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ghosts-hoe · 15 days
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Awwwww I‘m in loveeeeeee
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baby
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ghosts-hoe · 19 days
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Justâ€ŠđŸ€­đŸ€€
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ghosts-hoe · 22 days
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ㅀㅀㅀㅀeither john price or simon riley, but that's it, that's the fact.
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ghosts-hoe · 30 days
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One of the best series I’ve read
The Do-Over
Ex husband John Price series Masterlist
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Chapter One: For The Record
Chapter Two: It's The Same Things
Chapter Three: That Go Wrong
Chapter Foure: Over And Over Again
One more chapters to come
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ghosts-hoe · 1 month
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Thats so Soap đŸ˜‚đŸ€­
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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What if Simon didn’t listen when Price told him to apologize to his girl before she does go off and find herself a better man?
a/n: This is technically part two for this list. You could read them separately but I really think you should read them both so you can fully feel the angst.
non-mcu characters masterlist
Taglist: @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries this is one is for you girl
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Price stalks over to him and grabs him by the front of his vest, not caring that everyone can see what’s going on. “You call and apologize to her right now, ya hear me? It’s unacceptable for you to lie to her like that and I should have your balls for it. You fix it before she does go off and find herself a better man.”
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Now let’s say that when Simon got back, things were
.different. You rarely fought but now you’re bickering about every little thing and having full on battles of the will that leave you crying in the bedroom while he’s storming out. The connection between you two feels strained and distant where’s before it was warm and comforting. You barely look at each other and sometimes you think he’s straight up ignoring you.
Even the dogs have started to notice that there’s something off about mom and dad. Most nights you’ll sleep alone with the dogs by your door while Simon is on the couch. It feels like they’re laying in wait, ready to spring into action if anything were to happen. They don’t go to him as much as they did before and your female dog, Echo, refuses to leave your side. She’s become glued to you while your other dog, Zade, keeps you within eyesight at all times. It really pisses Simon off because Zade is supposed to be his dog and the mutt won’t even look at him (Simon’s words, not yours).
It all comes to a head though one night when Simon is trying to get Zade to come with him on a walk and the dog just stares at him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. He just stares into Simon’s soul and judges him for how he’s been treating you.
“Zade! Come here now!” Simon grumbles in a half shout but the dog doesn’t move a muscle. You’re in the bedroom with Echo at your feet and she glances over at you with a look that says ‘let’s go’.
What happened next is a blur. Echo barely makes it into the living room before she’s growling and placing herself between you and Simon. Zade is up and stalking closer to his sister’s side while Simon is growing more and more angry. You don’t think you even had the time to say anything before Echo and Zade tackle Simon to the ground. You know they wouldn’t hurt him but it’s still a terrifying sight and you’re doing everything you can to get the dogs off of him. You manage to get them off but they refuse to go to their kennels and keep tucked behind you, still ready to protect you if needed.
“Simon, oh my god are you okay?” You ask him in a panicked and high pitched voice as you try to help him up. He shoves your hands off of him and accidentally uses too much force which sends you to stumbling into the dogs.
Everything is absolute chaos with his anger, the dogs trying to protect you, and now you’re crying while trying not to tell him off. At this point you grab the dogs by their collars and pull them away as tears are streaming down your face. When they hear your sniffles, they immediately give into you and let you pull them to the bedroom. You don’t hear Simon as you start to pack as much as you can. The weeks of being on edge have finally gotten to you and you’re done.
You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who isn’t willing to communicate with you.
You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who used to be the most loving and devoted man you’ve ever met but now he can’t acknowledge your presence.
You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who’s come so far and has forgiven himself for the things he’s done but now he’s slipping back into his old self destructive ways.
You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who can’t be honest with himself and admit that he’s wrong.
You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who’s become Ghost.
You’ve tried having faith in him after he broke up with you but it’s rotting you from the inside out. It’s eating away at your heart, gnawing at your ribs with your flesh stuck in its teeth. This faith is liquifying the kindness and patience you once had. It’s changing you into an anxious shell of a coward who can’t stand up for yourself. Change is alright but this is not. This change is making you cruel and hopeless while it waits for you to become a faithless savage who devours whatever light touches you.
It’s only when you come back into the living room with your bags packed and the dogs ready to go that Simon says something to you.
He questions what you’re doing.
He doesn’t apologize.
“I’m leaving. We’ll figure out everything tomorrow,” you tell him as you find your keys.
“What do you mean?”
You stop. You stare at the front door with completely blank eyes. They flicker to him over your shoulder.
“I’m leaving you. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can figure out how to make it a clean break then.”
He doesn’t say a word. Neither do you after that.
He lets you walk out the door. You don’t ask him to fight for you either.
He lets you leave him. You don’t turn back either.
You meant to drive to your friend’s place but somewhere on the way there you pull over and cry until you feel like you’re going to pass out. Zade and Echo watch from the backseat of your car with their heads on your center console. They want to comfort you but there’s not exactly room for two 100 pound dogs in the front seat so they stay put. Your friend calls you frantically because she’s not home but tells you that you should come meet her wherever she’s at. As nice as it might be to get away, it’s not appealing to you at the moment so you call the only other person you know you’d be comfortable with right now.
A part of you knows it’s a mistake to call him and if Simon finds out, he might very well almost kill his captain a third time. The other part of you knows that John would be understanding and the calm presence that you want right now. He already checks on you regularly so would it be a huge surprise if you showed up on his doorstep?
As if he’s been waiting for this moment, John already has a guest room for you and has the back door open for the dogs to run around outside. They’ve met him before so they feel more secure with leaving your side although they both give him a warning look.
Now it’s important to remember that the entire time you’ve known John, you’ve been with Simon. John thinks himself a gentleman, albeit a bit gruff, but a gentleman no less so you’ve been off limits. Obviously he can’t ignore the initial attraction he felt towards you because you are an utterly breathtaking person and it would be impossible to not notice that. He’s tried to lock away the yearning that tugs at the marrow in his bones when he sees you but it’s difficult. It’s like asking a dog to stop begging; they might listen for a moment but they go back to it within seconds. Also during the course of your friendship, he’s come to know the absolute amazing person that you are and seen that you have the kindness soul he’s ever known. It didn’t used to hurt when he saw you but after that night you texted him to keep Simon safe after he broke up with you, it’s damn near unbearable. Simon told you to find yourself a better man and John knows he could be that man. He wants to be that man but only if you come to him. He won’t approach you or even hint at it with you. It needs to be you who seeks him out. It needs to be you who wants him. It needs to be you who asks him to be that man otherwise John would never be able to forgive himself if it all went wrong.
Nothing happens that night or at all for that matter during your stay with John. It was meant to only be a few days but with losing your house so suddenly and trying to navigate a world Post Simon, it ends up being a few weeks. You feel awful about it and promise that you’ll be gone as soon as you can. John always laughs it off and tells you to stay as long as you need. Secretly he’s growing accustomed to your calming presence and gentle ways. He adores how thoughtful you are when you have to work early and barely make a sound. He appreciates how you make him a plate and leave it in the fridge if he comes home late. He’s thankful that you’re comfortable enough with him to tell him about everything that’s going on.
John made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t bring up anything unless you said something first. Even when he wants desperately to know why you’re crying when you came back from Simon’s tonight, he won’t. Instead he offers you a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and some space while he busies himself in his shop outside. It absolutely destroys him to even think about leaving you alone in the living room but it’s the right thing to do.
Just as he’s getting ready to leave, your small voice stops him.
“Can
can you stay?” It’s unusual for you to not be confident in your words. It causes him to freeze to hear the uncertainty. “If..if you want.”
He smiles at the ground before turning to look at you and nod. You’re curled into a ball on the couch with your dogs at your feet but there’s space for him next to you. You lean away from the arm of the couch and he takes the hint. Settling into the space between you and couch, he tosses his arm over the back and lets you decide how to proceed. Against your logical head, you tuck yourself into his side with yours pulled around yourself and your head on his shoulder. His fingers itch to play with the ends of your hair but they stay tightly closed around the couch cushion.
“Thank you
for everything.”
“No need for that.” He murmurs with bated breath. He knows you can feel the tension, how could you not when you’re practically laying on his chest?
“One day you’re going to accept my thanks. It might not be tomorrow or the day after, but you will,” you say with a snort. He says that every single time and you reply with the same phrase every time as well.
