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lostinlovingrevery · 1 month ago

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Love and Bounties- Chapter 1

Cowboy! Logan Howlett X F! Reader

The Sun Rises in The East

An ominous presence has arrived to your quiet town

A/N: Oml this came out SO long...Hope you all enjoy! <3

Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, violence- barfights lol, blood and injury descriptions, Logan being a flirty menace, reader is described to have curly hair, probs some history inaccuracies lol bear with me

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1911, Harrodsburg, Kentucky

The sun rises in the east, and sets in the west.

A growing town known as Harrodsburg, resting in between the valleys and hills of the mountains in the East side of the States. A town of agricultural farming and horse trade. Developing, but not quite having met the qualities of bustling metropolis that its neighbor cities have become.

It was quiet, and just small enough that everyone almost knew everyone else. The town was a middle ground- a city slipping into the country, a place smack between the old and new century.

In the distance, an ominous, lone figure perched on a horse observed the small town with keen eyes. A cigar set between his teeth, he puffed on it- a strong taste of earthy smoke filling his tongue. He tipped his cattleman forward over his eyes, the glare of the afternoon sun was bugging him, and he brought his hand down to his chin, scratching his beard thoughtfully as he considered the quaint little town.

His horse, a beautiful mustang he tamed not too long ago, bobs her head with a swish of her tail. Impatient with her rider as he continued to observe the town below in silence. She was the color of cinnamon- hence, her name. Cinnamon. With a long mane the color of dark chocolate. He took delicate care of her- as a man should, for a creature that carries him for miles and miles of land deserved respect.

He glanced down at her, reaching a gloved hand down to soothe the heifer, a small pat of her head, before petting her mane. He looked back at the town, removing the half finished cigar from his lips and discarding it to the ground.

He tugged at the reins, clicking his tongue as an order and leading her to walk down the path of dirt that led to a muddy road, hoof prints and tracks of wheels belonging to carriages left behind. Soon the trees that surrounded the road began to thin out, and the town came into view- bustling with folks enjoying the sunny day.

As he reached the outskirts of town, he took notice of the folks around. An old man with graying hair and scars on his face singing an old, sad tune as he shoveled soil into a wheelbarrow. To his right, a tired mother with a young boy and girl, arguing and shoving each other- only to immediately stop as the shadow of the lone cowboy towers over them as he walks by. A group of men smoking on a wooden porch stare him down past the brim of their hats- challenge set in their eyes.

The townsfolk regarded him with caution.

He was used to it. The judgemental stares as people realize that trouble has come to their little town. They were right.

Trouble was one of many things that this man could be called. He was many things, a cowboy, a gunman, an outlaw, a bounty hunter. He was anything a job called of him to be, if the moneys right.

He found the saloon- smack in the center of the town. On one side of the bar, hitching posts for folks and their horses and donkeys, opposite to the few automobiles parked along the building.

How modern.

He hopped off of his horse's back, grabbing her reins and tying them to a hitch, encouraging her to drink some water set before her in an old water trough while he began to search the packs hanging off the saddle, noting supplies he needed to pick up.

Just from the looks of it- he could tell it was one where people look out for one another. One that will put up a fight to protect its own. He knew to tread carefully, not to draw suspicion. Don’t make it obvious what he’s here for.

He happened to look up when he noticed a lone woman walk by. Pretty thing she was. He has an eye for em’; He couldn’t help it.

Bouncy curls that fell past her shoulder, pretty eyes, and pretty lips - soft and delicate. A pretty, flowy dress- a tad scandalous for a woman her age to be wearing, with bare shoulders and an exposed collar that left little to imagination- surely a barmaid, or a woman of the cloth. She carried a crate that he couldn’t see the contents of with both hands, and she was watching him all the same.

Maybe, he could enjoy some recreational time before he does what he came to do. It had been a long journey after all.

“See something you like darling?” He calls out in a heavy tone, a small smirk plastered on his face.

She raised a brow, “Relax cowboy, I was checking out your horse.” She teased, before winking. His smirk faded, turning into something curious. She continued on her path, but Logan didn’t stop watching her until she disappeared from the road. He was fascinated by the bounce of her curls, the swish of her dress as she walked with confidence.

He shook himself out of her spell, deciding that he’ll track her down later. A smile like that doesn’t just go unforgettable in his mind. First- he needed a drink, and information.

Once sure that Cinnamon was secured, he made his way up the steps of the saloon, where he could hear raucous laughter and joyful music playing inside.

It was crowded. Filled with men and women busying themselves with entertainment on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The air was thick with booze and tobacco. Men playing poker, or chatting merrily around tables and bar tops with pretty showgirls sitting on their laps fake laughing at their jokes with their arms hanging around their necks.

A few of the patrons took notice. Watching as Logan slithered through the tables and the crowds. Sizing up the stranger, a few whispers spread through the bar as more people took notice. The chatter didn’t stop, but became quieter in his presence.

He settles down at a lone table in the far corner. He didn’t need more stares, the judgemental looks that he already was met with outside. People were likely already gossiping about this handsome stranger, wondering what had brought him into their quiet town. It wouldn’t be long till the news spread, until someone recognizes him.

He’ll get some dumbass trying to challenge him on the streets, causing all sorts of chaos. Being the man he was, he’ll accept it gladly.

Click. Aim. Bang.

He settled back in his seat, the old chair groaning against his weight. He let out a tired sigh, reaching into his vest- made of worn leather, with an imprint across it from the bandolier that always sits slung over his chest.

He pulled out a paper, folded and tucked inside a pocket of the vest and unfolded it carefully. He tuts quietly as he reads it- the bounty he received. Mailed directly to him. Whoever sent it knew where he was that day because he didn’t have a place to stay- a wanderer through cities and towns.

It was sketchy as hell. It’s not the first time he’s been hired for a job, but normally he gets approached by an actual person looking to talk details about the job- not a courier with a telegram. Some 10 year kid looking terrified to set foot in the bar he was settled in for the day.

A message, addressed to him directly;

It shared details about a woman living in this town, who makes herself a doctor. Her name, and a few discreet details of her looks - not helpful whatsoever, but it isn’t his first rodeo.

JAMES L HOWLETT -(STOP)-

A BOUNTY IS BEING OFFERED TO YOU -(STOP)-

SHOULD YOU ACCEPT AND COMPLETE A PAYMENT WILL BE MADE TO YOU IN AMOUNT OF THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS-(STOP)-

It was sketchy- but the money, lord the money would be enough to settle him for life if he so desired. It would be a long tiring trip, considering he had been in a little town called Jefferson in Texas at the time- over two week trip to the town of Harrodsburg, and will be a similar trip back to the West- which will be a pain in the ass since bounties aren’t typically eager to go with him anywhere.

Once again, the money- assuming it’s true, and worth it. Too good to pass up.

He didn’t ask questions about his work, easier that way- couldn’t help but be curious though. What has this woman possibly done to warrant a bounty of three thousand dollars? Furthermore, why pick him to do this job, he was singled out. He may be greedy, but he wasn’t dumb.

Something has arisen, however it doesn’t matter as long as he gets that cash in hand.

“Would you like something to drink, stranger?”

He looked up from the paper, a waitress stood there with a big smile, blonde curls, and piercing blue eyes, which trailed over his handsome face. Pretty hazel eyes, strong jaw, and sculpted nose. He was used to the looks, he knew he was a handsome man. Never really paid mind to it though, unless he found something pretty and willing.

He took a deep inhale. “Bourbon.” He says leaning forward on the table. She nods a playful tilt of her head as she gives him another pleasant grin- which unnerved him a bit, walking away back to the counter. He turned his attention elsewhere, not noticing her leaning over and whispering something to another man seated at the bar who was nursing a glass of whiskey.

He folded the telegram back up, sticking it back in his vest before dropping an arm on top of his lonely table, tapping his fingers rhythmically along the wood as he turned to observe the windows- shutters pulled shut but streams of light still came through the cracks of the wood- where he could see the hazy dust and smoke floating around the air.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the man at the bar counter had stood up, making his way towards him.

“You!”

Logan turned his head, an impassive expression on his face as he queried a brow.

“I know who you are.” The man slurs. “Get out of here!”

Logan tilted his head, a smirk growing on his face as he sensed a fight would happen- just not so soon. Suppose he’s becoming more and more infamous every day.

He’s gained a reputation in his years. Countless jobs, missions, and confrontations. He’s got posters of his face going from the west to the east of the states- even stretching into Canada and Mexico. He’s overheard people telling his stories- A heist of a train traveling through multiple states, a quickdraw duel with a mayor, and the time he pitted two gangs against each other- to be the only one standing after the dust settled.

He’s a busy man.

“No, I don’t think you know who I am bub.” Logan leaned forward. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

“You’re a bad man.” He sneers. “A killer, a thief-!”

“Go sleep it off pal.” Logan warns, his smirking fading into a scowl. “Before you do something you regret.”

“I’lll make you regret ever coming here-” He lunges after Logan, who stood up from his chair - a loud crash as both the chair and table fall to the ground.

