#fe loves simone

[blue-aconite]

For Blurb Night: “You do have a stupid face.” with Jake ♥️

It's here! I swear I thought I could pull of a blurb night but turns out I couldn't.. Thanks to @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over ❤️

Blurb Night Masterlist

She smiled politely at another one of his anecdotes, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her disinterest. A quick glance at her watch told her it had been over two hours. 

Two hours of the man in front of her droning on about himself and all his supposed adventures. He had yet to tell a story where he wasn’t the hero. At this point, she was sure that more than 90% of what he said was fabricated to fit his own narrative. 

Hamish didn’t seem to take notice of the fact that she wasn’t listening, continuing to animatedly talk about a recent business trip where he made good on an important deal with another company. 

“.. and then, he asked if I wanted to join him for a night out on his yacht. He really should have been more specific because what he showed me was not a yacht, but a small boat. I never would have agreed to go along if I knew -“ 

She interrupted, seizing the chance before she could wither away from boredom. “You know what? It’s getting quite late. How about we call it a night? I do have an early morning tomorrow.” 

The lie fell easily but she couldn’t be bothered to care. She’d do anything at this point to make him stop talking. 

“Right, of course. You need your beauty sleep.” Hamish winked, standing up and offering his hand. She debated just standing up on her own but took it anyway, not wanting to seem rude. 

She really didn’t want to get back into the car with him, so she quickly caught Penny’s eye from behind the bar, begging her to interfere. 

Penny quickly caught on and hurried over to where they were standing. “Oh, are you leaving? Could I borrow you quickly before you go? It won’t take long, just … -“ 

“Sure, no problem.” She turned towards Hamish again. “Why don’t you head out? I don’t want to keep you waiting.” 

“Alright then. I’ll call you later.” Hamish kissed her cheek before heading towards the doors. 

Both she and Penny watched through the window as he got into his ridiculous car and drove out of the parking lot. 

“I thought he’d never leave.” Hangman appeared out of nowhere, pool cue in hand. 

Penny patted her on the shoulder before going back towards the bar, Jimmy waving cheerily at her. She waved back before turning around to face Hangman, raising one eyebrow. 

“And have you been keeping track of him all evening? I must say, I’m surprised. Didn't you know you were so interested in what I’m up to?” 

Hangman rolled his eyes, grabbing her elbow and steering her towards the pool table. “I haven’t seen you look that bored since the last briefing you guys were forced to join.” 

He made no attempt to deny that he had been watching her and her date, which brought a warm feeling in her stomach. 

There was a time where the two of them could have been something, but neither had been ready for it. Now, she wondered if they should have taken the leap anyway. 

“Well, to be fair, it was almost three hours and even Cyclone looked bored, and he was the one holding it.” She countered, accepting the pool cue he handed her.  “You sure you’re ready to lose?” 

Hangman snorted, leaning over to make the break. “I never lose, sweetheart.” 

“Guess there’s a first for everything then. It’s going to be entertaining watching the smirk fall off your face.” 

He shook his head. “I’ll enjoy watching you try. And if I can entertain you, what’s the harm? Better that than what that stupid-what’s-his name could ever come up with.” 

He was joking but she could read him easily enough at this point. “Are you jealous?” 

“I don’t get jealous. Especially not over someone named Hamish. Stupid name, stupid face.” 

She took her shot, sinking a solid before answering. “You know, I don’t mind if you are. It’s cute. And even though he’s the most boring person ever, his face was nice to look at.” 

She tried to get around the table for her next shot but Hangman crowded her against it, trapping her between his body and the table. “Mine’s much prettier to look at.” 

His breath was warm on her face, his lips inches from her ear as he bent his neck slightly to look down at her. 

She tried her best to come up with a witty comeback but him being so close distracted her. 

“Nothing to say?” Jake smirked, leaning even closer. 

She took a breath, willing herself to get it together. “You also have a stupid face so I’d argue that you’re pretty much the same.” 

Jake straightened up but his eyes never left hers. “I take offence to that. And I’m nothing like Hamish. I’ll prove you wrong.” 

“And how are you going to do that?” They were headed into dangerous territory but the butterflies told her it would be worth it, as did Jake’s smile. 

“Guess you’re just going to have to stick around and see.”

[pinemangoart]

Misc adventure time doodles

[teletubbyinlipstick]

More Hybrid!Poly TF141 x Reader pleaaasseeeee? 🥹

(ps, love your writing!)

OwlHybrid!Poly TF141 X Reader

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Thank you for reading. You're all so sweet for the support! I'm negl. I didn't expect people to read it, haha. I'm so shocked by the love.

Thankyou @bina-passion-fruit for the morning after idea! See her reblog of the first part for the gist. And please feel free to send in scenarios you could see these birbs end up in!

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The next day IS tense. The atmosphere has never been this suffocating.

Not in their own home.

Gaz sits curled up in Johnny's frame at the breakfast nook, head resting on the older mans shoulder, a deep frown setting into his face. His eyes are crusted a little, nose still deep red and cheeks puffy. He looks thoroughly exhausted, like he hasn't slept.

They all do.

Johnny has a cuppa sitting untouched. It's luke warm by now, but he can't bring himself to drink it. Face mirroring Gaz's, glaring down at the coffee like it has personally offended him. Every couple minutes, he huffs deeply, eyes darting away from the cup to glance around as if in thought, but he inevitably ends up gazing lost into his cup again.

Price and Simon are at the stove and counter. Quietly discussing things that need to be done for the day. There's lulls of silence in their convos, moments where their minds wander to the dove sleeping down the hall. Price feels guilt eating him alive. He's hunched a bit, chin tucked down in a clear sign of forlorn. Simon continues to run a hand up his spine soothingly, pressing closer to offer as much comfort as he can. But he can't deny the stabs of agony he, himself, feels.

It's raw. It sucks.

And Simon feels so fucking lost in this moment. He wants to gather all his mates in his arms (even you) and shush, coo, and coddle until there's nothing but purrs, chirps, and preened content lovers piled into a nest. He wants to scent you and rub you in their things to let you know you're safe and cared for now. He sees the trauma, the fear when Johnny reached for you. The self soothing you do by rubbing your arms.

He sees you. And in doing so, he sees himself. A scared fledgling unsure of the world, burned and bitten, spat upon by those who swore to love them.

Someone hurt you.

Tore at your feathers until you were too scared to take flight. And if Ghost ever gets a name he'd tear the motherfuckers wings from their spine.

The pitter patter of footsteps approaching the kitchen lifted them from their haze, four pairs of eyes snapping to you as you sleepily shuffled in. You wore a simple oversized t shirt and sweatpants to bed, hair rumpled from sleep, eyes and cheeks red and puffy from sleep. They can see the tear streaks dried from last night and it breaks their heart all over again.

Price makes the first move, taking a small step towards you with a plate held out. Buttered toast, sizzling eggs, and red srawberries sit on top.

"G'mornin' sweetheart, hope you slept well. 'Ve cooked some breakfast. There's coffee in the pot. Help yourself." Soft eyes gaze down at you. He's hunched inwards a little, head tilted down and the sweetest smile gracing his face. You feel very flustered, keenly aware of the 3 other sets of eyes intently watching.

Taking a deep breath, you offer a half smile, grasping the plate with slightly shaky hands.

"Uhm..t-thankyou, sir"

"John."

Wide doe eyes peer up at him, shock clear on your face. He feels his lips quirk at the sight.

"My mates call me John. Not sir. We're equal here, okay? You call me by my name." When his hand reaches out, you don't swat it away this time, only watching in marvel as he tucks hair behind your ears, crows feet aligning his kind eyes.

Taking a shaky breath, a soft, geniune smile spreads across your face, eyes darting to your feet and back up as you turn to the table. Johnny and Gaz are staring right at you, wings perked up. Gaz is quickest to his feet, pulling out a chair, a handsome grin settling on face. Pretty boy, you muse to yourself. Sitting down with a grateful smile and a hushed thankyou.

A hand reaches past your shoulder, jarring and unexpected. You whip your head up to see Simon offering a placate smile down at you, other palm face up to soothe. You tilt your head owlishly, blinking at him. It causes the older mans lips to quirk up on one side, brown eyes softening as he gazes down at you. He nods his head towards the table, and upon looking back to your plate, you realize he sat down a fork...oh.

Tears welled in your eyes, and a sniffle broke through. Simon's eyes widened a fraction, quickly backing away with both his hands raised, palm up.

"'M sorry luvie, didn't mean t'startle you."

It was sincere, filled with guilt. A small sob breaks past your lips. Johnny whines high in his throat, reaching out for your hand across the table, only to stop short, unsure if you'd appreciate the contact. His lips are once again pulled down, eyes saddened.

"Bonnie?..." Murmured so quietly into the air, the boys hold their breath, pulling their wings in to appear smaller. You wipe at your face again, sniffling, eyes glossy and cheeks rosy. And when you finally lifted your head, the last thing they expected was to see the brightest grin painted across your face, pure happiness shining, tear streaks lined with joy.

"No one's ever been so kind to me...thankyou. All of you."

Oh, dove, you haven't seen anything yet.

[frudoo]

The 141!slasher au has me cackling. Reader lowkey being like "well, if the dick is good"

Imagining reader being taken in to be questioned by the cops for something unrelated to the boys killing. Maybe she witnessed a crime, or maybe someone else got assaulted by the guy who grabbed her. Would the guys be suspicious? Do they have a "get picked up by the cops" protocol, or do they believe there's no chance of ever getting caught? (Does reader already have a "don't talk to the fucking cops without a lawyer [ACAB!]" mindset that helped Johnny be confident in telling her the truth?)