John’s hand betrays him and starts to play with the very ends of your hair. You feel it just like you felt his strained breathing. It’s strange to feel affection from anyone else but from him, it’s
. welcomed. You don’t acknowledge it and he knows that you’re doing that for his own sake.
“Maybe,” he tosses back and his breath catches when you move closer to him. Your arm moves to wrap around his waist and stills when he tenses. It’s your silent way of asking for consent to hold him. “Love,” he starts and moves his hand away from your hair.
You move to look at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. He’s looking at you with such tenderness and warmth it makes your stomach flip.
“Do you have feelings for me?” You ask him directly, unwilling to be tossed around again. It’s abrasive and you know there’s a better way to have asked but it gets straight to the point.
John looks sick and a tight lipped smile pulls across his face as he tries to come up with an answer. “I
love I think you need to rest. There’s been a
”
“No. Answer the question.”
He glances down at your lips and that’s telling enough.
“Now isn’t the right time,” he whispers more to himself than to you. “You’ve just gone through
”
Cutting him off, you say firmly, “and that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”
He can only stare at you with half lidded eyes and pray that he doesn’t break in front of you. His resolve is crumbling and it’s only thanks to his military service that he’s not throwing himself at you.
“I told him it’s over.”
John tries to interrupt you but you silence him with a pointed look. “I told him that I will always love him but that doesn’t mean I want to be with him anymore. I won’t wait around for him to figure his life out. I don’t deserve that. I deserve a man who knows what he wants and will communicate with me.”
Honestly it feels like his world is crumbling around him. You’re here snuggled into his chest and saying all these things which he knows what they mean but he can’t believe that you know what they mean. He can’t trust his own understanding of you and believe that you’d mean that.
“I need you to tell me what you want
now.”
You.
He wants you. More than anything in the world, John Price wants you and you’re asking him to confess that secret.
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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I literally have goosebumps on my skinnnnn đŸ€­
oh my god.
“oh i’m a feminist. i wanna put a woman on top. and on the back, on her knees”
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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mw2 doodle dump
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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LOVE THIS SERIES
It's a Match! || 141 x Reader
[ Chapter 11 ] || [ Chapter 13 ]
Pairing: Gaz x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.4K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: i'm in love with gaz x2 date scene fully inspired by this artwork by @mindie-arts
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Chapter 12: A Date?
Sitting across from Gaz in the warm japanese restaurant under a warm-toned lamp, you find yourself a bit flustered by how cute he looks.
Sure, you knew he was cute, of course
 His pictures on Tinder more than showed it. He’s the epitome of a pretty boy, all polite and sweet, smiling bright, with those warm brown eyes that look more like pools of melted chocolate that you could find yourself sinking into like quicksand.
He ordered extra meat for himself and is currently scooping it into his bowl of Tonkotsu Ramen as you regale him with your tales of your night with Simon.
“Now, hold on-” He stopped you just as you were biting into your jammy soft-boiled egg.
“Hm?” You questioned as you cocked a brow.
“So
 Let me get this straight-” He said as he slowly stirred the slices of pork in the hot broth of his ramen. “You and Ghost didn’t-” He trailed off.
“No!!! I already told you!” You replied as you shoved the rest of your halved egg into your mouth and chewed.
“Hm
” Kyle replied with a bit of an awkward smile as he started softly slurping his noodles.
“Why, ‘Hm’? What does that mean?” You asked him with a cocked brow. Kyle simply shook his head and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“I just think it’s
 curious.” He admitted and shrugged. “Like
 Simon is very secretive.” He explained.
“I’ve gotten that impression off him.” You replied, but Kyle nodded.
“Yeah but for a stranger, it’s easy to spot that, to understand it. But
 We’ve all served with him for years now and we know nothing of him.” He explained with a shrug and an awkward smile again.
As you heard him talk, you slurped your noodles as well, holding the bowl up to your mouth as you did so.
“Soap even gasped when he found out that Ghost had a Tinder account, and the way he was chatting when he went on a date with you, well
” He trailed off and took a bite of one of his eggs as well.
“I wouldn’t call it a date.” You replied as you set down your bowl and took a sip of your drink. Across from you, Gaz did the same, sipping from his Stella Artois glass.
“You met on a dating app, had drinks, went back to yours, spent the night together
 That’s a date.” He retorted and you nod your head, conceding to his point.
“Fine
 I guess
” You sighed. “But I still don’t see what the big deal is.” You added. “He seems
 nice. A bit weird
 But nice.” You explained. “He seems like he just
 needs a break.” You added and half-shrugged.
Kyle’s head dipped a bit to the side and he regarded you with gentler, softer eyes, quietly contemplating what you said.
“You’re really nice.” He ended up saying after a moment then he pressed his lips together for a moment as he watched you eat.
“Fanks.” You mumbled halfway through chewing a piece of your pork slices.
“Simon was there, you know
 When you went to meet Captain Price. Just to make sure you were, you know
 Normal.” Gaz quipped, which caused your eyes to widen.
“He was?” You asked sharply, your voice rising an octave for a moment.
“Ye
 He
 He doesn’t trust easy.” He replied.
“I’ve noticed.” You added, still a bit put off by the news. 
“Well, anyway
” He trailed off. “He uh
 he came back to base after you and him left the pub and he told us you were nice, normal
” He explained. “And he said that the captain was a bit reticent to be there and you were both feeling awkward
 And you so sincerely told him he could leave if he wanted to and that he didn’t need to force himself to be there.” Gaz explained.
Your eyes widened a bit and your face warmed up lightly as he revealed that he knew of how you had reassured John.
“So
 I guess
 I guess I see it now.” Kyle admitted. “You’re very
 gentle.” He ended up after searching for the right word. “A right laugh, funny as fuck, very bratty
 But
 nice and kind.” He added. “It’s no wonder they both felt good with you, especially Ghost.”
“Well
 thanks.” You said softly, smiling sheepishly, and he did the same as he resumed eating.
“Do you feel
 good with me too?” You asked him with a cocked brow and pursed lips.
Nodding at you, Kyle smiled. “Yeah, I’d say I do.” He said as he slurped his noodles again.
You resumed eating as well and, sometimes, you’d glance at one another and smile sheepishly before looking away and focusing on your meals.
“So
” You said as you reached over and dipped a gyoza in the soy sauce. “Did you really fall out of a helicopter?” You asked, which caused his eyes to light up with amusement.
“I did.” He answered with a nod and a grin on his lips.
“How did that happen?” You cocked a brow.
-
Thirty minutes later, you and Gaz are walking side to side as you head back to work. He’s spent most of the time regaling you with stories about work (with the proper censorship of events, dates, places and people). 
You barely got a word in and yet, somehow, you don’t mind. You’re surprisingly entertained by him, by the way his eyes light up when he speaks, the way his smile grows every time a story gets a bit more action-packed

If you didn’t know by now that he’s a soldier (and an elite one, if his stories are to be believed), you’d have called him out by now by making it all up
 But he also showed you a few of his scars to prove he wasn’t lying.
As you reach the front door of your workplace, he’s just finishing up his latest story, just in time. You still have a couple of minutes to burn so you linger with him, hands clasped in front of you, as he has his own on the front pocket of his blue hoodie.
“Thanks for this.” You told him with a smile, watching as his face morphed in confusion.
“Thanks for what?” He asked you with a cocked brow and a smile on his lips.
“Well
 everything? Buying me lunch, telling me so many stories, walking me to work
” You listed and chuckled. “I haven’t gotten this type of
 attention in a while.” You explained.
Kyle gives you a look of disbelief. “You’ve been going out with Ghost, what do you mean you don’t-” He started but you interrupted him with a sharp ‘That’s different!’.
“Simon is very nice and I enjoyed myself greatly with him but something tells me he wouldn’t exactly want to go out for ramen on my lunch break in broad daylight, without a mask.” You quipped playfully.
“Ah- yeah, I see your point.” Kyle joked a bit.
“And, besides
 I got out of a
 trainwreck of a relationship recently
” You explained as you shifted your weight around on the balls and heels of your feet.
“Is that why you were on Tinder?” He asked as he dipped his head to the side in understanding.
“Mhm.” You nodded and smiled softly. “Anyway
” You trailed off. “It’s nice to have someone make time to meet up with me during lunch break and
 you know
 Have a date!” You replied.
