#all white compact kitchen

[talesofthenine]

New York Enclosed Enclosed kitchen - mid-sized modern galley medium tone wood floor enclosed kitchen idea with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, no island, terrazzo countertops, white backsplash and stone tile backsplash

[retaliationgraphics]

Enclosed - Modern Kitchen

[florencemtrash]

He Feels Safe With You — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation.

Warnings: Major fluff. Like tooth-rotting sweetness. Sleepy Az.

Author's note: I should be sleeping because I have work tomorrow but instead I've chosen to write this oneshot and I have no regrets.

It was starting to become a problem now. 

You cocked your head to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and watching Azriel as he continued to sleep soundly in your bed. You had the windows cracked open and the early Autumn breeze swirled indoors with the scent of lavender, bergamot, and the strawberry jam you’d slathered over your toast. You checked the time once again on the glossy marble clock face. The arrow-shaped hour hand clicked ever closer to 11am, the minute hand close to overtaking its competitor. 

10:55am and Azriel was still asleep. 

The sheets clustered loose and low around his waist, mimicking the curling of his shadows up and down the ridges of his spine and across the delicate membrane of his wings. His wings hung loose and relaxed, stretching off the edges of your bed and caressing the floor with a lover’s touch. You blushed at the sight. When you and Azriel had first started courting each other three years ago, you’d thought through the mechanics of housing an Illyrian warrior in your bed — should you buy a new bed frame and mattress? Did you even have space for it in your apartment? The answer had been no to both, and yet Azriel loved when your daytime activities ended here instead of at the townhouse. If he cared about having to walk sideways to avoid the bookshelves in the halls or having to crouch to avoid the overhang above the staircase, he didn’t mention it. 

Three hours ago you’d woken up beneath the gentle weight of his wings, untangled yourself from Azriel’s greedy limbs, and crept down the stairs to your kitchen, bleary eyed but well rested. But that was three hours ago! Since then you’d brushed your teeth, washed your face, and eaten breakfast, and still the Shadowsinger hadn’t stirred. You were beginning to question whether he truly was the Spymaster of the Night Court as you sat in your velvet chair and admired your lover. You traced all the subtle movements of his body as he muddled through dreams you could only wonder at — the creasing of his brow, the slack line of his lips as he breathed, the twitching of his fingertips as he reached for some phantom object. 

The clock struck eleven and you sighed, gathering your plates but leaving Azriel’s pile of toast, butter, and honey alone. You also left the teapot and its mismatched cup, blowing magic over its lid in a silent command to keep its contents hot until Azriel awoke. 

“I’ll be down in the shop,” you whispered to his shadows, trusting that they would relay the message when their master finally decided to grace the daytime with his presence. 

One by one, shadows slipped off Azriel’s skin, curling around your ankles and wrists in a silent plea to stay. You shook them off like one might a needy child, promising you’d only be two floors down. 

The artists’ corner in Velaris was an eclectic array of compact townhouses, each outwardly dressed in their unique, dazzling finery. Your townhouse was squished between a painting studio and a luthier’s. The painting studio’s owner seemed intent on changing the color of the wooden sidings every other day and the drawings scribbled over the windows every other week. Today it was periwinkle blue to match the hydrangeas overflowing from the window boxes. 

You nodded in approval as you flipped the apothecary sign over from “Much apologies, please try another time” to “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” The blue would match your tulip yellow sidings and the clean white accents of the luthier’s. Last week it had been red and that had looked gods-awful. 

You busied yourself in the shop, crushing up lavender and herbs and boiling mugwort in fire-stained glassware in between flurries of customers until the medicinal stench in the air grew thick and strong. You were used to it by now. It smelled clean. Like home. 

You were finishing tying up a bundle of teabags when Cassian came in carrying a sturdy wooden box under one arm like it weighed five pounds instead of fifty. You snapped out the wrinkles of a cloth bag, dropping the teabags and five vials of sleep serum for the nightingale-winged nymph in front of you. 

“Four feathers and three strands of hair, as we bargained for,” you said, sliding the bag across the counter. 

The nymph nodded in approval, extending out a wing and shoving her fingers into the pillowy softness. She tested for loose feathers ready to pull.

“You’re a godsend, Y/n, has anyone ever told you that?” She pulled out three feathers, closed her wing, and started testing the feathers on the other side. “Finnigan’s was asking me for ten. Ten! Can you believe that? If I hadn’t found you in time I’d have been reduced to a plucked chicken.” She was much less precious about her mousey brown hair and yanked out three strands at random. “Oops, you get an extra strand today,” she sang, dropping the feathers and hair into the jars you held out. 

“Well it’s a good thing you found me then, Moricka.” 

“Honestly! I understand he’s got a large studio space he’s renting in the thick of the Palace, and even I will admit the ambiance is rather professional—” 

Cassian raised his brow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his scarred lips as he continued to stand motionless in the doorway. It was true your space was more… homey than Finnigan’s, but your expertise shined in intimate spaces. You liked the control and the familiarity that came from running a smaller business and you wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

“But I do think the success is getting to his head. You both studied under Lady Madja so I don’t see why—” 

You nodded absentmindedly. It was always like this with Moricka. The songbird in her made it difficult for her to stop talking, but at least her voice was pleasant. 

She threw her hands up in the air before finally catching wind of another presence in the room. Cassian waved at her with a wink and an orange blush creeped onto her full cheeks. He tended to have that effect on fae with his towering size and the wild beauty of his chiseled jaw and smattering of scars over his cheeks and brow. 

“Oh… oh dear, I didn’t realize you had another customer. Oh my goodness I’ve been talking your ear off all this time and you’ve been too kind to say anything. You’re a godsend, Y/n. A godsend! I don’t know what I would do without you, although I should really be letting you go now.” She grabbed her things and sidestepped the range of Cassian’s wings, trying and failing now to gawk. “I’ll see you soon enough again I’m sure.” 

“I’ll be here.” You sighed in relief when the doorbell rang behind her petite frame, the inoffensive smile you offered all your customers sliding off your face like oil on water. Cassian chuckled, dropping the box onto the countertop with a dull thud. 

“Long day?” 

You pulled out a stepstool and began rummaging around through the box, pulling out jars of squid ink, bark trimmings, buttons, and one particularly nasty jar containing a large eye suspended in yellow goo. “It’s not even three.” 

“Did I stutter?”

You tapped the glass and the eye swiveled around to look at you, pupil enlarging and constricting with a stutter. “Yes, yes very good,” you muttered your praise and Cassian fought hard not to shiver. He had a stomach for a great many things, but some of the specimens you handled tested his resilience.

“Thank you for bringing all of this. You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.” 

“Perhaps you could do the same for me and tell me where my brother is? I’ve been looking for him all day.” Cassian leaned forward on the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you holding him hostage, Y/n? Are you using your feminine powers to bring the poor male to his knees? I must admit, I didn’t imagine you as the kind capable of kidnapping. Or shadow-napping, shall we say?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly holding him hostage.” You gestured down the hallway past the bookshelves and the cases of empty glassware where the light from the staircase glowed like an iron eye. “He’s upstairs sleeping.” 

Cassian furrowed his brows, stepping around and past you. He kept his wings tucked closer to his shoulder blades, careful not to upset the cramped organization you maintained in your shop. 

He smirked. “Still? Are you sure you didn't work your feminine powers last night?” 

You glanced out the store window. A few fae lingered outside the coffee shop across the street clutching takeaway boxes against their chest as they chatted and sipped their drinks. The street was otherwise empty. For now, you wouldn’t have to deal with any customers. 

You looked back at Cassian. “I actually wanted to ask you about that.”

His brows furrowed. “About feminine powers?” He'd meant that as a joke.

“Gods, Cassian let that go.” You wrung your hands. “I wanted to ask if Azriel was alright? Has he seemed… normal to you?”

“I don’t know, has he?” Cassian lowered his voice, sinking into one of the stools by the clear glass medicine cabinet. “From what I can tell he seems well. Happy.” 

Although happy was an understatement. Ever since you’d stumbled into their lives with Madja’s accolades and your wry humor, Azriel had been a goner. You’d pulled emotions from him as deftly as a spinster with a pile of wool, reduced him to a reverential, lovesick mess, and imbued his existence with a color not even Feyre could mix up. Which made it all the more confusing why you looked so nervous.

“You’ve seen more of him than I have, Y/n.” Cassian said. He braced his elbows against his knees, turning serious. The faint bags under his hazel eyes hinted at sleepless nights spent fussing over Neera. It was their fault really, any daughter of Nesta and Cassian was destined to be restless and particular.

“He just… he’s been sleeping more. Falling into bed early, but waking up late. Sometimes we’ll be reading together or just existing side by side and when I turn to face him, he’s dead asleep on the couch.” 

Cassian’s lips twitched, slowly stretching into a smile. You plucked a hemp bag off one of the wall shelves at random, tossing its contents into a mortar and beginning to grind just so you could have something to do with your hands. 

“At first I brushed it off, but it’s gotten to a point where I’ll be talking to him — mindless things, but regardless — and I’ll catch him dozing off. He’s always very apologetic after but I��” The mortar and pestle clattered to a stop. “I worry that he’s growing bored of me. Or that he’s sick in a way I can’t help.” 

“Y/n.” There was a smile in Cassian’s voice, and indeed when you looked at him, his teeth were glistening in the soft afternoon haze. His eyes shined knowingly, as if the answer were obvious.

You paused. “Yes?”

“He feels safe with you.” 

You blinked once. Twice. 

“Pardon?” 

Cassian tipped back in his seat, knocking his head against the cabinet with a rattle of jars and glass as he laughed. “He’s sleeping so much because he feels safe with you. It’s probably why he prefers to spend time here instead of at the townhouse and why he’s still dead asleep while we’re sitting here gossiping about him. Three years ago you couldn’t even whisper his name in a crowded room without him appearing from the shadows as if summoned.” 

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “Oh... I see.” 

Cassian was grinning. “Y/n, I promise you he’s not bored of you. Azriel sleeping is a good thing. The gods know he could use more rest. I think he might be the worst of us when it comes to taking care of ourselves.” 

Something about Cassian’s words had a crack splintering in your chest. You knew about his past. You knew of the horrors burned into the ruined skin of his hands and the weight his duties deposited on his shoulders.

And here you’d been worried over him sleeping past noon. 

Shadows slipped down the stairs, pooling around your feet in a neat circle and kissing the exposed skin of your ankles. Azriel followed closely behind, still wearing his rumpled hair and pants and a shirt he’d hastily shoved his neck and arms into. He hadn’t even buttoned up the slits below his wings, opting to let the fabric swing free and loose and expose flashes of skin as he walked. 

He jutted his chin out in acknowledgement of Cassian and then folded himself over your back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and dropping his face into the crook of your neck where he breathed in the scent of lemon and lavender and medicine. 

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he said, frowning. There was a slur to his words.

“It’s past three, brother.” 

Azriel snapped his head up in surprise, squinting at the window and the afternoon sunlight streaking in. The pale cobblestones shone like they’d been drenched in honey. 

“What?” 

Cassian rolled his eyes, patting Azriel’s back fondly and mussing up your hair before walking towards the door. He flipped the sign from “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” to “Much apologies, please try another time.” 

“Goodnight, you two!" He called from over his back. "Remember we’re meeting at Rhys’s for dinner tonight.” He turned, bracing his arms against the top of the doorway and leaning forward like he meant to share a secret. “8pm sharp. Don’t be too late or we’ll get the wrong idea about what you two are up to.” He winked, then whistled down the street, letting the door close on its own behind him. 

Azriel sighed, going back to nuzzling his face in your neck. He peppered the sensitive skin there with kisses. 

“Will you be coming back upstairs then?” He murmured hopefully. "Now that you're finished with work?"

You bit your lip and decided rather quickly that the world would not end because you closed a few hours early. 

You led him up the stairs, past the kitchen and living room on the second floor, and then up to the third floor — your bedroom. The window was still open, the hustle and bustle of the city and the smell of coffee from across the street wafting in. Steam no longer poured from the lip of the teapot, so you knew Azriel had had something to drink, and where you’d left toast on his plate this morning lay only crumbs. 

Azriel dropped to his knees, untying your laces and helping you out of your boots. Then he straightened and tugged at the belt loops of your trousers, silently asking for permission before unbuttoning them and sliding them off your legs. Your shirt, then his shirt, and then his trousers joined the pile of crumpled clothing on the floor.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, falling face first after you with a sigh. This was his favorite position to sleep in — you comfortable on your back and him laying with his hips slotted in between your legs and his head resting over your heart. 