Does reader ever help with kills? Ngl kind of seeing reader work at a children's hospital or as a social worker and taking note of ppl she knows are abusive and being like hey...Simon...<3...did u need ideas of who to kill next...

Anyway thank you for letting me share my thoughts:)

We love a reader who has her priorities straight ;)

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/trauma.

Deep breaths. It has nothing to do with you or your boys.

     The blinds are shut and there’s a weird buzzing noise coming from somewhere inside the room. Across from you sits a social worker and a detective, and your leg bounces anxiously. 

     It’s mandatory. You’re helping a child and his mom out of a bad situation.

     You’d suspected something was wrong the first time Oliver was brought to your class with a couple of bruises on his leg. You had immediately written your observations down on his sheet and reported it to your bosses, but they brushed it off. Little boys are clumsy, after all, especially when they’ve just recently learned to start walking. The next couple of weeks, the toddler showed up unscathed and happy. 

     This morning, however, his mother dropped him off with a black eye and scratches all over his torso. You could see cuts of her own beneath the makeup she’d been crying off. You’d paged your bosses to come to your classroom immediately, and this time, they took it seriously. You weren’t thrilled that the police had to be involved, but you understood that it was necessary in saving this sweet family. You answered all of their questions honestly—neither saying too little nor too much.

     “Thank you for your time, ma’am. You’re dismissed,” the detective gives you a solemn smile and rises from her seat, opening the door to allow you out. 

     You clutch your purse tightly as you walk through the precinct, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. You’re no stranger to facilities like these. Much of your childhood was spent sitting beside your father at his desk, acting like a good little girl, coloring on blank sheets of paper and pretending that daddy wasn’t such a monster. At work, he was a hero who citizens and coworkers alike depended on to keep them safe and happy. At home, he was a tyrant, taking every opportunity he could to use you and your mother as a punching bag.

     As a child, you’re taught to depend on all the people who are meant to care for you—family members, the police—those whose first priority should be to protect. You should have been able to trust your father. You should have been able to run to him whenever you scraped your knee or got bullied at school, but instead, he was often the one causing you harm. Your mother got sick of the abuse and left when you were five but didn’t bother taking you with her, so he was all you had. He intimidated you into silence, but even if you had reported him, who would have believed the troubled young daughter of such a dependable officer? You learned too quickly, too young, that it would always be their word over yours.

     When you first became a daycare teacher, you didn’t expect to see yourself in so many of the children you either cared for or saw in passing. It broke your heart every time you saw a toddler with a limp or an older child who still wet themselves at naptime, because you knew what they were feeling. You knew the despair they felt in every step they took, the fear they felt every time someone came to pick them up and take them right back to their broken home. The very day you started is the same day you decided you had to stay there, to be some kind of light in the darkness too many of these children should have been too young to ever know.

     You have an unspecified amount of time off—your bosses decided that there was too much of a risk that Oliver’s dad might show up and try to start shit with you for reporting him. There’s still a lot of investigating that the police and child services have to do, and as of right now, the scumbag’s whereabouts are unknown. It’s nerve-wracking to leave your babies even despite knowing they’re in good hands. You’ll have to make sure and call in every day to check on them. 

     It’s about an hour drive back to the farm, and you spend every minute dreading the reunion with your lovers. None of them know about the situation, and you’re not exactly thrilled to catch them up to speed. Still, you owe it to them to be honest. God forbid they find out about it somewhere else and start believing some warped version of the truth. Just the mere idea of them distrusting you makes a sour feeling rise in your gut. 

     Kyle is working in the garden when you arrive, a wide smile on his face as he waves to greet you. The grin you send his way isn’t quite so excited, and immediately he knows something is up. If he was a bloodhound, you’d be sure he could smell the unrest in the air. The slam of your car door alerts the other three men of your presence, and they all line up by the front door curiously. Your heart is racing as you walk inside, motioning for them all to join you in the living room.

     You sit in the recliner with your hands folded in your lap, nervously eyeing each of your husbands. The fear that they might hate you because of what happened gnaws at the front of your brain, chewing until it aches. You’re not even sure if you could blame them—after all, they had a good thing going before they met you. One wrong move and the cog in the machine gets tossed aside like trash. 

     “Speak, lovie,” Simon grunts impatiently, syrupy brown eyes scanning over your face, watching, analyzing.

     “There was an incident at the daycare today,” you begin. “Child services had to get involved, and I was called to the police station to explain my side of things.”

     You’re shaking like a leaf, unable to look at any of them. The tension in the room is so thick that John could probably cut through it with his machete. Not one of them has so much as blinked, each waiting on another to say or do something first. You do.

     “It had nothing to do with any of you, I swear. I’m off work for a few days while the whole thing gets settled. I can’t say much about the case, just that… there was an abusive father involved. They haven’t found him yet, and they’re exercising the idea that I might be a target for reporting him.”

     “Fuck,” Kyle mutters exasperatedly, rubbing his hands over his face as Johnny wraps an arm around his shoulder.

     You finally gather the courage to lift your head, and to your surprise, there is no fury or hatred in any of their expressions. At least, not directed at you. They look more like they’re waiting for an order, leaning forward in their seats like attack dogs ready to pounce. Suddenly it’s clear to you—they may have been an item before you entered the picture, but once you joined them, you became their commander, one that they’ll remain loyal to until the day they die. 

     “I have a proposition,” you whisper, looking directly at John.

     “Give us a name, sweetheart.”

[celestialprincesse]

Could you do a poly 141! If you’re comfortable with it! I’d prefer fluffy poly 141. Or if you’re not comfortable! Maybe Ghoap or just ghost x reader fluff! I’m not that big of a smut fan when it comes to cod, these poor military men just need a hug

with lots of love - 🩰

FERAL FOR POLY 141 FE RAL FERAL FERAL can u tell that I like this dynamic just a lil bit ( a totally normal amount )

You're pottering around the kitchen when the boys come home from the gym, said boys not including a very sullen Johnny who threw his knee out last week leading you to promptly issue a very firm bed rest order, swatting your tea towel at him when he'd attempted to slip out this morning with his gym bag.

Kyle is on you immediately to see what you're whipping up, whilst John goes off to shower and Simon goes to bring in more logs for the slowly dwindling fire. You attempt to shoo Kyle away as he and Johnny sidle up to your back, nipping at your neck or toying with your hair - making your cooking far more difficult. You successfully manage to shoo Johnny away with a spoonful of creme brûl��e stuffed into his open mouth, whilst Kyle sticks at your side like a limpet, whinging about how he'd missed you at the gym and that the boys are all so testosterone-y, which you promptly shut up with a gentle kiss to his waiting lips. With the first lot of grumbling military men out of your hair, you seek Simon out where he smokes on the porch, a steaming mug of earl grey in one hand and a brownie in the other. He promptly moves his cigarette to his other hand so that he can scoop you up against his side, resting his chin against the crown of your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and perfume appreciatively. You yourself give an appreciative hum at the warmth of his presence, your wellies and pyjama shorts not doing very much against the chilly morning outside the cozy confines of home.

"How's Johnny?" He rumbles into your hair, pulling back momentarily to take a drag from his cigarette before sidling back up to you. "A pain in the ass." You huff fondly back, unable to hide the pity in your voice for the normally eternally energetic Scotsman. "Cabin fever's got him practically bouncing off the walls." "And you? Are you doing okay, birdie?" "M' just happy to have all my boys home and safe." The sound of your voice melts into the quiet birdsong and the eternally soothing sound of Simon's slightly raspy breathing from the deviated septum he'd managed to get after breaking his nose a few years back.

The sound of the door swinging open doesn't disrupt you and Simon from your shared moment of peace, John coming out with one of his cigars hanging between his lips, free hand snaking around your waist as he leans against the porch. Quickly you notice the phone balanced between his ear and shoulder, and his expression focussed intently on what the person on the other end is saying. John puffs away at his cigar, fidgeting absently with the waistband of your shorts whilst you and Simon chat away about nothing, careful not to let your voices be heard by whoever John's on the phone to.

Growing sick of the cold, you give Simon and John kisses respectively before retreating inside where Kyle and Johnny have settled on the couch, playstation controllers in hand and a video game shown on the large flatscreen Johnny'd insisted you all bought when you moved in together. You're quick to shimmy up beside Johnny, settling your head on his lap, soothed by the sound of he and Kyle talking about the game, John and Simon soon joining the three of you. Simon squishes between Kyle and Johnny in order to play with your hair and chat to you about your day, whilst John gathers your legs up and plops them into his lap, tracing patterns across the bare skin of your calves as he reads something on his phone.

You eventually find yourself dozing off in spite of the ruckus around you, only waking at midday when you're coaxed off of the couch by Kyle who carries your tired body to the simple dining room where the others are laying the table, diligently having taken the large piece of meat you'd been slow roasting all morning from the oven, placed in the middle of the table.

The boys thank you as you all tuck into the hearty, late lunch you'd prepared, laughter and chatter filling the cozy room, gratitude palpable amongst you.

[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, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩(ish), 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺

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

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

Simon. his bare face with silvery scars.

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

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

your dead daddy and mama rotting away in the sand.

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

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

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

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

Simon’s cabin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he grinned, kissing your hand softly.

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

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

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

“what do you want?”

your eyes snapped to his. “what?”

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

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

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

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

“what do you want from me?”

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

“what do you want from me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you gulped it down gratefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she grimaced. “he’s… alive.”

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

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

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

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

like always, you couldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

now, you just felt an overwhelming numbness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

her brown eyes darted over your stiff body.

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

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

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

that didn’t seem to convince Kate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you wondered if he was thinking about you at all.

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

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

Kate gave you a weak smile. “a farm.”

your brows raised. “a farm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the smile drifted from her face. “fighting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’ll keep me busy.”