“Oh it’s a date, is it?” He asked you with a smirk on his lips and a wiggling of his eyebrows.
“Oh, fuck off
” You quipped and nudged him on the shoulder with your hand. “You’re lucky you’re cute
”
Kyle’s lips parted into a boyish grin as he looked at you. “You think I’m cute?” He asked, amused.
Rolling your eyes, you nudged him again and he simply laughed playfully in response. 
Checking the time on your phone, you sighed. “I should go upstairs.” You told him and he nodded. 
“Have a good rest of your day. And text me, yeah? I’d like to repeat this.” Kyle told you and you nodded too, smiling sheepishly.
“I plan on it.” You added and leaned up, kissing his cheek, just like you did with Simon a couple of weeks before.
Kyle smiled and chuckled softly when you pulled away. He leaned close and kissed your cheek in return, causing your cheeks to burn a bit.
You waved at him and rushed back inside your workplace. Standing outside in the pavement, Kyle watched you go through the windows, with a smile and returned the wave with a raising of his hand and a single little wave before tucking his hands back in his pockets and walking off again.
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taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak
@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
Your gateway to visiting your favourite characters anytime you desire ^^ !
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Ghost
Yandere Ghost [Character. AI] | Mysterious, Brooding, Obsessive, Quiet, Protective
Zombie Ghost [Character. AI] | Deadly, Dominant, Primal, Territorial, Silent
Sugar Daddy Ghost [Character. AI] Rich, Mysterious, Brooding, Controlling, Lonely
DILF Ghost [Character. AI] | Solitary, Grizzled, Intimidating, Dominant, Untrusting
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König
Tentacle Monster König [Character. AI] | Elusive, Possessive, Seductive, Dominant
Zombie König [Character. AI] | Primal, Dominant, Protective, Monstrous, Yours
Yandere König [Character. AI] | Obsessive, Jealous, Loving, Possessive
Sugar Daddy König [Character. AI] | Promiscuous, Caring, Territorial, Intelligent, Reserved
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Valeria
Yandere Valeria [Character. AI] | Dominant, Intimidating, Seductive, Cartel Mommy
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Price
Father's Friend Price [Character. AI] | Experienced, Forbidden, Secretive, Intelligent, Militant
Yandere John Price [Character. AI] | Confident, Intelligent, Experienced, Secretive, Dangerous
More coming soon !
Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Call of Duty: Modern Warfare [Continued Masterlist]
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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BabyDaddy!Ghost X FemSoldier!Reader
BabyDaddy!Ghost Who hates the Idea of you going to missions since the day you told him you’re Pregnant with his child
BabyDaddy!Ghost who doesn’t let you lift a finger and god help you if you try to help him cook or clean
BabyDaddy!Ghost who is so protective of you that he doesn’t even let you go out alone anymore ,even tho you are a top soldier and perfectly capable of protecting yourself
BabyDaddy!Ghost who begins to panic the moment you get into labor because he doesn’t even know what to do
BabyDaddy!Ghost who is with you in the delivery room cause as he says ‚he has to make sure that the doctors don’t do something wrong‘
BabyDaddy!Ghost who is scared to hold your baby cause he is afraid to accidentally crush it
BabyDaddy!Ghost who is so protective of the baby he doesn’t even let anyone from the team hold it :(
You who think it’s funny that Ghost can deal with terrorists and bomb attacks but is too afraid of actually holding his own baby
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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I just know it will be fucking good,so so exited for this đŸ€­
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YOU MATCH THE 141 ON TINDER 💓
Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?
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I was only going to post these when I finished writing and everything but I'm just... SO FUCKING EXCITED 😭😭
spoiler: Johnny and Kyle are the ones managing Price's account (took covert pics of the captain) but they ask Ghost how to answer the questions and DMs in order to have "the right tone of voice" LMAO
I'll post the actual drabbles soon!!! 🙏
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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Only Other
chapter three of three.
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content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, smut (piv), sliiiight breeding kink, violence, as always König is horribly in love and says ridiculously worrisome things, reader feigns ambivalence but is equally unhinged and smitten.
notes: eternally grateful to @wordsbyvani for reading over my shoulder and genuinely being the sweetest throughout every part. ^^ and again to @writersdrug for giving me the idea to begin with!
wc: 9k.
<- previous.
König’s men arrive sometime in the afternoon, a few hours behind but carrying hoards of supplies. There are weapons you recognize to be from your city stuffed into bags, pelts and silks and twinkling stones, meats and fruits. They had not forgotten to bring along wine, either: two barrels to either side of a gray mare led along behind one of their rugged steeds by a length of thick rope.
You don’t ask how they found her, let alone how they managed to actually tame her down enough to follow amidst the chaos that broke out the night prior. A weak string of “thank you”s leaves your lips when you press your nose to the horse's snout, sobbing into her silver fur. She seems less bothered, huffing impatiently as she’s tethered up with the others against broad trees.
You’re not convinced that here or anywhere is safe anymore, and you don’t assist when the men begin to set up their camp. They’ve enough supplies and arms to do it themselves, anyhow.
Guilt, trepidation and confusion, haunt you: cast out for all to see by your forlorn stares and the tremor of your lower lip as you continuously fight an internal battle to keep yourself sane. And how could you? You’ve only come to reason that this has all come to fruition because of you, because of the things that you could not help. Your curiosity, fascinations, and impiety had all led you to be here, now, while everyone you once knew sleeps eternally.
You have condemned yourself to the life of a slave girl, and later to the darkness of the Orcus when you do die.
Though
 men do not give their slaves the looks that König gives to you. You haven’t spoken to him in hours, and you do your best to avoid his glances, shoot down his smiles with the curved arrow of your own sullen frowns. Still
 amidst setting up the tents and gathering wood for the fire to stave off the chill of nightfall, you catch the very stars reflected over a sea in his eyes.
There is love there, a too-uncanny and harrowing love, but a great devotion nonetheless. It burns like a fire of its own in your chest, inescapable and rampant. You know it in the spaces behind your skull, your ribs, that what he feels is another cage: roomier, softer, but you will never be free of it either.
König does not follow you to the tent when the moon rises. He sits by the fire, watching as you go with the pelt drawn up over your shoulders and curled around you. When you sink into the bed of fur that has replaced the straw mattress from before you find yourself somehow even more fitful here than outside. Sleep is evasive, leaving you tossing and twisting amidst the smell of sweat and animal fur. Not even the crackling fire outside defeats the quiet or the cold in the air.
There’s a sickly pit in your stomach, thorn seedling threatening to take root and spread the longer you stare up at the blackened abyss of the tent ceiling. If you’re to live a life torn, at the very least you could be warm; you take to König’s side in moments, joining him by the slowly dwindling flame.
The brute isn’t sleeping, either, just
 lost. Lost like you the day that you met him.
“I need to look at your wound.” Your excuse comes weak and puny, doe limbs and fragile glances when you do sit at his side and speak. You’ve never been anyone’s ‘Göttin’, you don’t know what you’re doing, what blessings to grant or judgments to cast. Avoiding him only seems a punishment for you both, and you’ve had your share of those.
König is anything but small: even amidst the turmoil your silence has gifted to him, he still seems himself, all ego and cruelly cut silver, softened only by your words, your touch.
“Richtig,” he mutters, reaches out to pull you in, and you let him. Straddling his lap with only the moon above awake to witness, cast her curious gaze down and illuminate the expanse of his chest whilst you work to pull away the bandages.
There isn’t much to tend to, it’s healing well. The flesh that once seemed inflamed has only drawn back its redness to simmer to the natural color of his skin. When you begin your careful prodding, it does not hurt him. He doesn’t so much as flinch or huff at your touch.
When you dab your index in the sweet honey that serves as a salve, he grasps at your hand and brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to your index and middle without hesitation. And you see it then: a glimmer of hesitation in the way his lips pull and his eyes search your own, a silent plea for vindication.
You’ve never been cold to him, not even as he spoke with so much self-importance when you first met, not when he rutted his blade between your parted legs, not even now after all that he’s done. In his own way of thinking, these things have all been some display of courtship. There’s never cruelty toward you, not in his touch, the words that he speaks, and especially not in those somber eyes. These things break down the last fraying edge of your resolve.