You sank your fingers into his velvety, black hair. His hums of satisfaction flowed through your body, lighting every nerve with a comforting buzz. 

“Azriel?” You asked him, before sleep could finally claim him once more. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Do you feel safe with me?” 

He pressed his face further into the soft flesh of your chest, bringing his arms up and around your waist before allowing his wings to do the same. The thin membranes glowed red as hot coals, blocking out the most offensive rays of light from outside. 

“When I am with you, I forget that I was ever that boy whose hands got burned. When I am with you, the hundreds of years I spent feeling alone and worthless in this world melt away into nothing. When I am with you — when I am in this place that smells and feels so strongly of you — I can imagine a future that is good and pure and perfect.” He sighed deeply, seemingly ignorant to the pounding of your heart and the waves of feeling flooding your system. “So yes, my love — my Y/n — I do feel safe with you.”

“I feel safe with you too,” you murmured. “I love you, Azriel.” 

You kissed the crown of his head, earning one last smile and a slurred, “I love you, Y/n,” before his jaw went slack and the room went silent save for the mixing of your breaths and the stirring of shadows.

[cloudsofbluesmoke]

New York Enclosed Kitchen Remodeling ideas for a mid-sized modern galley with a medium tone wood floor enclosed kitchen with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, no island, terrazzo countertops, a white backsplash, and a stone tile backsplash

[cgtaxpe]

Modern Kitchen - Enclosed Inspiration for a mid-sized modern galley medium tone wood floor enclosed kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, no island, terrazzo countertops, white backsplash and stone tile backsplash

[zepskies]

Maybe More Than Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve been a friend and ally to the Winchester brothers for years, but you and Dean break new ground while on a stakeout to catch a witch.

AN: Here’s another entry for @jacklesversebingo! It’s also based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @lacilou. 💜

Prompt: Window—Letter Opener—Binoculars

Request: I'd love to read about Dean and the reader who's his age or even a little older.

Song Inspo: “Over the Hills and Far Away” by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 2.9K

Tags/Warnings: A bit of angst, bit of hurt/comfort, bit of spice.~

💜 Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Discreetly from the passenger side of the car, you peered through the binoculars again. Your target was in view through the unusual circular window: an average looking white man in his fifties, peeling a tangerine from the comfort of his kitchen.

According to his driver’s license, his name was Martin Reynolds. Sam was investigating the sudden death of his wife, Laura, and the wives of two other men in the small town of Whitebury, Mississippi. Laura was the first victim, so you and Dean were watching Martin for any suspicious activity.

Your companion shifted in his seat. You could hear the give of the well-worn leather against denim. The Impala wasn’t exactly inconspicuous for a stakeout, but he refused to be trapped in your “tiny-ass” Toyota Camry all afternoon. You preferred the term compact.

“What’s our he-witch up to?” Dean asked.

Your lips twitched at a smile.

“We don’t know if he’s a witch,” you said, but you passed him the binoculars.

Dean’s mouth quirked to one side before he took a look. “Well, he probably isn’t a shifter.”

“What makes you say that?”

He gestured back at the window and gave you back the binoculars. You peered over and saw that Martin had half the tangerine in his mouth while he opened his mail with a letter opener. It flashed like silver in the afternoon light.

“If that is silver, it would rule out a lot of things,” you agreed, “but it still wouldn’t tell us why he killed his wife.”

Dean looked over as a white Porsche pulled into Martin’s driveway.

“Hmm, well, I’d say motive is comin’ in hot. Literally,” he said, watching intently when a young woman stepped out of the car. Her dress was as tight as the ponytail tied high on her head, a coil of blonde bouncing down her back.

You sighed, with a roll of your eyes. “Typical.”

You noticed the way Dean’s smirk wiped the boredom away from his eyes. It was annoyingly handsome, along with the neatly trimmed stubble across his cheeks, framing a strong jaw and the enticing bow of his lips. You had to resolve to ignore all of it, heaving a small sigh.

You wedged the binoculars between you both and toyed with the silver rings on your fingers—both a fashion statement and a safety precaution.

“Could be a demon deal,” you said. “Three men sporting Touch of Gray, three wives over 40.”

“Damn. That’s cold,” Dean shook his head, crossing his arms from the driver’s seat. Always from the driver’s seat. “That’d be pretty cut and dry though. Downright stereotypical.”

You gave him a smile. “Since when do you like it complicated?”

“Like it?” he scoffed. “What I like and what I get are on two different fucking hemispheres.”

You sensed bitterness there, underneath the dry remark. You looked away from the scene in the kitchen where Martin was pouring Barbie, his presumed girlfriend, a glass of white wine. Just like you thought, Dean’s brief good humor faded, falling into his resting state. It was a harder look than you were used to seeing on him over the years. His lighter, devil-may-care attitude in his younger days seemed to gain a little bit of edge every time you saw him next.

A few decades of bullshit, blood, and loss will do that to you.

But every time he called, you answered.

“You okay?” you asked. You tried to hide the depths of your concern, but maybe you just weren’t good enough. Dean glanced at you and forced his crunched brows to relax, as if he’d caught himself opening the hatch a little too much. Letting his true depths come to light a little too long.   

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he replied.

Sure. Always good.

You met him with a long look, your head rolling onto your shoulder.

“Hey. You can be honest with me, you know,” you reminded him. “What, you think I’m gonna tell Sam all your secrets?”

Dean smiled a little, but he shook his head, remaining stubborn.

“Look, I’m fine. Just the usual bullshit,” he said. “Nothing you gotta be dragged into.”

You frowned. “What, aside from this hunt? Aside from the last ten years of bailing your ass out?”

That last part was more joking. The truth was, Sam and Dean had helped you just as often as you’d tried to help them.

Now, Dean just shook his head. The fact that he didn’t levy back a smartass response further let you know that something was off with him. 

You bumped his arm lightly over his jacket.

“Come on, tell me all about your man feelings,” you teased. It had its intended effect, bringing a reluctant smile to Dean’s lips. He shot you a look, and you couldn’t help but admire how the dimming sun caught in his eyes, that pale green.

“Whatever. Like I said, I’m good,” he said, deflecting further by turning up his music. Yet another Led Zeppelin song was playing, but at least this one was more mellow. The guitar riff filled the car at a moderate volume. You guys were still on a stakeout, after all.

You shook your head, despite your smile. “You sound like a grumpy old man.”

His brows popped up. “Old?”

You shrugged impishly.

“‘Cause if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got a bit more mileage than I do,” he retorted.

You laughed, shoving his shoulder.   

“Well, that’s just rude,” you said. “You’re not even a year behind me. Matter of fact, you’re just a few steps shy of Touch of Gray in there. I can even help you find your shade. I’m thinking, what, medium brown with a hint of silver fox? Could be very George Clooney.”     

The disgruntled look on Dean’s face had you dying.

“Now that’s just uncalled for,” he said, even though his lips were curving upward at the sound of your laughter. Without you knowing, he took in the infectious sound, and the way you pressed the back of your hand against his arm while you tried to get ahold of yourself. It was everything he’d ever liked about you.

Easy. That was what it was, being with you.

The hard part always came afterward, watching you leave.

Letting you leave.

“It’s just…I don’t know,” you said, biting into your lower lip. You smudged your lipstick there, a dark, juicy red. It was distracting enough that Dean almost missed what you said next.

“You seem weighed down.” Your eyes were more serious then, beautiful and warm in their honesty. “Every time I see you, it’s like you’ve got fifty more pounds on your shoulders.”

Dean didn’t have an answer for you, even as he held your gaze.

His cell phone ringing cut through the guitar melody slowly fading into the next song. Dean fished it out of his pocket and answered Sam’s call.

“Hey, what’cha got?”

Your hunch proved correct. Sam tracked down the demon that made soul-claiming deals with a handful of men from the same golf club. All of them bored of their wives, and all of them with too much money on their hands—enough that they refused to lose any of it in a messy divorce.

It was like the opposite of the First Wives Club, and you were sickened.

When you and Dean questioned Martin, he felt just guilty enough to spill his guts.

Sam managed to gank the demon on his own, which left you and Dean with a conundrum: what to do with the marked men who sold their souls. No matter how much justice you thought they deserved, their souls were still damned to Hell either way. As Dean pointed out, that would be price enough to pay.

You were sour about it, but you let Martin and the rest of his scheming bastard friends go…after leaving him with a well-placed knee to the nads. At the very least, he wouldn’t be making any more scheming bastards anytime soon.

Dean was still smirking when you two piled into the Impala. Sam was waiting to be picked up at the bar across town, where he’d found the demon.

“Shut up already,” you laughed.

Dean shook his head, still grinning as he put the car in Drive.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Your smile remained, but not for long as you stared out the window. You liked the evening time, where there was still light enough to see, but the world was winding down in shades of orange-gold and violet. The streetlamps were slowly coming on, lighting the way along the road.

The car pulled to a stop at the red light, there at a busy intersection.

“Hey.”

Dean’s voice, deep and a little tired, caught your attention.

“You okay over there?” he asked. He was side-eying you again, this time in concern. You could see it behind the usual gruffness.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said. “Just makes me glad I never got married. Else I might’ve gotten shivved just so he could get out of paying alimony.”

Dean sucked his teeth. “Apparently it’s a bitch.”

You gave him a dry, withering look. He chuckled and briefly reached over to squeeze your arm.

“Hey, come on. That shit’s not happening to you,” he said. “He’d have to be dumb, deaf, and blind.”

You tilted your head at him, a small smile lighting up your face again. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed in a blush, especially with the way he was looking at you, all smirky and charming and unequivocally Dean.  

“Green light,” you reminded him.

He returned his attention to the road. His right hand was molded onto the steering wheel casually. His left rested on his thigh, while his fingers bounced to the beat of a song off his second favorite Zeppelin album. And you knew that, because he’d been playing it on repeat all day.

Many have I loved, and many times been bitten. Many times I've gazed along the open road…

You watched his profile, for a moment spellbound. The sky dimmed over his shoulder, casting him in both light and shadow, gold and dark.

“Have you ever…” You didn’t even know where you were going with this, but you’d already opened your mouth, and Dean was already glancing your way, with half his gaze on the road ahead.

“You ever gotten close to having something real? Someone who's not gonna shiv you when you’re fifty,” you said.

A laugh caught in his throat. “Hell, I never thought I’d see my forties, but here we are. Apparently I’m old.”

He shot you a wry look. You smiled.

“That’s one hell of a way to avoid the question,” you said.

Dean shook his head, this time with a sigh under his breath. For a second, you didn’t think he would answer you. You almost didn’t blame him.

The music filled the silence in between.

Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missing. Many, many men can't see the open road…

“Once,” Dean admitted. “I thought I had it, but uh…didn’t take.”

“Was she a hunter?” you asked.

Dean shook his head, his eyes staying on what lied ahead.

“Just wasn’t my life,” he said. “Couldn’t keep dragging her into mine.”

There was a lot there, buried deep. You couldn’t even begin to find a shovel, so you let it be. Though you should’ve predicted the way he turned it back on you.

“And you?” he said, brows raised. “Never had a douchebag in a sport coat, playing Caddyshack at the club every weekend?” 

You shook your head as you laughed. If nothing else, Dean could paint a picture.

“Definitely fucking not.” You rested your chin in your palm, your elbow finding purchase above the door handle. “You know me. I’m either too much or not enough.”

You didn’t notice it then, but Dean looked over at you with a frown tugging at his lips. He didn’t like the melancholy in your voice, or the way you turned to look out the window, like you were trying to hide from him.

Instead of putting voice to any of the thoughts rolling through his head, he kept driving.

The Impala rumbled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the bar. You were ready to meet Sam for a couple of beers inside. You grabbed your bag resting on the floor between your feet, but Dean’s stayed your hand, his own wrapping warmly around your arm.

You looked over at him with blinking, expectant eyes. He met you with sincerity.

“Anybody who says you ain’t enough, doesn’t know you,” he said. And then, his smile was back, quirking up at the corner. “At least, not like I do.”

Slowly, you smiled back. Your blush fairly radiated down your neck as well as your face, but you crossed your arms.

“So I’m too much. Is that what you’re saying?” you said.

He chuckled. “I plead the Fifth on that one.”

You fell into a fit of laughter along with him, and you both climbed out of the car feeling a little bit lighter. The blaring red neon sign above the bar blinded you for a moment. You turned to see Dean fiddling with his keys, trying to pick out the right one to lock up the car.