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

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

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

“will you let me stay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all while he was in san francisco fighting.

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

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

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

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

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

“how did you and Kate meet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yes.”

you cocked your head. “alone?”

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

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

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

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

“we are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

when was the last time you had gone to church?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it seemed everything was just pouring out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you feared your dreams.

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

sometimes, you didn’t.

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

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

“i’m sorry.” you stiffened.

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

you forced your jaw to work. “why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your mind raced. had they been?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he pressed his forehead against yours, warm and solid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we would love it if you did.”

you smiled. “really?”

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

you cocked a brow. “what did he say?”

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

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

“he lies.”

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

that night, your nightmares felt lighter than usual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the saloon chain is yours now, miss.

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

your ownership.

slowly, you sat in the desk chair, unbreathing.

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

the promise felt empty and cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you didn’t believe her for a second.

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

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

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

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

“not soon enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“really?”

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

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

“did John say why?”

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

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

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

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

“why?”

she shrugged again. “beats me.”

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

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

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

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

you jolted when the german shepherd yapped.

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

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

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

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

your name.

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

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

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

your cheeks ached at the big smile stretching your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we’ve got company.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we were plannin’ on it!”

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

“good to see you, darlin’.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shrugged. “neither did i, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“let go.”

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

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

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

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

“you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

and Simon—evil and full of hate.

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

“shhh. it’s alright.”

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

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

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

you clutched at the wrist of his sleeve with desperation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his voice was strained. “like what?”

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

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

he deflated when you shook your head.

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

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

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

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

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

“could you ever forgive me?” he asked.

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

“maybe.”

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

“can i at least carry you?”

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

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

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

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

“i’ll fix it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we’re sleepin’ outside.”

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

you flushed deeply, a fluttering heat in your cheeks.

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

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

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

“tired?”

you nodded weakly, and he smiled against your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you squeaked, jerking back with a jolt of confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“more? more what? this not enough?”

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

“patience, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you chided him. “greedy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“please what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“use your words.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“just… please, Simon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“want me to stop?”

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

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

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

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

“alright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“good?” his gaze was hot and piercing.

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

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

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

“hm? speak up, sweet thing.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so tight, princess.”

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

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

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

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

“Si—m’gonna—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

good girl. good girl. my good girl.

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

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

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

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

“satisfied, princess?”

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

“insatiable, greedy thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“don’t lie…”

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

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

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

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

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

“in different circumstances. after your marriage.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“if you’ll have me.”

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

“even after everything?”

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

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

he only blinked. “me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah?”

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

he shrugged. “me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he was half-right in the end.

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

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

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

you almost giggled. “little gunslinger?”

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

“what’s my code name then?”

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

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

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

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

you hummed. “what about my mask?”

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

you parted from him. “why not?”

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

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

“thank god,” you whispered and he nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

[cntloup]

18+ MDNI UndergroundBoxer!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader teasing, rough sex, manhandling, slight choking, creampie, one spank, breeding kink

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

(can be read as a one-shot)

moodboard | face

“Do you forgive me now?” “I guess so. But let’s see what else you can do.” you reply, panting and grinning with delight after your intense orgasm, making him chuckle, his chest rumbling against yours and he lowers his head to start kissing your lips again, pouring every ounce of his love and devotion for you into the kiss.

He pulls away to discard his pants and boxers letting his hard cock spring out, making you lick your lips as you start drooling at the mere sight of him.  

He crawls on top of you again, kissing you gently as he lines himself up between your legs. He slides the tip along your folds teasingly before slowly pushing inside, making you whimper and himself groan quietly. He starts pushing deeper and deeper, his thick shaft stretching out your sweet little cunt so far, it stings at first and he lets out a grunt "Fuck, baby! You're swallowing me whole." as he bottoms out and a gasp escapes your mouth as you feel so full, digging your nails into his back.

He looks into your eyes and starts moving after you nod. He captures your lips with his as he steadily pulls out and pushes himself inside again, dragging his length against your walls as you mewl under him. “Fuck! So tight f’me.” He mutters as he starts rolling his hips into yours.

He slowly moves his hands to the back of your knees pushing them up and propping your legs on his shoulders, gaining better access to your soaking wet cunt. He takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together while caressing the soft skin of your thigh with the other.

He begins to pick up the pace gradually, his fat veiny cock sliding up and down your gummy walls, his tip hitting your sweet spot every time he thrusts into your tight seeping pussy hard and deep. "So... fuckin'... good... f'me... my... pretty... girl." he praises in between thrusts, moaning and groaning into your ear. One hand still holding yours as the other one travels along your body and finds your sensitive puffy clit, rubbing his calloused fingertips gently on your bundle of nerves, swallowing your soft whimpers with each kiss.

You start moving your hips to his rhythm, meeting him halfway. He throws his head back in pleasure at the feeling of your walls wrapped around him as he lets out a guttural moan and you sob “FUCK! Simon, yess yesss, right there! Ahhh…”. He pants and grunts softly into your ear as he buries his head into the crook of your neck while pumping his thick length into your tight pussy vigorously, heavy balls slamming onto your ass, loud moans and whimpers escaping your lips. "Fe-feels s-so g-good, Si!" you cry out as your nails scratch up and down his back, leaving red marks.

He brings one hand to your neck, carefully closing around it, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy. You wrap your much smaller hand around his wrist to guide him on the amount of pressure he puts on your throat.

He’s ramming his fat cock into your wet needy cunt mercilessly, bringing you both closer to the edge. “Fuck! Gonna fill you up. Full of my cum. You want that. Huh?!” he grunts out. You hum in response, mind hazy. “I’m c-close.” you manage to get out the words in between mewls and squeals. “Let go, love. Cum for me.” he coos, his soft words in contrast to his harsh movements. You grasp his biceps tightly, your pussy cramping around him as you cum around his cock, legs trembling, “SIMON!” you scream out and a string of curses leave his mouth as he reaches his own high with a loud deep groan. You feel the warmth as he releases his cum inside you, painting your walls white. A mix of both your juices seeping out of your pussy.

He doesn’t stop moving, still pumping his load deeper inside your swollen red cunt. You start whining into his ear “Ple- please, Si! ‘s to- too much!” you hiccup. “No, love. Shouldn’t waste it. Gonna make you a mama! Huh? You like that, yea?” he croons and you let out a high-pitched moan at his words “Yess!”.

His dick is still hard as he starts moving again, slamming his girthy meaty cock into your poor puffy pussy. You can’t stop your hiccuped whimpers and whines since you’re overstimulated but you still want more. “More, Si!” “You want more? I’ll give you more.” He groans as he suddenly slams into you harshly, causing a loud gasp to fall from your lips. He continues his rapid thrusts into your tight cunt, ignoring your pleas as you beg him to stop also beg him to make you cum again.

He unexpectedly pulls out, making you whine at the sudden loss, leaving you feeling empty. He flips you onto your stomach, raises your hips and his hand slides down your back, making it arch for him, ass up presented to him as he stares at your shiny puffy pussy. He kicks your legs apart and slams his cock into you without warning, making you let out a loud cry.

He continues his relentless thrusts into your sensitive cunt, his hands grasping your hips bruisingly, hefty balls hitting your clit every time he buries himself inside you to the hilt, pumping into your wet needy pussy repeatedly and rapidly. He spanks your ass as you whine and squeal pathetically, drooling on the pillows. You can feel the heat pooling up inside your belly, clenching down on him and he's right there with you as he chases his own release. You let a deep moan seep out, your voice hoarse from making too much sound, as you cum around him again, body shaking with intense pleasure, mouth agape, a silent scream forming on your lips and he follows right after as he slams into your swollen red pussy one last time and releases his load inside you again, a low growl escaping his lips, head thrown back, panting heavily, lost in a state of post-climactic euphoria.

He leans onto your back in exhaustion. "You did so well, lovie. Proud of you." he coos as he peppers soft loving kisses on your back and shoulders, slowly pulling out and gently laying you down on your side before flopping down on the bed beside you and taking you into his arms, placing your head on his chest. “So? You forgive me now?” he questions once more as you’re in your fucked out state. He literally fucked your brains out. “Yea, I forgive you.” you mumble sleepily with a mindless smile on your face and your brain foggy. He chuckles “Good.” as he places a tender kiss on your lips “I love you.” “I love you too, Si.” you whisper as you drift away into a slumber.