You press your mouth to his, sharing the taste of honey pressed to his lips, everything sugary and warm. Over and over until the night begins to close its way in, plump clouds drifting over the pearl hanging in the sky when you finally find yourself tucked back into the tent with König curled at your side. He holds you closer than he ever has, not from a fear you’ll take off under the darkened sky, but in the honoring of something far greater. Some love comes quiet like flower blooms, his comes with fire.
“Wolves pair in winter,” he says quietly, burying his face into your hair. It’s shy, almost, as though the man has not already embedded his scent into your very skin and toyed with your most sensitive parts. It’s truer, more heartfelt, than even his confessions of love.
“Is that what you see us as being?” You laugh, a slow, gentle chime that aches your throat, face still puffy from tears and voice scratchy from those thick clouds of smoke.
“Ja
”
“You really
” The words get caught up someplace in the spaces between your lungs and tongue. You don’t want to cry, not anymore, but you find it difficult not to choke up after so much comfort with a lifetime of so very little. “You do care for me, don’t you?”
He answers your question in a grumble, a string of foreign words only meant for mountain caverns and creatures that walk on all fours and somehow they make sense. A resounding yes, in three gutteral sounding words. The frayed ends of guilt and anger finally drift off as you settle into his hold like a den of pure comfort, warm and buried in a world of fur and a man blessed by trees and the earth rather than gods and myth.
When the breeze picks up outside, rustling sprawling oak limbs, momentarily silencing the fire, its as if they answer him in your stead. You don’t cry, though it aches, but you let go of the memories of all your begging to those that never seemed to listen. Here, in the dark you’ve found the only person that seems to understand without even knowing.
You drag the pelts up over the both of you, clasp your hand over his where it rests beneath them, and fall into a haze of contentment. He draws you nearer, breath filtering through your hair from where his head lies just above your own.
The dreams that come are no longer of places you can not reach, but only of the memory of a city that was never meant to house your spirit.
You wake to König’s pawing. It begins along your sternum, hand placed flat there only to glide further up and push at your tit. It’s gentle and testing, pushes fire into your very veins when for the first time he doesn’t seem to remain entranced there. It drifts, further up to cup your jaw.
“You are awake?,” he rasps, propping himself up to inspect your face where you lie, weakened and warmed by sleep.
“Yes
”
“Are you still bereaved?,” König asks in such a hushed voice, reaching toward you again. His hand seems to tremble when it finds your face, thumb brushing over your mouth with such trepidation it seems misplaced for him.
“Partly.”
You consider your dreams again: the open street, devoid of people apart from those that face down at you with contempt building in hollow eye sockets. Where grass once sprung up beneath the cracks in the stones, there were only small flames. And you do still grieve for those that were innocent in the entire affair, those trampled by cattle when they had only just had a taste of escape. Your very mind begins to darken at the thoughts, your body only tensing further, a bowstring on the verge of snapping,
“Is that why I can not have you?”
“I never said
” Your voice only grows thin, detached almost from the way you purse your lips to kiss the digit toying with you. Your heart is only thunder, the sound of those wretched hooves: yearning was dangerous itself, your own only seemed to take further shape with each passing moment. Claws and a waiting maw, just like the wolves he speaks of.
König hums, a deep rumble from his chest as he gives a slow nod of acknowledgement.
It all becomes tree sap, a sticky confectionery bout. His mouth descends upon your own as though starved, hurried and longing as he samples you, the you who certainly yearned for the bathhouses to clean herself properly. All thought seems to dispel when his hand leaves your cheek and neck to begin its painfully slow descent between your legs, burrow between wax and honey to pull soft cries from your mouth.
He only stills his dismantling of you when you’re trembling and doughy, squeezing around his fingers so tightly you wonder how he can continue to bury them inside at all.
Just as the other gods, Sol is lost here when König crawls over you, all shadow and wretched, led here with the promise of a prey that you are not. Only another wolf
 the flame in his winter eyes is the same that’s settled inside of you.
His head dips to kiss into your hair while your leg is pulled to settle over his hip. You feel a kiss, a different sort, when the pillar of his manhood reaches between your bodies to settle over your sex, probing at your slit that only seems to pulse and beg under his touch.
You had never found these silly metaphors enticing with the men of the city, even the entertainers with their pretty words could have never lured you this far down. Yet, here is different, here is cold and lonely and wild: a culmination of all that he is, incarnation of the earth and man and a desperate hunt.
“You are ready for me,” your god hums, pleased, as he coats himself in your arousal, sticky like warm sap. The sounds of his toying with you are something you should be accustomed to now, with him, but still makes your face warm. Not with shame, only a quiet desperation. “Beautiful little goddess...”
It’s summer here; winter tears its claws right out of your flesh when the sun itself sinks inside. The turning of seasons is natural, so dreadfully normal you’ve never bat an eye until you could physically feel it: the strip of your own apprehension tossed into a steaming sea, the dewy wetness all but drowning you entirely.
And it’s König who loses himself first, a sound so pitiful carving its way out of him you would almost believe him to be hurt if not for the way he throbs inside of you. He feeds it, a stuttering twitch of his hips as he slowly brings you toward him by your hips. Far too large to properly bottom out but encumbered and ecstatic by the sensation around him. Tighter than any sheath, but a weapon pushes through you all the same- inch by loving inch, until he manages to fully fill you with himself.
“I don’t want to hurt you, little one.“ Each word is torn from him, punctuated heavily by the shallow movement of his body and the drag of a demanding cock. Restraint is a peculiar thing hovering over him, his brow pinched as though forcing himself to concentrate on not ripping you apart where you lie.
“You’re not hurting me..,” you sigh as your hands find his shoulders, fingernails dimpling the skin there. If anything the urgency is only shared.
When your hips push back to meet him, the lead is dropped, another surrender. Too much trust for a man deserving of none of it.
His response is a breathy groan, mouth finding your shoulder as his hands drift to pull your hips upward to better meet him. Teeth find purchase along your flesh, gentle as he can be, but grinding and desperate to leave a mark, a piece of him behind.
It’s almost with a fury that he stuffs himself into you then, his jaw going slack and eyes wild, hands grasping at every inch of your pillowy flesh that he can reach.
Never could König have looked more beautiful than now, once starved and now tasked, for and now with you. His gaze trails from where your thighs tremble around him, to where the sap pools and nature builds up its own obscene choir at your togetherness
 and then, to your face where his gaze only shatters into softness.
Something bubbles right against your lash line, a stray tear, overwhelmed by the feel of the giant ravishing you, pulling you down from your world of jewels and pillars to his own devoid of anything but need.
His head dips immediately, tongue running up the length of your cheek, a hand falling away to pry open your already parted thigh as he licks at and fucks into you like something truly feral. He coos his praises against your mouth, parted and whining, claims a new kingdom all for himself in you, of you.
You feel how the temples must, trodden through and left with gifts, blood and honey and fire as the muscles of your thighs begin to tense. Instinct spurs you to catch his lip between your teeth, push your hips back to laboriously furl around him.
His pace comes to a halt, settling to only grind himself so deeply within you that you feel the last of the stars begin to die out in the recesses of your skull, dim and dumbly smothered until they reignite in a blinding wave of white. König does not give you the time to settle, only spears into you with a renewed fervor as you cinch around him, furthering your rapture to a point that is almost agonizing.
He chases his own end with the same famished glare as before, stares right into your eyes as you pull iron from his lip and cast it into the fire of your waiting mouth. The sting, the bliss, only makes him whimper, a sound so small and choked its unfathomable to have come from a man who slams into you as though you were paid for.
You lick into his mouth in a way so tentative and fragile he immediately crashes down, blankets you in the strength of his arms and kisses you in turn: so soft and chaste it’s uncanny in this moment. His groan of defeat only comes when he stills fully, buried to the hilt, thrumming and shivering through his own release. Honey and seafoam, the rise of a tide touching earth to brim and spill past your joining.
He chases the feeling for several moments longer, bucking his hips sloppily as he lies atop your spent form, barely coherent when he mutters nonsensical praises into your hair, against your neck, the corner of your mouth- any place he can think to leave a kiss.
“
 everything,” he mutters when he lies atop you fully, satisfied where he nestles his head into the fur below you both. “Everything I have ever wanted.”
The day passes on like this. Even as his men maneuver about camp, preparing to hunt or practice with their stolen weapons. The only thing König seems keen on doing is bringing you to ruin, repairing you with kisses pressed into your hair, along your cheek.
