#fic: forever is the sweetest con

[becausebuckley]

tidbit tuesday!

both @spotsandsocks and @smilingbuckley tagged me and wrote some lovely bits for this <3 here's a little snippet from a marriage of convenience au i started the other day! i'm really leaning into the idiots in love tag here hehe, but i'm loving working on it! tagging @playinginthunderstorms @serenelystrange @kejfeblintz @unlifeira @inell and anyone else who wants to join in!!

“You know, I always thought that if I got married, the first thing I’d do would be changing my name,” Buck says, as they’re standing in front of the officiant. He’s not even sure why he says it, really, but it’s probably because he thought I wonder if she’ll say that we should kiss and promptly decided that any other train of thought would be safer to acknowledge, really.

“Yeah?” Eddie cocks his head and looks at him. 

Somewhere behind them, Ravi sucks loudly on the straw of the iced coffee he made Buck buy him. He added two extra shots of espresso and every single fruit syrup the cafe offered. He’s calling it the adult version of a Capri Sun. Personally, Buck thought that would include alcohol and not two times as much caffeine as a single adult should consume in a day, but he decided not to ask. He’s a little afraid of getting Ravi’s coffee all over his nice white shirt.

Buck shrugs.

“I guess I don’t really like being a Buckley. I mean, Buck is part of that, but I chose that, you know? I kept the good parts. But the only Buckley I like is Maddie, and she’s a Han now, so. There’s not much to keep a connection to.”

“You could do it.”

“What?” 

“Change your name.” Eddie swallows. He looks a little flustered. It’s probably warm in here. Buck’s feeling a little flushed too. And a little nauseous, actually. It’s like there’s butterflies in his stomach or something. Maybe that breakfast burrito isn’t landing well. Yeah, that must be it.

“You could be a Diaz.”

[hairmetal666]

How could he have been so stupid? Falling for all Steve’s shit, putting himself in the position to be caught. There’s no way Harrington told the truth about himself, what purpose did a guy that rich have being a con artist? And he’s sure it was a lie, not caring who Eddie targeted if it wasn’t the Harringtons.

He needs to run. Now.

He's throwing clothes into duffle bags, heedless of wrinkles or care, just knowing he has to get out, when his brain finally starts making some important connections. Like, for example, that he investigated Steve Harrington before coming to Indy. Steve Harrington who was sent to boarding school in Europe and hadn’t bothered coming back to the states ever. Steve Harrington who didn’t have a social media presence.

Now that he knows Steve, it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing about Steve Harrington says fancy boarding school educated urbane European man. He’s basically a jock. A party boy.

Eddie yanks his phone from his jean pocket, quickly navigating to Google and searching “Steve Harrington.” They populate in a perfect row: Steve Harrington on Twitter, Instagram, TikTok.

Instagram is the one he opens, easiest to verify it does belong to the Steve Harrington. The most recent pic was posted 4 hours ago, a mirror selfie of Steve doing his hair in an opulent bathroom, geo tagged to Indianapolis, IN.

Eddie sinks down on the edge of the bed, checking each account.

There are years of content on each, no large gaps in posting to indicate the accounts were fakes or ruses. He goes back and back and back, until he hits the first post on every account. The oldest posts are only from four years ago—well after Steve would have graduated high school—but they’re definitely from in the states. Chicago if he had to guess.

It doesn’t tell Eddie much, but he’s certain of a few things: Steve hadn’t stayed in Europe, and after scouring picture and post and video, he’s seriously doubting that Steve ever attended boarding school at all. 

Chapter 8 of Forever is the Sweetest Con out now!

[angelo-the-angel]

RP ACCOUNT

Hello lovelies! My name is Angelo! I’m an angel who replaced Aziraphale as Principality on Earth. I own an instrument shop in Soho. I’ve been on Earth since Old Testament Times. This has definitely been my favorite century so far.

He/They

Asexual

Tend to dress androgynously

<3

//

Hi! I’m the creator behind the account. Call me Allonsy! My main account is @allonsy-moony. This is my Good Omens OC, used in the Ao3 fic Forever Is The Sweetest Con that I write with my friend @tastelessleather

Feel free to ask Angelo questions, DM him (appropriately), and give him comments! This is just for fun, so have fun with it!

[stilin-ski]

forever is the sweetest con: chapter one

Chapter One: Genesis

A/N: hello there. glad to have you. I've got this posted on Ao3 already, but I've decided to crosspost here. Here we go.

Summary:

If asked now, he’d see it clearly. Where it started, how it started, and why. It all comes back to Tobias Hankel.

OR

Hotch/Reid through the years and what happens when things are left unsaid.

~000~

If asked now, he’d say it was obvious. Where things were going- where they’d always been going since that day in February, when the sharp chill of the Georgia air hardly touched the team when compared to the way fear turned their blood to ice in their veins.

In Aaron Hotchner’s veins, when the call came in.

JJ was gone, no one could reach her.

And Reid- Spencer- was gone, still, when they did eventually find her.

If asked now, he’d see it clearly. Where it started, how it started, and why.

It all comes back to Tobias Hankel.

“I choose-” He watched on in desperate fear, eyes never leaving the screen. He couldn’t bring himself to move, to look away, to close his eyes when he knew any second how that trigger could be pulled and Spencer Reid would disappear in front of him. “I choose Aaron Hotchner.”

All eyes turned to him, but he remained frozen. He heard the sharp intake of breath from his left, felt JJ’s eyes slide over his expression. His face remained neutral, schooled thanks to years in this role. He, despite what Reid might say, had the best poker face of them all.

“He’s a classic narcissist.” Hotch watched intently as Reid continued, looking for any slight of hand, any tell Reid could be giving. It was a message, and he knew that. He just needed the cipher. Come on, Reid, he thought. I need more than that. You’ve got to give me more than that.

“He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4-” He burned the words into his memory. He needed to remember that, he knew it. He knew Reid. “Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, falseness, vanity, and futility. For these shall be his recompense-”

Thank you, Reid, his eyes finally, finally slid shut as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Thank you.

He turned on his heel, exiting the room. Out in the living room of that old, dank house, Hotch retrieved the bible left on the side table.

“I’m not a narcissist-” He started, ready to start translating Reid’s message.

“Come on, Aaron, you can’t take anything he said personally-”

“No, Gideon, stop, stop-” He snapped, frustrated. That’s not the point, how do you not get it? His mind raced, and he briefly wondered if this was how Reid felt every moment of the day. “Everybody right now, what’s my worst quality?”

The team stared at him blankly, and the wild streak of anger and impatience he worked so hard to control flared again. That’s not the fucking point, he wanted to scream at them. It’s right in front of you and you’re all missing it. “Stop worrying about hurting my fucking feelings- tell me, now. My worst quality. I’ll start. I have no sense of humor. Prentiss?”

“You trust men more than women.”

“Okay, JJ?”

“You’re a bully.”

“Alright, I’m a bully. Morgan, go.”

“You can be a drill sergeant sometimes.”

“Good, I’m all of those things,” And he was, he wasn’t blind to his own faults. Everything they had said was true, but- “Yet, none of you said I put myself above the team because I don’t. Ever.” Still, they didn’t get it, and he groaned in frustration. “Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism on the way here. He knew that I would remember that.”

“Hotch, we know you’re not a narcissist, man-”

“That’s not the point.” He finally snapped. “That’s not the fucking point, listen-” He looked up and finally, finally, he had their attention. “He quoted it wrong. Genesis chapter 23, verse 4, look-” He lifted the scripture into the light and read the correct quotation aloud. “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you, give me property for a burial place among you, that I might bury my dead out of my sight.” It registered with Gideon first, and Aaron could breathe a bit easier. “He wouldn’t get it wrong unless it was on purpose.” He insisted, holding eye contact. “He wouldn’t.”

“He’s in a cemetery.” Morgan muttered, and now Hotch could take a real breath.

The rest moved quickly. He did it, he found Reid, they were there and he just had to find where in the cemetery-

Then the shot rang out from just over the hill Aaron’s own two feet were standing on, and everything slowed down again as he ran towards it. “Reid!” He shouted. “Spencer!”

Not like this. Please, just not like this.

“Hotch?!” He doesn’t remember getting there. He doesn’t remember his path from the top of the hill down to the bottom, or who was following in his wake. He just remembers the relief flooding his chest as he pulled Spencer Reid off the earth and into his arms.

“You okay?” He muttered, one hand wrapped firmly around Reid’s waist while the other cradled his head.

“I knew you’d understand.” Spencer choked on a sob and tightened his hold, tears staining the collar of Hotch’s shirt. “I knew you’d understand.”

And so it began.

[paperstorm]

Missing Moments

Season Three

A series of canon compliant tags and a continuing storyline that follows along with the show but digs deeper into TK and Carlos’s relationship, their individual struggles, and the love they build together.

Find links to individual stories below, or read the whole collection at the link above.