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

[angelltheninth]

Fandom and Character Masterlist

Hazbinverse

Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk, Lucifer Morningstar, Lilith Morningstar, Charlie Morningstar, Vaggie, Cherry Bomb, Valentino, Vox, Velvet, Rosie, Blitzo, Stolas Goetia, Striker

Arcane

Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn Kiramman, Ekko, Sevika, Silco, Marcus, Finn, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Ambessa Medarda, Cassandra Kiramman, Enforcer Grayson, Maddie Nolen, Steb, Loris

Jujutsu Kaisen

Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento, Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugusaki, Maki Zenin, Gojo Satoru, Yuta Okkotsu, Geto Suguru, Haruta Shigemo, Mahito, Junpei Yoshino, Choso, Toji Fushiguro

Boku no Hero Academia

Keigo Takami, Bakugo Katsuki, Izuku Midoriya, Dabi, Shoto Todoroki, Eijirou Kirishima, Aizawa Shouta, Tomura Shigaraki, Hitoshi Shinsou, Mirio Toogata

Twisted Wonderland

Riddle Rosehearts, Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Trey Clover, Cater Diamond, Leona Kingscholar, Jack Howl, Ruggie Bucchi, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Jamil Viper, Vil Schoenheit, Epel Felmier, Rook Hunt, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver, Sebek Zigvolt, Dire Crowley, Divus Crewel

Avatar the Last Airbender/Legend of Korra

Aang, Katara, Sokka, Zuko, Suki, Azula, Ty Lee, Mei, Jet, Korra, Asami Sato, Mako, Bolin, Kya II, Lin, Kuvira

Call of Duty

Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, John Price, Alejandro Vargas

Blue Eye Samurai

Mizu, Akemi, Taigen

Honkai Star Rail

Blade, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Himeko, Sampo, Caelus, Gepard, Bronya, Serval, Welt, Kafka, Stelle, Luocha, Yukong, Fe Xuan, Luka, Argenti, Veritas Ratio, Gallagher, Aventurine, Jiaoqiu, Moze, Anaxa, Phainon, Mydei, Mr. Reca

Wuthering Waves

Calcharo, Jiyan, Rover, Aalto, Mortefi, Yuanwu, Scar, Xiangli Yao, Geshu Lin

Genshin Impact

Kaeya, Diluc, Itto, Gorou, Thoma, Ayato, Xiao, Al-Haitham, Kaveh, Cyno, Tighnari, Scaramouche, Dottore, Pantalone, Pierro, Childe, Arlecchino, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Ororon, Dainsleif, Sethos, Zhongli

Zenless Zone Zero

Anton Ivanov, Lighter, Wise, Billy Kid, Von Lycaon, Seth Lowell, Asaba Harumasa

Love and Deepspace

Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

DC

Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Clark Kent, Connor Kent, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor, Diana Prince, Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn, Tim Drake, Wally West, Garfield Logan, John Constantine

Marvel

Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop, Bruce Banner, Thor, Loki, Druig, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, James “Logan" Howlett, Scott Summers, Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner, Stephen Strange, Carol Danvers, M'Baku, Peter Parker, Venom, King Valkyrie, Shang-Chi, Matt Murdock, Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, Peter Quill

[spoiled-fawn]

Part 1: Meeting Simon Riley

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope!

WC: 3,224 CW: None

AN: Sorry this took so long! I wanted to have a good amount of writing as I cycle through everyone's beginnings, plus, 3k seems like a good starting point to get us settled in. Would love to hear your thoughts and comments. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the following for the explanation and precursors to the scene!

Introduction, Biography

————

Going home a bit late in the night and dodging your now passed-out parents, you quietly and quickly got set to writing your correspondence letter to him. After deliberation of not wanting to scare him away, you leave out the main reason why you had even looked at the ad in the first place. You described yourself, and your work ethic, trying to resonate with the little amount of words placed in his ad. You included your hopes, wants, and wishes for the future, before sealing the letter up and placing it in the mail the next morning.

When you received a letter back from him, it felt ethereal that he had taken the time to scrawl out a response in the interest of yourself.

The letters were sparse but you poured your heart out to Simon and sent a picture of yourself. During the weeks of waiting and reading the correspondence, you set an image of the man in your head. Granted, Simon declined to send you a picture of himself and stated that the image of him in the ad was sufficient and promised his word that he speaks in truth about himself… Even though he wore a bandana that covered half of his face- nor did he give any reason as to why.

Through the letters, he described himself as a respectful man, one who is more stoic and reserved to the locals, but feels that he has plenty of love to give. He wants to provide for and protect you, with a desire to start a family, of some sort at least, soon. It was a rough to attempt to hide the letters, write them, and send them out with full secrecy. But after a wait of a full month, cutting it far too close to when the politician would be arriving back, Simon finally invited you to the new frontier as he proposed to you in correspondence.

From the moment you read his words of invitation, you packed two small bags of your most favorite, and fondest items. Acting as if nothing was wrong during this time under your parent's eyes, you head to bed, feigning innocence while figuring out just how to get out.

Simon, ever the gentleman, had given you $25 for the long train ride and sleeping car that you would need to make it to him. With the money and the amount you had slowly held back from giving to your parents from your job, you were determined to leave and start a new life. 

In the dead of the eve before the politician's carriage would be arriving at his manor, you left through your bedroom window, managing to even steal a bottle of your father's finest whiskey as a present for Simon.

The journey took a week by train, lucky enough that you lived on the outskirts of a city that had a transcontinental train station- a hub for many people who were excited and looking to head West, wherever the train tracks ended. Your stops were along Topeka and Santa Fe before you had to find a different line that diverged from Albuquerque towards El Paso, before heading into the Arizona Territory.

When departing the train, you hopped into a stagecoach and using the last of Simons's money, ready for the final and short journey to find his estate. Watching the land and people pass by through the small window, you take in the surroundings of your new life that is finally within a breath's reach. Towards the end of the town, you spot a house that is on the expanse of desert plains; a secluded but well-sized house made of wood and stone masonry sits atop a hill, the Arizona sunset shining down as a gold beacon of heaven.

Once there and stepping out of the stagecoach with your belongings, you find yourself in front of the property when your eyes are drawn to him. 

On the porch stands a tall and rugged man with a sturdy frame of muscles, evident in his build. The clothes he adorns are tight fitting and dirty, conclusive that he had just been working within his forge; dirtied denim jeans, an off-white long-sleeve shirt, clean where a smock would hang on his front. 

A black bandana covers the bottom of his face while a black cowboy hat adorns his head, leaving the sliver of skin from the ridge of his nose to his mid-forehead to be shown.

As the stagecoach pulls away back into town, eyes are locked between you two for a long moment before he finally pushes off the pillar of his porch. A low and appreciative whistle escapes from underneath his bandana, accompanying the thuds of his footsteps walking down his porch stairs to you. 

“Well, I’ll be damned... Please tell me you're who I think you are…” He simpers out, eyes trailing over your form. The sound of his voice strikes a flame to your heart, a match sufficiently lit as you hear the low and resonating tone- it’s enough to send a tremor through your lungs. 

Swallowing, and a nod of your head, “If you’re Simon then yes, I’m who you’d be expecting.” You smile shyly as you watch him take a few strides to stand in front of you. 

As he draws closer, his deep brown iris' make themselves apparent, a crinkle around the edge of his eyes makes you believe he’s smirking. "You got it right, darlin'. I'm Simon, but most folks around here call me Ghost. Pleased to finally meet you, sweetheart." His voice is deep and resonant, carrying a hint of gravel, as he extends his calloused hand towards you in greeting.

His touch is firm, your smaller and slightly softer hands a comparison of the lives you’ve lived. As you take his hand and give it a firm shake, Simon's grip tightens for a moment, his gaze locked with yours.

There's a spark of recognition in his eyes as if he appreciates your strength. 

"Reckon I lucked out with you, that picture you sent didn’t do a damn justice." He chuckles softly, eyes lingering on your form before meeting your gaze once more. "Come on, let's get you settled in. There's plenty to see 'round here." He gestures towards the house, hand outstretched for you to take after grabbing one of your bags.

“Thank you, and I could say the same ‘bout you, sir. Was nervous when you didn’t send me any photos but now I can put my worries away.” You smile, intrigued and slightly apprehensive as you now place your hand in his, granting him the reigns to hold the fate of your new life.

While he leads you up the stairs of your new home, you take a curious glance up to his figure before trailing up to his eyes that are uncovered.

He hums at your comment, "I reckon I wanted to leave a little mystery for ya, darlin'." He gives you a playful wink before leading you up the porch steps and into the house.

“Would you prefer I call you Ghost, sir?” You ask after a moment of thought, moving to follow him into the house as he opens the door while your eyes flick back to take in his profile. He gives a light chuckle as he closes the door behind you, the interior of the home having a bit of style and small added luxuries in its design. 

Once inside, you're greeted by a cozy and rustic interior; The living room is adorned with wood furnishings and a stone fireplace that crackles with warmth. The dining room is off to the left side, and straight in front of the door is a hallway that leads to doors at the end. He walked towards the living room, the scent of freshly cut wood fills the air, mingling with the lingering aroma of metal from the forge out back that carries through the house.

He leads you out of the entryway and into the main living area of the house. The rustic charm of the place is evident, with wooden beams on the ceiling and a large stone fireplace dominating one wall. The room is warm and cozy, with a worn leather sofa and a few mismatched chairs arranged around a rough-hewn coffee table.

Simon turns to face you, his eyes softening as he considers your question. "You can call me Ghost if you like. It's what most folks 'round here call me. It’s grown to be natural, y’know?" He pauses, a considerate expression crossing his face. "But if you prefer Simon, that's fine too. Whatever makes you comfortable, darlin'." 

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of your hair back. "You've traveled a long way to be here. I appreciate that, and I want you to feel at home. This here is your home now too."

Upturning your chin as he moves his fingers to lightly trace your face, your eyes close for a long moment before opening back up to him.

“Thank you for inviting me out here- taking the chance on me. I do owe you my life.” You add, feeling a bit bold in the way you elude to something but brush it off as a docile sense of gratitude while his hand falls to his side.

“I’m excited to be in our home, please let me know if I’m ever a bother for you, sir.” You include, shifting the conversation back to the present and a prospective thought.

You don’t notice the way his eyes stop to stare into your own for a moment, as he flags the previous sentence to come back to later.

"You ain't ever gonna be a bother to me, honey. Quite the opposite, actually." A hint of desire mixed with light amusement, his gaze flickering to your lips before returning to your eyes. "I've been alone for too long, and I'm eager to have you by my side. To share this home, this life, and everything else that comes with it."

He takes a step back, gaze still locked with yours. "Now, how about I show you to your room, first? There's more to see, and want you settled in.” The movement of his arm to gesture to the house accompanies his deep rumble, and as your eyes gaze toward the bedroom hallway, you can't help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

With a nod of your head, feeling almost absent-minded while your thoughts race with scenarios, you move to pick up your bags. “Lead the way, please.” You answer with a warm smile, trying to convey your warm innocence in the moment.

