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Penny asked

“I’ve been better but I’m okay. Can I just get a beer please?” Y/N replied.

“Coming right up.” the other woman said going to get the drink. 

As Mags glanced around the room she swore she heard a familiar tune. It couldn’t be. 

—---------------------------------------------------

“Well we all know my favorite song but what about you Mags?” Rooster asked.

“I can’t tell you my favorite as I am gatekeeping but I can tell you my favorite love song.” Y/N said with a small smile on her face. 

“Well then, your favorite love song.”

“My Girl by the Temptations.” Y/N replied.

“My Girl?”

“My Girl.” Y/N affirmed.

—---------------------------------------------------

She could hear the song being played on the piano. As much as she wanted to get her beer, curiosity got the best of her as she slowly walked over. Her eyes widened as she saw who was playing. Roos. 

There he was playing her favorite love song and looking so good as he did it. When he looked up from the keys and saw her a smile spread across his face. His face was glistening with a thin layer of sweat as the Hard Deck was always hot with so many people. His fingers glided gracefully over the keys as he played them. He looked so in his element, so perfect. Rooster kept his eyes on her, like nobody else was in the room. Like it was just her and him. She felt her feet moving before she could even register it. She came to a stop right in front of the piano and just watched him with a sparkle in his eye. Listening as he sang along with the melody. 

As the song came to an end people around them started cheering. Some came over to clap Rooster on the back and say how cool it was. If this had been any other day Rooster might have basked in the attention but now he only had one person on his mind. 

“Mags, please just let me explain.” Rooster all but begged.

“Okay Rooster.” she said quietly.

He quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the side door. Glancing left and right he made sure that nobody else was outside.

“Y/N you’ve got to understand that I truly didn’t know. If I had noticed that you even wanted me I would’ve dropped everything to ask you out. But, baby, I really didn’t. I promise you I didn’t. I would do anything to have another chance. Please, I am begging you baby.”

“I’m sorry too, Rooster. I was immature and should’ve just talked to you. I was just upset but I truly shouldn’t have been because I understand that I had no reason to be. But, I guess you aren’t oblivious anymore, huh?” Y/N asked

“No, I am not oblivious anymore. Can I please take you on a date?” Rooster questioned.

“Yeah Roos, you can.” Mags said with a laugh. Leaning in to finally doing what she's always wanted too. “Can I please kiss you?”

“Baby, you never had to ask.”

—---------------------------------------------------

“I’m telling you, that's going to be his wife.” Hangman said.

“No way you just stole my line.” Phoenix said, turning to look at him with a annoyed look.

part 3 is finally here!! I hope you all enjoy it! I was thinking about mini stories involving Magnet and Rooster if anyone would be interested? feel free to send in requests relating to them!!

stay hydrated, stay healthy, stay perfect!

-strawberry🍓

[vibingandsimping]

Who else loves random descriptions of intimate positions?

Me, I do. I am incredibly touch starved. Anyways-

Main good route companions + random intimate positions! Pt. 1

All of you villain/evil route lovers, you will be fed soon. (I am one of them)

Forewarnings: Suggestive content, fluff and not proofread

Astarion loves to hook your leg over his shoulder as he kisses you. One hand crawling up that leg from the hip, to the thigh and to the calf. His nails trailing and leaving a tickling grace in it’s wake. You shudder at the touch and squirm a little. He relishes in that and you can feel his cheeky smirk against your lips. You gasp as he nips your lower lip with his fangs. He takes that chance and deepens the kiss between you two.

Wyll intertwines your fingers in both hands. Presses them on the ground up by your head as his mouth lavishes your neck. You can feel his breath against your earlobe and it makes you shiver. His legs trap your thighs and you’re laid beneath him as he stares at you. His gaze speaks only admiration. It’s so intense- and raw. He whispers sweet nothings as he kisses you. You’re sure to find some marks he left on you in the morning.

Lae’zel hooks her leg around your hip. You’re kissing on her chest as her fingers place upon your head. Her little gasps and whimpers are quiet- muffled. She’s trying to conceal how much she enjoys this as ever the strong woman she is. You dig your fingers painfully into her waist and she groans unabashedly this time. You hum approvingly before she takes the reigns. You turned this into a challenge.