3x1 - Imperfect pieces pulling at the glue (T)

3x2 - Up in smoke (E)

3x3 - Wayfaring stranger (T)

3x4 - Homeward bound (T)

3x5 - Reconstruction (M)

3x6 - All these sacred melodies (E)

3x7 - Everest to Mariana (E)

3x8 - "You have one new message..." (M)

3x9 - Cracks begin to show (T)

3x10 - Push and pull (M)

3x11 - Where the rain won't hurt (E)

3x12 - Losing streak (T)

3x13 - Heard the risk is drowning (M)

3x14 - Live in the layers (T)

3x15 - Switch (E)

3x16 - Everything and every dream (E)

3x17 - Move into the new (E)

3x18 - Forever is the sweetest con (T)

season one fics season two fics

[boldlyvoid]

Boldlyvoid fics set in the fall masterlist

Spencer Reid x reader:

Hypothetically -- 89k | reader and Spencer were friends in kindergarten, she watched him grow up and explore the world while she was still trying to catch up to him. now that they work together, they fall in love incredibly fast.

friends to lovers, case-of-the-week style story

State of Grace -- 26k | While trying to find herself after college, Y/N moves in with her aunt in D.C for a while. Falling in love with the city, her aunt’s job and the cute co-worker she’s heard so much about

Redamancy -- 5.4k | The co-op librarian at the FBI Academy has been secretly crushing on the smartest agent in the Bureau, TA, Doctor Spencer Reid, and he’s been crushing on her too.

New Romantics -- 23k | She needs help studying for her Case Exercises at the Academy, He needs a date for the annual Banquet… they just so happen to be neighbours who aren’t afraid to lend a helping hand, or in this case, a helping kiss.

Don't Let Me Go -- 6.4k | Reader comes home for her moms funeral and ends up falling for her dad’s co-worker

Red Alert -- 2.7K | For the 55th Anniversary of Star Trek (sep 8), the local bar is hosting a Pon Farr night…

Chip Taylor x Reader:

Forever is the Sweetest Con -- 6.2k | Reader’s dad is a carpenter; sometimes he takes on apprentices and sometimes, if they’re lucky, they get his daughter’s number at the end of their training. Chip Taylor, however, hits the jackpot when her father invites him over for one of her homecooked meals.

Spencer Reid stand-alone fic:

Found Family -- 3.4k | Henry’s best friend, Taylor, is struggling to take care of her mother’s schizophrenia, Spencer knows exactly how to help and it’s by getting her out of that environment while her mother gets help.

Halloween Fics:

Spencer Reid x reader:

Hallo-ween -- 4.1k | Reader has had a crush on him for the last 9 weeks of her semester, but on Halloween night she finally has the courage to walk up to him at the local bar and offer to go home with him

The Reidd Family -- 4k | For Spencer’s 40th birthday his wife and kids want to have a costume Halloween party

Raymond x Reader:

Alone Together -- 2.4k | Raymond moves into a haunted house and ends up sleeping with the ghost who lives there… only he doesn’t know that when you fuck a ghost you also become one.

Spector Spooktacular -- 1.6k | for their first anniversary, Raymond takes his girlfriend to a cemetery for a Halloween picnic… having dinner while giving the spirits a show

Franklin x Reader:

Trick or Treat -- 3.1k | Franklin and Reader are paired up for costume bowling as their costumes accidentally match. she’s a sexy cheerleader, and he’s a 70’s porn star… they spend most of the game teasing each other instead of trying to win

Chip Taylor x Reader

Rater R for Revenge -- 6.7k (murder tw) | Chip’s new neighbour doesn’t answer to her name… he remembers settling into a new town with a new name and no friends, so he helps her settle in. learning about her abusive husband, the reason she’s on the run and falling in love with her in the meantime. he loves her so much he can’t imagine someone ever hurting her and getting to live freely, so they plan to murder him.

Wes x Reader:

House Calls -- 2.5K | Wes asks his receptionist if she’s coming to the building’s Halloween party, letting it slip that he just wants to spend time with her outside of work.

[marknee]

Hii, came after some recommendationsss

hi my gorgeous, i said i would n i got you!!! these r a mix of ao3 and tumblr, so i hope that’s ok!! i am a bit scrambled n all over the place as i’m everywhere n always looking for those special fics to recommend people. anyways!! i hope you enjoy these as much as i did!!

fourth of july - @jrrmint (ao3)

dad’s best friend, joel is so… yummy. like always.

texas sun - @from-the-clouds

neighbours!au, use of drugs, weak in my knees man.

lavender - @justagalwhowrites

my fav joel fic to ever exist. EVER. n it’s gon be yours.

seeking what is desirable - @encasedinobsidian

don’t even get me started. i just. yes. read it.

forever is the sweetest con - @sistersadeyes

i wish i could read this for the first time again. sigh.

your summer dream - @swiftispunk13

OH MY GODDDDDD. licks fingers. delicious!!!!!

too sweet - @mrsmando

i’d rather take my whiskey neaaaaat!

woman - @dancingtotuyo

takes a drag. yuuuuhhhhh. this is what joel is all abt.

snowbound - @joeloverture

my nightly sleep daydream scenario. I LOVE LOVE!

swelter - @notjustjavierpena

i can’t even blame her. i would do the same thing.

elementary - @guess-my-next-obsession

haven’t stopped thinking about it. so so so so good.

here is the masterlist to @justagalwhowrites . her depiction of joel is.. literally insanely perfect and how i have n will always imagine him to be. i was also going to link @macfrog’s but i saw you’d already read a majority of their works (good choice!) - their joel is also insanely accurate (re: to me).

i am obsessed w all these authors n so grateful to have had the privilege to read their works!!!! enjoy!!

[lucy4242564]

Masterlist

Most of these are all going to be fanfictions moved from my ao3! My ao3 is usually more updated with fics, but I’m trying to adjust to tumblr formatting as well!

I’m open to x reader requests and am willing to explore most topics, as long as you’re patient with me!

When I fixate on a character I tend to only write for that character as my writing flourishes better that way!

Currently only writing for Daryl Dixon.

🌶️ smut 🤎heavy topics

Daryl Dixon

x original female character

.cowboy like me. Complete

twd prequel circa 2004

~forever is the sweetest con~

Lilah Cabot was excited to spend the summer in Georgia with her best friend before she started college in the fall. Becoming familiar with a new area before it became a semi-permanent home.

In any other circumstance she would’ve never paid a second glance at him. Meeting a man that undeniably read her better than she read herself was nothing she was expecting though. Then again..

~takes one to know one~

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3🌶️

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6🌶️

Chapter 7

Chapter 8🌶️

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11🤎

Chapter 12

Chapter 13🌶️

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

And they were roommates one shot sequel to .CLM.

Lilah Cabbot had all but deserted her past life and started anew as an unofficial member of the Grimes family. She had the intentions of becoming best friends with Lori and explore the female companionship she craved. Just like fate had taken control of her last relationship though, it conquered her new one as well.

One shot

damn shawty…we both not okay

.CLM./atwr sequel/seasons 1-3

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

[daycourtofficial]

Daycourtofficial’s 1k Celebration Masterlist 🍾

A week of a different genre fic every day!

Date: Week of March 11, 2024

*this will be updated as things change/are requested

Day 1: Fluff - It’s so quiet in the world tonight (Lucien x reader)

Summary: You and Lucien are having a quiet night at home, soaking in the peace, discussing how things will change when your baby arrives.

Day 2: Angst with no happy ending - You’re losing me (Azriel x reader)

Summary: Azriel has always put his duties as spymaster above his own needs and wants. How long can you let him keep putting work over you before boiling over?

Day 3: Hurt/comfort - I am ash from your fire (Eris x reader)

Summary: Surprising Eris one evening, you’ve turned up in the dead of night to let him know that your brother had figured out your secret relationship, offering you an ultimatum.

Day 4: Angst - My love should be celebrated (Nesta x reader)

Summary: Despite your best efforts, Nesta continues to push you away. All you’re trying to do is help her, but her self-hatred is all consuming, causing her to lash out at those that try to get too close.

Day 5: Smut - I pretend you’re mine all the damn time (Azriel x reader)

Summary: on a mission Azriel ingests the powder from an experimental breeding program. you offer to help him release, forcing Azriel to confront his feelings for you

Day 6: Angst with happy ending - Forever is the sweetest con (Cassian x reader, Azriel x reader)

Summary: the war with Hybern claimed the life of your husband. Reeling with grief, you discover that you’re pregnant. His brother and your friend, Azriel, begins spending more and more time with you, finding solace in each other amidst your shared grief.

Day 7: Angst with happy ending - Come back, be here (Azriel x reader)

Summary: It’s the anniversary of your mating bond ceremony and despite his reassurances, Azriel is nowhere to be seen. He shows up to your home hours after the fact.

[kaznejis]

Forever is the sweetest con- Dutch Van Der Linde x Reader

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalised words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face. His name. The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope's front gate.

A/N: Hi! I actually wrote and posted this to AO3 YEARS ago, but after a recent replay of RDR2 I decided to fix up some mistakes in this fic and post it on here! I hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 9287 / Read it on AO3!

NOTORIOUS BAD MAN ALIVE —--------------------------------------------

A dispatch from Tall Trees reports a sighting of infamous outlaw Dutch Van Der Linde, who has been on a bloody run from the law for many years now. The notorious Dutch’s Boys gang once plagued this state, but it was believed to have disbanded as long ago as 1899. Two of his henchmen - Hosea Matthews and Arthur Morgan - were both killed in separate raids by Pinkerton agents that same year. Gang members Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, John Marston, and Charles Smith are still believed to be at large. But most notably, Dutch’s supposed lover - rumored to have allied with the opposing powers during the gang’s infamous civil war - Y/N L/N has been seen haunting our states, donning bounty hunter wear. Will our young outlaw-turned-heroine be the one to finally end Van Der Linde’s tyranny?

Either way, law enforcement have pledged to continue searching for Van Der Linde, who still has one of the largest bounties on his head for kill or capture.

-

Eventually, the hands that were once calloused from gun slinging and knife wielding grew used to the arduous task of milking Betsy, Beecher's Hope’s famed prize cow- tuning to the rhythm of milking a cow that only really took a liking to the young Jack Marston. Swiping a palm through the mounting sweat on your forehead, you glared at the cow as it huffed.