“That's the best you got you drunk asshole?” Logan taunts as he dodges a punch- only to be tackled immediately after.

The patrons of the bar begin yelling, a few whooping and cheering.

The struggle ensued, as the drunken accuser pushes Logan into the shutters, breaking them open as Logan’s is nearly pushed out the window- startling an old woman as she was walking by. He's pulled back in, and a punch is landed across his face.

He fights back, punching his attacker back- and knocking him out clean to the floor. By then, chaos has erupted throughout the bar- as most men, drunk on booze have taken this as their sign to fight their buddy next to them. Multiple men gang up on Logan- defending their KO'd brother on the floor.

Logan- no stranger to fight held himself steady. Using various tools at his disposal, he broke a chair over one man's back, and tossed the other over the bar counter. The angelic waitress from earlier screams and jumps onto Logan's back, hitting on his chest and shoulders in a febrile attempt to injure him.

“Get off me lady!” Logan shouts, attempting to shake her off, until another woman comes over and begins a cat fight with the waitress as she tears her off Logan's back.

Bottles are thrown across the bar, crashing against the wall. Logan attempts to make a quick exit alongside one wall, avoiding the two men fistfighting each other. A knife was thrown, slamming into the wall inches away from Logan's face, as he watched with wide eyes, the handle vibrate from the recoil.

He ducked under the knife, pushing past two more drunken men, who fell to the ground wrestling each other. He caught the words of one of them accusing his enemy of sleeping with his mother. Yikes.

Logan nearly made his escape- except the drunk from earlier, who started the whole thing had woken up not long after being knocked out and trailed Logan through the bar, grabbing the knife that was stuck in the wall.

“Asshole!” Logan heard him yell, and turned just as the knife came down, slicing down his arm, where red began to bleed through the cut, quickly soaking through the white sleeve of his shirt. Logan hissed from the pain, jumping back- just when several men barged in- one grabbing Logan and pulling him back out into the bright sun and fresh air.

“Can’t go one goddamn day without a fight breaking out around here.” The stranger mutters under his breath as he helps the slightly disoriented cowboy down the porch of the saloon. “Christ, your arm okay pal?”

“S’It look okay?” Logan sneered, his hand moving up to apply pressure to it, hissing at the stinging sensation through gritted teeth. He’s had worse, but damn it hurts.

“Just trying to help. You should see the doc.”

He was begrudgingly dragged to the so-called doctors house. Forced to walk through streets until reaching an empty road where a lone house stood tall, surrounded by trees and wildflowers. A small garden growing various vegetables sat in front- and he spotted a small pen nearby, where he heard the bleating of goats.

Nice place.

Logan- distracted from the pain in his arm- and grumpy he never got his drink and got a fight and a slash to the arm instead- ruining a perfectly good shirt by the way, didn’t put two and two together right away when he arrived.

“Doc!” The stranger calls out to the house as they approach it- a man who introduced himself as Oliver; not as tall as Logan, with short brown hair and clean shaven face and adorning suspenders. Oliver was rambling as they made their way to the doctors house- which Logan tuned out for the most part. Only picking up that the doctor was sweet, and a bit quirky as some people say. Not traditional in a sense.

He opens the screen door to the house without knocking, holding it open for Logan. “Doc? Got some work for you.” He calls out into the house as he steps inside after Logan.

“I don’t need a doctor pal, I’m fine.” Logan mutters, leaning against a small table by the door and removing his hand to observe the bloody wound. Oliver grits his teeth, sucking air through them as he put his hands on his hips, pointing to the arm and shaking his head

“Ya gonna lose that arm to uh…What they call it…”

“Sepsis.”

A woman's voice made them raise both their heads.

You leaned against the frame of the archway that led into your living room, a wet rag in hand as you just finished cleaning your kitchen- in which you had been thinking about how happy you were to finally have a quiet Saturday;

Of course good things never last long.

You tilted your head and you smiled, observing the two men standing in your foyer.

“Whatchu bring me now Oli?” You straightened yourself, walking over to Oliver and the injured man- the tall, handsome one you saw earlier who had clearly been mentally undressing you when he saw you walk by. He had a dangerous look about him, and looks like you were right.

Logan stared at you in surprise, wide eyed and lips slightly parted. You would have thought he just fell in love by the way he stared at you. Logan's eyes trailed down your body, still in the pretty dress you still had on from earlier. Now that he’s got a closer look at you, you are definitely a beaut, heavenly in the way the light from the windows of your home glows with sunlight around you. He didn’t think when he saw you earlier that you’d be a doctor of all things.

“Another casualty of Morgan's Saloon.” Oliver smiles, a certain shine in his eyes that Logan noticed Oliver has when he looks at you. “I guarantee you, there’s going to be more heading here soon.”

“Figures.” You scoffed, shaking your head, you stepped past Oliver, placing your hand on Logan's shoulder as you observed the cut. “Ouch! How did this happen mister…”

“Call me Logan.” He gives you a charming smile, leaning closer to you, hand coming up to tip his hat respectfully.

“Logan.” You raised an eyebrow, now putting your hands on your hips, tipping your chin back as you look up at him with a playful expression. “What happened at the saloon?”

“What always happens.” He smirked. “The arm’s fine darling, no need to fuss over me- much as I ‘preciate the attention of pretty woman like you.”

“How about you let me decide if your arm is okay.” You say sweetly, waving for him to stand up.

“Need me for anything?” Oliver asks you, you shook your head- the curls of your hair bouncing with your movements, politely waving him off.

“No, just make sure no one killed each other back there.” You muttered, shaking your head, as you began to lead Logan through your home and into your kitchen.

Pulling out a chair from your kitchen table, you pat it and motioned for Logan to sit who obliges, taking off his cattleman hat and setting it on the table.

“You mind taking off your vest and shirt so I could get a better look?” You ask as you walk across the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out small containers filled with medicine, bandages, and more and setting them onto the table behind Logan.

“Any excuse to see me shirtless, huh?” He asks in a coy tone, turning his head to the side, a playful grin on his face as his eyes watched you busy yourself around the kitchen.

You froze, rolling your eyes at his flirtation and not responding to it. It’s a common interaction with most men brought to your home. You however, were more concerned to make sure he doesn’t bleed out or die of sepsis inside your kitchen that you just cleaned. You went to another cabinet and pulled out a glass and some liquor, setting it aside, before stopping to put your hair back, going to wash your hands in the sink- while also filling a bowl with water and clean rags.

Logan looked forward again, and began working on shedding his bandolier, vest, and shirt- now ruined with blood. He groaned a bit, the feeling of the discarded cloth wasn’t pleasant against his wound. He discarded them to the floor and sighs as he settled into the chair. You walked to his side, holding out a glass of whiskey. He looked at it, then you.

“Well, thank you sweetheart.” He purrs, happily taking the glass from your hand. He does a small toast to you, before sipping it- savoring the burn of the liquor on his tongue- finally getting that drink he hadn’t stopped thinking about since he’s arrived in this town.

“You’ll need it.” You hummed, as you walked around him, grabbing another chair to sit on as you grabbed the wet rag from the bowl, squeezing out the excess water and you began to gently wash the blood away. He flinched from the cold temperature of the water. “Sorry,” You smiled apologetically to him. “It’ll take too long to warm it up.”

“I can take it.” He mutters, looking down at his drink, before taking another swig. It was silent as you worked to clean him up, observing the long cut down his bicep to his elbow. Meanwhile, he observed your house. Nice, pretty- definitely a sign of a lived-in woman. “So, doc, how a girl like you get into a business like this?”

“Mm. Long story.” You say. “I like helping people, is the short of it.”

“You don’t look like a doctor.”

You tipped your head up at him. “Yeah? and what should I look like?”

He glanced at you, realizing he was digging himself a grave by the challenge in your eye. “Mm, I don’t know.”

“No no, clearly you have some notions of what a doctor should look like…Share it with me.” You encourage, with a playful tone in your voice as you resume cleaning his arm.

“Nah, I don’t think I will.” He grinned, shaking his head. “I suppose I just uh…” He looked at you, his voice turning low. “Never seen a lady so beautiful, be a doctor, of all things before.”

“Mmhm.” You barely respond, not wanting to fuel his attempt to flirt.

“Some lucky guy make an honest woman out of you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No...” You tittered.

“Shame. Dame like you should have someone taking care of you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can take care of myself.” You retort, tipping your chin up at him. He smirked.

“Yeah…” His eyes trailed down, not being very discreet as he checked you out. “Ain’t nothing wrong with being taken care of though, sweetheart. Look at what a nice thing you’re doing for me.”

“This nice thing is my job.” You raised your brows at him. “I took an oath when I became a doctor. Do no harm, help anyone to the best of my ability.”

“Yeah…” His smirk slowly faded. “So you like helping people huh?”

You were silent, as you thought about what he said, playing back old memories. Patting his arm dry with a new clean rag, giving you a clear view of the cut on his arm. You nodded. “Yes. I do.” You were sincere in your tone.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He had a more serious look, something thoughtful. Like he was considering your words.