Shadowheart loves to place her head on your thighs. No matter how small or large. You can feel her hair tickle your skin, the braid held in one hand as you run along the length of it. Her eyes are closed contently as she savors the warmth you emit. It’s almost unnoticeable the way her fingers gently creep up the outside of your thigh. Not until she’s placed her palm on it and squeezes. There’s a smirk on her face as she continues to feign innocence.

Karlach has your head placed on her chest as she lays. You can hear the infernal engine working under her ribcage. It’s mechanical and unnatural… but the heat she radiates comforts any sort of unease you have. Her hand strokes your head and neck as you bury into the soft flesh of her breasts. There’s a laugh that rocks her body, seemingly amused by how you snuggled into her. You laugh with her too, pressing a gentle kiss against the glowing part of her skin.

Gale wraps your legs around his hips and you instinctively lock your ankles together. His hands slide under your thighs towards your rear, cupping it as he holds your hips in the air. He gazes at you with warm brown eyes as he lowers his head. He plants kisses from the center of your chest down to your stomach. His teeth occasionally nip as his tongue darts out to taste the flesh. He does so until he reaches your pelvis before retracing his steps. Once he reaches your chest, he parts and meets your lips this time.

Halsin holds you in his arms as he stands. You feel weightless in his grasp, even if you’re bigger. Despite his size- people still seem to underestimate how strong he is. He kisses you tenderly as he wraps his arms protectively around you. You’re enveloped in him as his scent washes over you. It smells like forest dew and wild-berries with a hint of his natural musk. He whispers in your ear about how you’re the finest creation nature could bestow him with.

Jaheira seems to regard you almost like porcelain. She’s an older elf and it’d been over a century since she had a lover. Fighting Ketheric Thorm and surviving the curse was her purpose for years. She holds you like you’re going to vanish. Arms linked around your waist and legs tangled in yours. Her nose presses against your skin and she breathes in your scent. You smile softly as you allow the woman to enjoy your presence and touch. Your fingers tracing shapes onto her shoulder-blades as she relaxes like putty.

Minsc holds you tightly and almost crushes you against his chest. He truly forgets his own strength sometimes as he hums happily. He savors the feeling of your heart thrumming against his skin. When you squirm, he blinks and loosens his grip with an apology. You simply smile and shake your head, telling him it’s alright. He has a guilty look as he watches you carefully. You sigh and crawl up a little to press a kiss against his cheek. Like that, he straightens up and holds you again. He’s more careful this time but the grip is still firm enough to hold you against him. What a gentle giant he is.

[quarterlifekitty]

Thinking abt fairy tale twists

cw: conspiracy to commit murder, a lil bit of graphic imagery

König as the huntsman of your tale. Known throughout the kingdom for his brutal efficiency, he is feared by all and a pit of loneliness eats at the bottoms of his lungs as it grows in his stomach. He will not deny– the queen, your mother, wordlessly offered him more than a sum of gold. Her nails grazed his arm, just close enough for the tips of her fingers to blaze along his skin. He felt the skin burn and tingle as if raised by scars. She was keen to his true desires, and at the time he was more than happy to be preyed upon.

Ironic for that to be a huntsman’s wish.

You’d been hidden from the world for a very long time. Not seen or heard by anyone but the queen and some select castle staff for over a decade. Even in the walls of your own home, you are veiled– covered like grass after a frost.

And you are no fool. You know why you’ve been let out of the grounds, told to gather spring flowers just past the edge of the forest. But the queen’s word is law, and you can only hope the end will be swift. The loneliness in you is like gnashing gears, chewing through nerves until all of your sensations have frayed and distorted. Even without knowing your face, his emptiness feels magnetized to yours. The hand that grips the serrated blade begins to shake imperceptibly.

You lift the veil so you can see the sky unburdened for the last time. It is in that moment that he thinks to himself– it’s difficult to tell the difference between the heart of a pig and that of a girl.

“Kleines mädchen,” König calls, almost flinching as you gasp, turning to find the source of the words. “You are in danger. The Queen, she… she wishes you dead. But I cannot bring myself—“ he lets out a deep breath, trying to regain some modicum of composure in your presence. There was a reason your stepmother envied you as she did. You had a beauty that men would conquer kingdoms for.

“Come with me,” the huntsman entreats, “I can keep you safe. I won’t let her find you. Please…” he steps forward, nearly stunned when you do not step back. For so long all he has known was distance maintained.

The world had turned from him and you had been turned from the world. He can so clearly picture your bodies fitting together in a way that seems only possible in paintings. Two broken things forming a single whole.