From the crinkle around his eyes, Simon's lips curl into a small, satisfied smile as he watches you gather your bags. "Alright then, follow me." He says before moving to swoop a handle of your bag out from yours, then placing your free hand into his. 

Turning to look back, his eyes wander over you again, before stopping in front of a door to the right side of the hallway; Opening the door, he ushers you in with a hand to the small of your back. 

Stepping in, you face a window that overlooks the grassy planes of the desert. To the right of the room, a small cot is pushed against the wall, a wooden nightstand on its left side. To the left of the room, was a closet and desk. The room was a little decorated, giving off an inviting feel, and you can sense that in a rugged and manly way, he tried his best for you.

"Here we are... Your room." He drawls out from the doorway before settling his right shoulder against it. His eyes, which you don't see as you survey the room, take in your body language and facial expressions, looking for any sign of displeasure.

To his surprise, you're ecstatic.

The reality of even the minimal amount of effort and having a room that was not falling apart, or dirty, and had a bed off of the ground via a wrought iron bed frame was an extreme luxury compared to your previous home.

Walking over to the window with a smile and bright eyes that reflect in the orange sunset, your jaw drops at how peaceful and comforting it is to be in something that is now considered yours.

“This is… this is much more than I could have ever asked for, Simon.” You say while taking a step to turn around, dropping your bag down by the closet before turning back towards him. “Thank you, this is incredibly sweet of you to do this.” The pull of your cheeks is evidence enough that you must look like a fool at how hard you smile, but the look in Simon’s eyes in response is worth it.

His face- eyes, light up as he sees the reaction, a warm feeling coming over him as your excitement melts his heart, and he lets a light huff escape. "’s no problem... But, I did have a question to ask you first before anything else..." He spoke softly, arms crossed in front of him as he waited for your acknowledgment, his deep brown eyes holding a depth to them.

Clearing his throat, he looks as if deciding between something. A moment later, he pushes off the door frame and walks towards you, still leaving some distance.

 "Now, I will always respect your independence and autonomy, but as a man and your husband, I expect some things of you, and I'll make it known..." He let out a sigh before continuing.

“Since we're living together and going to be newlyweds, there are a few expectations I have for us, and I want to ask you how you feel about those expectations." He asked quietly, his tone remaining calm, and you begin to figure that in his way, this is Simon acting soft in nature.

You nod once, giving him the signal to continue while remaining quiet, hands laced together in front of your lap as you watch him with rapt attention.

"I am not forcing you to agree to them. But I do expect that you will spend time with me, that you will not lie to me, and that you will be monogamous to me. I want our communication to be open and straightforward, none of that tip-toeing around each other." He paused, his tone serious for a moment as he wanted it to get across. He smiled after his words as he turned. "Any questions?"

Oh.

That’s it? 

You expected something a tad more… unjust and harsh from a man who comes off as intimidating as Simon, the man known as Ghost amongst the town. But, there was one question you had in response to what he expected of you; monogamy.

“Just one, If you don’t mind me askin’” Your voice comes out smooth and sweet, more soft and timid than you’d like to present yourself in a situation worth garnering the level of respect entrusted to each other. “Will you remain monogamous to me, or do you spend time with others?”

With a huff and shake of his head, he pushes the fabric of his bandana away by a small amount of air from his mouth.

"No... I will only be monogamous to you. You're the one I decided to marry, and I intend to make this marriage work." He spoke firmly. "And I do not spend time with others... I can promise you that you're the only one I need.” 

There is a pause in his answer as he takes a step closer, head now looking down at you while his hand glides up to land underneath your jaw, taking you by slight surprise as he holds it with his large and rough fingers.

“Does that address your concerns?" He ends the question with a deep and more serious tone- his voice makes your mind bring up what his mouth looks like while saying it.

The sound that escapes you is classically embarrassing, showing how much you are not the experienced one in this scenario. You swallow before answering. “It does… and I agree to these expectations.” You reply before taking a deeper inhale- the scent of fire, ash, and an unfamiliar smell of what could be his musk mixed with metal, one that vaguely reminds you of blood.

“May I ask something, sir? It may be rude to ask if right now but since we are setting boundaries I’d like to know.” The moment of closeness is something you hope will shield you from any backlash from asking what you’re curious about.

"You may, there is nothing you could say that would be taken offensively." He spoke softly, looking at you as his eyes traveled over your face; he looks over the ridges, pores, and even seeing a few small scars here and there along your soft skin. 

Your eyes are drawn to his face similarly: the pores that seem dirty from the day of work he had, scars that are random in placement but more than a small amount litter his forehead, and the top of his cheekbones that flow underneath the bandana. “May I ask why you wear the mask, or at least, will you be wearing it around me if I am to be your spouse soon?”

Your eyes find the telling features that his jaw is ticked, and a rush of anxiety flushes through as your stomach drops in fear that this was not supposed to be asked.

He drops the hold of your jaw, looking down with a nod of his head as if he was expecting the question. Taking his own deep breath and looking back up, his tone is surprisingly gentle, not allowing any shame to come out of him.

"I am afraid my appearance is a bit.. unsettling... I will remove it in our bedroom while we sleep and make love, but... I am not one to show it off as I do find people make too many assumptions." He spoke truthfully.

You can’t control the movement of your eyebrows furrowing up in confusion. Unsettling…? Is that his own belief or was he told that? You want to diffuse the situation before you make it more uncomfortable, yet your mouth works faster than your mind.

“You can deny me the answer, but, may I ask what happened?” You surprise yourself while talking with a level voice, social context be damned.

He stays silent as he thinks on whether or not to answer, his face shifting slightly to show some emotions. You curse yourself the longer the silence ticks by.

"I had a... scar left by an incident a while back... And it's one thing I like to keep private until I am able to completely trust someone." He spoke, a shrug of his shoulders makes his clothes rustle as he dismisses his answer and wanting to leave it behind.

Clearing his throat, he tips his head towards you and the cowboy hat obscures the visibility of his eyes for a moment. “Well then, I’ll let you get settled in darlin’. Call for me when you’re finished.” He states resoundingly, and with that, he turns to exit from your room and back down the hallway. 

[shroomiewrites]

If your love burns, dear, set me ablaze || Simon Riley x Reader

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader || 2.5k words || SFW ||

Warnings/tags: Gender neutral reader, hurt/comfort, mentions of animal gore, non-canon backstory, fluff, sprinkle of angst.

Song recommendation: Indigo Night | Tamino

Synopsis: “They asked "do you love her to death?” I said “speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me to life.” | Mahmoud Darwish

It took Simon Riley 17 days to touch you. 

Not touch in an intimate, sexual way. Touch as in a graze, a brush of the fingertips. Touch as in an even accidental bump or gentle meet of shoulder blades when you sit too close to someone in the train. Touch as in the way his knuckles feathered your hand when he handed you your drink on a night out with friends a few weeks and meetings of your friendly circle after you first met.

It had been surprising to you how a man like him even had any friends in the first place and even more that said friends also happened to be friends of yours, but Manchester could be small and funny like that, you thought. He made a strong first impression on you, never introduced himself, in fact, he almost never talked, not loud enough at least. Not in the way that people who want to be heard spoke, it was always a rather fatigued mutter, voice brittled and seemingly unbothered and unamused by everything around him. His eyes always felt sharp and alert but also… never there. He existed in a plane of his own, haunting conversations and people he didn’t seem to enjoy, like a ghost.

Ghost.

That’s what they called him, he told you one of the first few times you tried some small talk, embarrassment flooded your cheeks as you laughed before realizing that. Oh God. He's not joking. He didn’t seem affected by it, but then again, he never seemed affected by anything at all. Not the way your friends always talked a bit too much, laughed a little too loud, got a tad too drunk and touched him way too much. He never complained tho, no one could even tell he was bothered by it unless they noticed the slight twitch of his eyes in annoyance as they slapped his shoulder, howling at something he didn’t find remotely funny. You found yourself amused by watching him, like experiencing first hand a cat in the middle of a bunch of golden retrievers. He seemed to notice the way you stared at him for a little too long for it to be just a coincidence. But he never said anything, amused by it too.

Simon, he said his name was one time. You realized how no one ever spoke his name. You thought maybe it pissed him off, but no, not many things pissed him off. He was a surprisingly easy person to be around, not easily ticked off by the stupid jokes or the chaotic antics of your fellow companions. He was a bit skittish and straightforward when he did speak, an acid tint to his sarcastic jokes and monotone timbre. It was actually charming. To your own twisted mind at least. He was also a great listener, another charm of his you noted. He heard you talk for minutes to hours on end, without ever making you feel like you were rambling too much or boring him to death, eyes focused on yours throughout the entirety of whatever gossip or story you felt like he should hear. He secretly enjoyed it a bit too much. Looking forward to your next encounters so he could hear a follow up of something stupid that was happening to someone’s cousin, just to hear your dramatic pauses and mocking interpretations of someone’s voice. He made sure to keep tabs on the names and events, because you always started with a ‘Do you remember-” and he relished the little gleam in your eyes when he repeated back what you told him when you last saw each other with astounding accuracy. 

On the good days, he’d gift you a story of his own. A little tale of his time in the military, sometimes about an operation or mission that he got assigned. Never too many details, just the gist and a little highlight, and you didn’t pry, feeling grateful enough that he felt comfortable to share anything at all. That, and the mysterious aura of his person actually suited the if-I-told-you-I’d-have-to-kill-you way he shared his own experiences with you. You collected them like pieces of the puzzle that made up Simon Riley, celebrating mentally when two distinct strands of information he gave you allowed you to pierce together a slightly fuller picture of who he was, what he liked and what he didn’t. 