“Well, you don’t need stitches.. That's the good news!” You set back, looking away to break the building tension. “I’ll just clean it out, wrap your arm up and you’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks doc.” He turned his head away from you, his finger tapping along the glass. You took the chance to observe his face.

No, you couldn’t deny he was quite handsome. He had pretty eyes, and a nice deep voice that sounded like honey and whiskey to your ears. Clearly a brute creature, but at least he was respectful enough to you.

“You get into a lot of fights Logan?” You asked. He looked at you again, and you motioned with your hand the various scars along his body. He looked down at what you were pointing at. You didn’t need him to tell you though, you were able to tell the moment you laid eyes on him outside the saloon. He was a wanderer- a cowboy. Every scar told a story.

It should sway you, it’s clear he’s dangerous. He had a revolver on his holster- inches away from your knee. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him though.

“It happens.” He says with a shrug, finishing off his whiskey. “Misunderstandings.”

“Yeah? What do you do to cause so many misunderstandings?”

He looked at you, expecting to find judgement, something critical, in your eyes. Yet you looked at him with no judgement- no, he saw something more unfamiliar in your expression. Kindness.

“Nothing you should worry about.” He says gently.

You nodded, and returned to his arm- grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and cotton rag and began applying it to the large cut. He let out a hissing noise, wincing from the sting and turning his head away.

“Damn that smarts.” He grunts, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.

“Sorry. That’s why I gave you a drink.” You continued to thoroughly apply the antiseptic to the injury. “You’ll want to keep this clean- don’t be swimming in any rivers or lakes. Have a doctor check up on it in a few days- make sure there’s no infection and I’m serious- you don’t want to lose that arm.”

He hummed. “Got it.”

You gently lifted his arm up, informing him to hold it up while you began to wrap it gently with a bandage roll.

“So do you uh, work out of your house?” He asks. You nodded.

“People are more comfortable that way I feel.” You say. “Lot of the time when you’re sick you don’t want to sit in a room filled with needles and scary looking chairs and all. The only issue is the occasional need for surgery, injuries worse than yours, I need a sterile field, infections run rampant enough already. I have a room down the hall for that if needed, which fortunately isn’t often, but with all the farms around here- stuff happens with the machinery.”

Logan listened intently, his eyes observing the kitchen before he glanced down at the vest he left on the floor- which occurred to him. A woman, and a doctor, sitting right next to him.

Logan wasn’t a good man. This felt completely shitty though.

“So, what’s your name darling? Don’t think I caught it” He asks casually.

You told him your name, not noticing the way his eyes darted over to you, staring you down with intensity- if you had looked at him right then, you would have seen a flash of guilt. His eyes darted away before you could see it.

“Pretty name.”

You shook your head with a smile, “Thank you, Logan.”

Money’s money.

He turned his head fully to look at you. You felt tension return between you. Logan's eyes seemed to pierce through you, and you were hypnotized by them. You cleared your throat, standing up and pulling off your gloves- sticking them into the bowl of dirty water- which you’ll clean and sanitize later.

“You’re all set.” You inform him, smoothing out your dress as you speak. “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“Another glass of whiskey will do just fine.” He grumbles looking away.

You let out a small laugh and nodded, walking around him, the heel of your boots clipping on the hardwood as you grabbed the bottle of whiskey- and topped off his glass as he held it up to you.

“You look tired Logan.” You say as you set the bottle down. “Why don’t you get some rest? You can lie down on the couch, I have a bedroom as well if you’d like some privacy and something more comfortable?”

“I’m alright.” He stands up, and you see his muscular figure. Trailing from his Adams apple, down to his chest and stomach, brawny, hairy, he clearly was strong and you could appreciate that as a woman and a doctor.

You hadn’t paid much attention to it earlier, seeing he was a patient and you were focused on taking care of the wound first. Now that he was okay, you could certainly appreciate the specimen before you. It bloomed a heat in your cheeks and you looked away, suppressing a bashful smile.

“Mind if I use the bathroom?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You nodded, you walked across the kitchen with him following- and you pointed down a small hall. “The door on the far right.”

“Thanks darling.” He says, a charming smile shot your way as he walked past you. Your eyes glanced down to his pants, heavy with a holster resting over on his hip. The revolver you weren’t looking at though.

Nice ass!

You blinked at the thought, shaking your head as you walked back to the kitchen, beginning to clean up, grabbing the items that Logan carelessly discarded to the floor when he came into your kitchen.

A slip of paper fell out between the clothing items, and you reached down to grab it. It had unfolded when it slipped out of the vest, a paper that looked like a telegram.

You aren’t nosy, really, but a quick glance and you noticed something familiar between the printed words. You read it as you stood up- and your stomach sank with your blood running cold. You read the telegram message- addressed directly to him, with details of you, your job, your home.

Three thousand dollars?!

This man was here for you- and acted like a flirt, a friend, to your face. You left the door open for anyone no matter the danger, always able to handle yourself, a handsy drunk, a hysterical child- you’ve seen it all.

A bounty hunter?

He’s in your home, alone, with you. You weren’t sure how you could get out of this one.

You didn't hear him behind you as you stared at the paper dictating your inevitable kidnapping.

“Well, look at what you found, sweetheart.”

You turn around, jumping at the sound of his voice. You clenched the paper in your hand as you stepped back from him, feeling like there was a frog in your throat.

His expression was serious. You didn’t see remorse, guilt, nothing and that pissed you off more than scared you. He sighed, reaching to grab his shirt, observing the cut and blood-stained cloth, and clicking his tongue, before pulling it back on. Then grabbing his vest.

You watched him as he dressed himself, nervously looking back where your backdoor was- calculating how far you could get from him, find a weapon perhaps. Your eyes glanced down at the revolver on his hip.

Realistically, you’re fucked.

You watched him pull the bandolier over his shoulder, and then grabbed his hat, before he looked at you with an unimpressed expression. “Well darling. How is this going to play out?”

You press your lips together, straightening your shoulder and holding your head high. “Surely you don’t think you could just kidnap me, with as many people around here as there are. What, you’re just going to sling me over your shoulder, shoot your way back into town on your horse and carry me off to god knows where?”

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #vans daydreams #logan howlett fic #cowboy! logan #cowboy! logan x reader #im not sure how i feel about this #as many words as ive written #but i realllllly wanted to get this out sooo

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 8 months ago

Note

reid gets the reader to open up about their mental health :)

Opened Wounds

Summary: Reader opens up to Spencer about her mental health after a triggering case.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: hurt/comfort

Content warnings: Mentions of PTSD and cults

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: I know in my guidelines I said I will not romanticize mental illness and I stand by that. Which is why this is not really as much of a romance-centered fic. Spencer and Reader are in a relationship, but this is more about being comfortable in opening up in that relationship.

Thank you for submitting 🩵

The hum of the jet was the only sound as the team settled into their seats. Exhaustion was the mutual feeling throughout the cabin, and you were no exception.

The only difference between your flight to the scene and going home is that you chose a seat in the corner instead of near J.J. like normal. No one paid mind to it, it seemed. Perhaps they all knew and saw you needed space. Maybe Hotch had some sort of debrief with the team, discussing your file before bringing you on.

You thought all of that at the moment, but it isn’t until you’re halfway home and flying over Louisville, Kentucky that you accidentally lock eyes with Spencer. He collects the pile of snacks as he wins yet another game of poker against Morgan and Prentiss. You saw him cheat, and he saw you pull your lips into a (hopefully) convincing half-smile. The jet’s humming is all you can hear as he shuffles the deck, and Morgan snatches it from him to shuffle instead.

He could still cheat the next round, but you couldn’t escape the feeling that flickered across you the moment you were in his line of sight; his knowing stare. He’s been trying to get you to talk since you landed in Nebraska. It wasn’t appropriate for you to share a room, so you could avoid him at night as well. But you share a bed with him when you’re both home, and this isn’t the first time you’ve acted this way because of a case. A very specific case.

You return to the window, watching the plains and silos as they disappear in the haze of gray clouds that come and go. They would remind you of home. If your thoughts weren’t equivalent to TV static, they’d probably be the last things you’d want to look at. All you do is stare.

Then, there’s a pressure on your shoulder. You jerk at the touch, clutching your dad’s necklace on instinct. Even after turning your head to see it’s Spencer, your fist lays flat on your chest as you try steadying your breaths. “Jesus Christ!” You say, hushed.

“Sorry, sorry!” He keeps his voice quiet as well, his big eyes somehow growing. “I just… wanted to see you. So.” He gives a little wave as he smiles. “Hi.”

The team has been aware of your relationship for two months now. Still, speaking so closely, and whispering no less, feels like there’s still a secret. You hate secrets. Especially since you can see Morgan peeking over the seats to spot potential gossip. It doesn’t help that he was the first one who started asking about you two, and you spent so much time together. It was an anxious sight before, but now you can’t help questioning if it’s because of your past, the newspaper headlines with your and your little brothers’ faces among the few survivors from that burned barn.