He leaves you only twice as the day drags onward. Once to gather you a meal of something meaty roasted over the fire, what remained of a boar, a gathering of dried fruit, and water from a small flask. You’re famished and exhausted by the thrill of being shoved down into the fur to tolerate him three times over already. The twinkle in his eye is nothing short of mischievous when you do finally tell him that you need to rest after eating.
After a bout of playfully shoving him away, you only find yourself on top of him, then. He seemed entirely unashamed, more hurried and desperate than before as he bucks at you like a wild horse, voicing his praises and spitting out such sugary sweet nonsense about how you would carry his son and only ever experience him, you almost felt shy. A curled finger hooks under your jaw to force you to look down at him, lose yourself in the vast, uneasy sea of his eyes while he floods you with his seed again. Finally, he seems sated, pulls you down to lie atop him.
König promises you that he will find your mother, that he will take care of you as no other has or ever could, while stroking along your back. He tells you of the mountains, the trees, the animals and the men who live amongst them and inside of them.
He tells you of the sea when you ask, how the sand is softer and sticks as if it never wants you to go. In turn, you tell him that he must be like the sea then, never fully parting from you, leaving his trace imprinted upon your skin with teeth rather than sand. A sea that loves instead of hungers, one that presses you onto your back to wash over you to steal the very breath from your chest and push it back with a kiss.
— — —
The wilderness is cruel. Wild things lurk in the brush and occasionally you pass by other settlements. Less friendly than the small band you have grown accustomed to. You’re always urged to shush, then have yourself tucked further against König while he speaks low and threatening to any would-be bandits. Only once has that resulted in a death, but not to one of König’s own. You didn’t watch when the man with the red hair carved a hole through the trespasser, just squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into a waiting bicep.
Days pass on horseback, your legs feel stiff and clumsy, and there are no amount of pelts serving as makeshift saddles that could ever help the ache that shoots up from your pelvis. It serves no aid at all that, when riding ahead or too far behind the other men, König takes this newfound intimacy between you two to be a liberty. Regardless of your formation, he never ceases looking at you as though his only wish is to devour you whole.
Those times are often quick, palm pressed over your mouth as he dutifully breeds you beneath the sun, in the softest patch of withering wild grass or barren land available. You melt into him, part your legs like a wife rather than some skittish woman that he himself has whisked away. Each time, he whispers his praises, professes his love in more creative ways, covers you in so many kisses you feel a bit dazed by the time the ordeal is through.
Then, you’re righted back onto the horse with König at your back, the most horribly endearing smile plastered upon his face.
It’s not much of a surprise that his men do start their caterwauling at some point during the journey to wherever— past dormant trees and approaching the silhouettes of hills so tall and vast you’re certain that they must be the mountains you have heard of, even if you had yet to properly see them. König had made it perfectly clear just what you are to him in his coarse words to his companions, but never directly to you. They do not mock your union, but they do often give you strange looks, particularly at your tummy while they discuss you with their leader.
There’s nothing there, you’re sure of that much, but you shoot them your angriest glare anyway and raise your chin to look forward instead. Their talk of the possibility of a little “prinz” does not distract you from your own thoughts, drifting up to scrape the sky just like the peaks of the mountains.
“So that is where the gods live?,” you ask, mostly to yourself as you curl your fingers into the horse’s reins. There’s subdued laughter from either side of you, and you almost shrink at the thought of making a fool of yourself before these brutes. It wouldn’t be the last time, surely. You couldn’t even bring yourself to fully commit to the idea of there being any sort of vast and ethereal field awaiting you when you die anymore; it was already here before you, painted in the color of evergreen and winter blossoms.
König doesn’t laugh, at least. Only places his palm over the front of your neck and guides your head back to look up to him, gives a toothy grin when your eyes light up just from the sight. It was difficult not to when you’ve been fed and pleasured incessantly by him. You reason that your punishment for forsaking all that you once knew must assuredly be your own mind deteriorating to feel the way that you do.
“They are right here,” he says, so quiet and sweet, gesturing between the two of you. He had no interest in your former gods, of what he seems to view as stories for children, but he listens as you tell him the significance of such lofty places cloaked in fog, mist and trees.
His hand finds your cheek, savors in the feel of your skin against his thumb while you tell him of your misplaced belief in him being some son of a war god that he’s never even known, much less prayed to. He then reminds you of the woman he seems certain could have been your mother, says that surely she must have been wed to the shallow of a sparkling lake to birth something as lovely as you.
The men regroup after some time, stilling their horses and your rowdy mare still tethered behind one of the others to speak, access the distance from here and their destination while sipping wine from leather flasks and putting weapons back in their proper places. You listen on, picking up on the few words you did understand from their language, but ultimately gather nothing from it all.
“Where are you taking me?,” you hazard as you try to push yourself forward in a subtle reminder that yes, you were there too, and woman or not you had a right to know.
“Home,” König gruffs simply in response, gathering you back into his arms and taking the reins from your hands. His chin rests atop your head, the fingers of his free hand petting your side in an attempt to snuff out any further questioning. “You will like it.”
Home. Home to the place he had claimed you would find your mother; to foreign woods and wild downs, sprawling hills and little shacks covered in sticks and leather instead of the villas with their terracotta tiles.
You didn’t even know that you had a place to return to at all, not now. Your eyes catch his, though, and you know then just what it truly must feel like to belong someplace. Never had home been Gaius, reduced to smoldering ash in some divine reckoning, but it had always been with someone you truly believe you have wanted. Had you ever even been allowed to want before him..?
Your brow pinches as you shift to rest your head against the broad back behind you, held fast by the iron grip around your waist. The clouds drift by above, the sun casts a warmth over your face and you fall into comfort, into promise.
— — —
Barbarian settlements are strange.
There are no paved streets here crowded with people and decay, no hallowed and looming temples hungry and waiting for sacrifices. The columns are tree bark and very much alive with twisting limbs and growths of green that never seemed to dull even in the winter, not the stiff and lifeless marble you had grown accustomed to.
The homes are pieced together with wood, clay, anything that could be used with no clear rhyme or reason to their architecture. Goats wander about, bleating out for food or ramming into one another for play. The children don’t sit in houses studying or wander from stall to stall snatching and scurrying off, they play and work. There is a strange contentment here, too, something that feathers on the wind as it does the same on each face that you pass,
Everyone seems to have a place, a thing to be, and you feel like the world’s most delicate and forgotten pearl amidst these people who do not even seem to pay you any mind. If anything, they only seem pleased to see the man with his arm cloaked over your shoulders. They smile to him, greet him in their strange words and dip their heads as though he truly were some king.
Maybe he was, to them, to the wild people with no true reasoning to have any sort of monarchy. They barely had land to claim, much less rule over.
You’re not paraded around as a slave: he cups your jaw and lifts your head when your gaze falls to the dirt and dust below your feet, chides you in a rough whisper about how a Königin should present herself. The people do acknowledge you then, with looks of awe and offerings of dried flowers pressed into your palms and tucked behind your ear, Roman bronze dropped at your feet. You look the part of a proper queen too, when you flash them all your loveliest smile and nestle closer to your giant of flame and earth.
Thoughts of your past in the city come to mind when you note their lack of conveniences. Even the dread of forsaking your own gods briefly leaves you halting midstep before a firm hand urges you forward. König’s warmth comes as a comfort now more than ever when your thoughts do eventually circle back to a guilt, heavy and dreadful: the picture of Juno’s altar forgotten and burned away weeks of travel behind you.
“You will like it here,” he mumbles, trailing the same hand up to the back of your neck as he repeats the words he spoke only days prior on your journey. You could, you will, but it all feels so different that your pulse seems to triple its racing.
Your fingers graze over the dried flowers in your hand, sweet smelling as you trace over each petal to center yourself, take back that prideful smile that was in place just a moment ago.
If you’re to run amok, you may as well enjoy it.
You settle, regain your pace and that forced look of utter contentment at his side.
At least, until he begins to speak again.
“I will kill them all if you prefer we be alone,” König whispers into your ear, has the audacity to nip at your lobe, and does not even bother drawing back as if those words were meant to make you wet and pliant for him. All sense of reason must have left you entirely, because a shiver rips its way up each knob of your spine. “Would that please you?”