He started going back to Manchester often after you two met. He didn’t have much else to go, frankly. His job was his life and when he wasn’t deployed, he felt quite lost in his own head, like it was unknown terrain that he didn’t have coordinates for or a clear strategy. His social life was an even bigger mess, a battlefield is easier to navigate than everyday life. When he was on duty people were blue or red, with him or against. But things got confusing once he didn’t wear a vest anymore and suddenly they were yellow, green, purple… The easy way out? Never strive for more than company. It’s what his body needed, the bare minimum of human connection required for the average person to somewhat function. At least that’s what he told himself. 

His friends – your friends – were people he could tolerate being around and that on rare occasions got a chuckle out of him. But they didn’t mind the mask or that he pretty much only spoke when spoken to. People tend to be a lot easier on those who underperform to their standards, not trying to steal away their spotlight. So he made a social life out of it, walking the noisy streets of his city and drinking bourbon in whatever bar the people he hung out with dragged him into. 

Until you.

You see, when Simon was a kid he found a cat once. Bone thin and wounded. It took a liking to him, to his bruised little hands and puppy eyes that watched the things around him curious and woefully. He found a semblance of comfort in petting the cat, letting it sit on his lap as it purred gently, basking in his warmth. He fed it for a while, gave it food and water as much as he could, given his own difficult circumstances. He watched it regain its strength ever-so-slightly, but even then, he never took it in. Never considered it a friend. Never even gave it a name. It was just a stray cat and he had time and patience, despite the world constantly giving him reasons not to have. Some time later he noticed the food and water were left untouched. Insects crawled on the makeshift bowl he had made out of discarded paper plates and empty tins. He didn’t go after it. Wasn’t his, never was. A few days later he found it on the street near the curb, mashed into the concrete, thick marks of wheels on top of it’s small body, crushed it to death, probably. A weird pang in his chest made him stumble back, the foul smell of rotting flesh filling his nostrils and no matter how long he washed his face after it never left his nose completely, constantly mocking him with the inevitable fate of every living being in existence had to face – the putrid reality of death. The sight before him that day ingrained itself into his young brain, creating roots around his mind and making sure he never forgot it. He couldn’t understand why it hurt that much, why things had to be that way and if he could have done things differently.

It was only years later, after a lot more experience and pain in his life that he finally understood the lesson he was taught that day. That you never start something you’re not ready to finish. He lived by that, built his career on it, his reputation. An operation with his name on it meant an operation carried out, clean, no loose ends. He guaranteed it. The mantra was easy to apply, easy to repeat, gave him comfort and helped him pick his battles right. Never bite more than he could chew, keep his feet on the ground. He repeated it everyday and it helped him improve, strive for more. Not that he was a perfectionist, no. He saw himself as more of a… highly dedicated individual. Committed to the results and the results alone.

He knew something was wrong with him when his mind wandered off to you in the middle of a briefing, or when he laid down in base, staring at the ceiling of his room. He thought about what you were probably doing, if you had any more stories to tell him. He found himself anxious to tell you stories. As he snipped down enemies and dropped down to knife others, a fleeting thought of “I have to tell her about this” made him stop dead in his tracks and physically shake off the alarm sirens that rang in his mind. Everything about you made his brain scream danger. Made him want to run away and close off. And yet, he found himself going back to Manchester, to you. Every. Single. Time.

When his gaze darted down to your reddish lips as you laughed at something he said, while he walked you home after a night out with your friends, and his hands softly brushed a strand of your hair out of your face, breath hitching as you melted into his touch, pressing your cheek further into his palm as you looked at him, fuck, so yearningly he nearly passed out, when you raised your small hands to his cheeks, a surgical black mask covering the bottom half of his face, and you batted your eyelashes at him in permission and he didn’t stop you as you pulled it to his nose and brought his lips to him in a kiss so tender and careful he felt sinless for a moment, that’s when he knew he was beyond the point of no return. 

You attached yourself to his life so seamlessly, so readily, he nearly missed it. He felt like you had always been there. In the early mornings when he woke up from nightmares or plagued by insomnia and he just watched you sleep soundly next to him, not a single wrinkle on your heavenly face as your dreams probably never ended up with you dead. In the afternoon when you danced around the house in only one of his t-shirts, practically a dress to you, and sang loudly, a big smile on your face when you noticed him watching you lovingly from the doorframe, pulling him to your living room as you urged him to join you, laughing at how he pretended to be annoyed at your antics, but he could barely hide the grin that filled his expression whenever you giggled around him, the sound being enough to wash away any worry out of his system and put him at ease. Simon felt his heart burst in euphoria whenever you as much as glanced at him, each touch lighting a fire in him that made him believe in a God just so he could pray for more of you. 

When Simon told you about the cat you cried. Sobbed into his shoulder until you felt dizzy. Not because of the cat itself, although that got into your feelings, but because he’d made a lesson out of it. Punished himself so deeply about something out of his control, had convinced himself so hard that it was his fault, couldn’t stand the guilt that ate him away from losing something that was precious to him when he was far too young to understand what it meant. It physically made your heart ache. The way he shaped his life around it, building walls upon walls until nothing could get in and he couldn’t get out, because it’s easy to avoid the fear of loss when you make it so you don’t have anything to lose. But he failed to realize that it also meant nothing to live for. How he made his life’s purpose to never fail again, beating himself up everytime it inevitably happened. 

His motto hadn't come from a place of efficiency, of a duty well carried. It came from hurt. From the desperation of having so much love to give and nothing to put it into. But he didn’t realize it. Not until you showed him. Not until he saw how you wore your heart on your sleeve, how you poured yourself into every single thing that you did. How everytime you kissed him you had starstruck eyes and a light scarlet tint to your cheeks. How when you made toast you took the time to rotate the pieces of bread slightly in the toaster so the grill marks would make a checkered pattern, simply because it brought you joy. How you always chose to buy the mugs that were chipped or slightly broken, because you said you’d be upset if no one wanted you just because you were slightly imperfect.

God, how far off were you.

To Simon you were perfect. From the tip of your toes to the last strand of hair on your head, to the brightest of your smiles and ugliest of cries when you had to bid him goodbye for another few months. He thought of you every single day, every second possible. He knew that if he lost you, it’d crush him. Irreparably so. Would tear him into pieces until he was just a shell of a man. And yet, he stayed. Dug his grave deeper with every kiss, every hug, every intimate moment you shared together as he felt you clench around him and could swear that he was in paradise. Because it was worth it. He learned that his previous mantra was slightly off, and fixed it into a new one. 

You don’t start things you wouldn’t risk yourself for. 

So he went out and did his job, because protecting people, his teammates, was worth the risk. And he went back to you, tired and sore, but he let you jump on him and squeeze him tightly, let you remove his mask with your delicate fingers, a sigh of relief escaping your lips every time before you got on your tippy toes to press your mouth into his. And he reveled in it. He let you see his face, his body, his soul. He let you see everything of him, the good and the bad. Ask whatever you want to know, take everything from him. He’d rip his heart right out his chest if you begged him once. Because he loved you. Painstakingly, deeply, with enough force to move mountains and start wars, and enough care to sweep the debris and tend to the wounded. Because, by God, loving you was worth the risk. 

For your anniversary you got him a cat. It was the first time you saw him weep. Truly weep. Tears staining his face as his bloodshot eyes rained down on to the carpet, broken whimpers falling from his trembling lips as he sunk to the ground in front of the brightly colored open box. You thought he didn’t want it, that maybe it was too much, too soon. But he assured you it was okay. That it was worth the risk. 

He named her after you.

A/N: This story has been stuck in my head for a few days now, as I often find myself lost in my thoughts, imagining how a man like Simon might love. Frankly, I like to think it'd be like this. Too deeply for his own good, but, personally, I think that's the best way.

Constructive criticism and feedback are always more than welcome! I hope you enjoyed reading~

[nbwriteschaos]

re: writing commissions.

---- my writing commissions are OPEN! all info can be found within this post or in this google doc. please dm for any inquiry or request!!

!!!fiction, nonfiction, original works, smut, etc!!!

1 thousand words ♡ $10 USD

2 thousand words ♡ $12 USD

3 thousand words ♡ $15 USD

4 thousand words ♡ $20 USD

5 thousand to 10 thousand words ♡ starts at $25 USD

---- all payments are processed through paypal only. payments must be submitted first before i begin the commission. refunds are not available but i will rewrite a commission if you are not satisfied :)

more below ...

(this may format a little funny as i'm copying and pasting some info from my doc, sorry!!)

-- as for pricing

((I do not accept negotiations as far as pricing! I’ve priced my commissions based on what I think my time and effort is worth while also maintaining affordability. There are to be NO REFUNDS.  If you are unsatisfied with the result of your commission I am open to rewriting it once more to ensure your satisfaction. All payments are accepted through Paypal. I am working on opening some sort of website to provide the best experience for commissions as well, but for now, Paypal and Tumblr are the best I’ve got. 

Please let it be noted that although I am an experienced writer, I do not have the qualifications of a professional published author. I am simply a person at their laptop trying to build a future career as a writer :)

You will not be charged if I go over your paid word count!!