Spencer points to the seat in front of you. “Mind if I sit?”

It’s hard to say no, even though you want to. Pushing away and avoiding hard topics is something you’ve learned to be good at. It’s why you don’t talk to your brothers anymore. It was for the best… for a long time. Yet that face of his. You still glance over at the rest of the team as you wonder how much of a crowd you’re drawing in. “Spencer, I—”

“Don’t worry about them. They won’t bother you.”

So they must know.

Spencer waits for your nod (you give it) before he scooches in for a seat. He settles in with a sigh and lets the tip of his sneaker brush against your tights. When you look up at him, pieces of hair fall in front of his face. He brushes them back as he smiles softly, yet knowing more than they do. “What’s on your mind?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You sound like my therapist.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing right now?”

Instead of an answer, you shrug, taking in breaths of clean air and keeping the looming anxiety away. You know Spencer, though (unfortunate at the moment), so you know that won’t cut it.

And he does too, which is why he reaches across to rest a palm on your knee. “I’m not your mother, okay? You can trust me.”

You push your mother further back in your head. “I’m just… having a bad day.”

“After another case involving a cult.”

“Yeah.”

“You know if you talk to Hotch, he’d let you sit—”

“I don’t want to sit these out,” you tell him. It’s the surest thing you’ve said all week. “It doesn’t change the number of people who need our help.”

“It doesn’t help your PTSD either, Y/N. It’s not healthy.”

Your face scrunches at the acronym, and Spencer sounds even more like your therapist. Because he’s right and you hate it. Throwing yourself into your work has led to burnout and breakdowns you hope the team never witnesses. You hope Spencer never has to see you like that. The tears blur your vision, and the man across from you becoming as indistinguishable as watered down ink. “I just hate that it still gets to me,” you say. “I thought I was stronger than this.”

Spencer’s hand squeezes your knee gently. “You are strong. But strength doesn’t mean being unable to feel. It’s okay to still feel those things like they were yesterday, especially after what you survived.”

You look away, staring out the window again as if the clouds could somehow absorb all of this for you. “It just… it all comes rushing back, and it’s impossible to escape it. No matter how hard I try, I’m right back in Nebraska. I can smell the smoke, feel the heat. I hear their voices and prayers. It’s like I’m trapped all over again.”

The confession hangs between you two. They slip out like a faucet because of one hand on your knee topped with genuine concern. Pathetic, you thought to yourself. It doesn’t help that the vulnerability leaves a lightness on your chest, like you’ve cut yourself open on an autopsy table for not just him, but for everyone to look.

No one looks around. They either don’t overhear you or pretend they don’t. There’s no in between. Spencer, however, shifts in his seat, leaning closer. “You’re not trapped, Y/N. Not anymore. You’re here, with me, with us. Hey, look at me.”

You look back up.

“We’re not going anywhere.”

You swallow hard, the tears now spilling over as you look at him. “What if I never get past this? What if I can’t do my job anymore?”

His brows slanted as he looks at you, and he leans across to brush a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “You’re not the first person in the BAU with such a past. Hotch knew that and he still hired you. We’ll get through it together, you and me first. And if you need to take a break, or sit out a case, the team will be there for you. It doesn’t make you weak.”

You nod, though the fear still lingers. The idea of security (of any kind) is hard to settle into when you haven’t had it in so long. You pick at your nails, but with one hand, Spencer encourages you to stop. And you let out a shaky sigh. “I’ll… talk to Hotch.”

“Good.”

“Just to touch base.”

“Right. Of course.”

You lean into his touch, lacing your fingers with his as you try to form a genuine smile. “Thank you,” you said.

Spencer stands slightly, in an ungraceful crouch to kiss your cheek.

The hum of the jet continues, the world outside still distant and gray. But in this moment, sitting with Spencer in the quiet corner of the plane, you still feel exposed, but less alone. And for now, that’s enough.

Thank you all for your patience and thanks for enduring my absence. I'm not going anywhere, I've just been active in other fandoms/cannot for the life of me find inspiration. My fic uploads will probably be quite infrequent, but I'll still upload when I can. Just fyi 😉

Also if you've sent in a request, I probably still have it and have written a bit for it. It's just not done because, again, my inspiration well is ✨very dry✨ I appreciate everyone for being patient with me and still enjoying my fics all the same 🩵

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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lonelywretchjervistetch · 9 months ago

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The State Birds Initiative - Introduction

Before I do ANYTHING else, and before you read anything else...let's start this with a little poll, shall we?

...Look, I'm an overly ambitious person by nature. It's a problem, I'm fully aware. So, in the midst of writing character essays, imagining my own version of the DC Cinematic Universe (I promise, I will return to the Legion of Super-Heroes series; been having writer's block, not gonna lie), and about a dozen other projects that don't include school and my job (one and the same thing, and I love both, but I'll get to that one day)...I had another thought. That I would like to present to the good people of Tumblr (and perhaps beyond).

The state birds suck.

Most people on Tumblr don't know this about me, save for a select few that no me in real life (hey guys, 'sup), but I'm an avid birdwatcher, and am currently working in ornithology as a profession and student. As such, and as a former (and future) teacher, I have a vested passion in spreading the word. And one of the first ways most of us in the United States engage with birds, other than through the world and people around us, is through our national bird and state birds. Oh, and for anybody reading this not from the USA, don't worry, national birds are included here, too.

Now, in case you don't know for whatever reason, each one of the states in the United States has a bird meant to represent the state, designated by the government and often nominated by the state's citizens. This tradition started in 1926, with Kentucky's national bird, the Northern Cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis). Now, most states have an official state bird, although Pennsylvania technically has a state game bird, rather than a state bird. We'll get to it. But in any case, there's a bird associated with every state.

But, uh...most of them suuuuuuuuuuuck.

Now, for example, I'm not saying that the Northern Cardinal sucks. Far from it! I love cardinals, and honestly, who doesn't? They're handsome birds, they have a lot of character, they're recognizable in most states in the Union by most people. I love them! But, uh...cardinals are extremely overused as state birds. Kentucky chose them as their state bird first, and were followed by Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, North Carolina, West Virginia, and Virginia. That's ridiculous. Also, wait, really, Virginia? You saw that West Virginia had it already, and STILL went for the cardinal? What the hell?

But why? Maybe there's a good reason for all of those states to choose the cardinal, after all. Obviously, it's present in all of those states, because...well, the Northern Cardinal is basically everywhere. But other than that, why? Well, let's see.

Kentucky: Unclear, but it's likely because of its prevalence, songs, and nonmigratory behavior, at least according to some sources; there isn't a lot of evidence online as to why outside of this.

Illinois: For this one, we blame the children. Yeah, kids voted this one sd the symbol, choosing it over the bluebird, meadowlark, bobwhite, and oriole, according to the Illinois Department of Natural Resources. So, yeah, probably because it's familiar and red.

Indiana: For...reasons. Yeah, even less is known about this choice. Safe to assume, though, that it's because it's familiar and red.

Ohio: Apparently, this is because it's red and has a cheerful song. 'Kay. Again, not a lot of evidence for this one, but we'll go with it.

North Carolina: This one also came down to public vote, after a campaign initiated by the North Carolina Bird Club in 1943. It won over the red-winged blackbird, wild turkey, scarlet tanager, and gray catbird. Apparently, this was the second attempt at a state bird, as the Carolina Chickadee (Poecile carolinensis) had been chosen ten years earlier, but only retained the position for a week because the bird's other name is, and this is true, the tomtit. And that was apparently too lewd for the title of state bird. Jesus. We'll get back to that when I address North Carolina officially.

West Virginia: Again, chosen and voted by schoolchildren, and chosen because it's familiar, red, and has a cheerful song. 'Kay.

Virginia: No idea. Also, don't listen to the sites that say their bird "exemplifies the quality of the state" unless they have the GODDAMN PAPERWORK to back that shit up. If I had to guess, it's possibly because the northern cardinal is one of the first birds seen in the state by settlers to the continental USA, who landed in...Virginia. So, the state's got a historical connection to the cardinal, meaning that the last state to ratify it as a state bird is the one to make the most sense to do so.

So, yeah...only one of those makes sense to me. Otherwise, it just feels...random. And by the way, many of the state birds do make some sense. Utah's choice, the California Gull (Larus californicus), has roots in a Mormon miracle, which makes perfect sense for the Mormon state. Louisiana's Brown Pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis) is an iconic species to the American southeast, and a massive proportion of the species breeds in the state. Same goes for the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Tyrannus forficatus), the state bird of Oklahoma. Iconic and unique grassland bird, and it breeds within the state in high quantities for the global population.

But others? Why does New York (a state I grew up in and around) have the Eastern Bluebird (Sialia sialis) for its state bird? Because it's blue and nice-looking? Why exactly do Wyoming, Oregon, Nebraska, Kansas, Montana, and North Dakota ALL have the Western Meadowlark (Sturnella neglecta)? I love the song too, and it's an iconic grassland species, but really? All of you? And Maine? Maine...Maine. I mean, you didn't even go for a specific species and just listed "chickadee" as your state bird. Why? There is a MUCH. BETTER. OPTION. OBVIOUSLY. But...I digress.