Some deep-seated feeling compelled you to go to him. You made your way around the hood and stopped just behind him. You called his name softly.

Dean turned to look at you over his shoulder. He was surprised to find you there so close. It led him to turn around all the way.

You didn’t give him, or even yourself time to think.

You grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled yourself up to press your lips to his. It was more or less a gentle kiss. Just a sweet, slow meeting of lips. You pulled away just as slowly, the heels of your boots lowering back down to the ground.

Dean blinked his eyes open. When he came back to himself, he looked down at you in surprise and with a hint of a smile. He had the imprint of your lipstick smudged across his plush mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked.

You smoothed your hands over his jacket. It was a bit too hard to meet his eyes, so yours landed somewhere around his chest. It was also too hard to say what you really wanted to say, so you settled on half of the truth.

“A thank you, I guess,” you said. “And maybe the next time I see you, you’ll have a little less weight on your shoulders.”

His calloused hand cupped your cheek, and he earned your gaze, blinking up at him through your lashes. You couldn’t name everything you saw in his eyes, but it was more than just surprise or lust. In fact, he seemed to be debating with himself, fighting something deep inside.

You saw the exact moment he made his decision.

“Maybe we should make it count then,” he said, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You didn’t even trust your voice, but your gaze drifted down from his eyes, to his mouth. Your shallow nod in agreement was like releasing him from his chains.

Dean framed your face with both hands and drew you into his kiss, like he was breathing life into you. You certainly felt alive.

You clung to the back of his shirt, to his arms, while he gathered you flush against his chest. His strong hands glided their way down the small of your back, eliciting tingles down your spine. All the while, he drew you in deeper and deeper with each new sensuous glide of his lips against yours.

You yelped in surprise when he turned with you in his arms, just to press you into the side of his car. Dean pulled open the door to the backseat, and you climbed in willingly. He followed after you, at the same time you dragged him over by the front of his shirt. Soon his jacket was wrenched off his shoulders along with yours, both tossed somewhere in the front seats along with his shirt.

While you explored the new expanse of tanned skin, roaming your hands over his strong, broad shoulders and dipping down his back, his lips had fastened to your neck, teasing and grazing with his teeth along your pulse point.

You were already moaning and panting in his ear, your body arching to meet his as you slung a leg across his lap. He grabbed onto your thigh and squeezed, pulling you even tighter against him.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Aren’t we a little old to be making out in the backseat?” you said.

“You can be a little old for a lotta things, sweetheart,” said Dean, his voice gravel and deep as sin. “But this ain’t one of ‘em.” 

AN: Some spicy flangst there for ya! It was honestly refreshing to write some Dean after working on so much Soldier Boy. I love that guy, but he gives me stress sometimes. 😂 Trying to cure Dean's angst is a fun break! 💜

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[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 5) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

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

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

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

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

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

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

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

Simon. his bare face with silvery scars.

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

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

your dead daddy and mama rotting away in the sand.

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

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

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

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

Simon’s cabin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he grinned, kissing your hand softly.

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

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

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

“what do you want?”

your eyes snapped to his. “what?”

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

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

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

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

“what do you want from me?”

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

“what do you want from me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you gulped it down gratefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she grimaced. “he’s… alive.”

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

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

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

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

like always, you couldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

now, you just felt an overwhelming numbness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

her brown eyes darted over your stiff body.

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

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

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

that didn’t seem to convince Kate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you wondered if he was thinking about you at all.

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

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

Kate gave you a weak smile. “a farm.”

your brows raised. “a farm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the smile drifted from her face. “fighting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’ll keep me busy.”

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

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

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

“will you let me stay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all while he was in san francisco fighting.

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

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

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

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

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

“how did you and Kate meet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yes.”

you cocked your head. “alone?”

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

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

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

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

“we are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

when was the last time you had gone to church?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it seemed everything was just pouring out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you feared your dreams.

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

sometimes, you didn’t.

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

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

“i’m sorry.” you stiffened.

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

you forced your jaw to work. “why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your mind raced. had they been?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he pressed his forehead against yours, warm and solid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we would love it if you did.”

you smiled. “really?”

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

you cocked a brow. “what did he say?”

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

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

“he lies.”

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

that night, your nightmares felt lighter than usual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the saloon chain is yours now, miss.

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

your ownership.

slowly, you sat in the desk chair, unbreathing.

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

the promise felt empty and cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you didn’t believe her for a second.

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

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

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

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

“not soon enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“really?”

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

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

“did John say why?”

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

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

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

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

“why?”

she shrugged again. “beats me.”

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

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

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

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

you jolted when the german shepherd yapped.

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

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

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

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

your name.

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

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

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

your cheeks ached at the big smile stretching your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we’ve got company.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we were plannin’ on it!”

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

“good to see you, darlin’.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shrugged. “neither did i, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let go.”

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

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

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

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

“you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

and Simon—evil and full of hate.

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

“shhh. it’s alright.”

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

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

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

you clutched at the wrist of his sleeve with desperation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his voice was strained. “like what?”

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

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

he deflated when you shook your head.

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

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

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

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

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

“could you ever forgive me?” he asked.

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

“maybe.”

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

“can i at least carry you?”

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

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

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

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

“i’ll fix it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we’re sleepin’ outside.”

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

you flushed deeply, a fluttering heat in your cheeks.

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

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

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

“tired?”

you nodded weakly, and he smiled against your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you squeaked, jerking back with a jolt of confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“more? more what? this not enough?”

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

“patience, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you chided him. “greedy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“please what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“use your words.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“just… please, Simon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“want me to stop?”

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

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

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

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

“alright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“good?” his gaze was hot and piercing.

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

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

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

“hm? speak up, sweet thing.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so tight, princess.”

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

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

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

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

“Si—m’gonna—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

good girl. good girl. my good girl.

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

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

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

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

“satisfied, princess?”

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

“insatiable, greedy thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“don’t lie…”

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

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

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

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

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

“in different circumstances. after your marriage.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“if you’ll have me.”

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

“even after everything?”

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

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

he only blinked. “me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah?”

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

he shrugged. “me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he was half-right in the end.

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

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

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

you almost giggled. “little gunslinger?”

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

“what’s my code name then?”

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

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

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

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

you hummed. “what about my mask?”

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

you parted from him. “why not?”

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

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

“thank god,” you whispered and he nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

[catnipaddictt]

teeth

modern!anakin x gn!vampire reader wc: 2.1k tw: BLOOD - lots of talk about it, reader turns anakin into a vampire, kissing

synopsis: while on a routine visit to anakin, he decides he wants to be with you forever, even if that means giving up his human life

The trees of the now abandoned playground cast long shadows across the ground as you walked. The moon illuminated the road, bathing the dead silent street in a brilliant white light. You have made this trip a thousand times now, only at night, and ways by foot. It was safer for you this way. 

Rounding the block your senses pick up the rustling of a neighbor cat, who upon seeing your figure, immediately flees the scene. There is no wind tonight, the humid air of summer has long gone, replaced by a permanent nip at your porcelain like skin.

You pass by the places you know all too well by now. The sidewalk where you first saw him, the drooping willow tree where he ‘accidentally’ walked into you. You had a map of the neighborhood in your mind, pins dropped where-ever he had been. To say you were infatuated would be offensive.

His name was Anakin Skywalker. Your Ani. Sweet human Ani. He was young, well younger than you, but still a man. Rough hands and always tired eyes that always found their way to you, and you who eagerly accepted them. He was so close now, you could almost taste him. 

Running your tongue over your sharp teeth, you make your way down his garden, to the back door he left unlocked. Just for you. You tap your knuckles against the aging wood, waiting for your obsession to answer. 

A mop of curls and blue eyes appear almost as soon as you make yourself known. He was always waiting for you. He holds out his large palm for you, “come inside.” 

Anakin Skywalker never minded your prying eyes and unnatural temperature skin. It never bothered him that you only could visit him when it was dark or that you would wait until he collected you from the aging backdoor to his small apartment. All he knew was that he adored you. 

He adored the way you visited him every night and the way your words rolled off your tongue. He loved the way you spoke to him, possessive, in a way he knew he would never get enough off. 

Anakin trusted you with his life, there was something about you that intoxicated him. You made him feel hazy but focused at the same time. And he loved it.

He led you inside, past the kitchen countertop and the cluttered desk in his compact living room, until he reached the door to his bedroom which he pushed open. His hand encased yours as he brought you into his little sanctuary. 

You could hear the steady beat of his heart and the rush of blood in his veins as he settled in his plush bed, leaning against the wall. You sat opposite him as you always did, legs crossed and eyes taking him in. 

His soft sweatpants clung to his hips and as he raised his arm to push a stand of hair out of his face, you were blessed with a sliver of smooth skin. You didn't speak, you never had to, he talked and you listened. He told you about his day and what he ate for dinner. He tried to explain what it tasted like but can never find the words to describe all the different flavors. He always made an effort to try and help you understand humans more. 

It perplexed you how they lived such short lives, a brief dot in the history of humanity, and the world. You had been around for centuries before him, experience the change that came with it. Sometimes you would talk, never for long, about what it was like before cars or the invention of the telephone. 

Anakin loved hearing your voice, it was soft but smart, you always knew how to word things for him. Most nights, like this one, you didn't speak, only watched him and the pull of his lips as he told you a story. 

The words flowed out of his mouth smoothly as you remained transfixed on the human before you. He was just so precious? That was the only way to describe it. You wanted to keep him until the end of time itself. But there was only one way to do that and you didn't want to take his normal life away from him just yet 

It was like he could hear your brain ticking away, “What are you thinking about huh? What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?” He cooed at you. He spoke softly.

At the beginning of your nightly meeting, you had been skittish and unsure. You had steered clear of humans for as long as you could remember. Anakin had spooked you a few times in the past, but you had gotten a lot more comfortable around him. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you. Nowadays he loves to tease and joke with you. Anakin was naturally a flirt and he thrived on seeing your cheeks heat up. However he still made an effort to be gentle towards you. 

You blink at him a few times before thinking. “You” is all you reply, your voice quiet. He smiles at you, placing his palm out for you to take. You do, letting his large hand envelope yours. He rubs soothing circles over your knuckles as he speaks. “Yeah? What about me?” He asks in a teasing manner. 

There had always been something unspoken between you two. Although he was yours in your head, you had never verbalized your possession of him. You tilt your head slightly, “just you.” 

“Uh-huh” he nods, making eye contact. His rough hands continue to play with your slender fingers, running the pad of his index finger over your sharp, deep red nails. Nail polish was one of humanity's greatest inventions.

You could smell the blood surging away Anakin's body, you could also taste the iron in your mouth. Shaking your head, you try to snap out of it. It would be irresponsible to turn him, you could satisfy your need for blood elsewhere.

You feel Anakin take a deep breath before he speaks again. “I want you to do your thing to me.” His fingers run over your knuckles. You look at him with big eyes, wondering if you heard him correctly. You look at him questioningly, wanting him to elaborate. He surely couldn't mean what you thought he did. Could he?

“I know it sounds crazy, but I want you too” he continues. You just sit there, thinking over the options in your head. You didn't want to take his whole future away from him. He was a good human, he had a good job and a normal good life to look forward to. And if you took that away, well he would have a future, it would just be a much longer one. You don't know if you could burden him with that.

“I know you don't want to,” he speaks, “but I've thought it over and I don't want this to end. For us to end. Even if there is no us right now, I want there to be” 

His shining blue eyes met yours, searching for a sigh or something to let him know what you are thinking. Inside you are a total mess, he wants there to be an us. Maybe your feelings towards him haven't been one sided after all. You just never thought he, a human, would ever like you, something very much not human. 

“Say something?” He asks cautiously, his thumb rubbing a circle on the top of your hand. “Are you sure?” You question lightly. You wanted nothing more than to sink your fangs into the flesh of his neck, but you knew, at least up until now, that doing that would be reckless. Downright irresponsible of you. But now things had changed, he wanted you to. Anakin Skywalker was inviting you to take him for all eternity.

“I'm sure. I want this, and I know you do too. I've seen the way you look at my throat and the way your pupils get bigger when you run your fingers over my wrists. You want this probably more than I do.” He speaks, his words getting bolder by the second. 

Biting in the inside of your cheek, you think it over. It would uproot his whole life, make everything ten times more difficult than they already were. But you wanted this too. You wanted him.