“No
 Do not jest,” you grit out, staring only forward and not offering so much as a glance toward the beast at your side, even as his hand drifts down to palm at your breast.
“I am not.” He laughs, breathy and low when he finds your nipple already hard, thumb grazing over it as though this act of exhibitionism was as natural as any of the other things his madness compels him to do. “I will give you anything. Even blood, meine Göttin.”
Surely
 you should be flattered that his loyalty is reserved only for you, but there’s no appeasement held in the glare that you shoot him as you pry his hand away from your chest. He gives you the look of a kicked stray then, even a pout so foreign on a face so scarred, you may have even chuckled if you were in better spirits, but he does relent. His hand drops back to his side and he detached from you after pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.
You’re led to a shack larger than the others, but more or less in the same state. It’s simple, built solidly with thick carved wood and packed to prevent weather seeping its way in. It’s humble in a way, far more humble than any ruler’s you’ve only imagined. A bench, a table, a mattress likely stolen away from some Roman soldier’s tent. There’s nothing particularly special about it, but it smells like König, like the trees and the earth in a way that is comforting.
It takes a moment for it to fully register that this is what he had meant by home, not the people and their affairs outside, only this place. Only him. A temple all your own that you imagine he must wish to fill with love and children and an abundance of gifts he may steal away all for you.
His men bring in what little of the supplies remained, stuffed away in a corner and voluntarily relinquished; even if it means they’ll be fending for themselves like the others in the village rather than feasting on stores, they only seem happy. The red-haired one even flashes you a contented look of admiration on his way out, as though you just being there was enough to soothe and patch some void here.
That may have been the case.
When the door is shut and all falls to silence, the barbarian king kneels before you. His hands find your hips, thumbs grinding gentle circles along them and further down to your thighs, your calves, to everywhere that aches. A gentle sort of worship that coaxes soft sighs and a buzzing of flesh from you.
König brings you to the mattress when your eyelids begin to flutter, exhaustion settling over you in full when you’re lifted and brought toward his chest. You could fall asleep in his hold alone, but you settle to only rest your head there and reach up along his vastness to rake your fingers through his wild hair.
Your voice tells him that you do like it here, with him, in this strange place circled by withering ferns and trees so infinite that you could never hope to find your way away without him taking your hand and navigating through. Your touch tells him the words that you dare not speak, a kiss to voice that you too would burn away everything if it only meant that you could share in this at his side, a mimicry of his massage along his own shoulder to whisper a great confession of adoration and boundless promises.
— — —
When the ferns and flowers begin to grow again throughout the spring and into the summer, you find yourself accustomed to everything. You aid the women in caring for their children, though you begrudgingly swear that it is not for practice whatsoever. The stitching and cooking that is done here feels far less harrowing— you do not put it off and leave it in a heap upon the floor as you would have in the city. There’s no looming dread of what’s to come when you perfect your work: you’re gifted only smiles, blessings and gifts.
Though the woman König had claimed to be your mother is not here, you ask him to recount the way she looked and spoke to you often on quiet nights, where his hands drift over you and his voice comes in a whisper. She may not have even existed at all, some lost spirit amidst the trees that wails and cries and leads men like him to their destinies. Your heart only tears when you begin to wonder if Juno herself had imparted such a quest to him. Save the lost woman that she favored so much, grant him some divine luck and intoxicating charm to ensure your safety and happiness.
He does not understand when you gather up honey and blossoms to pray over, but he does sit at your side and listen when you whisper your thanks to this new altar. Kisses the crown of your head when you’re through and lures you back into an embrace where he reminds you that he knew what he needed to do the moment that you met at the stream. No other woman could have swayed him the way that you have.
His offerings are only to you, even after such a length of time has passed. There’s no goddess that he kneels for other than the one that sleeps at his side and tells him of her dreams.
The day he gifts you his seax is one that resonates more than even the necklaces and gowns of silk and linen. It feels heavy in your hands, the blade almost as soft as gossamer when your fingers trail along it, though it does not yield. It’s only well polished and freshly sharpened. The handle bears a strange carving in it now, one of two wolves staring up at a broad moon. It breaks something inside to know that even he does find some things sacred: beasts, the glow of an untouched paradise and you.
“Why are you giving me this?,” you manage to whisper as your diligently ghost over the carvings in reverent repetition. “Don’t you need it? For hunting and fighting
”
“You like it?” It’s impossible not to notice the cocky expression on his face that tells you full well he’s recounting that experience. You liked it then, certainly, but it wasn’t as if you had any use for it in such a way when he kept you satisfied enough with himself.
“Yes
 but it’s yours.”
He shrugs then, a great lift of his shoulders as you’re pulled to him with a careful grip to the wrist holding the weapon.
“Will keep you safe,” he huffs against your neck, leaving a kiss there when you sheath the seax at the strap you had also been gifted pulled taught along your hip.
You didn’t even know how to use the thing properly, and you were not quite fond of the idea of chasing down rabbits or puncturing another human with it. Your concerns fall on deaf ears when you’re led out into the surrounding forest to a thicket of wild raspberries. Your wrist is steadied by a firm hand as König diligently teaches you to carve away limbs heavy with fruit without actually bringing any real harm to the plant itself.
There are many things to forage this season, some you had never even heard of before he explains their significance to your wonder-filled face. You hadn’t thought him stupid, not truly, but it still comes as a surprise that he seems to know so very much.
When you find yourself seated beside a slow-moving stream, a ripe berry crushed between your teeth, you’re finally allowed to put your new blade away and set it aside on moss-covered stones.
“You should keep it close. A bear might want to eat you, hm?,” he playfully chides behind you, lifting your drab little gown up and over your head. As if to further his point, his teeth rake over your pulse, applying just enough pressure to draw a whine from your lips.
“You are not a bear,” you huff and turn to pull away his tunic, pressing a kiss over the scar he now dons just above his heart.
“Ja
” He lowers his head again to kiss along your neck, trailing a heat up to your ear as he maneuvers you into the water to bathe.
Your foraging and banter go forgotten, and a different sort of howling fills the air shrouded in tree limbs. There are no wolves or wind, only two so feverishly desperate and in love that any other with their dowries and arrangements would find it even more compelling than the Empire itself.
He sinks into you when you’re brought to your knees, bellows his contentment when he brushes your wet hair away from your face and dives forward to cover you fully, bury you in a world of love and sweetness. Even when the act is done, König does not pull away, only lies you back along to shore and tucks you further against him.
You remain chittering and laughing until the sky begins to reflect the very stars you see in his eyes, glittering constellations that seem to flicker and echo the steady beat of his own heart as you lie against his chest.
The summer wedding that the fortune-teller had once spoken of seemed to already take place here. There’s no need for a lectus or some grand display to reveal to others that you’ve united, it comes in the stillness and shared contentment when your voices begin to quiet, and at last you resign yourself to tell him that you belong to him just as much as he belongs to you.
The final flurry of surrender comes out as a soft whisper, one that only leaves you with your knees folded back to your chest and an insatiable giant hugging his gratitude and love into your ear with each graceless snap of his hips.
He drags you down to your own ruin, spells his own with haste and what comes as a twist between a dispatch of tears and a sigh. You can’t recall ever seeing him cry, not even now as he burrows against your neck and shakily breathes against your shoulder, muttering such nonsense about how he would still take you up and into the sky if only you would continue to let him stay with you like this.
“Always,” you murmur fondly, cradling him as closely as possible. Inside, outside, embedded into your very flesh you feel him near. He does not pull out from you this night, only falls asleep in your embrace, cloaks you from the breeze over the water with his own heat. You follow suit, petting at him as though he’s far smaller than his massive weight suggests. He shifts just enough to not fully crush you beneath him, just as you begin to drift off.
When morning does come, König is already stood at your side, staring off into the distance with an expression that only foretells of something you’re certain you will want no part in. He shushes you when you part your lips to speak, nervously scrounging up your gown and the strap holding your gifted weapon. There are no protests from you, and only the babbling of the stream and sounds of distant yelling break up the silence.
You don’t need to ask to know what’s occurring. Just as you had predicted before the Romans had come to dismantle the village just as they had many others before, take the women as slaves and force the children to learn and take up arms for their empire. You had never thought of the violence before when it occurred, when you saw the faces of those miserable women at the sides of people they could never afford to feel any fondness toward. You had always been lucky and blind.