“You… you promise not to harm me?” There’s a crack in your voice, quieted from disuse. “I have nothing to offer you,” you remind him. Almost as if she wants for him to go through with his work.

“You do not turn away from me. That’s more than anyone has given me in quite some time.” Another step forward, with you standing rooted in place, eyes not wandering from his form.

“You’ll be in danger if she even suspects that I still live.” The words warm him from the inside.

“You’re very sweet, mädchen. To be worried for ein alter jäger… I could not see you harmed. Not even at the cost of my own life.” This time it’s you that steps forward, directly in front of him now. You reach for the hem of his hood.

“A face for a face. That’s my one condition.” Your voice gathers in his ears as he strains to memorize each note, like an animal trying to remember the sweet taste of morning dew on grass.

“You may not like what you see.”

“Any face can be beautiful if it holds affection, huntsman.”

Yes. A pig’s heart will do.

[pickingupmymercedes]

She's here and so are we - Lewis Hamilton

Series: She's here and she's ours / She's here and she's not only ours / She's here and she's just like you / She's not here, but she'll be / She's here and she won't be the only one / She's here and he won't let her give up / She's here and so is he / She's here and so are we - (they can all be read as one-shots)

and also

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Hold You ’Til We’re Old - Jamie Miller

pairing: dad!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: fluff (hi anon, hope it's okay it got turned into part of the series)

wordcount: +2k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The garden was our familiar comfort—the same space where I’d spent mornings wrapped in cozy blankets, watching the dew settled on the grass while Lewis brewed us coffee and the kids played with the fallen leaves.

Today, though, I was just part of the background, watching the interview crew ask questions to capture his life beyond the race track.

My hands rested on our son’s shoulders, guiding him gently as he, along with our daughter, marveled at the cameras and microphones around us. It was surreal to have such a production here, yet oddly fitting, considering what they were here to capture.

Lewis looked as calm as ever, answering each question with that steady warmth that drew people in, that quiet power that had captured me all those years ago.

Our daughter whispered a question, pointing to a light rig, and I leaned down to explain it, eyes drifting back to Lewis as he spoke. I always watched him in moments like this, still finding comfort in the way he held himself, how he could be so genuine while still keeping parts of himself just for us.

Then the interviewer’s question caught my attention. “What’s the one thing you look forward to most after a race weekend?”

I held my breath. This was a question I thought I knew the answer to, but there was always something Lewis held close when it came to our family.

He paused, just for a moment, then his eyes found mine, as if he knew I’d be there waiting for him. His answer slipped out softly, almost reverent, “Looking at my kids smiling with their mom.”

My heart fluttered—so simple on the surface, yet layered with a truth we both knew well.

There’d been a time when he would come home and look for comfort in the silence, when we both struggled with the life we were trying to build, each compromise a little harder to make.

Now, I saw that quiet devotion in his gaze, in the way his eyes softened as they settled on me, our children pressing closer, oblivious to the weight behind his words. I felt it though—a silent promise wrapped in his expression, one that told me everything about the life we’d built.

He could have said anything to that question, mentioned the thrill of racing or the next grand ambition, but he named the anchor to his world, the small joys that kept him grounded.

The camera kept rolling, capturing every angle of him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the man behind that poised exterior. I was caught up in the meaning behind his words, holding onto that look he’d given me, the one that said, This is what it was all for.

It struck me that even amidst his schedule, the travels, the appearances, this was still his sanctuary. The life we’d fought to make ours wasn’t glamorous in these quiet moments, but it was the life we had both committed to fiercely, with the kind of compromise that spread into every part of our world.

It was here, with these two tiny humans clinging to my side, that I felt the gravity of his answer.

And for just a second, I let myself feel that same quiet joy, breathing in the love that had brought us to this garden today, to this shared life where even the simple things—our children’s laughter, the warmth of his gaze—meant everything.

There was a time when our life wasn’t set among the quiet, leafy gardens of London, but rather in the glassy, sunlit confines of Monaco.

Our daughter’s first years had passed in those winding streets, the towering buildings casting long shadows over a sea so bright it almost didn’t look real. Back then, we thought that place would be ours for the long run—our home, near enough to Italy for Lewis’s trips to Maranello and close to the lives we had already built around friends and routines.

But everything changed the day I stepped into one of the most prestigious schools in Monaco, searching for the right environment for our daughter to grow.