“I hate this as much as you do, honey,” You turned slightly to retrieve the second bucket to be filled, “But we all want to eat, so you’re going to give me every last drop of that milk of yours.”

The cow’s ears merely twitched, the animal equivalent to a relenting eye roll.

You gave one right back.

“You tell her.” Abigail chuckled from behind you, pacing forward to lean against Betsy’s stall, “I’m not surprised John has you down here today, Ol’ Missy here tried to feed him a hoof at the slightest sign that he was about to milk her.”

You snorted, an image of John’s hat flying from his head and into the neighboring stall entering your mind, “She’s just stubborn is all, she’ll like me more than Jack soon, you’ll see.”

“I don’t doubt it,” She laughed, easing the weight of one of the buckets brimming with milk as you stood, ”Hey, walk back to the house with me. John said he has something to show you.”

“Oh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, a thick feeling began to lodge in your throat. The cautiousness of years on the run still lingering despite the secure life you now lived. “Any idea what it was?”

She shrugged, “He refused to tell me so probably some bounty hunting stuff. The silly man.”

You nodded; calming yourself as you deposited the contents of the bucket into a jug. You were safe, things had been relatively safe since you’d stumbled into the last remnants of the gang in the Blackwater Saloon. You had entered the building desperate for a comfortable bed and a hot meal- only to leave brimming with whiskey and laughter, a permanent room available to you mere minutes from your original destination. You had stared up at the stars that night, laying in the comfortable night time breeze upon the house’s deck as Rufus had snuffled at your hands, excited at the premise of a new friend.

Fatigue rotted the depths of your being, having followed the cold trail of Micah Bell for the better part of eight years. You had vowed that fateful night, as he forced you to point a gun at the only man you had and would ever truly love, that you would kill him. Globs of spit and blood flickered from your mouth as you had fled upon your steed, screaming likewise threats of revenge and murder as he had hunted you- the red of his vest merging with the rage in his eyes.

Micah had always wanted you dead.

You had been an obstacle before his beloved leader, the gem in the notorious Dutch Van Der Linde’s eyes. His sweet, his darling, his largest weakness.

The O’Driscolls had known it, the Pinkertons had known it and Micah Bell had known it.

His hackles raised everytime you neared, steering Dutch away in order to discuss his new “plan”. It had grown severe in Beaver Hollow, the drapes of Dutch’s once-welcoming tent consistently closed as he drowned within his own mind. You had moved into Tilly’s tent, terrified of Dutch’s inherent darkness breaching your own soul even despite the love you felt for him.

Micah had pounced then- Dutch’s last flicker of lightness being efficiently snuffed out. His once dormant toxicities were pampered and brought to life; riches and Micah became the forefront of his racing thoughts. You were simply lost in the tide.

“Now that I come to think of it,” Abigail placed her jug into the cart and spun to face you, “John looked like he was holding a newspaper of some sort- I think there was something of interest in it.”

Squinting, you turned to face the house- sure enough, John was sitting upon the front steps; a newspaper open within his hands. His face uncharacteristically devoid of emotion, “I’ll head over to him now, thanks Abigail.”

You spared a wave as you both went your separate ways, meeting eyes with John as he somberly raised his eyes, “Who died?” You joked, standing before him with your hands on your hips, “You look like you’re preparing to draw.”

John only swallowed, his jaw tightening as he looked away- almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes.

“John?”

“I think you’ll need to sit down, Y/N.” You quickly obliged, the scratch of his accent carrying a sorrowful timber; rougher than ever. lowering yourself beside him and wringing your hands together- the previous dread now returned at a higher fervor, taking residence within the pit of your stomach.

“What’s going on?”

John finally turned to you, his eyes filled with a dangerous mix of pity and anger, “I’m so sorry Y/N, I knew I shouldn’t have bought this place. I really should have looked into the area first.” he stood suddenly, his boots scuffing against the gravel as scrubbed at his face. Almost as if he was punishing himself for his supposed mistake.

“John?” You guffawed, straightening in your seat as you gaped at him, “What are you talking about? We’ve been over this, this is the perfect place for your family. It’s where Abigail wanted to be!”

The gravity of the situation weighed upon your conscience suddenly, John hadn’t been this stressed in months- having left the life of an outlaw to become an established father and farm handler. Whilst the weight of his past did prevail, the future had not previously posed any issue.

John nodded somberly, his eyes fixing upon a huddle of trees in the too-near distance.

“You know what happens in Tall Trees, don’t you?” You nodded and turned towards the trees yourself, urging him to continue. You’d had many runs in with the Skinner Brothers since moving in. “It’s filled with dangerous people, a fugitive paradise for people who are still like how we used to be.”

He stopped then, looking down to the newspaper within his hands. You noted that it was heavily crumpled, as if he’d been about to tear it up though decided against it at the last second, “You need to read this for yourself, I think.”

“Okay.” You spoke tentatively, peeling the newspaper from his hands as he gripped it reluctantly- as if to protect you from what you were about to read. You loved that about John, always willing to take the brunt at his own expense in order to protect the ones he loved. A trait carried from Arthur, you thought, stealing a look at the worn hat upon John’s head.

You looked away, the pain of loss forever present at the back of your mind. It lingered like a festering wound- oozing and growing at the merest memory of the pain. Arthur had given up everything for the safety of the remnants of the group; sometimes you wondered if it should have been you.

Turning your gaze to the paper, your eyes instantly zoned in on a particular collection of capitalized words. Your breath stuttered in your throat, lodging itself there as you felt John’s mournful gaze burning into the side of your face.

His name.

The notorious reputation that followed him no matter how far he ran was proceeding him, though it appeared that he hadn’t run far this time. Dutch Van Der Linde was in Tall Trees- the same patch of forest located only a short ride from the Beecher’s Hope front gate.

-

“So, to dismiss the elephant in the room, are you going to hunt the bastard down?”

“Sadie!” Abigail choked, glaring at the woman across from her- having just barely managed to coax you out of your room and into a seat at the dinner table.The news had left you partially catatonic- a haze feeding into your limbs as you had fled from John, curling up against the wall of your room until the cool glaze of Abigail’s palm had rubbed your shoulder. The usual buzzing cacophony of sound during dinner had become a mournful silence prior to Sadie’s announcement; each member treading on eggshells around you. Even Jack had barely spoken, having heard scattered tales of the time of the Van Der Linde gang, much to Abigail’s disapproval.

“What?” Sadie shook her head, stabbing a lump of beef with her fork threateningly. “The only reason I’m not already knee deep in those woods is for Y/N,” she turned to you then, her blonde plait glowing in the evening tint, “It’s your call hun. If anyone other than me had taken action against those damn O’Driscolls in Jake’s name; I’d never have forgiven ‘em.”

Abigail nodded in agreement, placing a hand beside your plate barely skimming your fingers, “We will support you in whatever you do Y/N.”

A scoff sounded from the end of the table, Uncle spat crumbs across the table as he spoke, mouth filled with stew, “I say we kill the bastard, especially if he’s allied with those wretched Skinner Brothers.”

The group stayed silent at that- all too aware of the extent of Uncle’s horrific injuries. You or Charles would regularly return from a hunt with ointment, to which Abigail would apply to Uncle’s injuries; her hums attempting to drown out his screams and cries. But nothing could amount to the nightmares that Uncle endured- reliving the torture he endured night after night. His alcohol dependency had only seemed to worsen. Not taking action against a Skinner-allied Dutch would only feel like betrayal.

John was the first to speak up, taking on the authoritative tone he seemed to muster during severe circumstances, “Either way, we need to decide what we’re doing fast.” John spoke, ever the strategic, “No matter the connections we used to have with Dutch, he’s going to be as unpredictable as ever. He cannot be trusted, not so close to Jack.”

“He could be here for us.” Charles regarded the matter for the first time, his deep baritone carrying a rougher tone, “It’s too much of a coincidence that he’s here so soon after you properly settled down.”

The sound of your spoon dropping filled the silence that followed, everyone turned as you placed your head into your hands- grinding your palms into the tears that filled your eyes, “I’ve gone so long.”

“Y/N it’s okay-”

“I’ve gone so long,” You repeated, dribbles of snot clouding upon your upper lip, “'I've been able to forget about him. All these years, I’ve been able to focus on other things-” A sob escaped from your lips as you refused to meet the sympathetic eyes surrounding you. “Why did he have to do this now?”

You broke down then, folding into Abigail’s embrace as she stroked your hair, coaxing the pained cries out of you. “Why don’t we run you a bath? A hot bath and a good nights’ sleep will do your mind some good.”

Nodding slowly, you wiped your face without a care towards the stains that would now grace your sleeves. Abigail led you towards the comfort of the chair before the fireplace as Charles jogged ahead to prepare you a bath- promising to add an array of the herbs he had recently discovered to be of abundance in the area. The joy you had felt during previous dinners had been long abandoned.

-

When the bathwater had long gone still and cold, the longer-lasting bubbles floating alongside the waves traced upon the water- the memories finally set themselves free, the tranquility of the soak loosening the long-secured walls within your mind.

The days spent leading up to the initial heist in a camp not far from your own, long morning’s tucked up in animal furs and Dutch’s arms as the Blackwater heat and assurance of soon-to-come-riches washed over you. The subsequent plight, Dutch’s eyes constantly swiveling back towards you from his wagon as you had chosen to ride upon your own horse; the way he had protested against this decision, digging his heels in even despite the fangs of the law snapping at them mere minutes away. Your safety being his first priority.