“Okay” you answer finally. You hear his heart race at your reply, he really did want this. His hand squeezes you as he blinks at you softly. “How do we do this?” He asks.

You had never shared with him the secrets of turning mortals into immortals. You really had no authority too as you had never tried. You knew how it works, but this would be an experience for both you and Anakin. 

“I bite you, I'll be gentle I promise. It will probably feel weird at first, but just relax” you voice mesmerizes Anakin as he takes in your words. He was nervous, a bit afraid, but he knew he wanted this. 

“Okay” he responds to you, nodding his head. You move yourself closer to him, your legs now bumping into each other. He moves from leaning against the wall to cross legged in front of you. “Is there anything you want to do before I, you know?” You ask.

Anakin nods before bringing his hands to either side of your face. “Can I kiss you?” He asks permission, which you give in the form of a nod. He brings his face closer and closer to yours, then suddenly his lips are on yours.

The kiss is sweet and you lean into it. You had never kissed a human before but you liked it. The feeling of him so close to you was intoxicating and you didn't want him to stop. Eventually he has to break away for air, giving you a dopey grin. Now that he had gotten his wish there was only one thing to do.

You take his face in your hands, looking into his baby blue eyes. He gives you a nod of confirmation and then you are tilting his head to the side to expose the expanse of his neck. Your tongue runs over your teeth, preparing yourself. Bringing yourself closer to his neck, you can feel the blood streaming below the smooth skin, inviting you to take a bite. 

Your mouth makes contact with his neck, finding the right spot before running your tongue over it. You were finally getting what you really wanted, him. You knew deep down that it would always turn out this way. Once you attached to him, he was never getting away easily. Sinking your teeth into him would mean you got what you truly craved. 

Slowly you bare your fangs against him so that he could feel the points of your canines pressing against his skin. Not enough to break through, but as a warning for what was about to happen. You take a deep breath in, letting the smell of iron and Anakin's natural musk envelop you. It was now or never. Gently you sink your teeth into Anakin's neck. Your eyes almost rolled back in pleasure, he tasted better than you could have imagined. All blood tastes different, but Anakin's was by far the best you had ever drunken. Although maybe the fact that he was the only human you talked to made it better. 

He tasted almost familiar, sweet and delicious. You suck at the wound in his neck, pulling the divine sensation of his hot blood into your awaiting mouth. Anakin seemed fine so far, nothing drastic had occurred, however you could sense a feeling of slight unease about him. But that was to be expected with your latched onto his skin, tanned from the sun. 

You only drank what you needed from him, you didn't want to leave him weak. After you had your feast, you lap at the holes on his neck, trying to stop the flow of rich blood. You pull away in time to see Anakin flex his fingers and look at you.

He was different. His blue eyes had a new feeling to them; while they were still the same blue, they seemed to hold more depth than before. He is still your Anakin, but now he has a sense of eternity about him. You could say that he had become one of your kind. He runs a large hand through his curls before taking your hands in his. “Till eternity do us part”

taglist: @qvnthesia @anisscarletstarlet @inneedsoffanfics @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @anakinstwinklebunny @deathst9rs

thanks to my lovely editor @memoiich for this one <3

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 6 - J'ai Dansé Avec L'Amour

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none, really… some kissing and some awkwardness

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Well, this isn't the wedding yet, but it's them both dealing, rather awkwardly, with the idea of getting married as they grapple with their attraction to each other. The wedding will be the next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Montivilliers (just outside Le Havre), September 1939

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Eloise whispers into the inky blackness.

“What other choice do I have?” you whisper back, unwilling to admit how weirdly calm you are about the scheme.

You are lying in the spare room of Solène’s sister, Marie and her husband Jérôme’s cottage. Sharing the compact double bed, shoulders touching as you converse quietly. It must be after 2am. Benedict chivalrously insisted on taking the sofa downstairs despite being stuck on yours in Paris for the last few days.

“I still say we should find some forgers,” Eloise opines; you can hear the shrug in her tone. “You shouldn’t have to go through with a marriage to my brother just to escape.”

“It’s fine,” you placate, waving your hand dismissively, although likely unseen.

“What about Stanley?”

“I’m sure he will understand when I can eventually get home,” you fib.

There is a brief lapse into silence, and outside somewhere, an owl hoots.

“You know we may have to bribe someone to do this regardless, don’t you?” 

“What are you talking about?” you frown, turning your head to face her.

“There are rules about residency for French civil marriages, and you’ll need identification neither of you have with you, like birth certificates,” Eloise points out.

“Ohhh…” you stutter, feeling sheepish you didn’t even know that.

“Although… Jérôme is the mayor of Montivilliers…” Eloise offers thoughtfully. “And he is sleeping just through that wall…”

“He can marry us?” You’re unable to hide the excitement in your voice.

“If he’s willing to overlook a few things… yes… he could marry you in the Town Hall.”

Internally, you are celebrating even as you try to temper your excitement.

“Then, for my sake, let’s hope he is,” you answer, attempting to sound gravely concerned.

Eloise hums sleepily in response, and it’s your last words before she drops off. You lay awake for what seems like hours, staring up at the beam of moonglow on the whitewashed ceiling. A myriad fluttering in your stomach—a cautious optimism that this could work, a strange excitement at the thought of marrying Benedict, and a vague dread that your family could still be upset if it all works out. 

—

A light, dewy mist lingers in the garden outside the kitchen window as you sip coffee the following morning. A moment of solitary contemplation that has you considering a telegram to your family but deciding against it. Until you know if you can get out of the country, it seems pointless to make them more concerned than they already are.

“Dress shopping?” Eloise asks over a yawn as she plops into the seat next to you at the rustic wooden table in the kitchen, breaking your reverie. “For the wedding…” she adds when you frown nonplussed.

Oh.

“I, umm, was just going to use one I already have, to be honest. That off-white silk tea dress?”

Eloise cocks her head to the side in thought. “Hmm, that might just work - that can be your something old. I have a little faux fur stole you can wear to dress it up - something borrowed. I know you have some powder blue underwear, so we only need something new!” 

“You believe in that stuff?” you frown, taking a sip. It seems so anachronistic for her. You also decide not to ask how she knows about your underwear.

“I know it's not…” she leans in, likely worried about prying ears, mouthing the word ‘real’, before continuing at her regular volume, “...but best not to tempt fate,” she raises a pointed eyebrow, silently reminding you of what is at stake.

“Good point,” you concede as she gets up to grab some fruit.

“Your humble sage at your service,” she jests, taking a comedic bow. 

“But we still have to ask Jérôme…”

“Ask me what?” a genial, heavily accented booming voice rings out from the doorway.

“This one and my brother have gone and fallen in love,” Eloise explains, rolling her eyes. “The soppy idiots want to get married in France as soon as possible. I don't suppose you could help, could you? It would be their dream come true and so very romantic, non?” 

She appears to be piling on the theatrics, but you see that winning smile, the one she deploys whenever she manipulates an unsuspecting man to get her way. Sometimes, you swear it is almost too easy to navigate the world as an attractive Bridgerton.

“Pour vous, ma petit chou-fleur, peut-être…” he responds, an avuncular glint in his eye. It is evident from this interaction and the previous evening when you arrived that Marie and Jérôme have spent time with Eloise, likely in Paris with Solène.

“Merci Jérôme!” she celebrates, kissing his cheek as he affectionately chuckles. “Demain?” she adds cheekily.

“Mon dieu Eloise,” he exclaims as he grabs a croissant, “C'est très bientôt!”

You try to listen in as they rapid-fire converse in French, but you only follow along with every few words, maybe something about paperwork, but really, you are not sure. It mostly seems fond exasperation on Jérôme’s part, so you sit hopeful, just as Benedict wanders in.

“Ah, the other love bird!” Eloise cuts away from their chat. “I know you want to get married so quickly, but please do not make out too much in front of Jérôme!” she titters pointedly at Benedict, her eyes cutting from him to you.

Benedict seems to cotton on very quickly, and you startle as he leans down and brushes a featherlight kiss onto your cheek.

“Bon matin, mon amour,” he rumbles, his minty breath warm, causing goosebumps to break out over your arms.

“Morning, my love,” you whisper back stutteringly, the words almost tacky on your tongue, your mouth suddenly so dry. Your eyes meet, and it's the closest you have ever been, captivated by the tiny flecks of colour in his iris. He doesn't look away, and you seem unable. 

“Oh oui, je le vois, l'amour vrai… ” Jérôme mutters quietly across the room. “I will see what I can do,” he offers in English as you finally tear your eyes away, him giving you a nod before he takes his leave.

“Well done!” Eloise enthuses quietly with a big thumbs-up gesture once Jérôme has left the room. “Really convincing!” she adds before twirling out of the room with an apple jammed in her mouth.

“Sorry about that…” Benedict offers, a little flustered.

“No, please…” you can't think of anything else to say, almost tongue-tied as you replay his kiss on your cheek like a looping projector reel, wanting to add ‘do it again’, a tingle still lingering on your skin. 

There are a few beats of awkward silence where he seems on the precipice of saying something, but you are almost afraid to hear it, as if worried he wants to conjure an excuse to back out.

“I…I need to buy my something new!” you exclaim, jumping up and scurrying out of the room, leaving Benedict mildly perplexed about what that might even mean.

—

After a successful trip into Le Havre, where you and Eloise found your ‘something new’ - a pair of ivory Mary Janes that will complete your outfit - the day ends with Jérôme and Marie taking you all to a local restaurant. A delicious meal of many courses with flowing carafes of wine under the bright red canopy outside. It turns into one of those late nights with convivial conversation and bonding with strangers.

A band strikes up in the cobbled square, and after a few numbers, Jérôme drags Marie up to dance as the three of you cheer.

“Les tourtereaux!!” Jérôme exclaims after the song ends, gesturing for you and Benedict to join them on their makeshift dance floor.

“Non..non!” you protest, gesturing a no with your arms and laughing, a languid feeling in your bones from good food, drink and conversation.

But it appears he won't take no for an answer, and as Marie giggles and applauds, Jérôme marches over and grabs you both by the elbow, hauling you to your feet.

“Danse!” he commands.

You and Benedict exchange slightly nervous looks but emboldened by wine; then you gasp as a strong arm wraps around your back, and your other hand slides into his.

“Just go with it,” he breathes into your hair, and suddenly, you are spinning, the stars above you twinkling, as he leads you expertly in a swing dance.

“Mr Bridgerton, you can dance!” you exclaim in blithe amusement, clinging to him as you move together in a balletic union.

“As can you, Mrs Bridgerton!” he peels carefree.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you lose your footing. Benedict has to grab hold and haul you back upright before you collapse onto the cobbles.

“Sorry…” he blusters, his arms still around you, “I…I wasn't thinking…”

“No, no. That will indeed be my name…” you stumble, almost as if that is only just occurring to you now. “I'm just getting used to it, that's all,” you lie, knowing that is not why you lost your footing. 

He seems to accept that with a nod, and after a beat, you begin to move again, tentatively, Until the wine takes over and you are once again both giggling and dancing, his arm a strong brace around your back as you move together for many minutes, a joy fizzing in your veins.

At one point, you glance over and see Eloise with an odd expression on her face before she orders a drink from the waiter, but Benedict whips you around, and you get lost in the dance and in him. The feel of him wrapped around you at once safe and exhilarating.

“Kiss!” comes the yell from Jérôme as the song ends.

“You know, he's not going to shut up until we do it,” you raise, a little breathless from the dancing.

Without you having to say anything else, Benedict’s hands grasp around your waist, and you are lifted off the ground, taller than him. Then he tilts his head up and captures your lips with his.

Time stops.

The feeling is like an explosion and a perfect calm silence all at once. His lips don't open, but they don't need to - even this gentle kiss is a soft, sensual plushness that obliterates all your thoughts. A lingering tang of wine on his slightly dampened lips that you want to lick off, a plunge of lust in your belly that has you fighting the urge to wrap your legs around his hips and open your mouth, demanding a real kiss.

His hands slide around your back in a gentle cage as he lowers you to your feet. What upends you is the breathtaking look in his eye when he finally pulls away, pupils blown, face soft and full of yearning. You could never tire of that look.

“Get a room!” Eloise yells, and there is an uncharitable tart edge to it that breaks the spell and makes you look over at her. She appears much more inebriated than she was before.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your hands still wrapped around Benedict’s biceps, warm through his shirt sleeves.

“I think she ordered absinthe, so maybe not,” he answers, and you feel a pang of sadness as he releases his hold and gestures gentlemanly for you to walk ahead, to return to the table, the moment lost.