It was beautiful, clean, full of polished smiles and refined children already groomed for the spotlight of high society. It should have felt like the obvious choice. But that cold, hollow feeling settled in, whispering not here.

Our children were already set to inherit a life of privilege, of course, but it was my job to keep them grounded, to make sure they understood that money was more than a shiny accessory.

I wanted their world to be honest and I didn’t see that in those classrooms. I could see there a future where they’d learn, all too early, that wealth and status were expected.

And for me, that was a line I couldn’t cross, not with my kids.

Lewis familiar hum caught my attention later that day “You’ve been quiet. Did something happen at the school?”

I nodded slowly, not sure where to start, but feeling the weight of it all pressing on my shoulders. I leaned against the countertop, glancing at our daughter, who was sprawled on the living room rug, humming to herself as she colored. Lewis followed my gaze, waiting.

“Do you know what she asked me?” I began, voice barely above a whisper. “She wanted to know when she’d have the same backpack as the other kids.”

His face softened, but I saw the concern tugging at the corners of his mouth. I tried to explain, each word slipping out with a mix of frustration and sadness.

“I thought we could keep things balanced, but... all around her, it’s luxury stacked on luxury. And she notices it now. But she’s only four, Lewis.”

He looked at me, his gaze steady, understanding. “She’s going to notice, love. Not just here—she was bound to ask these questions sooner or later.”

I nodded, knowing he was right, but feeling the ache deep in my chest. “I know. But it’s different here. There’s a way of seeing the world, of measuring everything by what you own, what you show off. I don’t want her to grow up thinking that’s all there is.”

Lewis’s hand found mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “So… what are you saying?” His tone was gentle, but I could hear the undercurrent of hesitance, like he was bracing himself for whatever I’d say next.

“I’m saying I don’t think I want our kids growing up in this world where every kid’s playdate is at yacht. It feels… it feels like we’re setting them up to believe this is the only way life should look.”

There was a quiet pause, just us standing there in the dim light of our kitchen. I could see him processing, wrestling with the idea as much as I was.

Moving wasn’t a decision to make lightly. Monaco had been our sanctuary, the place we’d spent our earliest years as a couple, and later as parents, shaping our life around the rhythms of this sunlit, gilded place.

“I know it’s not easy for you.” I squeezed his hand, feeling the weight of my own words. “It could mean more travel, more distance between you and the team, but…” I trailed off, meeting his gaze, hoping he’d see what I was trying to say. “If it means they can grow up with some perspective, if they can have a life that feels more grounded, isn’t that worth it?”

He took a long, steadying breath, his eyes lingering on me with that familiar mix of patience and resolve. “Tell me where, and I’ll be there”

It was like a knot loosening in my chest. Relief and guilt, the kind that came from knowing I was asking him to compromise once again, to give up a part of the life he’d built here in Monaco.

And yet, he was willing, just as he’d always been, his love for us steady and unwavering.

As we stood there, holding hands in the kitchen, our daughter’s voice piped up from the living room, a cheerful melody completely unaware of the weight of the moment. I looked at Lewis, a slight smile breaking through my worry.

“Maybe she’ll thank us one day,” I murmured, half to him and half to myself.

He pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Maybe. Or maybe she’ll hate us for leaving her beach.” His laugh was soft, almost tender, but I could feel the underlying sorrow in his voice, the same wistfulness that was twisting my own heart. “But we’ll be alright, won’t we? No matter where we are?”

I closed my eyes, letting his words wash over me. “Yeah. We will.”

Even now, the memory of that decision lingers as one of the most defining moments of our relationship. It was an understanding we didn’t need to speak aloud. It was a compromise, one made out of love, out of that shared desire to give our children a life that wasn’t built on empty expectations but on the foundation of our family.

And through it all, Lewis was beside me, offering me his full trust, making me feel that I was as much a part of his heart as he was of mine.

It was never about leaving Monaco; it was about coming home, about stepping into the kind of life where we could nurture the values that mattered most.

We left so many memories behind in that sun-drenched city, but the life we’ve made here, in the quieter outskirts of London, is what we always wanted—a place for us to be a family, a place where Lewis could come back from the intensity of the race weekend and find his sanctuary.

It was a slower life, with longer flights for Lewis and new routines for the kids, but it was ours. And every day, I saw Lewis come home and breathe it in, appreciating the calm and balance we’d made for ourselves. This was a place for us to be real—a grounding place.