König, however, must have only known wraith. His fingernails dig into his palms, nostrils flared and expression pensive.
“Wartet hier.”
He does not even hesitate as he begins to move, leaving you behind along the peaceful shore. As if to spur you forward, the shallow water rises to lap at your ankles, and still you do not budge. Your hands feel heavy, encumbered by the seax still set in its sheath, and only then does it dawn on you that König had not even had a weapon his person. What good would he even be without one? When so many men armed with sharpened swords and spears had come for his head

Though fear creeps in, subdues your limbs with its stiffness, rakes fangs of pure ice along every pulsing vein held within you
 you can not bring yourself to flee or stay put. You follow, quiet as a wood mouse as you walk along the forest with trembling hands clutching a weapon you almost hope is not too late to save your home, your heart.
There’s no clear trail, no sign of König, not even a shadow or a whisper that may belong to him. Instead there are shouts and the heavy smell of smoke. The gray billows up, more imposing than even the oaks and pines. The only comfort you will yourself to take is the fact that the words you can make out are Germanic, not Latin. Not all is lost, not yet.
You steel yourself and push your resolve to the forefront of your mind, creeping ever closer with careful but steps far more swift. You wind past throning brush and sprawling vine, past trees but familiar and not until you finally cross over from forest to the tall grass lining the edges of the village.
There lies chaos you expect, and that which you do not. Some of the cabins have gone up in flame, fire that coils and spreads to set your nerves alight with memory and dread. There are men fighting at the heart of it all, weapons slick with blood dripping down to the fallen at their feet. The women and children have all fled or have been taken captive, you couldn’t be certain amongst all that was already occurring around you and beyond. You couldn’t even count your enemies, a smaller army no doubt, the arrogance of the Empire knew no bounds. Twenty men to take down one was substantial enough when the others could be used for further conquests.
And there is no sign of König.
You feel numb when no matter where you look you can’t seem to catch sight of him, and how easy a task that should have been given his stature. The seax is pulled from its sheath when grief begins to settle, and the tears that threaten to spill are forced back with a grimace. There was still some hope, you knew. The village was not so small that you could map all of it from the small lump of a hill, but that desire to find him, bare your own teeth and fight at his side to protect what was yours brims up and chokes back the fear harbored in your chest.
Lady or wolf, you cared not. You would lose your titles just as he would if it came down to it. When the histories speak of how that city burned, how a king without a name brought the Empire to kneel if only for a moment before they sought revenge, you would be written in ink alongside it. A devotion so strong echoed in each page, as a barbarian queen that chose to keep her heart and lose her head.
But it doesn’t come to that. There’s another woman stood at König’s side when you do find him, wielding a stolen sword from one of the opposing soldiers as sweat and blood paint his face.
Unharmed and unknowing of the presence at his side, a mirage carved of smoke she was, his eyes stared out towards where the blade struck while her eyes only settled over you. Your breath catches when your gaze moves from König to her and you do find a resemblance: the way that her hair, the same color as your own frames her face, her frame, the way that her nose shapes, even the expression upon her face.
The mother he spoke of, the feral love and protectiveness outspoken and proud in her eyes. You do not recognize this woman, even amidst the cluster of sparse memories in your mind. Not until now had you ever seen her, but the feeling you’re gifted then
 a roaring settling in your chest to extinguish all apprehension tells all.
As the last of the Romans is struck down by König himself, a blade sunk so deep into the other’s stomach as the other man spits out a gurgled wail, the woman only seems to fade out into nothing, replaced by the backdrop of the trees surrounding. Nothing left behind in the wake of the place she once walked apart from fallen soldiers and a trail of blood and König, safe as he could be.
When you come to him, teary-eyed and fretful, your roaming fingers do not catch on a single gash. The blood painted over his face, neck, chest is none of his own. He’s well, just as the other men from the village as they rush to snuff out the flames and clear away the bodies.
Though König pants heavily and his eyes are still wild, mind momentarily lost to the thrumming adrenaline in his veins, your touch seems to settle him greatly. The sword falls from his hands to clatter in the dust and muck, curling around you to pull you in. You think he should be angry that you hadn’t listened when he ordered you to stay, but he only seems as grateful as you to find his other half alive and longing still. Always.
You tell him of the woman as you sob into his chest, describe her and her vanishing as best you could in your own muffled voice. He grins, strokes your hair as though he truly believes every word even with how ridiculous it all sounds. There are things far more demanding to focus on now, and eventually you fall to silence as he holds you there.
Your home still stands, built just far enough off from the rest that its managed to avoid the battle entirely. Untouched, except from inside. The altar you had dedicated to Juno is gone, vanished just like the woman you had seen before. The scent of cinnamon hangs in the air, misplaced and unannounced, but a comfort all the same. You smile to yourself, bittersweet but comforting, with tears drying upon your face.
— — —
The village takes time to rebuild.
You lose time just as much as you lose sleep helping out with the endless tasks. König, thinking himself chivalrous, or perhaps hinting at what your future may entail if he continues to ravage you as though he would die without your warmth, never allows you to carry anything heavy. Even clay pots filled with water from the stream are swiftly taken from your hands. Gods forbid you even attempt to aid in cooking over the fires, either. He pulls you away with a hand clasped over your mouth and nose, delicately caressing your face and reminding you to be careful.
Something has changed. What you knew to be love before only seems to double with each passing day. He fusses and dotes over you endlessly, ensuring that you’re well fed, trailing behind you to bathe and it isn’t even just for the chance to sink into your cunt.
Often, he sits with you in his lap, guiding a wet cloth up to gently wash you, toys with your damp hair beneath his fingers, tells you stories of his own adventures and the people who traveled alongside him. Not of the hundred wives his men had boasted about him having, a ridiculous statement only meant to make you pine for him more than you already had, you supposed. He even tells you, sheepishly, that most women seemed afraid of him, but never you.
When you do make love, it’s an act of endless desperation. Along the bank of the stream, your shared bed, against any tree he deems fit enough to not budge beneath your shared weight, and even once in a field of wild blooms you two had found along a foraging trek. The floral aroma had kissed your skin each place he had, left you more doughy and sweet even as you took to conquer him, straddled over his hips with your head thrown back to the wind. You laughed with him when it was through, curled your hand beneath his chin to you with the rough feeling of his unshaven hair.
Everything— each new thing you learn and see with König as your guide only seems to melt away any wall you put up. Your life before only seems to fade from memory, that lonely bitterness consumed by the well of love he’s pushed you into.
When autumn comes and the trees begin to turn, each wealth of green faded and given way for yellow and red, your mare has finally become more docile and tame. You’re not even sure who to thank for it, for the way she struts about with giddy children on her back and doesn’t fuss when even you will yourself to settle over her saddle.
The saddle like all else in your life only seems softer, stitched together with leather, a cushion made of a rabbit’s pelt and stuffed full with straw and down so soft you don’t even dread the idea of the long ride to come.
The mountains, here, surrounding the valley and the village are wild and beautiful, still layered near to their peaks in abundant fields of late-blooming flowers. The stars still hang above, twinkling and glittering as if only to silently deliver their blessings for your coming journey. It is only the sea that you’ve yet to venture toward, the last on the list of honeyed promises König has made to you.
Your luggage is packed and spread between the two horses, your mare and his stallion. There are blankets and preserved food, light posts to set up a tent someplace a distance from the shore, even a pearl dangling from a thin chain that König dutifully places on your neck. It’s no exchange of rings, but you clutch the little gem tight as you will yourself not to cry. There was no need to be so sentimental not now, not after you’ve already shared so many moments far more tender.
The seax dangles at your hip, catching the glow of the sun above when you pull it free and polish it alongside König as he does with his pilfered sword. He shows you how to use a whetstone, delicately maneuvering your hand to sharpen the blade before dousing the thing in oil, makes you swear not to accidentally nick yourself when you’re inevitably dragged in the throes of some hunt at his side.
You’ve yet to use it for that purpose, but going alone means you’ve no choice but to offer your support
 even with the knowledge that he wouldn’t actually allow you to do much at all, frustrating as that was.
When morning comes, you say your goodbyes to the village. You’re thrown flowers both pressed and new, petals latching to the fur of the pelt tied over your shoulders. König receives wine, far more useful than the delicate little blossoms that you brush away with shy smiles and glassy eyes.