Half an hour later, Benedict and Jérôme are on either side of Eloise, helping her back into the cottage, much worse for wear. They get her to the sofa, where she promptly passes out and begins to snore lightly. Marie covers her in a blanket, and you realise it's unlikely you will be able to move her tonight.

“Well, you two will have to share the bed. But do not worry, I shall not tell your families,” Jérôme winks. “I can’t say Marie and I were saints before our marriage,” he adds with a tap on his nose and an uproarious chuckle.

Your eyes dart to Benedict and his to you. Panic, excitement, and apprehension all bubbling up inside—a volcanic eruption in your gut. You trust him not to take advantage; it’s yourself you don't trust.

Jérôme wraps an arm around both of your shoulders, red wine heavy on his breath “Oui, I will marry you tomorrow, mes amis. I can overlook some rules for a true love like yours.”

With that, he takes his leave, with you and Benedict left looking uncomfortably at each other, unsure if you should celebrate. That feeling remains as he suggests you go up first and get ready for bed, and once you are nervously tucked under the covers as he enters from the bathroom, those broad shoulders framed with a white t-shirt and the same bottoms he wore in Paris when you watched him sleep.

“I really wish I'd packed a proper pyjama set,” he sighs ruefully as he approaches the other side of the bed and slips under the covers, seemingly arranging himself right at the far side.  “I'm also so sorry about Eloise landing us in this situation. I can't believe she was that irresponsible,” he adds with his back turned but an unmistakable tinge of irritation in his tone. 

Even then, it’s a small bed, and you can feel his body heat radiating under the covers.

“You don't have to cling to the edge,” you offer hesitantly, “we are to be married after all…”

The last words are a whisper that sounds almost wounded, and he twists over, a look of surprise crowding his features.

“I am merely being respectful...” he replies cautiously.

“I know…” it's barely audible, and you can’t look at him.

The overwhelming awkwardness makes your chest ache, your hands wringing together nervously under the covers. What feels like mere moments ago, you were swept into his arms, and he was kissing you as if your lives depended upon it. And now this… the juxtaposition of reality and the fairytale you both act so well draws a lump to your throat.

“This whole situation is so odd,” you confess quietly, unable to be anything but honest with him.

“I know… I'm so sorry it has come to this.” 

You have no idea if he means tonight, the marriage or even life in general, in a war that could come to your doorstep any day.

“I don’t regret anything,” you volunteer after a beat.

“Neither do I…” his earnest whisper makes something inside you crack open, your palm itching to squeeze his hand.

Instead, you exchange soft goodnights, and you lay stock still for a long time, backs towards each other, feeling at once too close and a million miles apart.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[s0ft-d3cay]

Our Home

Shigaraki x Male Reader | I had some family shit that came up so my writing might be more comforting and lovey dovey for a bit. Just a heads up! Hope you have a lovey day/night!!!!

WARNINGS: they make out, lots of kisses, cute domestic gay couple stuff because I need it, Tomura calls the reader a brat(Lovingly), its RELLY cute, use of Y/N

WC:1,273

"Do you want me to carry you home?" Tomura asked teasingly, the two coated in blood and dust equally. The remains of heroes now staining their clothing, Y/N couldn’t care less about the mess. Plus…the man had a way of making blood look hot on him and Y/N could never resist the sight of the liquid crimson on the other man’s pale skin.

His brain turned to mush at the small question, grinning as he wipes off his weapon. The mere idea of something so small and domestic made his heart skip. Y/N chuckle at his offer. "I would absolutely love for you to carry me home, Tomura." Y/N replied, the red eyed man grumbled out an order to the doctor. Black oil-like substance formed a poorly made portal to a lone watchtower, one Y/N had revamped to his home.

Ecstatic, Tomura moved to pick up the other man in his arms, holding him close against his chest. Looking down at Y/N with a winning smile nuzzling his cheek with his boyfriends. "You comfortable, brat?" Y/N chuckles. “Very, now come on I want you to see the house!” With an excited giggle, Y/N replied. His gaze taking in his pretty boyfriend, wandering over every detail of him.

Glances at the portal, Tomura turns his attention back towards Y/N, his expression glee and amusement as he replies. “You’re really hyping up this house of ours.” Walking through the transporting oil-like substance. Both of them now on the first floor of the watchtower. A lone two story compacted building surrounded by thick evergreen trees. Standing in front of the door to the house, a set of stairs lead to the second floor and ground below split a few feet from the door.

Tomura’s red eyes took in the environment around him silently, before he speaks up. "Your house is amazing. How did you find this?” He questioned in wonder, eyes still wavering over the building. Y/N chuckles, "Found it for sale years back, thought maybe one day I could take a break and rest.” He said bashfully with a shy smile, tilting his head towards the door in front of them. Three windows lined along the left side, sun catchers gleaming within the house. Turning and glowing with beaming rainbows cascading on the wooden deck.

The villain leaner steps in hesitantly. The house held a large bed beneath below the line and corner of windows, a full kitchen on the right in front of the door, and a couch in the far left corner of the room. The bed lays messily in sea-foam green covers, a few earthy tone rugs in rusted red and blotched greens. The kitchen fair full with a dishwasher, fridge, stone and microwave. And the lone gray couch set against the wall, what looks to be a projector hung up on the ceiling.

"It’s so lovely…feel like we’ve been here for years.” He commented with a grin, still holding the other man in his arms as he walks deeper into the house. Y/N's eyes fondly looking over all his hard work. The white haired man looking around in thought. His red eyes lingerer over the bed, "Do you mind if I…put you on the bed and we cuddle? I wanna lay with you.” He uttered softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the man’s forehead.

Y/N ponders the cuddling idea for a second before another idea come to mind. "Could I show you around the place real quick? Each room I show you, I’ll kiss you.” The man teasingly asked, his arms tightened around Tomura’s neck. "Please!” Y/N begged cutely, blinking rapidly as he playfully pouts.

“Hmm, sounds like we’re gonna have a lot of kisses...” He replies, chuckling as his eyes rolled. "I can see why you wanted to come here to relax, this place feels…cozy yet beautiful at the same time. You did an amazing job with finding this place, Y/N…” The villain praised sweetly with his raspy voice.

"And…the decorations as well as rebuilding, my love.” Y/N added on, placing a tender kiss to Tomura’s dry lips. His own soft and plush against his boyfriends rough ones. Feeling the hair white haired put him down to stand through the progressive heated kiss. "You did all of that? You truly are the jack of all trades.” The white haired man muttered out with a soft grin, kissing the man again. Y/N hummed through the second kiss, his lips curling and melting to his partners.

Y/N hum dreamily as he continued to complement his hard work. Breathlessly pulling away from their connected lips, hands moving down to Y/N's waist. Keeping the man close to brush his lips once more…then again and again, Y/N’s heart pounded with a giddy thrill. Beginning to walk through the house.

"Here we have a lovely kitchen…” Y/N leaned up to kissing him again. "Mmm…~” Tomura hums pleasantly, leaning the front of his body flush against the other man. Pulling away to halfway glance at the kitchen, then back at Y/N. Red eyes now focused on Y/N's kissed stained lips, his tongue licking his own in eager anticipation.

"What else do you have here in this lovely house of ours, brat?” Tomura questioned with a warm smile on his blood and dirt covered face. Y/N pulled him farther into the house, resting his back against the far wall as he opened a sliding door on the other end of the house. A few steps away from the couch. "Full bathroom with a tub, shower and a washer and dryer in the corner.” The man quickly uttered, allowing the other man time to look into the room. Impressed, Tomura looks around the space, his red gaze falling back to his boyfriend. Grinning as he saw him standing beside the door.

"We have our very own bathroom as well?” He asked in a soft grumble, Y/N nodded with a bright smile, pulling his boyfriend in for another kiss by his collar. This one slow and savory between the two men, Y/N pulls away with an audible pop. "Yes, we have our own bathroom…” The blush on Tomura’s face after the kiss looked angelic, given the white haired man was always angelic in Y/N’s opinion. But his soften expression, those wide eye. Y/N could replay that expression over and over again. With a shaky breath, the villain pressed his lips to Y/N's again, pushing him to the wall. A whine at the pressure of his body pinned to the wall slips past his lips in passion and hunger.

Y/N breath catch in his throat after the series kisses, leading his boyfriend toward the welcoming bed in the opposite corner, he continues. "The couch in the corner and the wall, I wanted it to be like a big nest. And right there is my record player, I connected it to speakers surrounding both levels and the outside."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Y/N watching his lover’s gaze gleam in fond admiration. "That’s it for the first floor, what do you think?” Waiting for him to both reply and join him on the comfortable bed. Tomura walks over, his excitement plain as day on his face. Jumping on the bed, laying face first with open arms and legs against the sheets and blankets Y/N laugh out, turning on the mattress. Tomura glances over at the other man from the sheets, grinning wide like a child.

"This house is so fucking cool, Y/N! I love how big the bed is and I love that there's music! This place is perfect!” He says before sitting up to kiss the man passionately and lovingly. Sighing dreamily kissing back, Y/N crawls over on top of his boyfriend, holding him close against himself. Feeling the infinite love for Tomura flow through his veins.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights of any of the characters I write about, all the rights go to their respective creators.

[lottes-little-place]

I've finished recoloring the FreeTime appliances (+ a matching Super Sucker Vent)! As usual, they come in the 10 Cluedo Colors.

The list of items recolored in this set (FreeTime required):

Char-Pane Grill

CryonicFresh

Deluxe Coffee Maker by YouBrew

EliteChef Home Range

Frugal Fruitlover's Friend

Gravitrash by Jackson Compaction

The Dish De-atomizer

The Nanowaver

Timeless Toaster Oven

And from Kitchen & Bath Interior Design Stuff:

Super Sucker Vent

They are very shiny so they might look a little lighter than usual Cluedo Colors in brightly lit spaces. The Char-Pane Grill is a little darker because when placed outside it looked ridiculously bright otherwise. Dirty states for the stove are included.

As my poll showed, people hated my green people were divided about the display colors so I've decided to make three versions for the three different display colors (blue, green and grey). The recolors are compatible with each other so you can have 30 different recolors for each item if you want too (I won't judge you). Might be handy too if you want to compare them in-game.

Default options are included if you want to replace the original colors. These also come in the three different display versions and use the colors green, peacock, scarlet and white. I have not made a default replacement for the Super Sucker Vent because it's not really a part of the FreeTime set and I didn't know what colors I would use. (I've also already made 3 different default replacements for it.)

Credits: @shastakiss (colors)

Download (green display version)

Download (blue display version)

Download (grey display version)

And if you're not interested in the recolors but would like a clear glass default, just download this file (clear glass is already included in the downloads above).

Download (clear glass default for Frugal Fruitlover's Friend)

Last but not least, if you hate all three display colors or if you had hoped I would have done more colors for these items (I wanted to initially but it became too much work with the different displays) then I have some good news for you! I have cleaned up my .psd files for all these ten items and made it a nice little folder for you to download and recolor them so you can make more yourself.

Download (.psd files)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Yikes! Look at the new design of this home in the Netherlands. It's been on the market for 3mos., so I wonder why no one bought it, yet. Listed as a condo, the 3bd, 7 floor home, remodeled between 2001-2010, is listed for €980K - $1.070M. Let's look around inside.

There seems to be a foyer ahead, leading to the ground floor, and immediately to the right, stairs to the upper levels.

This is great for entertaining right on the first level- there's a kitchenette and table in the living room. It's convenient b/c the kitchen is on the top level.

Here we can see the entrance foyer from the sunken living room.

This is unusual- it looks like remnants of the old building were worked into the new design.

Original walls were painted white, but it still retains a cave-like appearance.

A home office. I'm impressed that it still has the original architectural features.

Small bedroom with wood paneling and built-in shelving.

The spiral stairs are a bit small.

View of the street.

Larger bedroom with shelving and a porthole window.

They've done a small sink and stainless steel shower in this bath.

This bedroom has a skylight over the bed.

Nice enclosed terrace.

Very compact kitchen, but it's got a table that can fit 4. Wish there was a small elevator or dumbwaiter for bringing groceries all the way up here.

Plus there's a roof-top deck with a table and chairs.

The layout is narrow with 1 or 2 rooms on each of the 7 levels.

I'm going to guess it's a hard sell b/c the rooms are so small, there are so many stairs, and the kitchen is tiny and all the way on the top floor.