...FUCK IT

WHY ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH IS MAINE'S STATE BIRD NOT THE ATLANTIC PUFFIN (Fratercula arctica)??? ANSWER ME MAINE GODDAMMIT

Seriously, what the hell? It's the only state IN THE UNION where the Atlantic puffin breeds, and it's an incredibly iconic bird! I mean, look at that thing! They're adorable, fish-eating, clumsy-flying, feathery orbs with a Froot Loops beak (for part of the year), complete with their own fucking cereal that I ate constantly as a child. And their babies are called pufflings! PUFFLINGS!!! DO YOU HEAR ME MAINE WHAT THE FU

...OK. OK. I'm good. Look, this genuinely irritates the SHIT out of me, both as a hobbyist and as a professional. There are near 1,000 bird species that can be found in the United States, and the state birds are, honestly, some basic-ass choices that doesn't BEGIN to explore the incredible diversity of this taxon. And honestly, maybe if we changed up the state birds, we could increase awareness for these animals and their conservation stories and needs. There are so many missed opportunities here for us as educators, birders, ornithologists, backyard birdwatchers, and even Birdblr, to educate those around us who aren't as ornithologically-inclined. Imagine being able to convince a friend to go find the state bird on a trip some weekend. It could be a fun activity, and a fun way to get into birdwatching and the natural world! IT'S GOT POTENTIAL!!!

And look, I realize I'm not alone on this front. Various people have proposed changing up the state birds, including some more powerful professionals than I. If you haven't seen it yet, check out this essay series from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology that came out last year, which asks whether or not eBird could be used to identify better candidates for state birds. And I'll be using it for what's coming next. Because here's the thing. I'm tired of ranting alone in the dark towards nobody while my fiancee is trying to sleep about this. I need to rant to you poor people instead. And what's more...I want people to rant with me. If they want to. So...

TO ME, BIRDBLR!!! LEND ME YOUR BINOCULARS!!!

I propose an initiative to create a new list of state birds for the United States of America. And I'm talkin' EVERY state, baby! Even the ones that have fitting birds, as mentioned above. We live in a GODDAMN DEMOCRACY, and I say that we put this to a vote. So, Imma make a series of polls, one for each state. And yeah, that's 50 polls. Each will have a selection of birds, including the current state bird for that state, and I'll present the options in each case. The rules and selection criteria for the birds I'll present are as follows:

The bird has to be wild and breed in the state in question. No migrants, to accidentals, no introduced species (looking at you, South Dakota), no domestic species (looking at you, Rhode Island and Delaware). They're from the state, they breed there, and they're wild. Don't have to be endemic to the state, but they need to be found there, at bare goddamn minimum.

No repeats! Every state will have a different species! No more repeats. If there are any ties for states to get a given bird, another set of polls will be made at the end to determine which state will get that bird, and the second highest bird will claim the spot for that state. I'll try to avoid that for each state, but we'll see how things go.

There has to be a reason for their selection. For each of the birds presented for each state, I'll make a solid argument for their nomination. This also goes for any birds submitted to me for suggestions (and yes, I mean to say y'all can make suggestions if you want to for each state). If you have a bird you think would be good for a state, especially if it's your state, please give me a reason. Not that it's pretty, not that you like it's song, not that it "represents the spirit of the state's people" for no easily defined reason. GIVE ME A REASON

And for now, that's it! And hell, if this gets popular or demanded (and I'm saying this if, like, 30 people pay attention to this post), I'll also do the District of Columbia and the U.S. territories. And hell (again), I'll even consider doing other countries if that gets demanded, definitely starting with Canada and seeing how things go from there. And finally...if people want it, maybe even the Bald Eagle (Halieetus leucocephalus) will go up for debate as the USA's national bird. Although, not gonna lie, I think that we're stuck with that one. Still, there are other questions that can be brought up if this gets popular enough. For now, though, let's focus on one thing at a time.

So, hopefully you answered the poll at the top, because I am curious as to what you think about your state bird. And just to set this up, the first state on the chopping block is Delaware, which has one of the most offensive state birds, in my opinion. Because seriously. What the fuck, Delaware? What the fuck.

See you soon, hopefully! And happy birding!

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Introduction to the State Birds Initiative

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williamseliterealty · 27 days ago

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BOOM! 175 Beauchamp Blvd in Somerset, KY is officially UNDER CONTRACT!

Corey Hubbard is doing what he does best — getting it DONE for his sellers and moving fast in this hot market!

This one didn’t sit long… and that’s what happens when you mix a strong strategy with elite representation from Williams Elite Realty.

Huge congrats to the sellers — and a warm welcome to the future homeowners!

Ready to make your move? Don’t wait for “someday” — DM me “READY” and let’s put a SOLD sign in your yard next.

Tag someone who’s been watching the market!

And hit that follow for more wins, walkthroughs, and behind-the-scenes action.

#UnderContract #SomersetKYRealEstate #WilliamsEliteRealty #CoreyHubbardRealtor #KentuckyHomes #SoldInSomerset #JustSold #RealEstateSuccess #ListingAgent #HotMarket #KeepersOfThePride #BeyondTheClosing #FYP #RealtorLife #HouseGoals #HomeSweetHome #RealEstateWin

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catfindr · 2 years ago

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#petfinder #catfinder #cat #kitten #kitty #howdy!#howdy #grey and white #gray and white #ky #kentucky

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whywishesarehorses · 10 months ago

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BLM Mustangs for Sale - Rock Springs pt 3 - McCullough Peaks

These horses are part of the July 2024 Auction.

This is the same herd as last auction's drama makers, including the filly Thora who went for 60k.

2 YEAR OLD BUCKSKIN GELDING HORSE (9286) 13.2hh (Brumby)

1 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (9287) 12.3hh (Bandero - younger sibling of Brumby)

4 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9294) 15hh (called Tomahawk on the range)

4 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9295) 15hh (Top Gun) (shared sire with 9296 and 9297)

4 YEAR OLD BLACK GELDING HORSE (9296) 15hh (called Kentucky on the range)

3 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9297) 14.2hh (Tabasco)

13 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (9298) 15hh - *note from corral: he is blind in one eye (Istaga)

14 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9299) 15hh (Garth)

6 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9300) 15hh (Moki)

2 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9301) 15hh (Merlin, same dam as Magic - Moonshadow, who was in the last auction)

15 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9302) 14.1hh (Las Vegas) (Seen here with Riot as a newborn)

14 YEAR OLD GRAY GELDING HORSE (9303) 14.1hh (Boreal) (Boreal with Garth in 2014)

6 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9304) 15.1hh (sargent, sire is 9302)

12 YEAR OLD SORREL GELDING HORSE (9305) 15.2hh (Stillwater) (seen here with 9298)

3 YEAR OLD BAY GELDING HORSE (9306) 15.1hh (Magic)

7 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9307) 15.2hh (Riot/Sayre/Sorcerer - 9302 is sire) (dueling with famed stud Thor)

1 YEAR OLD BUCKSKIN GELDING HORSE (9321) 13hh (Tchoupitoulis)

3 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9323) 14hh (Scooter) (Pictured with Kentucky)

1 YEAR OLD PINTO GELDING HORSE (9324) 14hh (Stormrider)

#blm mustang #mustang horse #equestrian #horse for sale #photo #horseblr #mustang #mccullough peaks

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tightjeansjavi · 2 years ago

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Jail Bird | Joel Miller x smuggler/raider f! reader

A/N: I got inspired by listening to the song “Stay” by Rihanna when I was driving home from Kentucky, and this was the result of it 🫠 you’re either gonna love, or hate the reader in this one.

~word count: 5.9k~

Summary: your relationship with Joel has always been easy up until the point that you make the conscious decision to leave him, and the QZ behind. Years later and you meet again, under violent circumstances.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, pining, stalking (if you squint) borderline possessive/obsessive behavior, smut (described but not as the main focal point of the story) conning, emotional manipulation, the reader is morally gray and you’ll either love them or hate them, actions on the base of survival, implied consent, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving) violence (undescribed but marked) possessive! Joel, vulnerable! Joel, protective! Joel, dark! Joel (if you squint) Joel is a hopeless romantic, manhandling, threats, use of firearms, smoking, +18 minors dni!

Jail Bird: ‘a person who is or has been in prison’

Your relationship with Joel Miller, your partner in crime, was as easy as sliced pie. The syrupy sticky sweet warm filling with melted vanilla ice cream drooling down the crust. Joel Miller, however, was anything but sweet. He tasted of smoky bourbon and life-long indescribable grief. Fluttering ashes, tongues tied, teeth clashing. His hands; sculpted by Greek gods in a meticulous manner. Strong, veiny, calloused yet soft. Joel Miller was a perfectly wrapped package with an ash stained bow. A dangerous combination of brooding, pining, and lust. Your partnership consisted of smuggling, sharing rations, and fucking. Joel was a man who knew how to fuck. The first time he took you was in a back alley in the QZ. The air was balmy and ridden with suspense. He caught you sneaking through the shadows past curfew to make a few back door deals with some FEDRA soldiers. A blow job for a trade of a handsome stack of ration cards? No biggie. He never felt jealousy course through his veins till he saw you sink to your knees on command.