The interviewer’s voice tugged me out of my thoughts, her question like a thread pulling me back to the garden. To the moment. To Lewis.

I watched as he smiled softly, the kind that barely reached his lips but brightened his eyes in that way only few knew. The interviewer had asked him to elaborate on his answer, the one about looking forward to seeing his kids smiling with their mom.

Lewis glanced at me briefly, that silent look of his that said so much without saying anything at all. His gaze flickered back to the interviewer as he started, his voice a bit lower

“This place, this home… it’s our safe place” he began, sweeping a hand around in a quiet gesture. “Here, I get to be more than just the guy who races cars or shows up on red carpets. This is the place where our kids get to be themselves.”

He paused, looking past the camera to where our daughter was intently studying the sound equipment, her fingers itching to touch, her eyes wide with curiosity. I watched him as he continued, his tone warming with each word.

“Our daughter” he said, smiling a little wider, “She’s eight now, and is this fiery little force with questions about everything. And I get to see her—really see her—growing into that, with no hesitations.” He turned, his gaze landing on our son, who was contentedly mesmerized by vintage film. “And our son, just turned five” he continued, “he’s got this beautiful imagination, always thinking, always figuring things out his own way.”

Lewis shifted his attention back to me, his voice softer now. “And then there’s Y/n, who’s been my anchor in this crazy life. She’s the boss everyone knows not to cross, but she’s also the one I watched become this incredible mother. And she’s… everything.”

I felt my throat tighten; the weight of his words heavy in the air between us. His gaze lingered, finding mine again, and there was this unspoken understanding, a language we’d built over the years, through the early days in Monaco to the quieter, slower moments here.

Then, he turned back to the interviewer. “At the end of the day,” he continued, his voice thicker “after everything in the paddock and the cameras, the fame—it’s this. Coming home and seeing my family gathered in the kitchen, making pasta, spilling half of it on the counter because we’re all too distracted laughing. That grounds me. It’s what I look forward to after every race weekend. It’s what I look forward to for the rest of my life, really.”

He let the words settle, his gaze steady and unflinching, the weight of a promise within them. I wanted to hold onto this moment, to keep it folded in the corners of my mind for years to come, a reminder of what we’d built, what we continued to build every day.

Just as the interviewer started to move on to the next question, our daughter, who had been unusually quiet, perked up, her voice carrying over the garden and picked up by the microphones.

“Daddy,” she asked with her usual matter-of-fact tone, “if you’re so fast in the car, why don’t you ever win races at home? Like… when we race from the kitchen to the garden?”

There was a beat of silence as Lewis, and everyone around, blinked, caught off guard by the sheer innocence and brilliance of her question. Then he let out a laugh, the kind that rumbled deep from his chest, full and unrestrained.

He leaned forward, catching her gaze, his voice still light with amusement. “You got me there, bug. I guess that’s one race I’ll never win.”

She nodded, satisfied, and scribed down something down on her notebook. Leaving us all grinning, her question a reminder that in this home, we could be anything—parents, playmates, family.

Whatever challenges would come, whatever paths we’d still have to navigate, I knew that this—our love, our family—was the heart of everything. And no matter how many times we might leave this place, or come back to it, we’d carry this feeling with us.

For as long as we had each other, we’d always be home.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[mvlders222]

𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝

pairing ; lottie matthews x fem!reader

wordcount ; 2.3k

summary ; you've always found yourself butting head with lottie. you both can't seem to find out why. what happens when she takes it just a little too far? (enemies to lovers)

warnings ; injury, cursing, shouting match, use of y/n (let me know if i missed anything!)

The feeling of the cold, crisp air rushing past your skin was evident as you ran across the field. The ball between your cleats was wet with the morning dew as it glided along the freshly cut grass. The morning was foggy, the sun hidden behind soft clouds.

Your concentration was interrupted by a presence on your close right. Lottie was catching up to you, and fast. You tried to outrun her, desperately, but you struggled to keep the ball intact.

Her body crashed into your side, making you trip over your own feet and collide with the ground. You had the wind knocked out of your lungs and your head was beating with your heart, sounding through your ears. You winced, feeling the adrenaline run dry and your back start to ache. You realize you’ve lost.

It’s just a scrimmage, you have to remind yourself. Before anyone could score, however, the sound of a whistle being blown cut the game short. That didn’t cover the sound of Lottie’s groans. “Are you serious?”