[luvrsux]

“Sweet Treat”

word count: 3.9k

summary: you’re a professional baker and someone who you liked in your past, ace, is infatuated with your skills

contents: fluff

a/n: my bad for the over 4 month hiatus. so much has happened but pls don’t expect fanfics as frequently. i just wanted to post this because i missed writing 🤍

The day was as bright as a solar eclipse. The weather was just perfect that it’d wrap around your shoulders like a soft blanket on a cold winter day. The air brushed your scalp and behind your ears in just the right way—as you were speedily sprinting your way to work.

The “perfect” day would’ve been actually perfect if you hadn’t mistaken your day off for today instead of tomorrow. You would’ve been trotting along this very sidewalk, breathing in the fresh air and smiling at pedestrians with that sweet smile you’d use at your job—but no. Your lungs might as well be coming out your mouth with how much you’ve been hyperventilating.

To your rather small amount of luck, the bakery wasn’t far. It would’ve been a 10 minute walk but it turned into a 5 minute run which felt like eons. You lived in a rather compacted, populated city, so your body crashed and ran through innocent pedestrians, causing multitudes of ‘sorry!’ and ‘my bad!’

You finally met with the glass door of your small bakery you used your talents on. Your baking skills made this small bakery turn into one of the most famous ones in this city. Well, you and your equally amazing co-worker, Pudding.

You swung open the door with the last bit of energy you had left in you. Your legs were wobbling and the floor seemed to be as equally as comfortable as your bed. Pudding, who was wide eyed and holding a serving tray to serve the only table there. You gulped, trying to moisturize your dry throat from your heaving. You carved her an embarrassed smile while your eyes watched her serve the table.

“Pudding, I’m so so sorry! I thought today was Thursday” You excused and Pudding just absorbed it like a dry sponge. She murmured her polite gestures to the consumers after placing their desired order. You watched her brown big tails bob as she trotted towards you.

“No worries! I’m sure you’ll make it up to me by restocking any missing treats on the front desk” She smiled, a hint of sarcasm behind her chocolate eyes. You peered behind her shoulder to see more than half of the front glass missing. Pudding knew she could bake and stock but chose not to because that’s your job at the end of the day. You sighed.

“Of course. Write down anything I need to bake” You hang up your bag on the coat rack beside the door. Pudding smiled innocently and hummed but you knew it was fake. Pudding was black and white, and can easily go dark in a blink of an eye. Luckily, though, you two do get along rather well.

You walk past her to burst into the double doors leading into the sleek, silver kitchen. Everything was cleaned and freshened up, prepared for your talents. You washed your hands, pumping the bright colored soap gel into your palms and rubbed them together. You shook off your dewed hands and looked behind you to the steel table. A sticky note.

“Way ahead of me, I guess”

Your body moved mindlessly and aimlessly as you baked and baked and baked. A dozen lemon bars and fudge bars, A dozen and a half of croissants, some drizzled in chocolate and some with matcha, ten muffins of different flavors, refilling the large cookie jar, carrot cake cupcakes and macarons. Your apron was lathered with flour, chocolate and remanences of sweet filling. Despite all of that, you still had one more order to go. You threw the tin tray of unbaked strawberry cupcakes in the large oven.

The kitchen smelled entirely of sweet baked goods, and that may sound good but it made you nauseous. You needed to step out for fresh air, even the smell of coffee sounded better than all this yeast. You picked up the tray of now cooled cinnamon sugar muffins to stock up.

“I told you, we’re all out! Now leave!”

You heard puddings scratchy, angry voice even before bursting out the doors. There before her stood a tall, brunette guy with a smug grin. Seemed like the mere presence of this stranger irritated Pudding beyond belief. You blinked, tray in hand as you watched Pudding try to shoo off this customer.

“C’mon, you don’t have any in the kitchen or somethin’? I’m starving” His voice was like butter, as soft and smooth as the ones you’d plop into your mixture to make. Not only that but it was *awfully* familiar.

“Do I have to spell it out?” Pudding scrunched her nose up only to receive a hearty chuckle from the man himself. You took in a deep breath and quickly stood beside your angry pastry chef friend.

“Hey I just finished making these” You smiled. Pudding averted her angry expression to you, immediately softening up when she laid her agitated eyes on you. She made eye contact with the smoking muffins that were calling the attention of this person before her. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this” You whispered.

Pudding pouted at the customer and strutted off, flipping one of her pigtails as a ‘fuck you’ while she snaked into the kitchen to most likely bake her anger out. You opened the glass fold to restock the section the cinnamon sugar muffins belonged and the guy before you widened his eyes.

“I knew they had some in the back!” He exclaimed, leaning over the desk to snatch one off the tray. You gasped and tried to retreat but stopped when you made eye contact with his face.

“I’ve been craving these since forever!” He took a hearty bite out of it, carefully unfolding the wrapping. You watched him chewed and chewed, his freckles lying upon his inflated cheeks. His eyes were closed shut, as if he was envisioning the flavors through his eyelids. He moaned like this was his last meal on Earth.

“Portgas Ace” You blurted. His trance was interrupted. He flickered his eyes open and stopped chewing momentarily. His sudden awkward eye contact caused your cheeks to flair out of sheer embarrassment.

“Oh I-… That’s your name right? I think we went to the same high school” You explained. He raised an eyebrow and swallowed. His expression then beamed once he recognized your face.

“Right, right! You were in the culinary club and you’d always make the best food! Uhhh (F/N), was it?” He snapped his fingers while he pondered. By now you were finished with restocking and the tray was tucked under your arm. You smiled.

“Yeah, that’s me! Everyone in the club hated you for always eating our food with your younger brother but personally I didn’t mind” You explained. You typed on the register for the amount of money Ace owed for his now bitten muffin he stole from you. “Made me appreciate my talents” You continued.

“I remember your cooking and baking were my favorite. My bad if I ever disrupted you or anything. Hey, did you make this?” He pointed at the muffin. The cinnamon sugar muffin is your own special recipe. It was the first baking recipe you learned on your own just by experimenting. You nodded bashfully.

“It’s my own recipe” You smiled. Ace blinked for a moment. No wonder he loved these things so much, he thought. “Anyway, your total is 2-“

“I want a dozen of these”

His request almost made you choke on your saliva. You blinked for a moment and realized that his request was almost the entire stock you had left. You opened your mouth agape to say something before he continued.

“I remember having one of these months ago before I moved and never forgot about em’. I’m going to a get together tonight and I need nothing but the best for the guests” He explained with a smile on his face, all while eating the muffin in his own hand.

Your temporary halt came to an end and you began rapidly typing in the register to calculate what it’ll all come to, including his own.

“26.55…” You murmur, still stunned that this one guy was so amazed by your recipe that he’d wanna buy a dozen. Not only for himself, though. For other people.

“Here” Ace’s fingers held a sleek card in between them to pay for his order. You took it, gently brushing your fingertips against his. You swiped his card to reveal a successful transaction for his sweets.

“Thanks, really” You saw, gushing like a little girl while giving his card back. Ace just chuckled upon taking it back. His smile was beaming and happy, like he had no care in the world.

“Keep makin’ those! I’ll be the ones keeping you in business just for those babies” He joked. You giggled, grabbing a dozen box for the muffins. The box was a soft pastel pink with white polka dots. The bakeries logo was printed on the middle in cursive. You placed each and every muffin delicately until all twelve were placed. You closed the box and stretched your arms to drop them into Aces hands.

“Thanks so much! I’ll be coming here more often”

Ace left with the pretty box in hand as well as a pretty smile plastered on his face like he just saw a unicorn. You watched in awe. Back in high school, you remember everyone having a gawking crush on the boy. He was attractive and tied every girl with a thread by their hearts just by his charm. You weren’t one of them, though. At least not like that.

When Ace would compliment your cooking, it’d warm your heart better than any oven you’d use to bake your goods. You never knew if it was romantic or not, but you’d look forward to Ace disrupting the clubs time just to taste your cooking or treats. You felt that all over again. Nostalgia kissed your cheeks like a long loss lover.

“Hate that guy…”

Your trance was disrupted by your co worker. Pudding watched him disappear with folded arms. Her aura and expression was devilish despite her sweet, pure appearance. Her tone against Ace might as well shoot him through his chest. You raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” You pondered. You felt embarrassed even thinking about being flattered by Ace considering one of your closest friends seemed to chew his head off. She scoffed and cleaned the cashier counter of crumbs.

“He comes in here and just eats all of our samples and says—ahem” She cleared her throat only to attempt to lower her voice to sound masculine, only to not really work as much. “It’s only samples, they’re meant to be free” Pudding attempted to mock Ace’s voice, only to cause a snicker from you.

“He seemed to really like the cinnamon sugars. That’s all I care about” You replied, shrugging your shoulders bashfully. You felt Puddings eyes pierce through you.

“Don’t tell me you actually like him?” Pudding judged. Those words made the hairs on your body spike up. You peered toward her and just scoffed.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You just brushed past her to place the tray you’ve been clenching on back in the kitchen where it belonged. You heard Puddings small heals crack behind you like firecrackers.

“If you actually like him I wouldn’t… Entirely judge you”

Pudding rolled her eyes as she followed you to the kitchen. The room was filled of the smell of fresh vanilla cake. Pudding must’ve made it after her tussle with Ace. You carved a smile.

“I don’t like him. I mean I guess I did in high school, but I dunno” You place the tray into the vastly large sink to cleanse it from the residue of the muffins. Cleanliness is everything in the cooking industry after all.

“He probably has a girlfriend. He always has back then” You projected your voice over the loud sink. You scrubbed until the tray sparkled.

“And you wondered why I didn’t like him” Pudding remarked. You flicked off the metal sink from pouring out fresh water. You whipped your head back.

“Don’t you like that chef? Sanji? From culinary school?” Your words made Puddings face turn the same hex as a tomato. You giggled in amusement.

“N-No! He’s such a— Low life loser!” She frantically explained. She sure convinced you. She puffed her cheeks and began aggressively taking our ingredients to make yet another dish out of her emotions. You took it as a sign to just stay at the register for the day…

ʚ♡⃛ɞ

Weeks pass and Ace came in almost every day just for the same order. It started off with the cinnamon sugar muffins. Then it evolved to a cinnamon sugar muffin with a cup of black coffee. Then it evolved to just him staying at the bakery table just to study and occasionally talk to you while you were at the register. Ace might as well be an employee with how much time he’d lounge there.

Ace would sometimes bring a group of friends, sometimes consisting of his two brothers. They, too, would compliment your baking as much as Ace would but it didn’t feel the same. The way Ace said it and how’d he appreciate it on a regular basis made your heart flutter every time.

But there he was, approaching your register ready to order the same thing. You gave him a sweet smile and snaking your hand to the cinnamon sugar glass cabinet. Your hand movement made Ace carve that same smile you’d crave every time.

“Nice to see you again, Ace” You giggle, bagging his muffin and preparing his coffee. You heard his smooth chuckle from behind, like he was wrapping those toned arms around your waist.

“You too, (F/N). Can’t wait to start my morning with your baking” He winks. You turn and snap the lid on his molten coffee. You caught a glimpse of him biting his lower lips and furrowing his eyebrows, like he was pondering something.

“Hey uh-… Actually I came to ask you something” He blurted out. You just barely finished typing his order on the register to pay. You blinked your eyelids a few times.

“What is it?” You murmur, ready to expect the worse. Ace inhaled, scratching the back of his neck and using the same hand to massage his chin.

“Well uh-… Jeez this is hard” You heard him stammer. You raised an eyebrow, wondering why such a cocky, confident guy like him was struggling to talk to you.

“Are you—… Tired of the muffins? I can actually show you a new recipe you may like instead-“

“No, no!”

His freckles were drowning in his own blush. His cheeks were a bright red and you couldn’t hold in a giggle for much longer. He continued to breathe in and out until he leaned over the counter before you.

“I was wonderin’ if… Maybe you’d like to come over? We’ve been talking for a bit I figured I’d— Y’know—“

You put him to a halt by finally letting out your flattered giggles. Ace felt even more embarrassed and looked up at you with folded lips. You waved your hands.

“Sorry, sorry It’s just—.. Are you asking me out right now? Like a teenage girl?” You tease. Ace let out a bashful chuckle, feeling oddly naked that now he’s doing the asking.

“Yeah, I guess so” His response made you giggle even more. You died down and eyed him up and down with loving eyes.

“Yes, I’d love to. Better have a nice dinner planned for an experienced chef and baker like me” You mimicked Aces confidence only to make him laugh with you. You both had bright cheeks and felt like teenagers again.