Even with the lack of lighting, sans the pale moonlight shimmering above, Joel saw the doe like innocence in your eyes as he peeked his head around the corner. It felt wrong to watch. It weighed heavy like cement around his bones. Filth and sin dripped through his grime stained pores. He had been watching you for a while. You were a new resident to the QZ, a pretty thing that knew her way around the rules like they never even existed to you. He liked that about you. He liked that you were brash, that you outsmarted every lonesome fuck that crossed your path. So he’d observe you from a distance, catching your keen eye every now and then. It turned into an obsession for him and now the last shroud of little morals he possessed, were completely shredded as he palmed himself through his painfully tight jeans. Cursing under his breath as he tried to provide any form of relief to his aching cock. His head tilted back against the brick wall, lower lip taken harshly between his teeth as he took another risky peek around the corner.

You knew Joel was watching you. You caught his familiar, ruggedly handsome features appear from around the corner. How long he had been watching you did not matter. Your cunt ached for him just as much as his cock weeped for you. You had been observing him the day you arrived at the QZ, and you found yourself yearning for his rough caress.

Your eyes stayed locked on the spot behind the wall where Joel was pressed against as you pleasured the FEDRA soldier who lasted all of 30 seconds before he was spilling his filth down your throat and tossing ration cards at your knees. The stray dribble of cum was wiped from your lips with the tip of your thumb as you gathered up the ration cards and shoved them into your pockets as you rose to your feet. You pulled out a freshly rolled cigarette, bringing the tip to your lips as you lit the other end with an old lighter. Your features were illuminated by the warm glow of the flame as you lit the death stick and deeply inhaled. “You can come out from your hiding spot, Joel Miller. I know it’s you behind the wall. Don’t be shy.” Your head tilted to the side as you took another long drag.

Joel sauntered from behind the wall. His tall frame was brooding under the soft glow of the moon. His boots crunched heavily under rubble as he approached. Thunder lowly rumbled in the far distance as a warm breeze kissed your skin. The comforting glow of the moon was casted over in darkness of thick moving clouds as cooling droplets of water began to free fall from the heavens. The pavement was stained in dampness as the sky grumbled above. Bleach-burn hot flashes of lightning illuminated the jet black sky and illuminated Joel’s features in a blink of an eye. The rain didn’t deter him as he stopped a foot from where you stood. His gaze on you burned as brightly as the lit end of your cigarette pursed between your lips.

“You know, you’re worth a hell of a lot more than a blowjob in a back alleyway. How long did the fucker even last? 30 whole fuckin’ seconds?” He was leaning over you now, forearm resting along your head and you could feel the electricity and heat radiating from his body.

“Do you always watch women give blow jobs to FEDRA soldiers in back alleys? Or is this just a new hobby that you have suddenly developed?” You were casual with your question, a smirk playing on your lips as you lightly blew the hazardous smoke off to the side.

“No. You’re the first, darlin.’ It’s filthy of me, I am aware. Bet you liked it though huh? Bet you liked the idea of some dirty old man watching you get down on your knees prettily like that. You don’t seem like the type of gal to beat around the bush. Storms rollin’ in..wanna see if we can give the thunder a run for its money, sugar?” Joel wasn’t one to beat around the bush either and you appreciated a man that knew exactly what he wanted. Joel Miller was exactly what you needed to satiate your desires.

“You want to fuck me Mr. Miller?” You purred, flicking what was left of your cigarette to the ground, listening to the light hiss the extinguished flame gave when a stray rain drop fell upon it.

You felt his lips dip down to the shell of your ear, teeth scraping along the sensitive skin as he whispered, “wanna destroy you in the best fuckin’ way possible. Wanna ruin your sweet cunt. Been s’long for me, n’you’re so fuckin’ pretty, it hurts. Let me take care of ya, and I promise you won’t have to get on your knees for another FEDRA fuck again.” He pressed an open mouth kiss against the spot where your ear met your jaw, licking a hot stripe down your throat with a heavy warm breath.

“Is that a promise you can keep?” You whispered through the steady rainfall, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting.

“I don’t do promises, baby.” He rasped as his strong hands found purchase around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. “I only fuck. Ain’t gonna find any love from me. Don’t go and lookin’ for it.”

“I don’t do love either. It’s lost all significant meaning for me. I’m just looking for a good consistent fuck, and the means to survive.” You grasped the back of his neck in one swift movement, yanking his head up so you could crash your lips against his in a heated, tongue filled, teeth clashing kiss.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, doll. You’re mine now.” He mumbled against your swollen lips as he popped the button along your jeans and shoved his hand between the tight fabric and your soaked through panties.

“Yours.” You gasped longingly as his broad fingers teased your sticky, slick folds, gathering up your pooling arousal that oozed just for him.

The pounding rain soaked through your clothes as your thighs were wrapped tightly around Joel Miller’s hips. He was buried to the hilt inside of you as he slammed into you in a rhythmic pattern. The wind howled wildly as thunder cracked dangerously above. His hips would snap forward into you each time the thunder cracked ferociously. You and Joel were like two feral animals, clawing, biting, and moaning through the ever-growing violent tempest.

Your need for one another had grown carnal. Your bodies were constantly drawn to one another, like moth to flame. You spent more time in his apartment on the other side of the QZ than your own. He fucked you into a peaceful slumber everytime. Sometimes he’d fall asleep inside of you when he’d grown exhausted. “G’nna keep you full of my cock all fuckin’ night.” He’d whispered against your sex stained skin as his arm wrapped firmly around your waist.

You’d slip out of his steel grip before the sun would kiss the budding horizon. Sleeping over at Joel’s felt too personal, and you did it for yours and his own good. Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed. He’d confront you about it each time you’d accompany him on a smuggling run. “Why’d you leave in’sucha hurrry? Think I’m ugly or somethin?’” He’d casually ask as he walked alongside you.

“We both agreed to do no sleepovers, Joel.” Was always your reply. It was like clockwork.

“Fuck our stupid rules. I want to wake up to that pretty little cunt squeezing my cock. You gonna deny me that? C’mon. One sleepover won’t kill ya. I like havin’ you in my bed darlin.’” He nudged you against a nearby tree as the early morning birds chirped along the swaying branches.

“Fine. One sleepover.” You grasped him firmly through the tight confines of his jeans as he hissed under his breath. “Just one, baby. I swear on my filthy, lust ridden heart.” He affirmed.

One sleepover turned into five, and five to a dozen, till neither of you could keep track. It’s as if Joel had made a home inside of your flesh where he refused to depart. He built a door between your sternum; strong and sturdy. On either side of your sumptuous breasts laid two crafted windows. Your heart is where his bed laid where he secretly wished he could inhabit there for the rest of his dying days.

You had grown accustomed to the old metal bed frame striking the crumbling wallpaper fiercely. The old creak and groan of the bed springs creating a rhythmic tune in sync with your sweat slick bodies colliding over, and over again. Joel took you in any position imaginable between those 4 cramped walls. He grew fond of the way you’d ride him slowly where he had the pleasure to watch the way your warm walls hugged his cock with each roll and rise of your hips. He reveled in the erotic sight of your cum mixing with his own, like your own personal watercolor painting between your connected bodies. He reveled in smearing your skin with his release, using his fingers as a paintbrush as he streaked your skin in his filth.

When he learned that you were incapable of having children, he’d press his cum back into your tight hole with glint in his darkened eyes as he used his tongue to push his cum further inside of you, humming at the taste. “Gotta keep all of that inside of ya, sweet girl. Love knowin’ I can fill ya up like this. Don’t want any drops to leak out of this cunt. Wanna keep you stained in my cum forever.” He’d kiss your clit lovingly, tenderly with a light flick of his wet muscle. His words were nothing short of filthy. Any existing priest in this shit-hole would proclaim that you and Joel were children of satan for the debauchery that you both willingly partook in.

You liked it that way.

On the evening you made the conscious decision to leave Joel, and the QZ forever. The weather was stormy, just like the night you had first officially met. The rain pounded furiously against the grime stained windows. The tattered curtains casted shadows along the peeling floral wallpaper. Bright hot flashes of lightning illuminated the room you inhabited for what felt like centuries in fluorescent white. Your thighs were deliciously squeezing either side of Joel’s head as his face was buried deeply into your ruined cunt for the fifth time that evening. His tongue worked you in practiced strokes. His hunger for you was that of a ravenous beast that hadn’t experienced the taste of a woman along his tongue in years. He lapped at you like a man starved as if your cunt was that of the holy grail, sweet and life-curing. His hands acted as anchors around your hips, holding you pliant with little strength needed, eyes blissfully closed as he drank and lapped every last drop you could possess for him. Always so willing, always so needy, always such a good, good, girl for him. Only for him.