The language is easier to understand now, when the others offer you great fortune on your travels, the women speaking greatly of your fertility despite the way it makes your nose scrunch in distaste. They call you Königin, only that, never any name you’ve offered for them to use. Perhaps even above the name the people of the city called you by it is more fitting.
You settle into the saddle with König atop his stallion next to you, reach for the reins when he flashes you a wary look, tells you that you will ride slow and he will keep you safe in case anything does happen to occur. You only think to remark the same, gesturing toward the weapon strapped to your hip, smirking when he snorts in amusement.
“Are you ready to depart?,” you ask him as you reach a hand out to trail along his arm, heart thumping wildly when his gaze only begins to further soften. You almost fear he may begin to cry, just as overwhelmed and sweetly pacified as you feel now. “We can stay a while longer if not.”
“Nein
 we still need to plan for the stars after,” he whispers as he takes hold of your hand, interlocks your fingers and brushes against each knuckle with the pad of his thumb before bringing it toward his chest.
The moment is broken when the horses begin to huff in anticipation. You don’t get the chance to remind him that you still see each constellation he’s shown to you in the glimmer of his eyes, but you know well enough by now that he would only tell you the same in turn. Always your only other.
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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MASTERLIST
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image credit: Paula Mela, Adolf Hirémy-Hirschl (1898)
all stories depict a female reader.
may contain content such as: horror (light), violence & gore, sexually explicit themes, etc. please heed all content warnings before reading. MDNI.
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「 KÖNIG 」
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SERIES:
𓇗 Only Other ; historical au. Gothic soldier! König x Roman! reader.
One -> Two -> Three
𓇗 Outside ; fae au. erlkonig! König x reader.
One -> Two -> Three -> Four
SHORT STORIES:
𓇗 All That You Don’t Want ; witch! reader x apprentice! König. 7.7k words.
Roach Head ; slight role reversal, necromancer! reader x lich! König. 6.7k words.
𓇗 This Time Around ; soft! König + house sprite! reader. 8.5k words.
𓇗 Hades! König & Persephone! Reader ; 4k words.
𓇗 In Our Angelhood ; 10k words.
𓇗 Deep Water; nix! König. 4k words.
𓇗 Pygmalion! König & Galatea! Reader ; 4k words.
𓇗 A Place For Us; Frankenstein’s creature! König x horologist! reader. 10.6k words.
CONCEPTS:
â—ŒàŒ˜Í™ lighthouse keeper! König & harpy! reader
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MISCELLANEOUS WORKS:
𓇗 Spin Cycle ; Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary! reader. 3k words.
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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The best fucking thing I read in a long time đŸ«¶
Note: the 2nd part for this. fem!reader. cheating. i didn’t think you would like it so much, but since you did, here’s part two.
‱‱‱
Maybe if he watched you close enough, if he kept an eye on you while he was near, Simon would get the answers he was looking for. All he wanted was a glimpse into your mind, a glint in your eyes that would give away why you’d spent those nights by his side without saying anything about it.
The mission was slowly coming to an end, and he had overheard you and Johnny talk about your plans for your time home. The Scotsman offered to go on a short trip with you to Rome, visiting the city you’d read so much about in the past year or so. Going there was a promise you made to yourself on New Year’s Day and he was more than happy to help make it happen.
“Have you introduced her to your family?” Simon asked Johnny one evening when they went out for a drink.
The younger man gave him a confused look, but once the lieutenant motioned towards the corner of the bar where you were deep in a conversation with Laswell, his lips formed a flat line and he nodded a few times. “Yeah, well, I mentioned her once to my sister, and the next thing I know, my mother’s blowing up my phone. I’d rather keep her away from this insanity,” he explained.
“Wise choice.”
He hated this. He hated to know that Johnny was dating you, he hated to keep up this nice conversation with him, all while he was struggling to find out why you cared about him back then. His mind was full of stupid ideas again, that maybe you weren’t that deeply in love with the fellow sergeant. What if he was just your backup plan? What if the one you truly wanted was him?
Fucking hell. He was truly losing his grip.
“I’m going back to the base.”
Simon looked to the side, only to find you standing there with this adorable warm smile on your perfect, kissable lips. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Johnny taking your hand, his fingers lacing with yours before he raised it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on it.
He definitely didn’t have the right to be upset about it. Yet, he felt a pang of jealousy, and he was maybe even offended by the way Johnny’s blue eyes shined when he looked at you. His mind was telling him it should be him, even though he knew it was against the regulations.
“Let me finish my drink and I’ll walk you back,” Johnny said, but you just shook your head and told him he should take his time, have fun, and maybe he should talk to the others too. “You think I’m ignoring them? Well, I do spend a lot of time in the Lt’s company, that’s true,” he mused.
After he took a glance at the empty glass next to him, Simon had an idea. “I’m done for today anyway, I can go with her if you don’t want her to go alone,” he offered.
While Johnny seemed happy that he was kind enough to go with you, you looked hesitant. Unsure. Damn, if he didn’t know any better he would’ve said you looked scared for a moment. But why would you be scared? He didn’t do anything that could scare you.
In the end you agreed, so the two of you were soon out on the street, walking side by side. The need to reach out and take your hand poisoned Simon’s mind, and he decided to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jacket instead. He glanced over at you every so often, enjoying the view that he wouldn’t see for a few weeks at least.
“Why did you stay by my side in the infirmary while I was recovering?” he suddenly asked, his eyes fixed on you to see your facial expression.
And sure enough, at first you looked shocked. “What do you mean?” you inquired innocently.
With a sigh, Simon came to a halt and grabbed your wrist to make you stop as well. “I saw you there. And the doctor confirmed that you spent every night there with me while I was knocked out.”
“Look, it’s—”
“Why? I need to know,” he pressed on.
You buried your fingers into your hair as you spinned on your heels to turn away from him. “I don’t know, I just didn’t want you to be alone,” you admitted.
Once he took a deep breath, he was quick to blow it out. “So you stayed out of pity?”
“No! I mean
 God, Ghost, I don’t know, okay? It just didn’t feel right to let you lie there on your own, I didn’t want you to wake up alone, and—”
He shouldn’t have done it, but it felt so good. Because Simon launched forward, his big palm placed on the back of your neck as his lips crashed into yours. At first you were frozen from surprise, but then you returned his kiss, lips moving against each other in perfect sync. He had been waiting for this for so long that he couldn’t even believe it was happening.
He was only pulled back to reality by your voice after you pulled away and took a few steps away from him. “What the hell are you doing?” you asked. “Fuck, what the hell am I doing?”
“It’s okay, we can always pretend it never happened,” he said with an aching heart.
“You don’t get it, do you?” When Simon shrugged and shook his head, you walked back to him and poked his chest with your index finger. “I’m with Johnny, this is totally against the rules, and no matter how badly I always wanted to know what it would be like to kiss you, this can’t happen again. But I know it happened and it’s going to torture me now.”
With a gulp, Simon nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me,” he said with a sigh.
To his surprise, you put a hand on his now masked cheek, a move so gentle that he was beginning to get very confused. And when you pulled down his mask, things got even more confusing, because you stood on your toes and kissed him again. This time you let yourself go, your fingers grabbing a fistful of his hair as you moaned against his lips.
“We should get going,” you said once you let him go and pulled his mask back to its place.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Instead of answering, you flashed a smile at him, making his life a living hell by playing an innocent angel. But then you curled your finger to make him come a little closer. “Neither do I. But we will have to figure it out.”
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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being besties with Soap (x)
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ghosts-hoe · 2 months
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the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,
your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✹chef’s kiss✹ (((o(*▜*)o)))♡
thank you!! here’s part 3 :)
part one here / part two here
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angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.
you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.
no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.
in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’
you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.
you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.
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the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.
tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.
the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.
you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.
you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.
you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.
you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.
just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.
you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.
the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.
you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.
“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.
you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.
simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.
“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.
you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.
“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.
simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.
you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.
your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.
there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.
“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“did you follow me in here?”
“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.
“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”
your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.
simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.
he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.
no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.
“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.
you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?
these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.
“fuck off,” you tell him.
“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.
“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”
he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.
“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.
“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.
“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”
“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”
you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”
he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.
johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.
but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.
the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.
cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.
but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.
now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.
“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.
“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.
“you should’ve just killed me.”
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author’s note:
not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.
and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!
anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)
taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina
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