You sat up from the ground to face her, gently to not hurt yourself further. “What the fuck, Lottie?” The scowl on your face matched hers.

“Hey, come on!” Coach Ben hollered at the both of you, heads turning to where he stood at the edge of the field. “Just help her up, yeah?”

You both turned back toward each other. Lottie looked down at you with an irked expression, as if you had done something wrong. She held her hand out to you begrudgingly, hoping that you wouldn’t accept it.

You looked up at her through your lashes, squinting ever so slightly. The sight of her above you made you feel small. You slapped your hand into hers and pulled yourself up. You still face her, not breaking eye contact.

Lottie doesn’t let go right away. Instead, she tugs you closer and tilts her head to your ear. “You need to keep up,” she whispered. She wasn’t going to let this go. “I’d hate to see you on the bench.” You could hear the self-satisfied grin in her voice.

“I’d just hate to see you in general.” You taunted her back. You pull your hand from her grasp and give her one last scowl before walking back to your side of the field.

Lottie’s smile falters for a second before she scowls and rolls her eyes. The whistle blows one last time, signaling the end of practice. All the girls ran back to the locker room, some stopping you to make sure you were okay.

You sat alone on the bench, it still hurt to move. You were the last one in there, along with Shauna. She shut her locker, and the sound of that and her sneakers along the tile floor cut the silence. She turned toward you, a sympathetic look on her face. “Do you need a ride?”

You shook your head and sighed. “I think I just need some time, yeah?” Which was true. You hated struggling in front of your peers, you didn’t want your friends to worry about you. In your mind, being seen as vulnerable was a sign of weakness. That was something you couldn’t see yourself coming back from.

She nodded and walked toward the exit, looking back once more. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” You gave her a reassuring smile and watched her back as she left.

Now, all alone, you sighed to yourself before getting up and shedding your uniform. You put your hair up as you walked into the showers. You turned the nozzle, cold water came spitting out sporadically and you tried to shield yourself. You held your hand out, trying to sense the warmth.

As the steam rose in the air, you relaxed into the water, feeling your muscles unwind. Closing your eyes, you let the bar of soap glide across your body.

“You’re still here?” You whipped your head toward the source of the voice and saw Lottie, standing just outside of the showers. She looked you up and down with a stupid smile on her face.

“Jesus Christ, Lottie!” you shouted at her and tried to cover yourself. “Go away!”

“Sorry! I can’t help it,” she laughed at your state, turning away and walking further into the locker room. “Let me get you a towel, at least.”

“You shut off the shower water and walked to the edge between the showers and the locker room floor. She walked back, towel in hand. You held out your arms, peeking out from behind the wall between you two.

“Hold on now.” She looked at your outstretched arm before looking down at the towel again. “What am I doing?”

“Come on, Lottie.” you pleaded, although she had been talking to herself now. “I’d be an idiot to give you this.”

“You’re an idiot anyway.” You were starting to get pissed at her. How could she be so laid back right now? “Give me the towel, Lottie.”

“That’s not very nice, angel,” she teased and brought the towel to her chest, further from your reach. you tried calming down, sighing before looking at her with a tight expression. “Please, Lottie? I need it.”

“Only ‘cause you said please.” She brought the towel to your hand and you snatched it from her grasp. You wrapped it around yourself and walked back to your locker where a clean pair of clothes sat.

Lottie followed behind you, her gaze on your back. She suddenly remembered what happened during practice. “Hey, I’m sorry… about earlier.” She sounded sincere, but you couldn’t believe it.

“You don’t have to apologize, Lottie.” You shook your head, exhausted from her antics and the whole day in general. You stood in front of your open locker with a pair of clean clothes. “Um, turn around, please?” You couldn’t face her, too embarrassed in your current state.

She understood immediately and did so. You unwrapped the towel from your frame and let it drop to the floor. Grabbing a clean pair of underwear, you bent down to slip them over your legs. This cycle continued until you got to your sports bra, bringing your arms over your head to put it on. A sharp pain cut through your movements, causing you to let out a resounding groan in response.

Lottie heard this and became concerned. “Do you need help?” She turned her head to the side as she tried to make her voice clearer, despite it being the only noise in the room. You sighed and gave in. “Yeah…”

Without hesitating, Lottie turned back around and walked to your side, her gaze softening at the sight of you. You looked dejected, and she understood that. She grabbed the cloth from your hands and stood behind you.