“Okay then. I’ll see you there” He winked. You heard a swish come from the counter. He moved his arms off to walk off without his average order. He didn’t care about his regular, he cared about asking you out. You gushed. Especially when you read his address name and number written on a sticky note he may or may not have pre-written on the counter.

“Remember when you said you don’t like him?” A squeaky voice from behind spoke. It sent shockwaves throughout your body and you hitched.

“Pudding…”

ʚ♡⃛ɞ

You made sure to wear your best yet appropriate outfit. Nothing too fancy but nothing like you just rolled out of bed. You patted down your clothes, adjusted your hair and made sure you looked presentable as you stood before Ace’s front door. Once you finally gained the confidence to knock, you heard swears from beyond the door. A frantic, brunette swung open the door and you were startled, to say the least.

“Uh— Are you alright?” You asked, peering behind his shoulder to see a small gust of smoke. Did he just come out of a raging fire you didn’t know about, you thought.

“Hey!” He sang, carving an awkward smile. He stepped aside to open the door for you. “Yeah Im uh— Great! Come in”

Ace was nervous and struggling to make a good environment for you. Usually, this would be easy for him since he was a harem himself but he genuinely liked you. Something about you feeding his stomach in just the right ways and you being sweet and generous about it.

Ace’s kitchen was full of smoke upon arrival. There laid a baking tray on his kitchen counter and you eyed it for a moment. Had Ace been… baking?

“I uh— Made you something” He closed the door and scurried to the kitchen. He tried picking up the tray but scorched his hand. He winced and shook his hand to erase the pain. You almost let out a snicker.

You quickly dropped your bag to approach your date to analyze his creation. They looked like rocks shaped in muffins. Seemed like Ace kept them under the heat for too long…

“You can tell I’m not quite the best baker” He chuckled while running his fingers through his locks to massage his scalp. You picked up a “muffin” and scrunched up your nose as you took a bite.

It was awful.

But somehow you can enjoy it regardless since this guy went out of his way to enter your hobbies and talents to impress you. You carved a smile. The best ingredient for any dish is love.

“How about we bake something together” You suggested. Ace’s eyes went wide and bright, like you spoke heavenly words that melted in his ears.

You tied your hair to get it out of the way, scrubbed your hands and rummaged around Ace’s house for ingredients. Ace had just enough to make a simple vanilla cake with buttercream icing. You mainly instructed Ace to grab the ingredients and measure them out for you to mix and mix.

You let Ace lick and eat the spoon you used to mix the cake batter. He moaned and smiled like a child and it made you blush. You poured the cake batter into a baking tin that was doused in butter. You splashed a bit of batter on your face on accident. You felt Ace’s thumb pick it up effortlessly and lick it off. You swore you’d melt right there and then. You left it up to Ace to place it into the oven as you began to prepare the frosting.

“So what made you wanna bake?” You ask in the midst of your mixing. Ace had been leaning against the counter on his back and licked his fingers of any excess batter.

“I guess… I wanted to impress you?” Ace looked at you with pleading eyes. You felt your body temperature rise into the clouds just by his look. “I um-.. Never really felt this way about a person before… Sorry If it’s so awkward”

You made sure to test the icings texture until it was to your liking. You smiled in delight.

“So you’re saying you like me?” You blurted out, taking a sheet of plastic wrap to cover the bowl of icing while the cake finished baking in the oven. You saw Ace’s face plaster in pigment.

“Yeah”

His voice was low and genuine. You both made direct eye contact for a moment before you looked down to avoid the overwhelming amount of embarrassment. Ace carved a smile, already knowing you won’t object his confession. If anything, you felt the same way.

“Do you?” His voice was low and soft. He caressed you without even touching you… yet. You let out a small giggle and sigh.

“I can say so, yeah…” You reply. Ace’s chuckle hugged you. You fondled with your fingers, twisting and turning them before opening your mouth agape. “So…”

You caught a quick glimpse of Ace biting his lip before he laid a hand on your cheek. You hitched before you felt his warm, tender lips on yours and quickly synced against yours. You hum, sending vibrations throughout his face. You felt him smile against your lips and it was only contagious. You couldn’t help it.

You pulled away and fluttered your eyes open. You looked up and down at his face and he smiled like a dope. You giggled.

“Your lips taste like cake” You gush. Ace chuckled and licked his own lips for a taste. Your bodies were pulled close, like just one slight move could end up in a kiss again.

“Guess that made the kiss more enjoyable” He winked. You sarcastically rolled your eyes and pushed his face away. You can only take so much flattery.

Once the cake was done and cooled, you and Ace giggled while you lathered it with the frosting. It obviously looked like a mediocre, homemade cake but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t just your cake. This was you and Ace’s cake. It meant more to you than anything that you didn’t even wanna take a bite. Ace waved a fork full of the cake in your face.

“No you try it first!” You reject. Ace shook his head and folded his lips.

“No, no. You’re the guest, c’mon” He encouraged. You sighed, knowing that you’d get nowhere if you didn’t oblige. You open your mouth wide to let Ace drop the cake into your mouth and chewed.

It tasted better than anything you’ve tasted before. The ingredients were generic, but this cake tasted more magical simply because you made it with someone you felt intimate with. You smiled.

“It’s amazing…”

“I know”

You giggled helplessly and swallowed. Ace took a bite himself and shook his head. Of course it was amazing to him. He could taste anything you’d made any day of the week and appreciate like it was his meal on death row.

“Now, here’s the billion dollar question” Ace spoke, liking off the excess icing off the fork. You hummed.

“Which is sweeter? Me or the cake?” He smirked. You giggled and shook your head. You took it upon yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and you felt his arms secure your back.

“Let’s find out”

Those three words made Ace latch his hungry lips against yours. Your mouths were as sweet as the bakery you worked at. All you could taste was vanilla and buttercream. This was, by far, sweeter than the cake. You both made out in sync for what seemed like years. Ace pulled away, leaving a small connection between your lips via saliva.

“So..?”

“Your lips, for sure”

all credits and characters belong to eiichiro oda

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 16: To San Diego

Warning: Mention of miscarriage. Some chapters have sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

Gradually awakening, you found yourself in an unfamiliar queen-size bed, the sound of a shower running nearby gently rousing you. You wore an olive green tank top and light weight olive green and black sleeping pants. As you slowly sat up, you took in the surroundings. The room had white walls adorned with a few pictures resting on a well-worn dresser. The only items that seemed new in the space were the bedding and pillows on the bed.

You let out a sigh, realizing this simple setting was reflective of how your husband had been living for years as a pilot. In stark contrast, your own living conditions could be considered luxurious. With a sense of newfound appreciation and a bit of guilt, you tossed the duvet aside, swung your legs over the side of the bed, and placed your feet on the floor, just as the sound of the shower ceased.

Moments later, the bathroom door swung open, and Jake stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist, his dog tags dangling over his muscular chest. Steam billowed out behind him, enveloping him like a cloud, creating an almost ethereal sight. You found yourself looking at him with fresh eyes, seeing him in a new light that melded the familiarity of your husband with the stark realities of his profession and lifestyle.

"Morning," Jake greeted, his voice warm. "I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked, concern tinting his words as he made his way toward the closet.

You shook your head in response. "No, it was the unfamiliarity that did," you answered, your gaze following him as he reached for his flight suit hanging among the other items in the closet.

He turned to face you, his green eyes sparkling with a lively intensity. Even in his disheveled state, he had an undeniable allure that could send shivers down your spine.

"Good. We did get in pretty late, and you looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn't want to disturb you," he explained, moving towards his dresser to fetch his underwear, T-shirt, and socks. As he spoke, he let the towel around his waist drop to the floor.

Feeling an unexpected wave of embarrassment, you turned away to afford him some privacy. The reason behind this sudden modesty with your own husband puzzled you, yet you could hear him getting dressed behind you.

"I'm going to go make some coffee," you announced, seeking an escape to compose yourself. With that, you headed out the door towards the kitchen.

The kitchen and living area were compact, resembling a modest kitchenette. There was a small couch, a TV, and a petite dining table accompanied by two chairs, all arranged to fit within the limited space efficiently.

You started opening up cabinets to look for some coffee, but there wasn't much.

A few minutes later, Jake emerged from the bedroom, his hair neatly combed and dressed in his flight suit, perfectly embodying the image of a pilot.

"Don't worry. I'll grab some at the base," he said initially, then paused, reconsidering his words. Realizing the coffee was meant for both of you, he added, "I'm sorry. I don't have much here."

You turned to face him, offering a reassuring smile. "It's no problem. I'll get a rental car and tour the city today."

He closed the distance between you, concern evident in his eyes. "You sure?"

You nodded affirmatively. "Yeah, I'll be fine." Your gaze swept across the confines of the small apartment.

"I know it's not like the lodge," he began, acknowledging the stark difference in your accommodations.

You reached up, gently cupping his face with your hand, a tender gesture that sought to bridge any distance between you. "Has it always been like this? Why didn't you say something?" Your voice carried a mix of concern and curiosity, wanting to understand his experiences and the choices he made to live this way.

He leaned slightly into your touch, his expression softening with a hint of resignation. "I'm a Naval Aviator. I'm not here much. And when I get deployed, it's less for me to worry about," he explained, his words revealing a pragmatic acceptance of his lifestyle, dictated by the demands of his profession.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door. He gave you a quick kiss on the lips before he turned to answer it, moving with a sense of purpose towards the door to see who was on the other side.

He opened the door, revealing a tall African American gentleman on the other side. "It's about time you came back," the man greeted, his voice carrying a warm, familiar tone. They exchanged a brief, hearty "man" hug, a gesture that spoke volumes of their close relationship. After the greeting, the man's gaze shifted towards you, his eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and friendliness.

The man approached you with his hand extended, a friendly smile on his face. "So, you're the famous Doctor Seresin that I knew nothing about. I'm your husband's best friend, Javy 'Coyote' Machado. You can just call me Coyote." His introduction was warm and inviting, clearly indicating the close bond he shared with your husband.

You took Coyote's hand, his grip firm and reassuring, the kind that spoke volumes of his character without the need for many words. "If it makes you feel any better, Jake has never mentioned you either," you said, returning his smile with one of your own, your curiosity about the man before you piqued by the familiarity in his demeanor.

Coyote's laughter was hearty and genuine, the sound filling the space between you with an ease that spoke of his good nature. "Well, I suppose that makes us even then," he said, his smile broadening. "Jake's always been more of the strong, silent type, but don't let that fool you. There's a lot more to him beneath the surface, as I'm sure you're well aware."

His observation struck a chord with you, acknowledging the depth you had come to know and love in Jake. "Absolutely. Every day with him brings something new," you agreed, your thoughts momentarily drifting to the complex layers of your husband's character.

Coyote nodded, his expression turning thoughtful, as if reminiscing about past experiences shared with Jake. "He's one of the best men I've had the honor to serve with, and trust me, I don't say that lightly. Jake's saved my hide more times than I care to admit, and I'd do the same for him in a heartbeat."

The sincerity in Coyote's voice added weight to his words, offering you a glimpse into the unbreakable bond formed in the crucible of their shared service. It was a world apart from your own experiences, yet in that moment, you felt a profound connection to it through Jake and now, Coyote.

"Sounds like you two have been through a lot together," you commented, appreciating the depth of their friendship even more.

Coyote looked at his watch and then at Jake. "We've got to get going."

Jake nodded in agreement with Coyote's reminder of their schedule. He then made his way to the coffee table, where a notebook lay open. After jotting down a note, he carefully tore out the page and handed it to you. "If you need anything or get bored, just go here," he said, ensuring you had a point of reference or a suggestion for how to spend your day while he was away.

"The Hard Deck?" you questioned, looking at the note with curiosity.

"Yes, the owner's name is Penny Benjamin. I texted her and let her know you were here. She's my Captain's girlfriend," Jake explained, providing you with a bit of context and ensuring you'd have a friendly contact in the area. It seemed like a thoughtful gesture, connecting you with someone who could offer both company and assistance during your stay.

With a casual shrug, you accepted the plan. Jake then leaned in for a kiss, a tender moment shared between the two of you. "I love you, and I'll let you know what's going on," he assured you, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

"Love you too," you responded, the affection in your voice clear and unwavering. Watching Jake and Coyote leave, you turned your attention back to the piece of paper he'd given you. After a brief moment of contemplation, you placed it on the small table, a symbol of potential adventures or solace for the day ahead. With a deep breath, you then headed to the bathroom to prepare for whatever the day might bring.