You had shut him out during the short stay at Colter- furious that he had prioritized you before his duties as the leader of the gang. Furious that he had put you before young Jack, the other women, the wide span of injuries slowing the gang to a desperate stagger. But no, he had snapped at you; waving desperately towards the wagon the last of the women were piling into as you shook your head- tightening your horse’s reins. He had cast your wrist into his iron grip then, his eyes hard and swarming with anger; a mirror image to the swaths of the law’s blood coating his shirt sleeves. The blood of an innocent woman.

With shaking limbs, you had snatched your hand away and mounted before kicking your horse into a gallop, following the others who had already enacted their hasty departure.

With only mere seconds free to himself during those cold days, Dutch had tried- he’d stared determinedly at you during every speech and attempted to corner you at every given moment. You had successfully evaded his advances every time, opting to escape into the mounting snow outside of your cabin in opposition to being with a man you weren’t sure you could trust anymore. It was Arthur who successfully infiltrated your movement, joining you at one of the scarce campfires the gang had managed to light.

“You’re driving him mad, Y/N.”

“Oh, Arthur.” You shook your head, poking the embers with a stick. “You of all people know that he’s already there.”

He sniffed, a short flash of amusement crossing his face before it was replaced with sobriety. “Maybe. I wasn’t at the massacre, I didn’t see exactly what he did-”

“He killed an innocent woman, Arthur. Right in front of me and then had the audacity to claim that my safety was the most important thing to him.”

“Yes, I want to beat him senseless for the way he’s damned us too, I promise you.” He scratched his beard tentatively, almost searching for the correct words to say, “But… no matter what he did, we need to stick together, Y/N.” A pause. “And if his only source of light is snuffed out, there’s no way we’re getting out of here.”

“Don’t make this my fault, Arthur.”

“I’m not, Y/N. You know I’m not. But we are all starving and cold and tired. We need a right-minded leader to get out of here and once we do, we can judge Dutch all we want.”

You laughed then, a foreign sound in the somber setting; Arthur had grinned crookedly too, wrapping an arm around shoulder as he pulled you into his side. “Alright, I’ll talk to him..soon.”

Arthur had simply huffed, rolling his eyes and giving you a pat on the head as he rose- behind on his schedule of carrying the burden of the gang. You had remained at that campfire for some time after that, dwelling within your own conflicting thoughts.

Sitting in the bathtub, you felt the same affliction as you did all of those long years ago, even despite being so much younger and naïve at that time. You wanted to run out there, into the darkness of the forests and deep troughs of moss, into the arms of your lost love. But another part of you, the part that had grown and hardened with age, the part that hated Dutch Van Der Linde with every fiber of its existence- wanted vengeance. It wanted to provide Sadie and John with your vital blessing to go out there and capture him, kill him even.

Despite the years you had garnered since settling eyes on Dutch, you didn’t trust yourself to follow through with ending it all yourself; you didn’t trust yourself not to melt entirely within his presence. His charisma would sway you, his ability to flirt and coerce would be an instant match for your own stoic toughness. You couldn’t possibly know what he looked like anymore- but your betraying conscience conjured an image of his trimmed mustache complimenting his sharp jaw, his towering stature and taut muscles- those same muscles that had pinned you down night after night, the same ones that belonged to the only body that had ever truly pleasured you. The rings that adorned his fingers, each one a symbol of masculinity and fabrication, glinting in the moonlight as he smoked his complimentary, post-orgasm cigar.

Your insides tingled as you recalled the way he used to ravage you, the hungry glint of his eyes from between your thighs or the heavy pants that would spill from his lips as he buried his head into the sweaty base of your throat, his sex-tousled hair drawing paths against your skin, lighting the fuses beneath your jaw and throat.

Mr. Van De Linde had always been the embodiment of seduction- whether in his manipulative nature or in the coital bed you shared. You doubted that this feature had hardly changed.

Which is why you could-

“Y/N?”

You sprung from your dazed position within the tub, jumping and wrapping linens around your soaked body, “Sorry- uh- Yes?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while now?” It was Jack, probably worried sick about you alongside the rest of the family.

“I’m fine.” you spluttered, desperately wringing out your sopping hair as you opened the door, plastering on a half-convincing smile, “I won’t burst into tears on you again, I promise.”

He simply nodded, a concerned look in his eyes that frighteningly reminded you of his own father. A look far too old for his youthful features, “I just wanted to check that you weren’t drowning in there. The bath is far too deep for me sometimes.”

Ruffling his hair, you laughed- mood slightly improved, “Don’t worry about me Jackie- just had a little blast from the past is all.”

He nodded, though a pensive look flashed across his face.

“What?”

“I don’t have many memories from back then,” you nodded, encouraging him to continue, “but I do remember you and Uncle- sorry, you and Mr. Van Der Linde.” He looked at you sadly, possibly seeing the shock and grief that instantly sunk into your face, “Sometimes, you’d be so happy but then other days all that could be heard was your fights… I remember once it got so bad that Ma wouldn’t let me out of that room in that big house. But I also remember when you went missing for a day or two, he’d practically torn the place apart with the worry that you’d been taken.” He paused again as you watched him through tear-blurred eyes, “I’m sorry that he’s come back Y/N.”

Sniffling, you wrapped your arms around Jack, allowing your tears to slip into his hair, “I’m sorry that you had to experience that, Jackie,” you pulled back, cupping his cheeks and tightening your lips, “I hope to God that you never have to deal with something like that. Promise me you won’t let it happen?”

“I promise, Y/N,”

“Good. Good boy.”

“But… Do you still love him Y/N?”

Your teeth clacked shut, the sound resounding throughout the thin hallway. Not even when you and Dutch had been together had anybody dared question the true status of your relationship- opting for sympathetic smiles or knowing looks alike in respect for their brash leader. Shaking your thoughts, you attempted a warm smile, guiding Jack towards the living room. “Love is a complicated thing Jack, part of me hopes that you’ll never have to experience the woes of it but the happiness it brings outweighs everything,” tightening your robe around your chest, you sat beside Jack before the hearth of the fireplace, “Dutch could render me happy or sad at any given moment, the power he held over me was…terrifying.” Jack nodded, his eyes glinting curiously with the fire’s light, “But I think I did love him. Maybe I still do, but that doesn’t matter anymore because he’s not a good man.”

“You deserve a good man, Y/N.”

You chuckled, a real source of warmth and comfort finally replacing the cold of the bathwater, “Maybe. I look forward to the day that I finally meet one.”

“I think Uncle Arthur was a good man.”

“Yeah.” A lone buck sauntered along the hills surrounding Beecher’s Hope, its ears pricking towards Tall Trees. “He was.”

-

Shadows of branches intertwined and floated amongst the ceiling of your room, a light breeze filtering in from the opened window. You had opted to retire to bed early, skipping the usual drinks you would share with the rest of the family around the fire. You couldn’t face them, the pitious glances and the sway of alcohol would be too much, an easy passageway into spilling your darkest secrets.

The smell of alcohol had a tendency to remind you of Dutch, anyway. The acrid taste of whiskey and cigars mixed to create an unashamedly addictive scent; the taste of it upon his lips practically doubling the initial effect.

Not only had Dutch Van Der Linde always been an object of seduction, but he had become an object of addiction too. He had been the one to tie your dependency to cigarettes during your time in the gang, having quickly picked up his habit of smoking a cigarette in the event of anything extraordinary. You would regularly smoke together post-sex, bathing in the privilege of sharing one, or even two, of his prized cigars- picking up on his ever-watchful eyes as you wrapped your lips around the blunt and puffed; always making sure to add an air of extravagance as you exhaled.

The thought had you scrambling at the bottom of your mattress, searching for the stash of cigarettes you had stowed there for the event of emergency. You swore to yourself you had quit, but living a Dutch-less existence required other outlets.

Low and behold, you had smoked the last of them after attempting to round up a herd of sheep the week prior.

You swore, jumping out of bed and pulling the mattress back further to no avail. “It’s fine.” You mumbled to yourself, checking your wardrobe and dresser subsequently, “It’s fine.”

In all honesty, you could do with the fresh air- your room had quickly begun to forego the open window and grow stuffy with the weight of your own sinful mind. Though, your objection to facing the others still remained steady- leading you to hoist yourself out of the bedroom window and onto the saddle of your horse.

Blackwater remained a constant bustle of energy even within the darkness of night, having returned to its pre-Van Der Linde glory as a portside town. The city itself acted as a constant reminder to what Dutch had done, marking the beginning of his true tyranny as the blood of the innocent Heidi McCourt had splattered along the sidewalk and his very own shirt sleeves. You had only learned her name from the bench before the boardwalk- “We remember Heidi McCourt” scratched into the base of the wood, only a minute of research informed you of exactly who that was. But upon further residence within Blackwater- you learned of the hatred felt towards the notorious members of the gang; cutouts of previous gang members pinned to dartboards and littered with darts and even bullets alike.

Despite your pardons, the people of Blackwater had never forgotten what you had done.

Your hair was longer now, providing the disguise necessary to lay low. Besides, your bounty hunter escapades had quickly taken over any true resemblance to the you that had resided within the gang; the very newspaper detailing Dutch’s return had coined you a “heroine”. It was good to know that people knew you mostly for your good, the version of yourself eight years prior would have feared your very being.

Dismounting your steed, you patted her side as you pulled out a set of twin revolvers- ever aware of the new threat that lurked nearby. The thought that he could be anywhere made you shiver despite the warmth of Summer as you jogged towards the grocer, apologizing for your late arrival as it was near closing time. The man waved you off, rolling his eyes as he continued to sweep the shop floor.