When he finally detached his mouth from your swollen clit, he looked up at you, grinning like a devil. His beard and chin were freshly coated in your slick that glistened under the bright flashes of lightning. His lips were wet, and appeared like two dew kissed cherries, scarlet and kissable. He rested his cheek along the inside of your sweat thick thigh as he caught his breath, chest rising and falling as he gazed up at you through thick lashes. He pressed an open mouth kiss as his beard scratched your skin gently. He was in love, and yet you had no idea. Or, maybe you knew all along. Maybe you loved him too. Maybe, just maybe. “Do you think maybe we can just stay here forever?..I’ll greet ya with a kiss every mornin.’ We could just stay between these walls and no one would have to know.” He pressed a feather light kiss to your hip bone. “Just you and me, and this sweet cunt. Never have I tasted something so sweet.”

Your fingers found purchase through his sweaty tendrils, twisting them between your digits with a content sigh. “I’m leaving the QZ, Joel. I can’t stay here any longer.” The confession flitted past your lips with a heavy sigh to shortly follow.

He chuckled, the sound vibrated up his chest and through his throat that was coated in your taste like cough syrup. “What do you mean you’re leavin’ the QZ? Don’t be ridiculous, darlin.’ Everywhere behind these fuckin’ walls is a shithole. There ain’t anythin’ good out there. I can’t fuckin’ protect you past those gates.” Another kiss was left along your abdomen.

“I never asked for, nor needed your protection, Joel. I’m perfectly capable on my own. You have to let me go. This has gone on far too long, and it’s for our own good.”

He scoffed as his lips continued to kiss their way up your body. Stopping at every freckle, every scar, every blemish. He traced them gently. “Let you go? How the fuck do you expect me to do that when I’ve learned, and know every fuckin’ inch of ya. Is it really for our own good? Or just yours? Don’t lie to me.” He nipped at the spot just below your ribcage, and your immediate reaction was to arch up closer to his touch. You always felt magnetized to him.

“You and I both know that it’s better off this way. What we had was good, and I have no regrets, but we broke every fuckin’ rule we put in place, Joel. It’ll hurt for a while, but the pain will reside and you’ll forget all about me.”

He was on his knees now, yanking you down by your ankles so you were beneath him. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me how I’ll feel. You know how fuckin’ long it’s takin’ me to finally open myself to someone again? You think you can just leave and suddenly one day I’ll stop thinkin’ about you? You’re fuckin’ out of your goddamn mind if you think that to be true.” The tip of his cock was nudged against your entrance, dragging through your slick folds that parted open for him like a canyon. He pressed himself into your tight wet hole, groaning softly at the feeling of your cunt hugging him already. “Put your thighs up against your chest fo’me.” He gritted out between clenched teeth.

Your thighs moved on command as you brought them up to your chest, bending yourself in half like a folding table as the weight of his own broad chest pushed your back further into the old mattress. “Joel, please.” You mewled. “You have to let me go. You have to.”

“Stop. Tellin’. Me. What. I. Have. To. Do.” He enunciated each symbol in a borderline patronizing way. He sunk further, and further into your warm abyss. Your pussy hugged him tighter and tighter till he had bottomed out. Sweaty strands of curls draped across his forehead like curtains as he snapped his hips forward in an aggressive manner. “You wanna leave me so bad, baby? After everythin’ I have done for you? Everythin’ I have given you? Shelter, food in your belly and a cock that knows how to fuck you stupid? You ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’ll just have to follow you. Care about you too fuckin’ much to just let you leave me like that.”

The old springs in the mattress squeaked with each one of his heavy thrusts. Your eyes rolled back as his tip pressed firmly against your cervix, eliciting stars to be casted behind your eyes. He fucked into you at an impossibly deep angle, his heavy balls hung between his thighs and slapped against your skin with every snap of his hips. “Joel, please.” You pleaded with him between moans.

“Please what, baby? Please fuck you stupid till you forget all about wantin’ to leave me? You’re not the same until you’ve had a well deserved fuck. I’m the only fuckin’ man that can give it to ya. Take it like the good fuckin’ girl that you are fo’me. Your pretty ‘lil fuckin’ pussy is huggin’ my cock so perfectly. S’like she was made ‘jus fo’me.” He was kissing you now, all teeth and tongue to shut you up. You protested words that fell muffled against his addictive lips as he fucked you the way he knew best. Always making sure you felt filled, stretched to your limits, and on cloud nine by the end of it. He always took care of you afterwards. Gently wiping between your thighs, bathing you under a warm stream with the tenderest of touches. Joel Miller loved you, and that’s exactly why you had to leave him.

He kept you anchored against his naked chest all night. Notched together like two puzzle pieces. At the strike of morning, with the soft beams of light trickling in through the wispy curtains, prying yourself from his satiating grasp. If you stayed in his warm embrace any longer, your heart would cave and you’d never leave. Without even delivering a proper goodbye, you left his apartment without looking back. You kept pushing yourself further and further from Joel, from the QZ till it was just a mere speck in the distance.

Joel drove himself mad on his search to find where you went. His anger shrouded his hurt as he scoured the QZ for any sign of your existence. He checked alleyways, the abandoned mall, your own apartment. He tore through your things in a fury, tears burning his vision as he ripped through your belongings like a predator rips apart its prey. No signs. No hidden clues for him to find where you ran off to. He inspected mutilated faces of the infected, praying that none of the once living would resemble you. None of them did. He gave up his search when he and Tess were forced to take a teenage girl across the country to the fireflies. Tess perished and soon it was just Joel and the kid. He never stopped thinking of you, of course. You haunted his dreams and sometimes he’d wake up to see your ghostly face laying beside him.

He thought he’d never see you again until one brutal winter in Jackson while he, Tommy, and a few other men were patrolling on horseback. Ellie was safely back in town, far from harm's way while Joel placed himself on death's doorstep every time he patrolled with his brother. His horses' hooves crunched heavily along the freshly fallen snow. The wind whipped and howled in an ominous tune as the bitter chill tore through his thick jacket and pierced his skin. “There ain’t nothin’ alive here for miles, Tommy. Let’s go back. That rumor we heard about a raiders camp is probably false. Besides, you said it yourself, ain’t no man is stupid enough to try and overthrow the town.” Joel rode up alongside Tommy’s horse.

“The cold botherin’ you or somethin’ brother? Thought you were tougher than that.” The younger Miller brother said with an amused grin as he lightly punched Joel in the shoulder.

The wholesome moment quickly turned to chaos as 3 shots rang through the snow covered evergreens. Your group had been closely stalking Joel and Tommy for hours in the shadow of the forest. It wasn’t your first choice to join a raider group. Why the men spared you that day was beyond you, but they had become your new family, and you’d take whatever protection you could get; good or bad. You were the mastermind behind ambushing the group from Jackson. Driven by greed and bloodlust, you convinced your men that they could take down the patrol group, and overthrow the town. A lack of poor judgment proved to be fatal as you were thrown from your horse and tumbled into the snow. Your gun was kicked violently from your grasp with a heavy boot as you let out a feral scream.

The same boot that disarmed you, kicked your body down into the snow with a heavy thud. Adrenaline coursing through your veins clouded your senses as you held your hands up in defense at your perpetrator. You could only see his eyes as the rest of his face was covered by a thick wool scarf. The barrel of his gun was pressed against your temple as the man’s knee pressed harshly down on your stomach, pinning you at his mercy. “Your men are dead, and now you’re about to fuckin’ join them. How stupid does one person have to be to try and pull off a stunt like that?” The man gruffly spoke, voice muffled through the thick wool disguising his features.

That voice. Could it be? No. You were just imagining things again.

“Go ahead and fucking shoot me then. Better you than the men back at my camp. They’ll do far worse than you can imagine.” You spat.

Joel grasped the back of your head, yanking you up as he kept the barrel of his gun steady against your trembling temple. “How many of ya are there? In your camp, how many? If you tell me where they are, I won’t kill you.” Joel Miller was always a man of his word.

“Twenty..or so. You’ll need more men.” You grinned your teeth together as he roughly yanked you up. Your face was also concealed with a thick scarf, but your eyes held a sense of familiarity that Joel hadn’t felt in years.

“Tommy! Round up what’s left of their horses, and we’ll take her back with us. She’s gonna tell us where the rest of her group is. Ain’t that right, darlin?’”

Tommy was weary of his brother's proposal but ultimately agreed. “Fine. We’ll put her in a cell and then interrogate her for information. Maria isn’t going to take lightly to this, just so you’re aware.” Tommy narrowed his eyes at you before turning on his heel to return to his own horse.

“So, I’m becoming your prisoner? You gonna put me in handcuffs or something, sir?” You couldn’t help but take a tone with this man, despite a literal gun being pressed against your forehead.

He yanked you up to your feet in one swift movement. “You’re going to be my jailbird for as long as I fuckin’ see fit. You wanna live another day? Better get to talkin’, and cut that smartass attitude out. The hell is wrong with you?” Joel shoved you towards your horse with the barrel of his gun now shoved at your back. “Get on.” He demanded.