Custom word counts between 5k and 10k will be charged based on how I see fit. **It will not go over $60 USD** ))

-- as for boundaries

i will write mostly anything. even if it seems a little questionable, i'll probably do it. for example:

a super sad angsty character death probably nobody but yourself would want to read, that one coffee shop/tattoo artist au you've been wanting to read but can't find on ao3, or like, idk, a fantasy involving d*bcon, f*rry, p*ssplay, whump/whumpee, mpr*g, terat*philia (monster fucking), obscure s*xual organs, g*re (ask me about this one if you are looking for smut involving g*re), v*yeurism, size differences, or other common k*nks.

i do request some sort of age verification if you are commissioning for smut.

strict NOs:

No extreme depictions of SH or s*icide. No animal a*use, death or g*re. Nothing depicting extreme homophobia or transphobia. No politics or opinion-based pieces of writing. No depictions of child or adult a*use of any kind. No extreme drug use. No underage, fe*derism, sc*t/f*rts/underarms/feet/sneezing, be*stiality, n*ncon, age pl*y/massive age difference, inc*st.

i have a right to deny any commission for any reason!

-- as for fandoms

I can and will attempt to write for any fandom I am not familiar with so long as there is enough info that has been provided for it!! However, I can’t guarantee it will be perfect. Here are fandoms I am familiar with and will write for: 

Anime/Cartoons: Genshin Impact, My Hero Academia, Tokyo Ghoul, Toilet Bound Hanako Kun, Fullmetal Alchemist, Death Note, Chainsaw Man, Spy x Family, Jujutsu Kaisen, My Melody, Free!!!, Haikyuu!!!, One Punch Man, Mob Psycho 100, Demon Slayer, Hunter x Hunter, JJBA, Black Butler, Bungou Stray Dogs, Yuri on Ice, Kakegurui, Attack on Titan, Noragami, Adventure Time, Steven Universe. Probably more, just ask! 

Books: The Raven Cycle, The Dreamer Trilogy, Simon Snow Trilogy, The Foxhole Court series. Monstrous Series. Anything more obscure check out my Goodreads profile!! 

I am 100% down to write your original characters and plots!! In fact, I encourage it! For maximum accuracy, please provide as much information as you can for each character, plot, setting, etc! 

if you have any other questions feel free to send a DM or an ask and i'll get back to you as soon as possible! you can also check out the doc to see if it is answered there!

if you read this far, please feel free to reblog just to spread the love. i'd really appreciate it! thank you!!!

[blue-aconite]

handwriting asks: 29, 32, 40

Handwriting Ask

[pryings]

TOA Anniversary Munday

thank you neffi for this template!!!

Celebrating TOA and the people who contribute to make our group what it is.

Repost, don't reblog. Only fill in what you feel comfortable sharing!

Happy anniversary, TOA! Here's to many more years spent together.

Name: ruaidhrí (said pretty much like the english name rory and if you want to spell it that way that's fine too, ik irish names throw people off)

Pronouns: he/him

Birthday (no year): 25th of october!

Where are you from? What is your time zone? i live in colorado and my timezone is MST

How long is your roleplay experience? i don't know exactly how many years since i sometimes have years where h don't rp but i've been rping on and off since i was 11-12.

How were you introduced to roleplaying as a whole? oh gosh, so ff.net used to have (maybe still has, i literally have not been on that site in ages) these like... forums? and i joined one for elder scrolls rp a little after oblivion came out. i was far and away the youngest one there but everyone was so nice in helping me turn my character into a proper oc with like... backstory, a real personality, etc. after that, i spent a lot of time using it to try and grow my creative writing skills.

How were you introduced to TOA? honestly i just stumbled across it randomly! i had just replayed a few fe games and was looking through some tags and thought it might be fun to try fire emblem rp (i'd done some on indie tumblr back in the day, as well as in an mfrp a little bit, but never fire emblem exclusive rp) so i sent arden to check it out and, well, here we still are.

Do you have any pets? simon (mini poodle), john hancock (tabby cat), and tim & geeb (fluffy black cats)

What is your favorite time of year and why? (Season, holiday, general period) early spring! i also like late fall for its temperature, but i dislike snow/sleet/wet socks so spring is preferable because it's not very snowy here!

What is your IRL occupation? blessedly unemployed (health issues have prevented me from working aha)... i used to work IT though!

Some interests and things you like/enjoy? i like birdwatching, reading academic articles about ancient civilizations, and making espresso drinks

What non-Fire Emblem games do you play? currently enjoying bg3 + doing a dragon age replay (in preparation for veilguard). outside current, i really like most single-player rpg type games (esp. with customizable character), stealth games (dishonored favorite), and Identity V is the first asymmetrical horror mobile game developed by NetEase for

Favorite Pokemon type & Pokemon: my favorite pokemon ever is alakazam (and its whole line) i've loved alakazam foreverrrrr! favorite type is steel, though! apart from my psychic baby most of my other favs tend to be steel types

Tell us some funfacts and trivia about yourself! oh gosh i'm so bad at fun facts...

- i can put both my feet behind my head but i can't touch my toes - my favorite non-ancient empire to read about is austria-hungary - my cat tim was rescued from Outside

How did you get into Fire Emblem? friend's cool older brother was playing a bunch of the games in a seemingly random order. when i'd hang out at that friend's house sometimes we'd sit and watch. i asked him to lend me some and he did!

What Fire Emblem games have you played? i have now played all of them! (last year when i answered this i hadn't technically played them all, but i'd seen playthroughs and watched let's plays of all of them at the very least)

First & Favorite Fire Emblem games: a bad translation of fe4 was first, por is still my favorite—but tbh there's not really one i dislike

List your 5 favorite Fire Emblem characters across the series! - KNOLL (promoted to number one he's my special guy) - reyson - canas - ashnard - pandreo

Who was the first character ever to make you go “ooh I like this one in particular” and why? Can be any context and reason! QUAN—i have such a distinct memory of seeing him come in but i don't remember my initial thought, only that he would have my heart forever

Any Fire Emblem crushes? 😳 vander. duessel. hardin.

If you’ve played (or are familiar with) the following games, who was your first S support? Who would you S support nowadays? - Awakening: first was sumia! i don't have a set nowadays because i've done a different one on each playthrough - Fates: first was xander, would probably still do xander if i were to replay - Three Houses: first was seteth, if i replay i'll go for hanneman - Engage: first was pandreo! next time i plan to do ivy though

Favorite Fire Emblem class? i like shapeshifter classes! beasts, dragons, laguz, etc. i just think they're fun to play with

If you were a Fire Emblem character, what would be your class and stats? Would you be playable? oh gosh, i'd be an infantry axe unit probably. middling starting stats but high growths if you really work at making me good (there would be heated debates over whether the necessary time investment would be worth it)

If you were a Three Houses character, what would be your affiliation? black eagles!

If you were an Officers Academy student, what would be your boons, banes and potential budding talent? axe boon, heavy armor bane, budding talent in faith magic (could be classed into an fe:a style war cleric and it would be my suggested goal)

If you were an Engage character, which nation would you originate from? i want to say brodia!

How do you pronounce TOA? 🤔 toh-ah

Current TOA muses: just knoll <3

Past TOA muses? robin, niles, almedha, reyson, hardin, iago, perceval, lachesis (i think that's all?)

Who was your first TOA muse? If you no longer have them, can you see yourself picking them up again? my first muse was m!robin and thankfully i am spared any temptation on picking him up as he is currently being written.

Do you believe you have a type of character you gravitate towards writing? (If you filled this out last year, has this changed in any way?) i'm kind of all over the place, aren't i? i like characters where i can poke at hidden depths but ones who aren't too closely guarded. i like characters who are shy, withdrawn, standoffish, guarded, etc. in some way but who open up when spoken to. i don't think this has changed since last year, i've been writing for a long time and kind of know my comfort zone.

Do you have characters or types of characters you don’t think you can handle writing, but wish you could? boisterous/loud and over the top characters always challenge me, but i've never really managed to make them work, which is a shame because i tend to enjoy lively characters!

What kind of scenes, situations etc do you believe you enjoy writing the most? (If you filled this out last year, has this changed in any way?) -i love writing threads where setting/scenery is a focus, where i get to sort of use the landscape as a bit more than set-dressing - i enjoy throwing my muse at characters who mistrust him for whatever reason, and like to explore the kind of slow, mutual understanding that comes from two people getting to know one another - i really just like putting him in situations in general, forcing him to socialize—he's a very withdrawn character so any excuse to have him meet new people is very enjoyable

Do you have any scenario in mind for your muse(s) that gets you thinking “man I hope I get to write this one day”? nothing specific! i have kind of an arc for him but it's loosely-defined right now

Favorite TOA-related memories? HAPPYLAND WAS SO MUCH FUN. sincerely i loved the interactions he had there <3

Present or past tense? i default to present, but adapt to what my partner prefers on this!

Normal size text, small text, no preference? small text, bolded dialogue. just easier for my eyes to take it in that way.

Got any potential muse delusions to share? 😉 oh gosh. i recently had to go down to just one muse because my health is not so good, but i will admit i already have a few delusions. if i can get myself back to a spot where i feel like i can write a second, someone may return.

[chaos-vulpix]

"1121" by Halsey is so Ghostsoap-coded in all its angsty glory. Like, "Bells in Santa Fe" & "Ya'aburnee" also give the vibe for these two as well, but "1121" really hits that desperation, that devotion, that despair.

The lyrics just scream of Ghost's love for Soap; how the Brit has never felt such feelings so strongly for anyone before until he fell for the Scot; how the Lieutenant is unwilling to accept the idea of ever losing his Sergeant; how Simon is willing to give Johnny his heart, the most fragile part of his very being, and how he'd break it himself to show how much he loves him.

The fact that song title is the numerical date for November 21st, and the final mission of MWIII, "Trojan Horse", takes place on November 21st is just sheer coincidence...

MWIII SPOILERS UNDER BREAK IF YOU STILL DON'T KNOW YET. NO SHAME IN THAT, BUT I DO ENVY YOU GUYS FOR NOT KNOWING

...and don't get me started on the lyric "Took one in the temple", because guess what happened to Soap!