Maybe chivalry was dead, you smirked to yourself as you requested a pack of premiums. The man nodded, but before he could bend to grab the cigarettes he paled, sweat beginning to bead at his temple as he whimpered- seemingly catatonic in place. Rising your eyes to the dusty window, your lips pursed as you spotted at least four figures behind you in the reflection, all obviously armed.

“Raise your hands darlin’.” A gruff voice spoke, the traditional accent carried by the Skinner brothers.

“I’m just grabbing some cigarettes,” You spoke firmly, your hands lowering towards your revolvers, “Just let me leave and we don’t need to have any issues.”

The men began to cackle at that, you could hear the sound of them clapping at each other’s backs and howling like dogs. The shopkeeper remained cowered beneath the counter, frozen in place as his eyes pleaded at you to do something- the stoic shopkeeper from mere minutes ago was no longer present.

“You think we’re just gonna let an infamous bounty hunter like you leave just like that?” The speaker spat at the ground, a display of disgust. “Do you know how many of our brothers you’ve killed?”

Chuckling, you rose your eyes. “I think they use the word infamous for a reason, you know.” You turned, spinning your revolvers and executing two of the men in a split second; time slowing as bullets lodged into each of their skulls. Tearing through skin and bone, the sound of the bullets pinging into the wall shattered their amusement, the fallout spraying their faces with blood.

The remaining men had barely even reached for their weapons before you delivered bullets into their heart and kneecaps respectively, the latter would live but never walk again; able to enforce the resounding fear of your presence into the outlaw community. Stepping over the bodies, you leaned over the survivor- clutching his shattered legs as he screamed and cried.

“Never underestimate me again.” You spat, mimicking his revolting action from earlier.

Despite his cries, the man laughed at your statement- his rotten teeth and stringy hair coated in the blood of his assailants. “Oh, Sweetheart,” he rose to rest on his elbow, his hitched breath releasing in pained pants, “We didn’t.”

Your eyes widened, you were only rewarded for a split second to prepare for the barrage of gunfire that attacked the storefront. Rolling backwards, you surveyed the frenetic gunfire from behind one of the many shelves and calculated how grossly outnumbered you truly were- at least ten men awaited outside, the group very obviously having not underestimated you.

You quickly discovered that the shopkeeper had locked himself in the back room- leaving you isolated with the threat of the Skinner Brothers. Without a second thought, you scaled the shop counter- loading your revolvers with bullets and replacing the empty space with the money in your pockets; it would serve you little purpose now.

You had no choice but to fight, your stubbornness making cowering and hiding not an option- if you went down, it had to happen fighting. You knew that your death would be gruesome, the feeling of the rough, splintering wood against your back and the tight press of your boots against the wall would not be the last thing you ever saw. You knew that you would be waking up again. Closing your eyes, you said a prayer- for your family. For Jack’s strength and innocence, for Abigail’s love, for John’s unwavering loyalty and for Sadie’s strength. You prayed for Dutch, prayed that despite all of his evil and wrongdoing, that he would not see you in the condition you were bound to be in. That he would not be the one to inflict the pain to come upon you.

Time slowed once again as you rose, meeting the men as they slammed open the shop door- grossly outnumbered as you had calculated. Vision blurring, you shot widely- fighting for your life as men collapsed throughout the room. The flash of gunfire and the glint of throwing knives blinded you.

Finally, you ran out of bullets. The bodies of vile, disgusting men surrounded you. The bodies of the men that had terrorized your family. As an arrow lodged itself into your unguarded chest, you felt nothing but vindication.

-

Blinking, the sound of dripping rang throughout your brain as your senses faltered. Slower than usual.

You couldn’t move your arms or legs.

“I can’t-” You stuttered, fidgeting and shaking, “I- can’t…I can’t move.”

No one replied, only the sounds of your unsteady breaths could be heard, each one followed by that dripping sound. The horror of the situation dawned upon you, you had been right. You had woken up.

The skinner brothers hadn’t killed you.

Your cheeks felt wet, slicken with tears and something else as you heaved and pushed against your confinements.

Boots crunched along grass then, the sound of a rolling glass bottle rung beside your head.

“Who’s going to shut her up this time then?” A misty voice spoke nearby, it was followed by a mixture of sounds, to which your brain couldn’t decipher. It almost sounded like they were fighting over who would finish you off. You continued to cry then, your brain running at a speed faster than you could manage as the pain outweighed any coherent conscience. Finally, your eyes managed to peel themselves open.

To your horror, the dripping sound was your own blood- oozing from a cut on your arm that dribbled down through your fingers and onto the gravel below. You were tied to a wooden frame, similar to what Uncle had been tied to- though the fire had not yet been lit below you. The shine of the sun above you told you that not only had it been multiple hours, but that they were saving your sacrifice for the following night. Your body adorned a number of cuts though the arrow wound within your stomach had been messily patched up.

“They’re keeping me alive.” You mouthed, your eyes flitting around your surroundings as they welled with tears. You were within tall trees- deep in the forest and past the border lines you had previously ventured towards; they were ensuring that you would not be found.

“Have you found any takers for her?”

“Hm?” A large man looked towards a smaller man only a few steps from you.

“Any takers?” the smaller man rolled his eyes, socking the larger man in the arm, “Has anyone posed any offers to purchase her?”

Your ears rung as you squeezed your eyes closed, feigning sleep as you listened in on the conversation. They were keeping you alive to sell you, they were aware of your worth as a ruthless bounty hunter. It was their job to strip you of everything you had so they could sell a bounty hunter reduced to nothing to the highest bidder- a fate potentially worse than the fate of the Skinner brothers.

Before you could squirm frantically, the larger man spoke, “We have actually- some man spotted the poster up near Manzanita Post, claims he has some personal business to settle. Hefty sum, he’ll be here within the hour.”

The younger man grinned, his molten teeth dull in the sun’s light, “Personal? Damn, she must have taken out someone close.”

The larger man hummed as they departed their posts, moving towards the larger group of men. Your heart thumped in your chest as you squirmed- using any tactic you had ever learned from your fellow outlaws to perform any attempt at escape. But all was to no avail- the Skinners knew damn well how to hold a hostage.

Closing your eyes, you laid back. Every ounce of fight that had resided within you during that initial fight had vanished. There was nothing left, you had nothing left- all you could do was wait for what came next.

“Look at this pretty lady.” A voice spoke above you soon after that thought, a Skinner with a patchy ginger beard hovered in your eye line, a menacing grin upon your face. “What are we gonna do with you?

Fellow skinners laughed as a sharp pain, a knife, punctured your side- you’d experienced stabbings before, but not in this state. You succumbed to the urge to scream, the sound tearing from your throat and laced with terror. The man grinned, twisting the knife before wrenching it out and watching as you panted through the pain.

“It’s alright Darlin’. We all have to pay penance for our actions sometimes, seeing as you killed my father and all.”

You grinned, the feeling of blood dripping from your scabbing lips pushed aside as humor filled you, “Am I supposed to know who you’re referring to?” The mans’ eyes darkened at that, though just as he went to resume his torture, a deafening shot resounded throughout the forest.

You could only watch as the man collapsed backwards, blood spraying your already coated skin in thick beads. The background noise within the camp instantly dropped, all present turning to face their attacker- though none dared to retaliate.

“For the sum I’m paying, I’d hope my investment would be in pristine condition.”

The worst of your nightmares paled in comparison to what you saw as you turned. Dutch Van Der Linde stood at the edge of camp, tall and boisterous as ever. A repeater laid pointed within his hands, complimented by black rings adorning his fingers and aimed ready for whoever dared to step forward. The black waistcoat and linen shirts had been replaced with a silk black shirt, the sleeves rolled and the top button undone in respect of the humidity of West Elizabeth. No hat laid upon his head now, his hair curling at the nape of his neck and slicked back with pomade. He looked rich, luxurious. He didn’t look like the most wanted man in America.

It seemed that his obsession with finery had never dispersed.

You heaved, grappling at the wooden frame as you hoped, prayed, and begged for any way to escape. Any route other than having to go with him. The mere sight of him invoked sickness, suffering and fear- you felt like you had regressed, all progression made dispersed at the sound of his voice.

“Sir…You are free to take her.” The larger man whimpered, despite Dutch’s smaller frame, the man lowered himself to one knee; bowing his head. You scoffed, shaking your head as tears of anguish and defeat rolled down your face.

“Free?” Dutch sneered, his lips curling as he stepped before the cowering man, “I would hope so- seeing the state of her. What am I supposed to do with her if she looks like that?”

“Of- of course, Sir.” Multiple Skinners nodded in agreement, joining in bowing before the renowned criminal mastermind.

“Good.” Dutch spoke calmly, his features void of all emotion. You shook, in fear of what was to happen. In fear of the man you had previously thought you had left behind, the man you had presumed long dead. But part of you, the long cold and dormant part that had loved him. The part of you that yearned and starved, that had dragged you on that late-night outing in the first place- it longed for him.

Before anyone could blink, fathom the possibility of Dutch’s evolved tyranny over the years- he pressed the repeater’s trigger; ending the lives of the men bent to his will with a parade of clean headshots. You were no stranger to brutality, especially not Dutch’s, but your position was significantly more vulnerable than theirs; you could do nothing but bend to Dutch’s will.

As the last bullet sounded and the last man fell, Dutch wasted no time in slinging the repeater upon his shoulder and advancing towards you. Dutch reached you then, staring down at your dwindling and shivering form. Your groggy brain registered the crease of his brow, the red lining of his eyes and the worried curl in his lips.