“You injured my horse.” You flatly stated as you grabbed ahold of the reins and hoisted yourself back into the saddle, and your scarf fell down just the slightest before you quickly scrambled to re-secure it.

“That’s what happens when you ambush heavily armed people, darlin.’ A grazed bullet to the flank ain’t gonna kill your horse. He’ll live.” Joel hoisted himself back up into his own saddle.

“It’s a she, and fuck you.”

“Well, my apologies to her.” Joel held the reins in one hand while the other was firmly wrapped around your bicep, just in case you were going to be stupid enough to try and escape.

You were in fact thrown into Jackson’s makeshift jail like a rag doll. Joel was anything but gentle as he shoved you inside the cell and slammed the door shut with a heavy clank and locked it. “You outta go and make yourself comfortable, cus’ you’re gonna be here awhile.” He pulled up a chair to sit right outside the metal bars. It scraped painfully along the flooring as he sat down.

You sat down in the chair across from him, peering through the metal bars with your arms crossed against your chest. “So, even if I tell you where the rest of my group resides, you aren’t going to let me go?”

Joel mirrored your actions by crossing his broad shoulders over his chest in an intimidating manner. “I never said anythin’ about lettin’ you go. All I said was that I wouldn’t kill ya if you told me where the rest of your group is.”

“Ohh. So you were dead serious on the whole prisoner thing? I thought you were bluffing.” You pressed the weight of your back against the metal chair. “Well, if we’re gonna be here awhile, mind telling me who you are?”

“Those details are not necessary. You ain’t got a reason to know who the hell I am. You’re gonna sit there, and you’re gonna talk and I let you live. You think you get to call the shots, sweetheart? You got another thing comin’ for ya.” Joel stated with a raised brow.

“Alright, how about we make a deal. You seem like a reasonable man. How about we both take these scarves off and reveal our identities, and then I’ll talk. Let’s make this entire transaction personable, it’ll make it way more fun for me to kill you if I see your face.” Your threat was casual, yet all the more serious.

“Kill me? How are you gonna do that? I got you trapped behind these bars and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.” He scoffed at your threat, brushing it off like water off a ducks back.

“I have my ways.” You stood up from the chair and sauntered over to the bars, grasping them between your hands with your cheek pressed against the cold metal. “C’mon. Tell me your name, and then I’ll tell you where my camp is. It’s a fair deal.”

Joel let out an annoyed huff. He was sick of your games already and he briefly wondered how someone as incessant as you, survived this long. “Joel. My name is Joel.”

Joel is a common name, right? There’s plenty of Joel’s. There’s no way in fucking hell that this man was your Joel Miller. Not a chance.

The air felt heavy as you stared at him through the bars. Your gaze was heavy on his covered face as if you were trying to see through the wool that covered it.

“The fuck are you starin’ at? Y’know what? Maybe I should just kill you after all. You ain’t gonna tell me what I want to know. You think that you’re gonna fuckin’ weasel your way out of this. Well, guess what? You ain’t.” He stood up from the chair in a fury as he strode to the bars and grasped your chin in one swift movement. You clawed at his hand, but it was too late. Your scarf fell from where it was secured on your face and he stumbled back as if he had seen a ghost, his own scarf falling as his body collapsed into the chair.

“YOU?!” He yelled incredulously as he stared at your recognizable face in disbelief. “YOU TRIED TO FUCKIN’ KILL ME!” He tossed his scarf to the ground as he pulled himself back up from the chair. “All these years, and this is how we meet again?!” His voice echoed off the concrete walls, booming painfully against your eardrums as you cowered from the sound.

“Had I known it was you—”

He didn’t even give you a chance to finish your sentence as his hands slammed down around the bars. His face was flushed red with anger, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Bull fucking shit! You tried to kill me, and my brother! You fuckin’ ambushed us!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS YOU! I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS YOU, JOEL! I SWEAR!” You tried to plead with him.

“You tried to kill me.” His voice fell flat as he stepped back from the metal bars with a heavy shake of his head. “You fuckin’ bitch.” He whispered under his breath as he strode out of the makeshift jail without looking back.

Three days passed since you had last seen Joel Miller. You were convinced that he, and the people of Jackson would let you rot in here without a care in the world. In your solitude, your mind drifted off to the QZ and your time spent with Joel. Oh, how everything had changed.

A metal tray skidded to your feet below the metal bars along with a mug of coffee. Joel had returned and was once again sitting in the old metal chair as you scarfed down the food he provided you like a ravaged animal.

“Your men are dead. Cordyceps got to them before we could.” He was resting his hands on his knees as he leaned over, observing you.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” You spoke between mouthfuls of stew, not even looking up at him.

“Tommy wants to kill you. His wife is pretty fuckin’ pissed that you and your group ambushed us. I’ve convinced him for the time being to spare your life. You’re welcome.”

“I agree that they should kill me. I’m a traitorous killer. If you let me out of this cell, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“You can quit that whole tough girl act ‘round me. I know exactly who, and what you are, and you darlin’ are not a killer.” Joel retorted with a sigh.

“Stop fucking acting like you know who I am, Joel. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me anymore. You don’t know the people I have killed since I left you. You don’t know what I’m capable of, so stop pretending that you do.” You snapped.

“Oh? I don’t? Just because you went off and joined a group of murderous raiders, doesn’t mean I don’t know you anymore. Are you forgettin’ that I used to be one of them?”

“What exactly are you trying to get out of this, Joel? Are you looking for closure? Are you looking for revenge? What the hell is it that you want?” You kicked the empty tray back under the prison bars.

“I want some fuckin’ answers. I want to know why you just up and left me like that. Do you know how long I spent lookin’ for you? I was forced to give up because a teenage girl, who I now view as my own kid, was thrown into my life, quite literally, and we went on this journey together. I stopped looking for you in mutilated bodies, but I never stopped thinking about you, and where you were.”

“I already told you why I needed to leave. I gave you those answers, and you wouldn’t agree with me. Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever fucking had to do. I told you it was for our own good.”

His boots were heavy along the floor as he stopped in front of the bars, grasping them tightly between clutched fists. “No. I want a real fuckin’ answer. I deserve that at the very least.”

You were in front of him now, hands grasping the bars just below his own with your eyes boring into his. “I left because I had to. If I stayed any longer, I would have never been able to leave. We would have never worked out, Joel. It was going to come to an end whether we wanted it to or not.”

“You didn’t fuckin’ have to do anythin.’ I provided you anythin’ you fuckin’ wanted. Anythin’ you needed. I let you ruin me, and you just get up and leave? Fuck you. I didn’t ask to feel this way. I didn’t ask to care about you. It just fuckin’ happened. So how dare you say that you had to do anythin.’” His tone dropped an octave as his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“What the fuck else do you want me to say, Joel? Do you want me to say that I hated you? That I never cared about you either? Do you want me to lie to your fucking face and tell you that you never fucking meant anything to me? Is that what you fucking want?!” You responded exasperatedly with your lips nearly touching his between the gaps in the bars. “I’ll lie to you if it means that you’ll finally let me go.”

“I loved you.” He whispered with a clenching heart. “I loved you, and would have done anythin’ to keep you. I’d lasso you the fuckin’ moon if it made you happy.” He confessed.

Your heart fell heavy between strained strings as your palms grew clammy. “No. Take it back. Don’t you dare fucking throw that word around with me, Joel Miller. You’re fucking lying.”

“Am I? Am I fucking lyin’ when I tell you that I searched every goddamn crevice in the QZ looking for you? Am I lyin’ when I tell you that I tore up your fuckin’ apartment to try and find any sign or clue as to where I could find you? Am I lyin’ when I spent sleepless nights cryin’ in my own filth because it felt like a piece of me was ripped away? Just like the way my fuckin’ daughter was ripped from me? I love you, you stupid, stupid girl.”

Suddenly, you were kissing. Magnets drawn together by an impossible force that not even prison bars could keep you apart. He grasped your face delicately between his hands as you kissed one another with desperation, as if you’d slip between one another’s hands like sand on a beach. He detached his lips from yours, a string of spit keeping you connected for a mere moment as he quickly unlocked the cell door with the key in his pocket. You were on each other in an instant, slamming his back into the door before kissing him fervently once more. Joel Miller should have never trusted a jailbird such as you. You felt the coolness of the key in your grasp, having him distracted at your mercy. You shoved him away, slipping through the door and slammed it shut before locking it. He barely had a chance to register that you were no longer in his proximity.

He shook the bars wildly, yelling fiercely as you slipped from his grasp once more. “DON’T LEAVE ME! DON’T LEAVE ME! I LOVE YOU, PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T GO! I LOVE YOU!” He slammed his fists into the bars over and over again, till his knuckles were raw and bleeding, and his throat ran dry.

Tagging people I think will enjoy! @chaotic-mystery @cavillscurls @morning-star-joy @sinsofsummers @cupofjoel @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @darkroastjoel @korynnekorynne @kirsteng42

Part Two

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