"1121" may be about Halsey's love for her child, her surprise of being pregnant, and her fear of another miscarriage following many others. But for Ghost, it's his love for Soap ensnaring his very soul, fearing the inevitable day he'd lose him... and the despair of experiencing it on November 21st, his broken pieces barely held together by the rest of 141, a burning hatred growing within, compeling him to hunt down Makarov, even if it kills him & potentially sends Ghost to wherever Soap went next if he's lucky, or if Simon wonders if he even deserves to after everything he's done in his life...

...or, if you're more inclined to tell Activision to go fuck themselves, it could be Ghost holding a silent vigil in a dark hospital room, accompanied by the beeping sounds of medical machinery keeping his Scottish spitfire of a soulmate alive, his body battered & bruised, his sunshine dimmed, but still alive if barely by a sheer miracle, praying for the day his Sergeant wakes up sooner than theorized before he loses his mind...

...or maybe it's Simon, in the early morning hours, tracing his fingers across the scar on Johnny's head as they lay in the Lieutenant's bed. Simon, how needs the light breathes against his chest to remind him that Johnny still lives, that what happened in that tunnel was a nightmare they both woke up from. Simon, who reevaluates just how deeply in love he is, that he's even deeper than he thought, that he may have deeper to go still. Simon, who watches Johnny open his eyes slowly once more, another reminder of life still clinging to the Scot's flesh & bones, greeting him with his Scottish accent that he wants to hear forevermore until a more dignified end claims them both. Simon, who will soon get up after Johnny convinces him to stay in bed for longer, who gets dressed in his iconic dark garb & skull mask, who helps the rest of the 141 hunt down Makarov so he can put a bullet in the man's head for even thinking about killing his boyfriend. Simon, who returns to the same bed once the moon is high, finding bliss within two warm arms & a sun-tinged voice that reminds him of everything he's worth & more.

[clownboymcchucklefuck]

Colored Gaze Theory: Zachary Has a Mental Disorder.

WARNING: PLEASE DO NOT ROMANTICIZE ANY BEHAVIOR I TALK ABOUT IN THIS THEORY. IT IS NOT HEALTHY AND YOU SHOULD SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW SHOWS SYPMTOMS.

Theory begins under cut:

Does anybody else find it kind of strange that the dev is so open about Zachary being the "worst" LI and showing his bad side?

The whole point of Colored Gaze is to find out the LI's true "colors" and so far Seth and Simon haven't shown their true ones in tumblr/CC asks unless it's a little lore hint here and there. We all assume that Zachary is the most dangerous but what if it's the exact opposite? After all, Zachary is the only LI I couldn't see killing MC.

"Oh but Zachary's basically been the most of a bitch from what we have seen on the tumblr/cc so far!" But what if that's what the dev is trying to make us think just so that they can throw a curveball at us and catch us off guard? 

In a past theory I had mentioned that on the C.C that Zachary has depression, but I’m now realizing that it probably meant that Zachary needed to see a therapist and I’ve figured out why.

Zachary has Borderline Personality Disorder.

As crazy as I may sound, it actually makes a lot of sense. Lets also think about how it's been said that Zach’s parents were never really “involved” with his life so if he did show any symptoms of a mental disorder at a young age his parents never would have known and brushed it off.

Source:

“Zachary... hmmm.... despite having a 'perfectly' normal childhood with his parents supporting what he wants to do and capability to do pretty much anything... his parents weren't really super involved with him deeply. Like, they kind of lack major presence or never really had a deep connection with him, they're just 'child and parent'.”

Comparing Zachary’s behavior to BPD.

Symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder:

"Bold – Impulsivity is a BPD trait that can be positively linked to being bold, courageous and having the ability to speak one's mind. Creative – The high intensity of emotions can be released into creative endeavors. Many people with BPD put their entire emotional expression into music, art, performance and writing."

Now correct me if I’m wrong, (and I very well might be) but Zachary’s interest with photography could fit into the creative endeavors part.

He's also very bold with his flirting as we see in the demo whenever he kisses MC's hand within the first 3 minutes of knowing them.

"individuals with borderline personality disorders can also love intensely, although somewhat erratically and egocentrically."

“Relationship problems: People with BPD often have intense, tumultuous relationships with others. They may “fall hard” when they meet new people, putting them on pedestals. Their loved ones may describe them as overly needy or clingy.”

For some context for people that haven't listened to Zachary’s playlist; Most of the songs do include lyrics about a very strong love and loving intensely so I believe this fits him.

“Depending on symptom manifestations, both men and women diagnosed with BPD may experience promiscuity, impulsive sexual behavior, hypersexuality, or sex avoidance. These sexual changes may also affect the ability to maintain healthy and stable relationships.”

“One of the hallmarks of BPD is impulsivity, which can manifest as engaging in risky behaviors, including reckless sexual activity. Hypersexuality can be a coping mechanism for individuals with BPD as they try to fill an emotional void or deal with intense emotions.”

Now I think we all now that Zachary is a horny bastard which is what made me look into this being one of the symptoms of BPD in the first place. It could very much explain why he’s so horny. But it makes more sense when you understand that he somewhat cannot control feeling that way now that we know he’s not just being horny just to be horny but it's because he’s more than likely hypersexual.

“Romantic fantasization is a common feature of borderline personality disorder (BPD). The unpredictable emotional state associated with borderline personality disorder can cause confusing fluctuations in how borderlines view their romantic partners.”

This could also explain a lot of things about Zachary like why he wants kids with MC so badly, why he’s so “persistent” about being with/marrying MC. 

I also found another article basically talking about why some people are attracted to people with BPD and I’m going to put another disclaimer that this type of behavior is not healthy. I am not encouraging or romanticizing it so please don’t either.

“They're easily seduced by the borderline's extreme openness, charm, and vulnerability. In addition, the borderline's passion and intense emotions are enlivening to non-BPDs, who find being alone depressing or “healthy” people boring.”

“A person with impulsive borderline personality disorder often displays the following signs and symptoms of the subtype: Flirtatious with others, sometimes without even realizing it. Captivating, able to act with a natural magnetism. Elusive and mercurial.”

Correct me if I’m wrong but this somewhat explains Zachary to a T. Albeit he only flirts with MC but it has been said that even when he was in school and on valentines day he would get alot of cards and gifts and such because of how he attracted people. I’m pretty sure in past posts its mentioned that Zachary has a “charm” too, along with his parents raising him to be a gentleman. I’ve talked about how him being raised that way may have affected him in a past theory/shitpost too which I will put here:

Me: Zachary probably has years of repressed sexual desire because of how he was raised to be gentlemen and thats why he's such a freak (horny) all the time and I can only imagine how the standards he had to meet of being a "gentleman" affected him mentally considering its been stated that Zachary hasn't felt love before MC and that he himself probably holds himself up to impossibly high standards which in way is shown by him being a perfectionist and thats probably why he's depressed-

My friend who just asked if I wanted a pringle: wtf

This changes everything. We’ve always assumed that Zachary is the yandere because of his behavior that the dev is suspiciously open about. Zachary isn't the yandere, he is mentally ill.

Once again I just find it very suspicious that it's so obvious that Zachary is the "yandere". There's also a song on Zachary's playlist called Borderline too which is what made me think about this in the first place.

There's also a couple other disorders I could tie to Zachary too.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder [OCD]

Obsessive Love Disorder

Now the second one has only recently been recognized as a mental disorder by professionals so I doubt it may be OLD. (hehehehe get it? Cause Zachary's old- I’ll shut up now.)

Now somebody brought up Zachary possibly OCD to me because of how clean he is and how he wants everything to go his way. However, the "wanting everything to go his way." Could also tie into him having BPD and the cleaning part I have to remind them that OCD doesn't stand for Obsessive Cleaning Disorder smh.

Now this post is already long af so I'm going to stop it right here. I've tried to provide as much sources as I could so that people won't be asking clrdgaze blog where I got it from. (Smh guys just ask me, I swear I don't bite and I love asks. 😭) Thank you for reading my unhinged rambling and have a nice day. ♡

[Reblogs are greatly appreciated too!]

_________________________

Zachary belongs to @clrdgaze

@dont-wannadothis-anymore @mysticnebula

[i-have-not-slept]

omg highschool au where instead of all meeting bc of demons and shit (i actually have no clue what happened i blocked out the real plot im just here for the silly anime guy and the dorky bitch arguing) but like there in highschool right and theyre all theatre kids because of fucking course they are you read how dramatic those little shitheads are TELL ME THIS ISNT THE THEATRE KID NICHE THEY WOULD BE

clary: soprano lead who has been training her whole life to get this specific role

jace: auditioned as a joke and can kinda~ sing santa fe

clace showmance. 😖

magnus: agressively condescending mini director who got townsperson #4 and is PISSED and takes it out on EVERYONE

“excuse me. you have to SIGH there. its in the script.” “well thats a… choice.” “if I was the lead this wouldnt HAPPEN.”

alec: the best supporting role EVER like he puts his heart and SOULLL into playing the main characters best friend (he got asked if hes ever done professional theatre by 4 people after opening night) is never beating the gay theatre kid allegations

izzy: the most intense choreographer ever. couldn’t give less of a shit about the show, is just REALLY passionate about dance; is only doing the show because the dance team coach got pregnant and they havent been able to practice. will cuss you out if you cant body roll right.

simon: tries out for every show and never gets a role but he did get front role seats for every show of the week and brought his whole family + the band because he loves them so much (hes a shit actor and got used to the rejection)

YOUR MIND. They would all be so chaotic together, magnus being so overdramatic, simon being supportive, CLACE SHOWMANCE gay theatre kid alec and izzy choreography this is so good