You managed to arrange for a rental car to be delivered to Jake's apartment. Once it was there, you took it to do some grocery shopping, ensuring his apartment had food during your stay. After stocking up, you glanced at your watch and noticed it was only noon. With a sigh, you slumped onto his couch, feeling a bit lost in a city unfamiliar to you, wondering what to do with your time while Jake was busy at work.

You turned your gaze to the piece of paper resting on the small table behind you. Recalling the name written on it, you swiftly entered it into your phone, eager to find out what it was and where it could be found.

After reading the details, you pressed the directions button and discovered it was just a ten-minute drive away—and even better, it was located on the beach. Shrugging to yourself with a "why not?" attitude, you picked up the rental car keys and made your way out the door.

You pushed open the door to the Hard Deck and cautiously stepped inside. Behind the bar, an older man looked up.

"We're actually closed right now," he informed you kindly, his voice carrying a hint of an Irish accent. "We don't open until three."

"I understand, I'm sorry for the intrusion. My husband mentioned that if I ever needed anything, I should come here," you replied.

He looked at you with piercing blue eyes. "You must be Jake's wife."

With a slight nod, you tucked your hands into the back pockets of your shorts. "Yes, I am."

"Alright then, I'll fetch Penny for you. She's currently in the cooler taking stock of our inventory." With that, he turned and made his way toward a set of double doors.

Left by yourself, you wandered closer to the bar, taking the opportunity to admire the establishment's decor. Near the bar, a piano was positioned, its presence suggesting nights filled with music. Not too far from it, a jukebox stood, ready to fill the room with selected tunes. Hanging above the bar, model planes dangled, adding a unique touch of character to the ambiance.

The sound of the double doors opening caught your attention, and a slender brunette emerged, clad in an olive green button-up shirt and black jeans.

"Hi there! You must be Y/N?" she inquired with a welcoming tone.

"I am," you confirmed.

Pausing, she scrutinized you for a moment. "Well, I guess it all makes sense now," she remarked.

Puzzled, you inquired, "What does?"

"Why Hangman never seemed attracted to any other woman."

A smile crossed your face.

"Have a seat, please," she motioned towards a barstool. "My name's Penny," she introduced herself, extending her hand across the bar.

You took the offered hand, noting the warmth and firmness of Penny's grip—a welcoming gesture that made you feel instantly at ease. "Nice to meet you, Penny."

"Finding out Hangman was married really took me by surprise. He was always so reserved about his personal life."

"That seems to be the consensus."

"You're a doctor, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. I specialize as a veterinarian for large animals."

"That's really impressive! How did you decide to pursue that field?"

You shrugged. "I've always been drawn to larger animals. Don't get me wrong, I am still trained for dogs and cats."

Penny glanced in your direction. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Just water for me, thanks."

Acknowledging your request, Penny reached behind the bar, selected a glass, then filled it with ice and water before setting it down in front of you, ensuring a coaster was beneath it.

"If you don't mind sharing, how did you come across Hangman?"

You took a sip of your water. "We actually met in a bar while I was attending a class in Austin, Texas. He had just completed his time at the Naval Academy and was back home for a few weeks. We connected instantly and ended up getting married after just a week and a half."

"I'd say I never saw Hangman as a quick decision maker, but that would be incorrect. He saved my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend is the plane he saved. He told me about that."

"So, why didn't he tell us about you?"

You met her gaze and inhaled deeply. "Not long after we married, I discovered I was pregnant. But three months in, a horse kicked me in the stomach, and I miscarried. He urged me to give up my veterinary practice, leading to a major argument between us. We drifted apart after that, each of us burying ourselves in our work. Just last week, he suddenly decided he wanted to return to Wisconsin. I'm not sure what prompted the change."

Penny expressed her condolences with a sorrowful tone. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss."

"Thank you. It's something we've been working through together over the past week."

"The idea of divorce or separation never crossed your mind?"

"I can't say the thought of divorce never entered my mind, but whenever it did, I would glance at our wedding photo and remember the joyful moments. I had seen Jake at his happiest, yet I had never witnessed him in pain. I suppose the loss of our baby was that moment of pain for him. I couldn't blame him for feeling that way. I was dealing with it too."

Penny nodded, showing a sign of understanding. "He's quite fortunate, indeed. And here I was, thinking he was untamable by anyone."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Penny's comment, recognizing the mix of admiration and jest in her voice. "Well, I guess we all meet our match at some point, right?" you said, taking another sip of your water, the crispness of the drink a perfect match for the warmth of the conversation.

Penny laughed in agreement, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "That's very true. It's always the ones you least expect that end up surprising you the most," she added, her gaze briefly drifting as if reflecting on personal experiences.

The conversation flowed easily from there, with Penny sharing tidbits about the local area and you offering snippets of your own life and career. Despite the differences in your backgrounds, you found common ground in shared values and the occasional challenges of dealing with strong personalities, whether in a professional setting or personal relationships.

Penny glanced at her watch. "Wow, time really does fly when you're enjoying yourself. I need to go pick up my daughter from school. Feel free to stay as long as you like. Jake gave me your number, so I'll text you mine just in case you decide to head out." She swiftly pulled out her phone and sent a text, with your phone chiming shortly after. "If you need anything at all, just let me know."

You checked your phone, saving her contact details. "Thanks, Penny."

"I'll see you later," she said, rushing out the door.

After Penny left, your phone rang. You glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Jake. "Hey," you answered, a hint of surprise in your voice.

"Hey, darlin'. Where are you?" Jake's voice came through, sounding eager.

"I'm perched on a stool at The Hard Deck," you informed him, the background noise of the bar faintly audible.

"Great. I'll be there in a few minutes, so stay put," he replied, a tone of anticipation in his voice.

"I might head down to the beach," you mentioned, gazing out towards the sea visible from your vantage point.

"Alright. I'll find you there in a few," he assured.

The line went dead as you processed the swift exchange, pondering the imminent reunion.

Tags: @buckysteveloki-me @bellyliveslife @tgmreader @callsign-barbell @86laura11 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @guacam011y @nerdgirljen @hookslove1592 @dempy @djs8891

[joemueller2376]

The Definitive Manual for Mastering Perfectly Tender Rice with Your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker

When it comes to cooking rice, precision and consistency are key. The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is designed to deliver perfectly tender rice every time, thanks to its advanced features and user-friendly design.

Why Choose the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker?

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is not just a rice cooker; it is a versatile kitchen appliance designed to meet a variety of cooking needs. With its Fuzzy Logic Technology, it adjusts cooking parameters to ensure perfect results every time.

Features of the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker

8 Cooking Functions: White Rice, Quick Cook, Brown Rice, Mixed Grain, Slow Cook, Porridge, Cake, and Egg.

LCD Display: Easy-to-read display for intuitive operation.

Fuzzy Logic Technology: Automatically adjusts cooking time and temperature.

24-Hour Delay Timer: Plan your meals in advance.

Auto Keep Warm: Keeps your rice warm until you are ready to serve.

Non-Stick Inner Pot: Easy to clean and maintain.

Getting Started with Your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker

Before you begin cooking, it is important to familiarize yourself with the different components of your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker. This includes the inner pot, the LCD display, and the various cooking functions available.

"The Toshiba Small Rice Cooker, with a capacity for 3 cups uncooked rice, is designed for convenience and versatility. It features an LCD display with 8 cooking functions, including options for white rice, brown rice, mixed grain, quick cook, slow cook, porridge, cake, and egg. Utilizing Fuzzy Logic Technology, it adjusts cooking time and temperature for perfect results. The 24-hour delay timer and auto keep warm function ensure your rice is ready when you are. Its non-stick inner pot makes cleaning easy, and the cooker comes with a rice ladle, spoon, and measuring cup. Ideal for small families or individuals, it offers a compact and efficient solution for a variety of cooking needs." - Product Introduction

Step-by-Step Guide to Cooking Perfect Rice

Measure the Rice: Use the measuring cup provided to measure the desired amount of rice.

Rinse the Rice: Rinse the rice under cold water until the water runs clear.

Add Water: Add the appropriate amount of water to the inner pot. The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker typically has water level markings inside the pot to guide you.

Select the Cooking Function: Choose the appropriate cooking function on the LCD display. For example, select "White Rice" for regular white rice.

Start Cooking: Press the start button to begin cooking. The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker will automatically adjust the cooking time and temperature.

Let it Rest: Once the cooking cycle is complete, let the rice rest for a few minutes before opening the lid.

Fluff and Serve: Use the rice ladle to fluff the rice before serving.

Additional Cooking Functions

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is equipped with multiple cooking functions that allow you to prepare a variety of dishes. Here are some of the additional functions you can explore:

Quick Cook: Ideal for when you are in a hurry and need to cook rice quickly.

Brown Rice: Perfect for cooking brown rice, which requires a longer cooking time.

Mixed Grain: Great for cooking mixed grains such as quinoa and barley.

Slow Cook: Use this function to slow cook stews and soups.

Porridge: Make delicious porridge for breakfast.

Cake: Yes, you can even bake cakes in your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker!

Egg: Cook perfect eggs every time.

Maintenance and Cleaning

Proper maintenance and cleaning of your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker will ensure its longevity and optimal performance. Here are some tips:

Unplug the Cooker: Always unplug the rice cooker before cleaning.

Remove the Inner Pot: Take out the non-stick inner pot and wash it with warm soapy water. Avoid using abrasive cleaners.

Wipe the Exterior: Use a damp cloth to wipe the exterior of the rice cooker.

Clean the Lid: Remove and clean the lid if it is detachable. Otherwise, wipe it with a damp cloth.

Dry Thoroughly: Ensure all parts are completely dry before reassembling the rice cooker.

Customer Reviews

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker has received numerous positive reviews from customers who appreciate its versatility and ease of use. Here are some highlights:

"I love my Toshiba Rice Cooker! It makes perfect rice every time, and the additional cooking functions are a great bonus." - Customer Review

"The Fuzzy Logic Technology really makes a difference. My rice comes out perfectly cooked, and I love the convenience of the 24-hour delay timer." - Customer Review

Where to Buy

You can purchase the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker from various online retailers. For more information and to buy, visit the product page on Amazon.

Conclusion

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is a versatile and reliable kitchen appliance that makes cooking rice and other dishes a breeze. With its advanced features and user-friendly design, it is an excellent addition to any kitchen.

[beanghostprincess]

Thinking about giving Shanks a weird obsession/ Pavlovian response to lipstick of all things. I’m imagining Buggy as a teen practicing his first stage makeup and going trough the motions, glitter, eyeshadow, liner, spending ages getting the crossbones right. He’s not quite satisfied with his first try of lipstick and wipes it off before he even finishes his upper lip. Shanks teases him from his bunk, Buggy’s been looting the kitchen for cooking oil, since that’s the easiest makeup remover he can acquire, for weeks now, but the other boy is on a mission and he’s so close to figure out his first perfectly flashy look, so he’s uncharacteristically hard to rile up today. He goes trough the motions again, liner, lipstick, swabbing of a bit of excess color with a paper towel. It’s hypnotic to Shanks for some reason he can’t quite explain yet. He watches as his friend pops his lips once, twice, sticks his thumb in his mouth. „What was that last part for?“ „Getting it off my teeth.“ Buggy turns, lips bright red and white teeth flashing him a ferocious grin. "What do you think?" Shanks thinks he will never get sick of watching Buggy try out every color under the sun on his face. That hes like a Parrot, loud and colorful and just as silly and ridiculous and pretty. That he wants to taste greasepaint and kiss that pretty shade of red off of Buggys face himself. "Flashy!" is what he answers instead with a thumbs up.

Years later Shanks still thinks the act of putting on makeup is mesmerizing, catches a look of a young woman lining her lip with a compact mirror and stares for a second. It’s awkward, always having to excuse himself later, because of course this reads to everyone around him as flirting, but it would be cruel to make someone hope for something like this. It’s not like it’s their fault after all. The color might be right but it’s never the right person.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahaha I am so normal about them hahahahahahahaha

Thinking about Shanks always remembering how much he wanted to kiss Buggy that day and how close he had been to doing it,,, If I can make it gayer and angstier please because I can't stop thinking about this,,, Can I,,, Can I use this for a fanfic,,,, Can I please,,, I will beg if you want to pleasepleaseplease can I,, Can I write a fanfic,,, About this,,, Anon pleas-