“Arms out,” she commanded. Although it wasn’t the most comfortable position for you, it was better than the cohesive movements of dressing yourself. You let her arms caress yours, the heat contrasting against the cold atmosphere. She brought the article of clothing up your arms and shoulders. You ducked your head and she stretched the material over your neck.

She leaned over your shoulder to grab the shirt from your locker, her body pressed into your back, causing you to shudder. She backed away slightly. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

She pulled the shirt out and inspected the image printed on the front. “Bangles? Really?” She smiled at the worn-in design, the breath from her laugh hitting your neck. You flush, embarrassed by the old rag in her hands.

“The Bangles are good.” You tried to defend yourself. It was hard when her tall frame was surrounding yours. She turned her head toward yours and smirked. “The Go-Gos are better.”

“We really can’t agree on anything, can we?” she asked, her gaze catching yours, making you feel weak in the knees. She looked back at the t-shirt and her brows furrowed. “This one might be a little difficult…” She continued to look at the shirt, trying to think of a solution to cause the least pain.

Lottie shoved the shirt back into the locker in front of you. You turned to her out of confusion about her actions, only to see her unzipping her jacket and taking it off. She held it out to you. “Take it.”

You looked down at her jacket and shook your head. “No, Lottie, I can’t…”

She cut you off. “Please, Y/n?” She wasn’t going to let you be so stubborn. “Take this as my apology… I feel bad.” She had mumbled the last part, but it still came through. You looked back down at the jacket in her hands. It was a maroon color, and it also looked warm. What reason did you have to not take her offer?

“Fine.” You took her jacket, unfolded it, and slipped it over your shoulders. You zipped it closed and looked down at yourself. It hugged your frame perfectly, almost like it was made for you. “Thanks, Lottie.”

“It’s no problem.” You two stood in front of each other for a minute more, every so often making eye contact and looking away once caught. She cleared her throat to disrupt the silence. “Do you, uh, need a ride?”

“Yeah.” You nodded and looked back up at her and offered her a soft smile. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Lottie smiled back at you, happy to help you out. She shut your locker for you and grabbed your bag off the bench. You just stood there in disbelief and watched her begin to walk out. Not hearing your footsteps behind her, she looks back at you with a blank expression. “You comin’?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You snap out of your position and begin to walk after her. You trailed her out of the locker rooms. “I can carry my stuff, y’know.”

“Not with a bum shoulder. Plus, I did that to you. The least I can do is help you out.” You both walked across the field and onto the hot asphalt of the parking lot. You nodded along with her words, not that she could see it.

Lottie’s car was one of the only ones left in the lot, and it was nice. She walked around to the passenger side, standing next to you. She grasped the handle to the door and opened it, holding it for you. You looked up at her a mumbled a ‘thank you.’ You slipped inside, hitting the warm leather of the seat.

She shut the door and you watched out the windshield as she walked around to the driver’s seat. She opened the door and got in, tossing your bag in the back seat. You faced forward, avoiding any eye contact with her.

Lottie didn’t start the car just yet. She fastened her seatbelt and looked at your expression, which to her was unreadable. “What’s wrong?”

You finally turn your head to look at her, biting your lip as you contemplate whether you should tell her or not. “Are you just gonna go back to hating me after this?”

She flinched at your words, seemingly taken aback. She shook her head in confusion. “Where did this come from?”

“Come on, it’s not exactly a secret.” You rolled your eyes, starting to get worked up. You turned in your seat to face her fully now. “You’re just doing all of this to make yourself feel better.”

“That couldn’t be further from the truth.” She was starting to raise her voice in defense of your yelling. She felt offended by your accusations. “I can’t do something nice for a friend?”

“Oh, please, we’re hardly friends–”

She grabbed your face and pulled you in. In her mind, the only way of shutting you up was physically. And in the process, indirectly admitting her feelings in the process. Her lips were pressed against yours leaving no room for air.

She pulled away from you hastily, an unnerving feeling starting to set in. You both stared at each other with wide eyes, breathing rapidly. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t stop thinking about her carelessness. If you hadn’t hated her before, you probably did now.

You leaned over to her in the driver’s seat, pushing her thoughts aside by moving your lips against hers once again. You were now sitting up on your knees, desperately reaching to taste every flavor she had to offer. You brought your hands up to hold her face as you kissed her.