He composed himself quickly, a mask settling as he moved to cut open your bindings. “The man was right, what am I going to do with you Y/N?”

-

You faded in and out of consciousness in the back of a cart- effectively bleeding out onto what felt like boar pelts. Dutch had instructed you to hold on as he fled from the camp, leaving the Skinner’s to decompose in his wake- a fleeing devil and all. The canopy above Tall Trees swirled above you, the sun remaining high in the sky throughout the journey. It could have been minutes or hours.

“Alright Princess,” Dutch said from the driver’s speech above, refusing to look back at you, “Hold on, we’re nearly there now.”

The use of your old, long unused nickname made you recoil- Dutch had always been one for sweet remarks, but he especially favored Princess- he was the beast, you were the innocent beauty. It created the rhetoric that you were to be protected, despite the major contributions you had made towards the camp on many occasions. You had to fight to be sent on missions, Dutch would respond with cold refusal; opting to insult you brashly in order to supposedly keep you safe. At his worst, you had stormed from camp; jumping onto the back of your horse and galloping away, ignoring the pleas of the gang. It was only when you didn’t return that worry had set in, three days you had been missing- later found by Arthur near Emerald Ranch. You had later learned that Dutch had practically torn the camp and nearby settlements apart; his shirtsleeves painted in red as he had searched for you- knocking down anyone in his way.

“Don’t call me that.” You mumbled groggily, using all of your energy to deliver a retort.

“What? Princess?”

You gritted your teeth, Dutch-induced-irritation felt like home- the gritting of your teeth and press of fingernails all too familiar when in his company. As the cart halted to a stop, Dutch leaped over the back of the wagon, instantly picking you up and taking you into a nearby tent.

“Okay Y/N,” he spoke hastily, flitting around the tent as he artfully bandaged up your wounds and poured health cure down your throat, “You’re going to stay alive because even though I did get you for free in the end- I’ve put a lot on the line for this.”

The utterance of your name blindsided you, the specific phonetic variation of your name on Dutch’s lips a foreign concept to you. Though at the same time, it felt right. Like returning home. But he hadn’t changed, you told yourself. He was still rude, materialistic, and conniving. You may have been better off staying with the Skinners. As he pressed into the stab wound in your side- you felt your consciousness fading, the pain blurring your vision and eliciting shouts from your throat.

“Go to sleep,” he mumbled as you felt a hand ridden with jewels caress your hair, “We have a lot to discuss.”

When you next awoke, the hum of night surrounded you as the crackling of a fire sounded nearby. You were laid upon a pile of warm pelts, a thin cross stitch blanket laid over your frame, covering the injuries that each individually created a cold ache. The tent you laid in was a decent size, though smaller than what you had previously slept in with Dutch- it was filled with mismatched furniture; pieces that he had presumably scavenged due to the inability to show his face anywhere. A thin cloth shirt lay beside you; to which you awkwardly pulled on, careful to avoid the extent of your injuries, in favor of losing your long destroyed and stained clothes. From your position you could see a horse, the Count, strong and faithful as ever though its once pristine, shining coat was greyer with what could be presumed as turmoil and age.

Dutch filtered into your vision next, sat beside the horse and facing away from you- his back solid and strong as ever, posture perfect as he cleaned the repeater that you had only seen to inflict pain. You attempted to rise from the bed, instantly wincing as a burn resounded within your side- that gained Dutch’s attention as he spun, his features wearing a look of shock.

“Finally,” He smirked, placing the gun on the ground and rising to come and meet you, “I thought you’d never wake up Princess.”

You glared at him, both for the nickname and his forceful attempts to lay you back down, “I’m a renowned bounty hunter now, you know.”

“Oh, I know that,” A grin marred his features, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes, “I’ve seen you all over the papers- the wonderful tales of justice and empowerment. Always a great read.”

“It isn’t a fantasy story to enjoy over breakfast,” You snapped, “I’m finally doing something good with my life, going straight and working alongside the law. Not against it.”

Dutch scoffed, always the cynic in the face of accomplishment “You’re nothing but a tool to them Y/N- one wrong move, one slightly unlawful kill and you’re finished.”

You cut him off with a laugh then, scrubbing a hand against your eyes in disbelief, “You are seeing me for the first time in eight years and you are seriously giving me a lecture right now?” You paused, preparing to deliver a punch, “The public are betting on me to do it you know, to kill you.”

Dutch stood then, an unbridled rage in his eyes as he towered over you, though he only spoke two words. “You wouldn’t.”

You shrugged, smirking up at him cynically, “How would you know? We haven’t seen each other in eight years, Dutch- the last time we did see each other, you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed you?” Dutch raged, “I never betrayed you; my gun never faltered in your direction though I remember you sending a number of shots my way.”

“You killed Arthur.”

Dutch swallowed, his throat bobbing; the weight of your accusation infecting the strength of his shoulders and setting stone within his chest. He spoke slowly, each word laced with venom as spit flew from the lips, “How would you know?”

“I saw,” your voice shook with anger, “I followed him up there. I saw what you did. I saw the way he begged. I saw the way you left his body lying there. If I hadn’t been there- he would have been left behind to rot.”

“I did what had to be done.” His voice cracked, emotion tiding the way over any rational thought, “I did…what had to be done.”

Shaking your head, you turned from him; the severity of your injuries rendering you useless, unable to run. Dutch refused to move from your peripheral, his gaze heady and severe upon the back of your head. “Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Dutch paused, his fists clenched and hair falling into his eyes, the pomade long worn off, “Because, I miss you Y/N.”

“Bullshit.”

“Y/N,” Dutch was pleading now, grasping at your shoulders and arms, his hands skimming any skin he could find; the actions of a starved man, “No matter what I do, no matter where I go, who I’m with, what semblance of riches I am able to grasp- you never leave my mind,” He gulped, no stopping now, “I’ve been reading about you for years but when I saw that poster up in Manzanita Post, I went insane with worry- I thought I’d be collecting your dead body but when I saw you strung up there I felt even worse; I practically felt the pain you felt.”

“Seriously?” You spat, “You felt my pain? I was being tortured and you spin this to be about you?”

“Princess that’s not-”

“Leave it Dutch,” You growled, slapping away his encroaching hands, “You haven’t changed.”

“What was wrong with me before? I was a leader, I kept you all alive. And what do I get for that? Nothing.”

“You ruined us!” You yelled, “You ruined me! My life since leaving you has been reduced to nothing but surviving, I can’t fade into the background anymore because of the target you placed upon our backs Dutch.”

“You had a choice, you could have left whenever you wanted.”

“But, I couldn’t. Anytime I left I’d be watched like a hawk Dutch. I was finally free, but now you’ve reigned me in again.”

Dutch laughed then, a fabricated cackle as he clutched his stomach- though the grin above his face did not reach his eyes. “I saved your life, Princess.”

“My fate there would have been better than this.”

“Ah, I see.”

The two of you sat in petulant silence then, too stubborn to back down as the weight of trauma and regret outweighed any semblance of forgiveness. The stale air of silence continued for days as you recovered- Dutch would check your injuries and bring you meals whilst you were still bedbound; allowing for only small glimpses of contact as he opted to spend as much time as possible outside of the tent; favoring humidity and his horse over your company. As you recovered, you began to venture outside of the warmth of the bed- opting to explore the surrounding wilderness, ignoring Dutch’s ever watchful gaze. It seemed his possessive streak had never ended, possibly having worsened seeing as though he had the gall to stroll into the camp of some of the most ruthless killers in the state.

In your solitude, you thought of home. You thought of your little bedroom in Beecher’s Hope, a place you could finally call your own. You thought of the family dinners you were missing; Abigail’s horrendous cooking feeling like a distant memory as you ate only scavenged animal meat and local berries. You thought of nighttime bonfires, morning coffee and the glow of the sun upon the crops during the afternoons; sweat congregating at your forehead as you had earned your keep. You missed home, you missed home like you had once missed Dutch.

The knowledge that you couldn’t have both was heartbreaking- serenity and Dutch was not an amicable match. Dutch only brought destruction and suffering; you hadn’t spoken properly in days due to his inability to see the point of others, his leading mindset never faltering. Dutch could simply never be a part of a family. You glanced over at him from your perch then, watched as he brushed down The Count; taking care to smooth down its hair and whisper sweet nothings into its ear.

Everytime he acted contrary to his real self you felt your heart shatter.

You stood then, unable to bear the weight of loaded silence any longer. “I spotted a river down the hill, I’m going to go and wash myself down.”

Dutch paused, seemingly shocked by the sound of your voice, “I’ll join you.”

“Dutch-”

“No, Y/N.” Dutch spoke firmly, raising a hand towards you, “Your injuries are too severe, if you slip and open up your side, your death will be in my hands.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him and sauntered down the hill; listening as his footsteps followed. The silence continued as you walked, all too aware that you would have to remove at least some articles of clothing before him. It was nothing he’d never seen before of course, but it had been years since a man had seen your body in that way- you couldn’t account for your actions if his heated gaze met yours after so long.

“Turn around.”

Dutch grinned, turning slowly with his hands on his hips, “It’s nothing I’ve never seen before, Princess.”

You knew he would say that. You merely scoffed in reply.

As you stripped, you became too aware of the sensitivity of your injuries; the ache in your shoulder, the sting in your stomach and the pain in your side. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Dutch called, back still turned.

“I don’t-” You screwed your eyes shut, dreading what was to come, “I don’t think I can wash myself.”

“Okay,” Dutch spoke slowly, turning though his eyes remained closed, “Do you want me to help you?”