She brought her hand up behind your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. You moaned into the kiss, pulling away for some air. Lottie had not, however, she continued to trail her open-mouth kisses toward your jawline.

“Lottie,” you breathed out, trying to get her attention. She moved her kisses from your jaw and down to your neck, seemingly tuning out your words. “Lottie!” You pushed her head away from your neck and looked at her. Her eyes were half-lidded and she had a dazed look on her face.

She looked up at you and pouted. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it was perfect.” You moved your hand up to her hair, scratching her scalp. She moaned in response to the feeling. “You’re perfect.” You smiled and pulled away completely, sitting back down in your seat.

“You want me to take you home now? After all that?” She wasn’t upset, actually she was quite the opposite. But she was also confused by your actions.

“No, I’m waiting for you to start the car and take me out.” You were now finding it difficult to hide your smile, butterflies going crazy throughout your stomach.

Lottie was now the one who couldn’t contain herself. “That’s my girl.” She let out a small smile before leaning toward you again, pressing another kiss to your cheek. She turned forward and turned the keys to start the engine.

[extristitiavenit]

Too Sweet - @ohtheblissx

It was a day like any other for john, the rise and shine grind of stammering out of bed and into his kitchen to use the blender for his morning brew, bliss oil, jimson weed and coffee all ground together with just a pinch of hazelnut for task before he was soon his bouncing and charismatic self. Once the sun had come up, yes he woke before the sun, he had already been clad in a pair of tight skinny jeans, to avoid baggage during baptism and of course he wanted to make sure he looked his best so he had a relatively nice dress shirt, his vest to feel fancier and of course a shit ton of hair gel to keep that mess back in the water. He knew he had a long day ahead, so he grabbed several thermoses to fill his morning concoction for the go and he was out the door, barely beating the morning light.

Most days reserved for baptism had a lot of thought put into it, showmanship, scripts and it was a spectacle to be seen so he knew he had to be at his best. Unfortunately that meant being cracked out of his mind, tearing up the roads of hope county in his beloved car and making an entire ass of himself to the early rising farmers as he’d passed by. Once he was at his usual baptism spot he’d seen his devout workers already hard at work dumping the bliss into the shallow water and creating a natural barrier to attempt to keep it all maintained. He abhorred Faith for her littering, but this was a necessary evil. Eyeroll.

Black boots hit the morning dew-soaked grass beneath his car door, his eyes squinting at the sun beaming over the mountains even despite having his signature shades on, the bliss had made everything so more vibrant. “brothers, sisters.” He sighed out, he was exhausted much like any addict he didn’t sleep much and that attributed to his foul mood, not that he could take it out on any of his followers without joseph reprimanding him. “make sure after you bless the waters you get rid of those containers, and I mean get rid of. If I so much as see a single barrel on the side of the waters west of the henbane.. there will be hell to pay.” He wanted so badly to spit that out more aggressively than he did, but he knew that sometimes people got butthurt and ran back to run their mouths for brownie points, so he settled with clenching his jaw and gesturing for them to commence.

Him on the other hand, he had an entire roster of people who were willing to be baptized and usually they had a few not so willing participants but— today's schedule was cleared. The only thing that he was dreading was the fact that he was expected to be there upon pickup of every participant of the evenings event.

Which meant he had to sit either passenger inside of the van or spend all day driving himself to each location, so to save on gas and his own peace of mind he went with the van. One visit turned into two, minutes turned into hours and as many fake smiles as he had to muster was enough to drive a normal person insane, but john wasn’t normal and he’d spent the entire trip sipping on bliss and taking it easy. Half of the time he was on his phone scrolling aimlessly and trying not to get a boner, but eventually the time had come. They had picked up the final passenger in the van, and the show was about to begin.

Once they had been at the river and everyone had gotten themselves prepared, it was time for John to make his scene. It was only a few minutes before he was about to walk down to the edge of the water when one of his devout followers came up to him to whisper the news, there was a deputy on their way through town and a birdy had heard they were investigating the happenings at Eden’s Gate. There was almost a glint of excitement that washed over him, the dread of monotony was taking a toll on him and this was the spark that he needed to get his motivation back. What better way to have showmanship if you don’t have new fans? Of course part of him halfway expects it to be a yee yee local cop, but regardless of that he was ready to get the baptism on the go. If he could get the majority out of the way before the arrival of the newest victim deputy, it would be a lot less stressful.