Gulping, you nodded frantically, “Yes.” You spoke hastily- terrified that if you didn’t respond quick enough then the moment would be over. Part of you felt disgusted at yourself, disgusted at your lack of resistance towards the man that had broken your heart. But, the other part of you felt thrilled; electrified, brought back to life at the thought of him truly touching your skin again. Rolling back his shirt sleeves, he approached; his uncaring facade refusing to break as he helped you peel your shirt from your arms, instantly exposing your bare breasts as you had foregone upper undergarments in favor of allowing your injuries to heal. You gulped, refusing to look at him as he moved to unbutton your pants, stifling groans as you felt the linen brush over a sore spot. He shushed you comfortingly, discarding your pants to the side. Beads of sweat had formed at the base of his temple.

He began to lower you into the cool tide then, cupping water within his palm and pouring it onto your head; shushing you soothingly as he did so. His finger constantly skimmed your body- the edges of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, the corners of your mouth. Your lips pursed as you stared up into his eyes; to which he resolutely stared back, the mask finally breaking. He could’ve done anything to you in that moment- pinned you down beneath the water, stolen your last breaths.

You dwelled on whether that would be the case if anyone other than you laid within his arms.

“Dutch,” you gulped, your throat running dry as you attempted to voice your feelings, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your voice came out as a whisper.

Dutch blinked at you, his finger tracing a path down the side of your face- his voice croaked as he spoke, half-speaking half-groaning, “Princess.” The sound of his resistance breaking was mesmerizing and you laid compliantly as his finger began to circle your nipple; creating goosebumps in its wake.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N.”

“I- I can’t.” Your head spun as he moved his hand downwards, holding you steady as he reached down to swirl a ringed finger around your clit. The feeling of the stark cold of the ring matched with the heat of his skin elicited a guttural moan, your eyes rolling backwards as he began to pleasure you. His throat bobbed as he stared down at you, his eyes darkening and intense as he watched you break apart, a familiar mirage of the past. The semblance of a woman could break even the strongest of men.

You broke entirely, gripping Dutch’s hair and smashing your faces together; drenching his shirt in water and kissing him messily. His tongue dove into your mouth as he pinned your face against his own with his free hand, continuing his ministrations upon your clit. You groaned into his mouth, working at the sopping buttons of his shirt. You were all too accustomed to his rough nature during intimacy, often opting to pin you down and clutch your hair over soft, sweet actions. You had cared in the past, but now you couldn’t, opting to claw at his back and hair; scratching his scalp and drawing lines down his back.

Just as you reached for his pants, he stopped; pulling away with swollen lips and ruffled, wet hair- “I’m sorry Darling, we can’t do this here,” he breathed, moving his hand upwards to cup at your breast, “Let’s get you up to my tent and then we can continue.”

You shook your head, eyes pleading and begging, “We can do it on the shoreline, please we can’t stop now.” You knew that if you stopped, you wouldn’t be able to continue; the disgust and horror would set in. Dutch nodded reluctantly, a tinge of suspicion lingering in his eyes. You stumbled out of the water; collapsing together as you hastily pulled his pants from his body before lowering yourself onto his cock. He groaned huskily, his hands flying to your hips as he threw his head back. He had been craving this.

As you rocked and rolled together- you knew that this couldn't happen again. Dutch Van Der Linde was not safe- you could not let him enter your sphere any further. You moaned and cried and whimpered- relishing every last touch and taste and feeling. The sweat congregating between your bodies was slick and hot- connecting every last fiber of skin.

This couldn’t happen again, you told yourself, this couldn’t happen again.

Afterwards, you laid together at the shoreline- naked and bare to the forest as you laid in Dutch’s arms. He told you stories- stories of his time on the run, moments where he thought of you, moments where he caught glimpses of you in the paper, glimpses of you told in the fireside tales of other outlaws. You laughed, smiled, complied- gave him exactly what he wanted- you told him stories of the gang; neglecting important details though providing him with the skeletons of true stories. He too smiled, his lips curling genuinely as he placed a kiss into your hair.

Just before sleep overruled him, he informed you of his plan. His plan for the two of you, how you would travel together in his wagon; find a farmhouse and make a living there. You smiled, agreeing.

But it was the life you already had.

When dawn hit, you crawled out of his arms; allowing yourself one last look before you fled- into the dangers of Tall Trees and the semblance of home that lay just past it. You had to return to your family.

[becausebuckley]

snippet sunday!

thanks for the tag, @playinginthunderstorms!! here's a little more from the marriage of convenience au <3 no-pressure tagging @kejfeblintz @unlifeira @serenelystrange @inell @smilingbuckley and @team-118!

“I never said you should marry Tommy, though,” Eddie continues. “Plenty of other fish in the pond.”

“Well, I need a fish that’ll bite within two months, so I doubt I’m catching anything.” Buck huffs out a laugh, even though he’s not finding himself funny at all. “I’ve got pretty bad bait.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Eddie hands Buck the beer that’s been sweating on the kitchen counter. Buck leans against the counter and takes a long sip. “You’re fishing with good bait, Buck. You just have to find the right fish.”

Buck wrinkles his nose. 

“I don’t think I like this metaphor anymore,” he says. “I don’t even like fishing. It’s so boring.”

“It’s a lot of waiting,” Eddie agrees. Buck’s never been too good at that. He’s a little impatient, maybe, mind always racing. Fishing is just sitting still and staring into the distance. Like he said, boring.

“I’m kind of craving salmon, though,” Eddie continues, and Buck makes a mental note to make him that lemon baked salmon he likes so much sometime soon. “Anyway, the fish isn’t the point. The point is that plenty of people will want to marry you, Buck.”

Buck laughs, a little bitter and a lot sour. He takes a sip of beer to chase the taste away. 

“Well, I don’t know anyone who would,” he says, which is both true and sad. He’s found that the truth is sad a lot of the time. It’s not a great thing to know.

“I would.”

[hairmetal666]

At 16, Steve Harrington was everything Eddie accused him of being: spoiled, vapid, cruel, lazy, his entire life handed to him on a silver platter. He was the golden boy, the perfect son, the heir to the fortune, and he lived up to every expectation. Athletic, beautiful, charming—and sure, he didn’t get the best grades, but those, like anything, could be bought.

It was a privileged life, everyone said. But they didn’t stick around for the lonely nights by himself in that big house, or the weekends that slipped into weeks with no one around to care what Steve did or who he did it with. His parents were busy people. He understood. His mom always made it up to him when they came back to town, or at least she made the effort before he hit high school.

Steve found other ways to fill the silence. Packing the house with the basketball team and the swim team and the baseball team. Throwing ragers that no one ever called the cops about. His parents didn’t even mention it when they came home to the house a wreck, priceless antiques broken and shattered. He fucked wherever he pleased, hoping that his parents would come home and catch him on the pool table with his latest conquest.

His life of no consequences changed overnight the summer between his sophomore and junior year, the night of his mother’s annual mid-summer party.

Forever is the Sweetest Con Chapter 5, out now!

[angelo-the-angel]

@kyokoofhell, I’ve learned to skateboard!! It’s such a fun human hobby!!!

[stilin-ski]

forever is the sweetest con: chapter two

Read Chapter One Here.

Chapter Two: quiet endings to new beginnings

Chapter Summary: Another vulnerable moment. Set in 3x14, Damaged.

~000~

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know how he got there, what he was thinking, how he thought any of this was going to play out- he just got in the car and started driving. 

He ended up on Spencer Reid’s doorstep. 

“Hotch?”

“My wife left me.” Reid opened the door wider, stepped aside, and motioned his superior inside. Hotch stepped over the threshold. “I almost got you killed today.” 

“You didn’t.”

“I did, Reid.” The younger man sighed. “Chester Hardwick would have killed us if you hadn’t been able to distract him, and I was the one who poked the bear.” Reid laughed, a sharp and bright sound that cut through Aaron’s own misery. He looked up, meeting kind hazel eyes. 

“I never thought I’d hear you say something like ‘poked the bear.’” He watched again as Reid tucked his long legs under him with a grace he’d never seen before. “Sit down, Hotch.” Aaron nodded, sitting across from him on a worn leather sofa. “You didn’t get me killed.”

“I could have.” 

“But you didn’t .” This was new. The way they were speaking, the back and forth. It was entirely, completely new to him, and Hotch realized just how much their positions at the Bureau affected their social interactions. Dr. Spencer Reid had a sharp tongue. Hotch never knew that. 

There was a lot Hotch didn’t know, apparently. 

“I’m sorry Haley left.” This time it was Hotch that laughed, a low and gruff sound that sharply contrasted the light and airy tone of Spencer’s. 

“She was having an affair.” He admitted. “It was over a long time ago, I was just too stubborn to admit it.”

In the years he’d known Spencer Reid, there was one thing he’d noticed about the man that no one else on the team had. Reid was quiet. 

It was true that he would ramble on about statistics and figures, about the book he’d read on his lunch hour, or even about some telenovela he’d got caught up watching at one point; but outside of that, in the moments it really counted- Reid was quiet, and it was never uncomfortable. Never awkward, or stilted, or tense. Just- quiet. 

“Would you like a drink?” Hotch looked up, allowing himself a moment of sheer vulnerability while looking at his subordinate. He nodded. “Bourbon or rum?”

“Bourbon.”

“Ice?”

“No, thank you.” He should leave. He knows he should, knows this is inappropriate, knows he’s not in a clear state of mind, and he knows Reid is too kind to ask him to go. He should leave.

Instead, he takes the glass that’s offered to him and smiles in thanks. Instead, he ignores the slight brush of their fingers and the way the sensation lingers for moments after the contact ends. 

“I’m sorry Haley had an affair. And I’m sorry your marriage ended before you wanted it to.” Spencer took a drink from his own glass. “But mostly I’m sorry I don’t have the collection of expensive bourbon that Rossi does.” That makes him laugh, loud and sudden and real, and he doesn’t try to hide the smile that lingers. 

“Don’t worry, my own liquor cabinet is stocked with bottom shelf options too.” Reid cracks a shy, but genuine smile at that, and Hotch relaxes a bit further into his chair. “I didn’t take you for a bourbon man.”

He watches as Reid settles himself again, long limbs draping in a way that could only be described as elegant. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Hotch.”

“Apparently.” Looking back, he sees it clear as day. The flirting, the silent game of chess they played that night, the dance to music no one else could hear.

Looking back, he could see that it had been there for a while, in more discreet ways, since the day he'd picked Reid up off the Earth in a desolate graveyard in Georgia. He could see this wasn't new, this unnameable thing between them. It was there, palpable, breathing a new life in his chest, and it was beautiful . 

But then, on that hazy Friday night when he’d come home to a dark, cold, and empty house, he didn’t see it. He just saw a man, a friend, sitting before him and offering a space of comfort when he needed it. 

“You should call me Aaron.” Reid- Spencer, he corrects- looks up, eyes full of delighted surprise. “We’re not at work. You should call me Aaron.” 

“Okay, Aaron.” He smiled again. “Then you should call me Spencer.” 

“Alright, Spencer.” 

[solangeloficawards]

solangelo fic awards 2024!

oh hey! were back, and on a new blog! happy year 7 babes!

"best ____" fic nomination forms

best series nomination form

author of the year nomination form

let me know if you find any mistakes with the forms and i will fix it asap. you can also submit fics via message or ask! submissions end 01/31 and voting will (hopefully) be up by 02/02! <3

keep reading for past years, categories, & guidlines

2024 categories:

best fluff (award for the fluffiest, sweetest fics!)

best au (award for the best alternete universe or trope fics!)

best canon compliant (award for best demigod-centric universe following straight along with the classic riordan universe!)

best angst (award for the most heart-wrenching, angsty fic!)

returning category! best oneshot (award for one-chatper, under 5k word fics for our short story writers!)

new and improved! best wip (award for your favorite unfinished or abandoned multi-chaptered fics! previously best unfinished chaptered)

best misc (any fic that you dont think fits well into any of the other categories! this could include crackfics, crossover fics, miscellaneous oneshots, or any of your favorite tropes!)

best series (award for multiple fics within one series that all relate to the same plot/universe)

author of the year (to show your favorite author some appreciation!)

#rip chaptered finished and gift, forever in our hearts

references:

from the past: 2018 winners. 2019 winners. 2020 winners.  2021 winners. 2022 winners, 2023 winners

every fic masterlist: 2018 masterlist, 2019 masterlist, 2020 masterlist, 2021 masterlist, 2022 masterlist, 2023 masterlist

guidelines:

you can submit your own work

you can submit as many or as little fics as you’d like for any of the categories. the more the better!

fics published at any date can be submitted; however ,fics submitted after the deadline will not be included

fics cannot be any of the following: fics that have already won in previous years, non solangelo centric, orphan or anonymous fics (if i dont know the authors idk if they want to be included), explicit nsfw or any mention of underage nsfw (nsfw fics otherwise will be tagged as so), rape/non-con fics, graphic depictions of suicide, contains unnecessary racism/homophobia/trasnphobia or any other hateful content, harry potter aus, and any other content with homophobic or transphobic origins. fics submitted that violate any of these will not be included

you can submit multiple fics per category, however please do not submit the same fic for more than one category (if this does happen, i’ll just decide what category it best fits)

there is also a chance your fic may change categories from where you submitted it. this is only to help your fic do better, but you can let us know if you dont want that to happen

you are allowed to nominate fics that were nominated previous years; however, please do not nominate a winning fic from last year. the previous years nominations list and winners list can be found above (they will not be included in case you miss this, but if you do know please just save me some time

in the case that you do/someone else has submitted your work, you are allowed promote yourself, however you cannot offer anything in return for people to vote for your work. theres no prize for winning besides personal satisfaction so theres really no need

please do not be upset at me or anyone involved if you don't win. theres always next year!

all submissions are anonymous. a google sign-in will be required in order to vote when nominations do come out to ensure everyone is voting only once, but emails will not be collected or distributed! ou can always nominate or vote via ask (wont publish but ill lyk i received it) or direct message if you wish

please let us know if you see anyone violating the rules! we'll handle it from there!!

if you have any other questions, you can check out our faq! you can also message me or put it in an ask!

all relating posts for this year are tagged with #fic awards 2024! good luck :)

[paperstorm]

2024 fic round up!

I was tagged by so many lovely people I have lost track of them, so my whole tag list is under the cut! I wrote 270,000 words this year, including the entire Missing Moments season 3. Thank you to everyone who commented or kudosed or reblogged or read silently, the support for writers in this fandom is really so wonderful 💛

Missing Moments [a series of canon compliant tags for every episode of Lone Star, seasons 1-3 completed]

3x01 – Imperfect pieces pulling at the glue (9.1k) 3x02 – Up in smoke (9.4k) 3x03 – Wayfaring strangers (10.4k) 3x04 – Homeward bound (15.7k) 3x05 – Reconstruction (7.3k) 3x06 – All these sacred melodies (8.5k) 3x07 – Everest to mariana (8.2k) 3x08 – "You have one new message..." (12.4k) 3x09 – Cracks begin to show (5k) 3x10 – Push and pull (5.2k) 3x11 – Where the rain won't hurt (9.7k) 3x12 – Losing streak (4k) 3x13 – Heard the risk is drowning (15.3k) 3x14 – Live in the layers (5.6k) 3x15 – Switch (5.5k) 3x16 – Everything and every dream (5.6k) 3x17 – Move into the new (7.5k) 3x18 – Forever is the sweetest con (10.1k)

Hold me too close (1.8k)

Carlos’s lips curve into a small responding smile and he shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

He tilts his chin forward, asking for a kiss, that TK gives him readily because he thinks it would hurt like having a limb ripped off if he didn’t. Carlos’s lips are smooth and damp against his, wet with the salt from his tears.

“Wanna go for a walk?” TK asks when they part, and Carlos quickly nods.

A small extension of the scene after Tommy sings at their wedding.

In Loving Memory for @carlos-in-glasses (1.3k)

The word son catches his eye, and Carlos frowns and tucks his head to look closer. His legacy will continue to live on through his son’s own dedication to public service, is written at the bottom of the thin obituary.Carlos feels his stomach roll and his mouth slacken. Heat blooms in his cheeks and the tips of his fingers tingle. Next to him there’s a tiny, nearly imperceptible gasp – as TK finds the same words and his grip tightens further on Carlos’s arm.

Silver Lining's Gold and Shining (25.3k)

A story of nine pivotal moments in Carlos's life, and nine times his best friend was there beside him.

Butterflies and Sky-High (8k)

TK leans in closer and rests his forehead against Carlos’s cheek, understanding that this is hard for him. Carlos is so heart-warmed by the gesture that it gives him the courage to say, “I’ve been reading about demisexuality. It’s this thing where …”

“I know what it means,” TK says softly, and thank God he does because Carlos isn’t sure he would have done justice to an explanation anyway. Not right now.

“I think … maybe I am. That. I didn’t think I was anything other than gay but then I was reading and some stuff started to make sense.”

Made From Stardust (8.2k)

Adoration swells in your chest as it always does when the warmth of his smile is draped over you like a blanket. You could not express in words, not even if you spoke 50 languages instead of just two, the magnitude of your love for this man. It’s too big, too necessary, too seeped into the cracks of every plane of your existence. You cannot be you without him, because the you who sits here on this couch with your fiancé in the home you share with him would never have taken shape without his guiding hands. A man named Carlos Reyes would have existed, but not this one. He would have been somebody else.

A collaboration with @reasonandfaithinharmony, check out her beautiful gif set 🖼

Fine Line (6.8k) for @heartstringsduet

Carlos ghosts a kiss along TK’s cheek, feeling the shudder of TK’s inhale as he murmurs, “You need me?”

“I …” TK swallows, his throat clicks and Carlos hears it.

Their knees bump and Carlos trails his fingers through TK’s hair and just waits. He doesn’t ask again, he just holds TK in a vertical embrace and strokes his hair and stays patient.

“There’s something that’s helped in the past,” TK says in a small voice. “Something you and I haven’t done before.”

brighter in the morning (40k so far) cowritten with @strandnreyes

Sometimes nights together are hard to come by, but TK and Carlos find ways to connect as husbands in the morning.

A series of 12 mornings together for each of the 12 episodes in season 5 (plot permitting …)

Somewhere in a Song (23.7k so far)

Fresh out of rehab for drug and alcohol addiction, lead singer TK and his band Stranded are pushed into a tour he's not sure he's ready for. To combat the bad press from his very public hitting of rock bottom, his label suggests they take up-and-coming country singer Carlos along with them. Between TK's still healing wounds and closeted Carlos's fears that his parents don't support his musical career, a rocky start might turn into finding exactly what they both need.

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @heartstringduet

@goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @whatsintheboxmh @bonheur-cafe

@reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee @never-blooms @lemonlyman-dotcom

@sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce

@hereghostslive @butchreyes @just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian

@tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter @eclectic-sassycoweyes @ditheringmind

@emsprovisions @irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage @chicgeekgirl89

@carlossreaders @ladytessa74 @denizoid @everlastingday

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk