seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Maldives
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Sweden
seen from China
seen from Maldives
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
Downside Up Masterlist
Henry Creel x Reader
VHS Log : One moment you're watching the ending of stranger things s5 ep4 and the next you're standing in the middle of a long super white hallway with a mop along with all the cleaning materials in the world. Where the heck did you go?
Tape I » Successfully Logged
Tape II » Successfully Logged
Tape III » To be recorded...
Pending more tapes soon...
𝑭𝒖𝒏 𝑪𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝑫𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔~
𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑦 𝐶𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴: 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡
➥𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐!
𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑃 𝑖𝑛 𝑉, 𝑅𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑐𝑦, 𝐷𝑜𝑚 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑦, 𝑆𝑢𝑏 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝐶𝑢𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑃𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑂𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑇𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐸𝑡𝑐.
𝘚𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑢𝑦𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑢𝑛, 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑓𝑢𝑛.
𝘈/𝘕: 𝐼'𝑚 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑢𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝐼 𝑙𝑢𝑣 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑎𝑑 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖𝑚𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑏𝑎𝑑 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑦𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑖𝑥𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑠 , ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦'𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑠ᯓᡣ𐭩
⏤͟͟͞͞𝐵𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:
➥𝑇𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠
𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝐻𝑎𝑤𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑤.
𝘈/𝘕:𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝐴𝑢 𝑠𝑜 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑑𝑔𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦'𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 ꨄ
"So you're— saying you are bored" his eyes bore into you with a solemn look.
You flitted your lashes to your book following your lover who held a hunched posture as he craned an old book onto his slim slender hands.
"I'm not saying that— nor did I ever say that. It's just that I want us to spend time again" you sulked at your lover, flipping a page onto the book you held that once belonged onto one of the shelves of the library.
"So you want us to go somewhere nice and have a date-" His interest on his book fading as he locked his gaze with yours. "-But out of all place why to your house?"
He chuckled a smile gracing and lightening his complexion.
"Weve been there a couple of times, wouldn't going somewhere like a resto or park be nice for a change? We could either walk or talk and even eat something nice? "
"Heh Well my mom— is again competing for her culinary classes. I swear it never ends! And dad is again abroad doing something god knows who-" You sulked in an depressing yet encouraging tone "-And you know— we could like do something fun! " You encouraged voice in full pitch and a smile plastered onto your face.
"Hmm well then I see" He replied as his eyes scanned the last remaining words on his book.
"Hng~"
A gasp was pulled out of you, the blonde above you snapping his hips crudely as he held you still.
"Is this what you're implying by fun?" The blonde peered his eyes above you heat rising onto his neck as he breathed heavily. He looked at your heaving frame, your back laid flat on your plush mattress and your face craned tucked into your pillow held and stabilized by one of your arms.
Henry didn't like that, he peered his eyes menacingly to you and your stupid pillow you held for dear life that was covering your face. He was tempted to use his psychic powers on you, but he knew better than to scare you to some unknown forces so he let you just have your way.
He waited for a reply, his dick snug balls deeply into your cunt. Though the only response he got was an out of breath moan.
You held onto the soft plush pillows beneath your head your hand sinking into it by how soft it was other than that it was doing a real good job by hiding your bashful face from your dear lover above you.
"I'm asking a question-" The blonde pulled away your juices mixing and sticking onto his shaft and to both of your bodies before falling down onto your pink plush bed ruining the newly spread bedsheet.
You almost thought you could draw your breath for a moment but before you could do so, Henry snapped his hips deep into you so hard it knocked the air out of you "-so I would expect an answer "
"Ha~ " You curled your toes, your legs shaking from overstimulation. Henry looked at you with no remorse, before snapping his hips again so hard you lost your posture. His sharp thrust made you feel so overwhelmed your whole body started to shiver and shake from his past teasing, your weak frail arms failing to support your pillow.
His firm grip onto your legs disappeared your weak numb arms sprawled onto your head side, he leaned into you his hands following trail to yours, his look devouring you so intently.
"Isn't this what you wanted sweetie—? So why are we acting like we aren't enjoying it? " he cooed to you his breath gazing past your ears making you shudder.
"I uh- "before you could respond you felt his hand grip your wrist tight onto your sides. "-Henry~ I-i do, I do love it!ꨄ"
You breathed out your eyes reflecting the ceiling lights making it look glassy, as if begging for more. Your eyes cooed at him and he looked at you with a disdainful look, the corners of his mouth pulling into a smirk.
"Hmm? So this was your plan all along huh?" He flexed his grip onto you tightening and the veins on his arms getting slightly more visible.
"Your plan was for me to stick my dick so bad into your aching cunt huh?" He dragged his teasing a pleasing smile framing his face.
"Again I'm asking a question" He emphasized sticking his shaft roughly into you in all the right places.
"Yesss! T-this is what I wanted all~ along! "
"Good girl-" He grunted as he took a swift glance to where you're both connected as he felt you tighten by the words you just spew"-And you know what good girls get? "
He asked breathless as he looked at you fiercely.
"A reward"
As he answered his own question his hips suddenly rutted into you with such immaculate need and speed. Your body bounced and ached your lover fulfilling your need thrivingly, his arms flexed pinning your wrist as well as using it to stabilize himself so he could thrust with an agonizing speed.
He leaned into you, you were a mess breathing heavily and your slender fingers clawing into his and resisting desperately. His lips came in contact with you, devouring you with need and passion.
Your lips mingled with need and fierce, taking your breath away from.
"Fh-Fuck" He cursed as he pulled away from the kiss, focusing on to bringing pleasure to you by pistoning his hips to you with never ending need. Your bedframe creaking and the wet sloshing sound becoming extremely noticeable, as well as the juices mixing onto you both.
"Are you close? I can feel it" He questioned you though he knew you wouldn't be able to form an answer with how dumbfounded and mesmerized you are by his dick repeatedly going in and out of you. Just from one sight he knew you almost saw stars by how good you felt.
"Nghh~ Henry I! " You moaned letting go of that knotting feeling within your stomach.
"Thats it darling" Henry dragged his dick in and out of you, as he fucked your high out.
"HAhhh~"
Your aching cunt pulsed at your orgasm, your lover now reaching his own high. He abandoned your wrist and followed to the back of your thigh pressing you further onto the mattress.
"Wai-t H—Henry i-" He didn't gave you a chance to end your sentence, obliterating it without thinking twice as he pounded into you with fervor.
"Haaa! Fucking Take It! " He grunted pushing you further into the bed and overstimulating your abused poor cunt. It wasn't long before he pounded you into oblivion as he chased his own high.
Not before long he gave you a breathy grunt and a hard thrust. Fucking his body liquid into your cunt.
"Hah- You did so well for me love" A grin plastered onto his relieved face after coming down on his high though on the other hand there you were vulnerably weak and fucked out in all terms.
"Now you see wasn't that fun? "
He spoke enthusiastically as if he hadn't just fucked you dumb.
Masterlist
by escapic-mezzanine
Requests are closed, but feel free to talk to me in the askbox about anything you'd like!
ASOIAF
A Knight Of The Seven Kingdoms
Thoughts about Lyonel Baratheon:
modern au!, siblings
Lyonel Baratheon's wife saga:
Mediations – Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: There is no such thing in the world that would cool down Lyonel's spirit, but when intercession is needed and his lady wife has to put up a good word for him – well, then even the Laughing Storm can sense the seriousness. Who would have guessed that the spooked deer he married would turn not only into his true friend but also the closest advisor?
Name the riches – Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lyonel plays a game of provocation to stir some audacity in his newlywed wife, but she is quick to catch up after realizing the position she holds. Lord Baratheon’s assurances that he is not a jealous man turn out to be dramatically untrue.
Mark of the Stags – Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lady Baratheon wakes up next to her husband after a long, frantic night. The only unusual thing is the ache on her skin that happens not to be a bruise, neither Lyonel's worshiping touch. The marks on their bodies don’t seem to worry the Lord very much, though. He is, in fact, quite thrilled.
Faint memory, promising pathways – Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lord Baratheon is too occupied with the presence of his darling wife to follow his companions. He claims to remember the way… Well, nature isn't so bad, after all, then why not spend the whole day away from the castle?
Harlots’ rank [request] – Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lord Baratheon has to face a fact hard to swallow – that his darling wife thinks of him as a disloyal dog...
Lady of Heartache [request] – Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: The only people afraid of Lord Baratheon were men, but how could you know that? You heard warnings about him and the duties of a wife too often to not let them get to you.
The Backbone and Gravity [request] – Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Some proud stormlanders could argue that impassive and deliberate were not words to describe a storm. They existed to be rapid and to destroy, did they not? Lord Baratheon, though, knows that the loudest, most ruthless thunder comes only with his wife’s merciless stare..
The Stranger’s heiress [request] – Lyonel Baratheon x deity!reader
summary: During his travel to seal a new partnership, Lord Baratheon is met with a strange messenger sent to House Horpe. The veil and cowl fail to hide the lady’s true identity, and soon enough, Lyonel finds himself mesmerized by what others see as fearsome and cursed. Customs happen to mean very little for him, though, when there is a divine woman to save.
Fair Trading [request] – Lyonel Baratheon x Dornish!reader
summary: The fierceness of a storm and dornish habits don’t seem to match each other very well, but perhaps Lyonel Baratheon is not that much of a true abrupt stormlander. Or maybe it’s just that you, a princess of Dorne, can find it in your heart to accept such a stormlander as your man.
Blood makes noise [request] – Lyonel Baratheon x Bracken!reader
summary: Lyonel always said it is all about honor, protecting the good name of his house and kins. If he was truly honest, though – well, he would have to say he walked this earth for fun and the thrill of some risk. Oh, and impressing his lady wife all over again!
Knight's mercy [request] – Lyonel Baratheon x witch!reader
summary: Everyone would benefit from Lyonel keeping his new friendships to himself, but there was also no one who could stop him. Now after the worst experience of his life, ser Duncan has to bear the intrusive presence of Lord Baratheon and the – so called – witch, that he somehow convinced to stick around…
Culprits [request] – Lyonel Baratheon x witch!reader
summary: Just like any other dark time the plague brings the need to search for culprits. It also seems that the Baratheons’ subjects forgot what a true fury of their lord is.
Harbingers of sorrow – Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: Terrifying visions that surround your husband with blood and pain keep appearing in your sleep, and despite his assurance, you decide to ask for advice that turns out to be meaningless.
[Part 2 – Blood’s Devotion]
[Part 3 – Brother's Love] i'm struggling here okay
Humiliation – Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: Baelor Targaryen's wife losing her temper awakes some unexpected possessiveness in the prince...
Summertime – dilf!Baelor Targaryen x fem!reader [modern AU]
Doubt your man – Maekar Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: If he only could, Maekar would gladly sit by his wife’s side through her whole sickness. When he finally manages to run from his duties and rush to her, he has to throw a certain man outside the chamber and care for the woman himself. Just like he prefers it.
Mourning Feast – Maekar Targaryen x fem!reader
summary: Maekar Targaryen’s bride seems to be the most tragic lady in The Seven Kingdoms. Not only is she to be wed to a man of grim and sharp reputation, but also her father gets slaughtered on her wedding day.
Hidden Presence – Maekar Targaryen x servant!reader
summary: Deep at heart Maekar is furious that it took him so long to finally meet the woman that everyone seems so suspiciously fond of. Nothing is worse than the fact that his brother beat him to it, though.
[part 2]
summary: Despite Maekar's distrustful temper, he's even worse at resisting the woman he met in the kitchens than others. In fact, he would like nothing more than to have her for himself and himself only… He fails to notice how hard that can be considering her underground trade, hidden by a shroud of mystery.
[younger! Maekar x servant!reader]
summary: Once Prince Maekar set his eyes on the most promising of all cooks, no one could pull him away from her. He is too young, too smitten, and much too prideful to hide the affair and its fruits.
My Moon, My Man – Daeron Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: An imperfect bride for a flawsome man – it was not a tragic match by any means, but the heavy shroud of expectations made affection morph into doubt. It felt like a choke, the duty imposed by House Rosby, tightening on the necks of Daeron and his wife.
Dim Refuge – Daeron Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: Life as Prince Daeron’s wife sometimes made you feel like the sky would fall on your head while you and your husband were just a pair of lambs sent to slaughter...
Lamblike – Daeron Targaryen x commoner!reader
Summary: The dragon was about to lose a tooth or two, and you weren’t having it…
House of The Dragon
Gwayne Hightower's restrained wife
Vestiges and Laments – Gwayne Hightower x reader
summary: After the battle at Rook’s Rest all Gwayne wants is you. Hopefully longing just like he is and cherishing his safe return. And yet he is met with an absence that makes his breath hitch and grim remarks he does not appreciate. Despite being a lord and a noble knight he is also nothing but a man, and how long can a man go without the comforting presence of his wife? And especially a wife who is worth worshipping, every battle and every whispered word of blasphemy?
In Body and Mind – Gwayne Hightower x bethroted!reader
summary: You weren’t even wed to Ser Gwayne yet, and it already seems like you are closer to being a widow than a wife. Still, despite the whispers of worry and alarming omens, he manages to make a promise you decide to cling to.
Runaway party – Aegon & reader & Larys rant
Game of Thrones
True Knight – Davos Seaworth x fem! Estermont reader
Complete [wc: 10k+]
Summary: Lady Estermont, there was something truly strange about her. Whenever she appeared, the weird feeling came too. In the silence and ever-humming sound of the sea, in shadows, like something watched. Watched and waited. It was not an eerie presence, just something deeply buried that screamed to be unleashed again.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
ao3 link
Resident Evil
Anemone – Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader [southern gothic au]
summary: The idea of being married to Leon is… suitable and appropriate. He’s an older, strange cop whose presence gives some people the creeps, but apparently he is just an individual. All you seek is an opportunity for a better life… even if it might mean shattering his peace. But he shouldn’t worry, should he? You’re a good woman, after all, and the arrangement is only proper.
I still dream of violence – older!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader
[part 2] Angry at the waiting game
summary: When a young married couple disappears, who could be better at investigating the case than a pair of special agents used to working together and known for their high efficiency? Well, probably nobody, but someone clearly ignored the fact that one of them should retire a long time ago, and they are both too good at their job to rot in rural America. Not to forget the questionable nature of their professional relationship and mutual tension.
My Pretty Woman In a Ball Gown – Leon Kennedy x co-worker!reader [soon]
summary: Leon was not a man who asked for commitment – he simply gave it. And before a stressful gala, he is, oh, so committed to you…
old man leon x girlfirend!reader
Nothing in the world belongs to me – Leon Kennedy x neighbour!reader
summary: Affection and attachment. Strange things that Leon saw as great values, yet ones he couldn’t afford because of his job. He didn’t know if it was a sense of responsibility or fear of disappointment that made him so reluctant… Well, good thing that the famous ‘cat distribution system’ doesn’t care. Nor his luck for incredibly charming neighbours.
Miss– Mrs. Kennedy? Well, your wife… – Leon Kennedy x DSO agent!reader
Summary: You were pretty sure you preferred being strangled to death on a mission over having a phone call with a stranger… Embarrassing as it felt. Luckily, your closest co-worker is there to save you.
Forever's Gonna Start Tonight – rookie!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader
summary: Leon takes care of you after a graduation ball at the police academy – just like he always does. Or perhaps this time it’s you caring for him?
The Pitt
Short thoughts about:
Brendon Park & ortho music drama
John Shen enjoying his wife's sleep routine
Fics:
Bad Visions – Jesse Van Horn x fem!reader
summary: An outburst from a patient in pain makes you rather indisposed for the rest of the day, but luckily you're not left alone. Jesse is easily known as one of the most reliable people in the ER – of course he will help his favorite coworker with making it to the end of the shift!
part two
I want it with you – FWB!Jack Abbot x fem!reader
summary: Jack Abbot is far from being badly self-conscious. Still, he’s plagued by obstinate thoughts and questions that he believed he could get rid of – all caused by the woman that he was supposed to be seeing only for one thing.
Direct Fire – Jack Abbot x SWAT!reader
summary: It is hard to consider saving somebody’s life a failure. You get gravely judged for making a mistake, though, and getting hurt in the process. Your squad mates look at you like it was nothing but a show-off. Luckily, there’s also Doctor Abbot who not only understands you to the bone, but also uses the occasion to do what he wanted for a while.
Sprezzatura – knight!Jack Abbot x princess!reader
summary: A single tear that stained the Princess’s cheek saved Jack’s life and made him bid his existence to the task of protecting her. As a Captain of the guard he finds new reasons for his devotion. They come with temptations, though, and ones Abbot can barely resist. And the Princess – she mastered the skill of effortless grace to mask the tension between her and her loyal guard. Unfortunately, an inconvenient betrothal was arranged by her father…
chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six
True detective
young!rust cohle headcanons
Sacred bloody route – Rust Cohle x fem!reader [wc: 30k+]
summary: Rust was a heavy smoker since his late teenage years, and he picked up his liking for Camel Blues from the first woman he ever cared about. He knew she was the one part of his ‘programming’ that he would not be able to deny himself: memory of the feeling, longing for the grim days when a shred of light made it worth living. Lust can morph into love. Love – into resentment, but care… Care will remain the same.
chapters:
I. The once forgotten route, now used by many
II. Don't you love her madly? Crash!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
III. Seven horses seem to be on the mark young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
IV. A lonely song of a deep blue dream young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
V. Don’t you love her as she’s walking out the door? young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
VI. All your love is gone 1995!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
VII. Void. 2012!Rust Cohle x reader
ao3 link
Call of Duty
Form and Void – ex!John Price x wife!reader x Simon Riley
summary: In all the years of your relationship with Price, you would never guess he’ll be the crazy type of ex. Prying, never losing hope, annoying one – yes, but tormenting you and bothering your kids every second he could? It made all three of you anxious, worried about your every step. For years, you had a perfect marriage, and in one second, it turned into hell. The only good thing is that you have someone to call when your ex outdoes himself by causing a scene at your work, throwing punches, and scaring innocent people. It might be tense between you and Simon afterwards, but what choice do you have?
Hunting hound – huntsman!Johnny MacTavish x fem!reader
summary: Johnny didn’t mind when you looked at him the way you would at a stray dog. He was a hunting hound, after all, and he would cherish you as his master. You weren’t his to protect and worship, though.
Distractions – Simon Riley x fem!141!reader [soon]
[part 1]
[part 2]
summary: Simon wants to make sure the recruits know who they truly deal with after learning that one of them disrespected you. He puts some teaching into the kid’s head, also interrupting your session of distraction. You were supposed to watch the loudmouthed boy, but hey, a present for Simon’s birthday won’t figure out itself! He turns out to be a lot more picky than you would think. Apparently, what he likes best is holding your hand close, walking with you as a couple, and allowing himself to forget that it’s just for the good of the mission.
Red Dead Redemption
Cold dark earth (I'll crawl home to her) – Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
summary: For years, Arthur knew no remorse. At nights he slept peacefully as long as he could feel his woman close. None of them ever begged for another chance – he couldn't imagine an angelic person like his wife would have to ask for salvation. And him? He didn’t want anything else. Yet the ransome came in the small fragile flesh. A pale body, that with its trembling shook your whole world. Arthur wasn't punished for his sins with the boy's presence, no – it was much worse. It was his son, his frail son, and his weak body, who had to bear whips aimed at his father.
Devil's resting place – Arthur Morgan x vampire!reader
summary: The fragile sepulchral finding except her charm happens to hold an unknown, eerie strength. What can be sensed by women and children remains invisible to Arthur… or perhaps it is his wish to not see what he truly lusts after?
Fellow conman? – Hosea Matthews x actress!reader
summary: Saint Denis' theatre, a house of art and majesty, gets burned down in a terrible accident, but you have a friend who will help you out. He's afraid of how you will handle the company of ruthless outlaws, but it happens that actors and criminals are much alike. Or perhaps you simply consider it a similar job? The presence of a fellow conman certainly helps you adjust, and during a robbery where the two of you play main roles, he realizes there's something more to his admiration than woman's grace and solidarity of profession.
1914 Jack Marston x wife!reader
Cyberpunk 2077
Runaway champ – Viktor Vektor x fem!V
summary: A grand champion has been craved with Viktor's help, and then a father is involved. The thing about fathers… well, they tend to turn into phantoms, hunting memories of their children, slowly creeping into their minds, taking control, and pushing them towards danger. V used to come to Viktor for everything: arguments, breakups, loss… Now she disappeared. He never really stopped looking until he was held at gunpoint and blessed with an indirect message from her to leave her alone. So he did, but still hoped. That's until 5 years later she is shoved on his doorstep by Jackie and Misty, tired, bloody and in great trouble.
ao3 link
Bloodied Boots, Envious Echoes – Johnny Silverhand x fem!V
summary: In the world of Goro Takemuras and Solomon Reeds, who would have thought that it'd be a random dude making Silverhand go crazy jealous?
Far Cry 5
The savior angel – Joseph Seed x fem!reader
Summary: You couldn't refuse to take care of this man. You wanted to, you really did, but it would be a sin dirtying you for the rest of your life. You wanted him gone and out of your life, but it was your job to help. Your call. Maybe you would feel more compassion if he weren’t your father. Your work lies long forgotten, while he, in his new health, seeks the doing of the Lord. Then Joseph Seed appears to praise your effort and direct his people towards the light. Towards the side where he is the shine.
ao3 link
Uncharted
Victor Sullivan x reader
Samuel Drake x reader
Kingdom Come: Deliverance
Rattle [request] – Henry of Skalitz x bandit!reader
summary: Henry doesn’t try to cross shady people’s paths on purpose – well, usually. Unfortunately, he has the questionable luck of stumbling over a certain outlaw and recognizes that they aren’t much of a danger due to their condition. He’s a good christian, though, so why not offer a helping hand even to those who steal from your pocket?
Fargo
Purgatory Blight – Gator Tillman x wife!reader
summary: Being Gator’s wife wasn’t a bliss despite his restless tries to make everything better. You didn’t know what the harsh treatment that came from the Tillmans was supposed to prove. Did you belong to the family now, so all the rules applied to you too, or were you still a stranger standing on sacred land? What you knew for sure was that your husband’s precaution grew more visible every day. He rounded you like a guarding dog whenever his father was nearby, and yet he felt like it wasn’t enough anymore.
Guess who’s gona break up with her boyfriend/ be broken up with! Yk what this means?
GUESS WHOS GONA COME BACK TO WRITING FAN FICTION!!!!!
I wana come back to writing again so I’m taking like suggestions at the moment and might continue some stories that i had previously written and not posted about
UPDATE: I’m now free!
Prehistoric tension
Henry Loomis x reader
Summary: You and Henry Loomis flirt on the boat, tension building as the island gets closer.
Word count: 692
The boat engine hummed low beneath your boots, salt spray kissing the air as the island drew closer on the horizon. You leaned on the railing, one boot hooked on the bottom rung, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the early morning glare.
Behind you, footsteps—soft, hesitant.
“Do you always stand like that when you’re about to risk your life?” a voice asked, a little amused, a little nervous.
You smirked before turning around. Dr. Henry Loomis, in all his freshly-pressed, nervously handsome glory, was fiddling with the strap of his backpack like it might bite him.
“Only when I’m trying to impress the awkward paleontologist behind me,” you said coolly.
His mouth twitched. “Well, it’s working. I’m deeply impressed. Terrified, too. But mostly impressed.”
You raised a brow. “Terrified of me or the island?”
He took a step closer, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on a secret. “Both, honestly. But only one of them is wearing combat boots and a knife strapped to her thigh.”
“Smart man.” You turned to face the ocean again. “And here I thought you science guys were all talk.”
“I’m mostly talk,” he admitted, standing beside you now. “But I did pack a flare gun. So I’ve got that going for me.”
You laughed—short, surprised. “You really think a flare gun’s gonna save you from a Quetzalcoatlus?”
“I was hoping you’d save me, actually.”
You glanced sideways at him. He looked mostly innocent, but his eyes were glinting, and he definitely knew how to deliver a line. There was something boyish about it—earnest and curious, but with just enough nerve to try.
“You know,” you said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”
He cleared his throat, flushed faintly. “Was it obvious?”
“A little.”
“I’m rusty,” he said. “Last time I tried flirting, I compared a girl to a protoceratops. It didn’t go over well.”
You snorted. “Please tell me you didn’t use the word ‘frill.’”
His ears turned red. “…I may have.”
You shook your head, grinning. “God help you on this mission.”
He smiled, then looked out toward the mist-shrouded island. “I’m more worried about the dinosaurs, if I’m being honest.”
You let the silence settle for a beat, the waves slapping rhythmically against the hull. The others were below deck prepping gear. Up here, it was just you and him—and the tension between your wild confidence and his endearing dorkiness.
“Hey, Loomis?”
“Yeah?”
“If you survive this thing, I might let you take me out for a drink.”
He blinked. “Seriously?”
“No frill metaphors. That’s the deal.”
His grin spread slow, eyes sparkling. “Deal. I promise to keep it strictly post-Cretaceous.”
You bumped his shoulder lightly. “Then try not to die, dinosaur boy.”
“I’ll do my best, trouble.”
And for the first time since boarding this boat, the thought of heading straight into danger didn’t feel so heavy.
Not with him beside you.
Not with that look in his eyes.
DR. LOOMIS x READER HCs
watched Jurassic World: Rebirth last night and knew I had to write something for this man
Reader is a dinosaur researcher, studying their behavior (similar to Darius in Jurassic World: Chaos Theory & Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous)
If you're as passionate about dinosaurs as this man is, you're perfect for him
Telling you dinosaur facts is Henry's way of flirting
He likes treating you to a home cooked dinner
Dates primarily include watching dinosaur documentaries, going on a drive, hiking, reading books, or going to the movies
You two got the public interested in dinosaurs again by publishing books, papers, and documentaries on their behaviors
Loomis is very intelligent, emotionally and educationally, so he knows when something is wrong with you, and is there for you
You two sometimes curl up on the couch together and read to each other, or cuddle into each other and read separate books
Henry gets flustered easily, so any flirting or compliments you throw towards him are going to leave him a mess
He sometimes takes you on expeditions with him (if he's allowed to)
He prefers swimming and boating in freshwater because of his experiences, expect this man not to go more than knee deep in any form of saltwater
Loomis is hopelessly in love with you, he 100% fell first
His nicknames for you are primarily dinosaur related, as are yours (you also call him 'Romeo', 'loverboy', and, teasingly, 'pathetic')
You two are advocates for available and affordable healthcare
He would love any pets you have
Henry remained friends with Kincaid, Zora, and the Delgado family, so you've met them and are friends with them too (and you two sometimes tag along on boating trips and road trips with the Delgado family)
CREDIT FOR DIVIDER: @thecutestgrotto
Personally I really liked the movie, although I can see why people hate it. I watch low budget horror films for fun, anything people say about the movie will not sway me. 10/10 movie imo.
Although the script portrayed him as not smart because of the incorrect dino facts, I'm pretty sure he'd be a smart and capable guy in the JW universe.
. . . l'oeuf
˙⋆✮ summary. just another evening at henry's.
pairing. henry winter x f!reader warnings. smoking, swearing, mentioned drug use, bad aspirin use specifically, use of alcohol, +18 (p n v sex, no condom henry DOES NOT care, very minimal dirty talk), pretentiousness, an inkling of classicism, bunny™ wc. 6.9k ✧˖°.
author's note. happy october everyone ! i always wanted to write smth for the loml henry winter but i never had the patience to sit down and do it. well, now i did. this was written with prompt 1. thick, acrid smoke. feel free to rqs more for the prompty thingies! x . . . side note! the fic is named by this song since i listened to it while writing. you can draw a metaphor from it if willing
creds. hd., div.
mlist | buy me coffee ♡ྀ
it was at the start of october on that fateful senior year that you had found yourself in henry winter's illustrious townhouse. from the lacquered brazillian hardwood floorboards to the ivory plasterwork on the ceilings – every corner pertained a certain degree of finery that reflected poorly on the rest of its objects: a well-worn armchair perpetually stuck in henry’s physique and fraying at the edges, the trampled rug that snaked upstairs and held all of your secrets, the coffee table with too many wine stains. in the dim light, the dried rorschach looked like blood.
the present company consisted of six and was slowly dwindling. your dear friend francis, the only boy who had never cared to peek up your skirt in childhood tennis practice, was a moment from collapsing into himself like a weary, old star. holding a champagne coupe from which he exclusively drunk only campari, he had thrown himself over henry’s couch not unlike a discontent lead from a penny dreadful novel. his face kept twisting according to the sounds: bunny’s voice was met with pursed lips and a tightly shut eye (only one, closest to bunny’s person sat by the aforementioned coffee table), charles’ – with a look of defeated boredom, and in the odd bouts of silence and music, bliss.
you offered him a cigarette, and he barely managed to crane his neck to kiss the knuckles of a helping hand before he snatched it away and searched his pockets for a lighter.
sweet camilla sat by the fire, with her knees drawn to her chest. one black stocking was torn on the side, rippling up her calf and sneaking into her inner knee, an action bunny had noted and all had taken particular interest in. there had been a metaphor about literature resembling her glossy stockings – all that language and reference weaved into a fabric that stretched till it could no more, thus marking the end of innovation and intertextuality. a book can only fit so much, and as all of them cared for ancient greek only – a language that no one spoke, and so, could never refine past its perfect state – the topic soon waned in favor of more brandy.
bunny cowed a story about richard papen, the outsider that had joined their coterie, who was not present, as he had not been invited. he was a fine orator, had a specific sense of humor that, while not always understood, could charm an audience when fidgeted with enough. only bunny was too drunk, and his glass of whiskey kept spilling on his trousers till it left an undignified blotch crowned by cigarette ashes, which only painted him a blubbering buffoon. ‘the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’ came to mind as you admired the embers dancing in the halo of his blond hair.
then, there was charles, drunk as always, who had opted to lay by camilla’s feet, the place where bunny’s drunken attempts of metaphor had landed him.
lastly, there was henry, your own personal virgil, who had not wanted you to come, but allowed it still. he looked tired from across the room, an arm thrown over the cushions of the armchair in which he sat. in his left hand he held a book, a cover and a title too out of frame for your eyes to see; amber reflected in his wiry glasses, the color of his brandy bottle (half empty) before the orange glow of the fire burned it copper. a plume of cigarette smoke curled into the ceiling from his two fingers. only he could have full concentration among the chaotic symphony in the living room.
the record spun to silence, and you quickly abated your seat on the windowsill to pad to the cabinet and change the vinyl. the collection of classics had not increased since your last visit, which was roughly a week ago, and it had not changed since henry moved out the dorms during the winter of your junior year. there were chopin’s nocturnes and etudes, beethoven’s piano sonatas, and wagner’s tristan and isolda, just to name a few. something lulling, quiet. you picked debussy and placed the needle. lilting, soft and steady, like you supposed love would feel.
instantly, you were met with bunny’s ire.
“no, no,” a wave and a body too weak to stop you. you ensured he was gifted your most sly smile, “no, woman, put on somethin’, somethin’ grand,” a larger wave, like a poorly coordinated conductor, he smacked his hand too close to francis’ head. a groan from charles, as if he had grown nauseous from watching the motions, “somethin’ for me and charlie here,”
charles tried to turn away in his discontent, yet did not manage. camilla, concerned, laid a hand on his shoulder, “should we go? i think we should head home.”
“see?” bunny’s accusing tone found you once more, “you’re scaring the guests. put on some real music. like the... the...” he trailed off, lighting another cigarette. for good luck, one could imagine, “like goddamn— listen to led zeppelin, man! the rolling stones!”
you glanced to henry and found yourself surprised. a shared look.
“no such things in our humble repertoire,” you stated.
“mile davis, at least?”
“no,”
“i don’t believe you,”
“you’re free to check for yourself.”
amidst this small argument, which was much too common when dealing with bunny, camilla had somehow managed to wrestle charles into standing on his own two feet. unstable, he leaned onto his sister, the added weight making her stagger.
“goodness, take care of charles,” bunny whined, though his complaints never amounted to more than simple sulking. you chose not to pay them much mind.
it was henry that helped, carefully balancing his book on the armrest and coming to take charles from camilla’s embrace.
“should i drive you home?” he asked.
camilla shook her head, en route to retrieve her red scarf and new coat, “no, no, we’ll call a taxi.”
it was always mildly fascinating watching the two interact. camilla, never able to meet his gaze directly and for too long, and henry, who only ever extended wordless aid without prompt or reason to her only. what had she done to earn such favor was beyond you – beyond everyone, perhaps – but you were certain you weren’t the only one that saw this careful act of piety and kindness.
you observed them shuffle out after moments on the telephone, camilla’s hand ghosting henry’s arm, or grazing the bend of his elbow, and only when they disappeared past the large door to wait for the taxi did you look away.
loving henry winter was a sisyphean task, unworthy of the effort which it required. you thought yourself too smart for it, and thus, never cared to entertain the notion, not even when he kissed you.
you caught bunny staring at you: not scrutinizing, not calculating – simply staring. a curious leer that often fell on you after some semblance of mirth had worn down. almost shy, somewhat longing.
“this richard of yours,” you began, helping yourself to henry’s lucky strike. out of all the brands that you had smoked, this was the most bitter and always left a tart taste in the back of your throat. you craved it, “papen, was it?”
“yup,” bunny mumbled into his glass.
“and how is he?” your gaze jumped from him to francis.
“poor,” bunny said.
“californian,” francis tacked on.
“but he pretends he isn’t,” bunny continued.
“californian?” your brows rose. the smell, the taste – too powerful, almost choking.
“no, no,” bunny shook his head, disoriented for a moment, “rich. pretends to be rich. see, i didn’t tell you this, but,” and he reached for henry’s cigarettes, too, even if his own pack laid abandoned, two-three left untouched. he did this, at times, this odd mimicry: you smoked, he smoked what you did, you drank, he drank what you did, you decided a getaway to italy was your dream destination for a week and later learned he had haggled henry into buying tickets for the two of them, “but i, you know me: never judge a book by its cover, i say. invited him to dinner. the usual place, the one on-”
“god,” francis winced, and if he could move, surely he’d flee, “stop talking.”
“the lady asked, am i to deny her now? i thought he wouldn’t show, but he does, doesn’t he? with a goddamned tweed jacket, like i wouldn’t notice,” he hiccupped mid-explanation, the liquor long congealed into his system, “and, you know, me, i know people. i know people. i see them for what they are, and i knew he was a no good cheat from a mile away, but hey,” a straight spine, a bit proud, “i think to myself, you know what, old man, i’m gonna give this guy a chance. pop’s always-”
“aspirin,” francis interjected, this time directed at you, “bring me some, would you, juliet?”
you snorted, “a moment,”
“thank you, desdemona. you’re a midsummer night’s dream,”
“she’s from othello,”
“my point stands.”
you sauntered off into henry’s kitchen and scoured his cupboards for painkillers. the layout of this place you knew too well – perhaps, even, if you closed your eyes, you could discern each obstacle and map it in front of your eyes with the grace and certainty of a guidebook. you did just that.
behind you, a sudden coldness pierced through the humidity and a door shut harshly. the influx of fresh air was a brief slap to the face.
it’s been silent for a while now.
“what are you doing?” henry’s voice, not close, yet not too far. always observing at a distance, since closeness was never his intention. henry winter. what a fitting name.
“looking for aspirin.”
the tick of an unseen clock.
“top drawer,” there was no urgency; something you didn’t understand was what made him hurry to answer, “i hid them there. bunny keeps stealing my entire cabinet.”
your eyes fluttered open, “my, my. what a snitch,”
“don’t give him the aspirin,”
“it’s for francis,”
“very well.”
an impasse. you closed the cabinet and thought against bringing water with you, knowing it’s unneeded.
“may i?” henry asked, and when you turned to look at him, he was as always – unbreakable, unmovable. expectant, perhaps, his heavy gaze a familiar pressure upon your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw, your swollen mouth (from biting, not being kissed).
“they’re yours,” you said easily, turning the cap and spilling a few into the bed of your palm as he approached, “here.”
to make matters harder, there’s but a foot of space between the two of you. the smallest separation, every part of him and every part of you entangled into one odd constellation. an immensity of motion before him and an immensity of energy after.
“water?”
“whiskey.”
“is it also hidden?”
“no.”
so you retrieved him a glass, and then the bottle, and lastly you poured the amount enough to swallow in one gulp. when he took and drank, and you watched his adam’s apple bob, you wondered, briefly and hazily, was your act in any way similar to camilla’s. a star that constantly drew him into her orbit.
“you didn’t leave,” he uttered quietly, tired eyes flicking to the maw of the kitchen opening. down the foyer, the firelight danced. bunny’s voice rose in a toast, no doubt to shake francis out of his stupor.
“i did,” you said, a slow smile curling, “what you see before you is a specter. the delirious imaginings of an impoverished mind.”
“ridiculous,” the quirk of his eyebrows: mock-offended.
“amusing,” the narrow of your eyes: contagious, “was everything my spirit foretold the same as you saw it unfold?”
weariness. you looked for it and found it easy enough. his fingers flexed, his tongue went behind his teeth. the cogs turned. for all his genius, henry was too susceptible to fable and entirely too superstitious. he could ward himself off it well, yet when his inhibitions were down, there was a hint of something else, a spark of pious faith in the impossible, what not might come next. he kept looking at you for an extended moment, until the corner of his mouth, minutely, drew up into a not-quite-smile.
“hermia!” came francis’ voice from the other room, “i’m dying.”
henry said nothing.
you expected bunny drunkenly swinging an almost empty bottle around to try and cheer up francis (it rarely worked, unless it was wine), and yet, he wasn’t there. the living room felt very big, somehow, devoid of him and the makings of his gullible heart.
“and where is bun?” you questioned, almost scolding.
“bathroom,” francis succeeded sitting up, yet only just.
you heard henry curse under his breath. he disappeared, and soon you heard the continents of a stomach emptying down the hall and henry’s monotone behind a closed door.
“time to end this sabbath, me thinks,” you said. francis took the pills with a fresh glass of campari, nose scrunching from the taste.
“d’you think henry could drive me home?” francis asked.
“do you trust him with your life?”
“do you think he’d let me die?”
“depends,”
“no. i’ll cab it,”
“wise decision.”
henry returned, seemingly exhausted from his small adventure. no one followed after.
“bun?” you asked again, which seemed to displease him. he only shook his head. passed out, then. unfortunate, yet expected. if bunny could somehow gain authority over all of henry’s things – even the minute ones, the ones that don’t matter and exist in the peripherals without henry’s notice – he would. it was the same reason francis once insisted that bunny had been in love with you.
the incident occurred during your first year of college in early november. a rather somber and chilly day with leaves sticking to wet asphalt and stone walls amidst the rainy season. a monday. bunny had broken his ankle and complained terribly about it, and henry, who had become his caretaker, was sick of it and instead abhorred him. by accident and complete mischance, the handling of bunny corcoran had fallen onto your graceful shoulders, and in a single day – full of obsolete complaints and impulsive questions – the theorized affection was born.
if there was a way in which bunny’s countenance had changed in your presence, it was lost on you, for your attention, at the time, was solely pilfered by charles. he was, back then, the most handsome of the greek class, and oddly enough, the only one pleasant, thus you sought his favor. but charles never returned your fondness, no matter how minuscule it could be, and he never gave the impression of fleeting interest. only sometimes, when he thought you would not catch him, he would stare at you for a bit too long. you never got to figure out what he had thought in those moments.
instead, you figured yourself an actor – a pretty one at that – and decided to ignore this indelicate sort of charm and pursue a new mark. there were many, of course, plenty of faces to consider, yet the outcome was always the same. as it were, they were all terribly boring and reminded you greatly of the peers you’ve encountered in private schools, the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the new age that had too much time and too much heartbreak on their hands. good looks aside, not the slightest hint of culture nor comprehension, just money and nothing to show for it.
and then there was henry, of course, so quintessentially different that his existence, still, was hard to define. something outside the realm of you. something above or beyond, or perhaps below – always somewhere you could not reach. there was an irrecoverable arrogance to him and in his aloof demeanor. an inviolable space that never invited others.
yes, there had to be some appeal to the strangeness of him, yet never could you put your finger on what exactly it was. at least, not immediately. at first sight, though, there were more poetic reasons to it – of the tragic and of the divine kind, yet that was no truth but some novel-born whim, a pointless obsession, some meager infatuation. an involuntary fetish. he had not wanted you, which only made it so that you wanted him in turn. it wasn’t an ugly thing – it simply was.
he must’ve known. henry always seemed to possess the knowledge of things you had never dared to question or to think twice of. or, perhaps, maybe not: but, despite your inability to identify the cause of it, there was a certain change to your disposition upon entering his shared room. one, maybe, akin to the sudden fear brought by dark enclosed spaces, though a bit more subtle and complex.
it was, ironically, a winter’s night.
when you phoned the same taxi and requested it’s return, francis spoke in a hazy murmur, sluggishly trying to shrug on the coat you brought him, “god, i really need a cigarette.”
“hm?”
“do you see mine anywhere?”
a rueful search, hands grabbing the scattered glass and hardbound that littered the surface of the coffee table. a valiant attempt to move the couch cushions and dip fingers into the cracks.
“no,”
“well, fuck me,”
henry offered his, but francis refused. the living room lit up in that thick, acrid smoke anyway.
the foyer echoed with your footsteps. outside the townhouse, rain had started again. a few drops at first, tapping the windows, before quickly it grew and gained weight. soon, it was battering against the glass.
with your scarf in your hands you suddenly found yourself unsure what to do with it. the taxi was coming and it was time to go home and plead to a higher power for reprieve from the headache you knew would cripple you in the morning. perhaps, an afternoon tomorrow to mull around, dazed. yet there was no respite in any of that. you realized, then, with this abrupt trepidation, that the cause of your discomfort, or the cause that exacerbated it, was within this confided space. a chasm-deep disquiet, like an open mouth of a ravine, dark and shadowy, or the pull of a tide at sea, which was, as they say, irresistible to even the most levelheaded.
somewhat uneasily, you lingered by the coat hanger, and when francis ambled over, tripping over his own two feet, he downed the rest of his campari and shoved the glass into your useless hands. then, he kissed your cheek, quick and wet, before ripping the door open and shoving it closed behind you, hence halting your escape.
the house was deafened, and your palms itched. the overwhelming urge to twiddle with your scarf became unbearable, or it was because a pair of eyes bore into you from the depths of the room. the closest thing you’ve ever considered to a tangible aura: the smell of ozone and rain water and tobacco.
“don’t suppose he’s waiting in the rain, is he?” you said.
“no, i don’t think he is.”
it didn’t make sense, none of what happened afterward – the decision to face him instead of making off into the chilling night. your arms crossed in a quiet and peculiar motion, clutching the coupe a bit too tight.
“whiskey?” henry offered, and you felt like the silly ingénue in some high-brow noir thriller donning all that cashmere by the door, “or bourbon.”
“fine.”
a crease of his eyebrow – the sole indication of surprise. your jacket found its rightful place on the rack along with that dreaded scarf. hesitance was unfamiliar to you, as you had not known it growing up – neither a sense of propriety nor a loss of footing. the dandy act had been adopted and perfected to such a degree that to relinquish the mask itself was oddly relieving, the discomfort born merely by knowing that francis was aware of your unusual situation and the upcoming events that would take place once the theater was done. there was a brief thought to how henry might’ve perceived you then. perhaps the removal of a layer of pretense might’ve intrigued him, if anything.
you remained at a slight distance and watched him traverse his domain, stepping around the askew items left behind by bunny and a bottle of gin haphazardly upended by charles, warm by the fire. there was an anomalous sort of patience to him. the silence was an abrasion. so often, you found yourself chattering to fill the void, even with other men who took the shape of strangers.
“there’s quite a storm brewing,” you said, only to be met with more silence. when your words simpered, the feeling they left was inexplicably ominous. ‘all that is transitory is but a symbol,’ yet only a bad poet would dare to draw a soliloquy from henry’s figure by the flames.
thus, you sat down on the couch, still warm from francis, and held up the beloved champagne coupe. henry’s hand did not tremble as it poured, but your fingers quivered when his attention fell onto you.
“is it good?”
you never felt the alcohol, only the burning in the back of your throat.
“very,”
he found himself beside you, not too close. the distance was not unlike orpheus’ journey, or so it appeared in the dim firelight – the familiar pangs of the unwilling, the sudden, selfish urge of wanting to see him in his entirety, his visage unhindered
“may i?” you asked, meaning, of course, his cigarette. he acquiesced easily. the only telltale of his everlasting unbothered mien: his focus had, and always seemed to be, too acute. it was enough to unnerve anyone. flattering, perhaps, if only you could tell what he was thinking, but you never could.
in your lap, the half-empty coupe. you left a smudge of your lipstick on the cigarette butt. henry inhaled. it was not unlike a kiss.
“francis mentioned you didn’t want to see me,” you said.
“i didn’t,” he responded.
“a lie, was it then?”
“you assume to know?”
“yes.”
another drag. smoke parted his mouth, slow as molasses and heavy as clouds.
“you’ve changed,” you said.
conversation with henry had always been difficult, before and after your frequent follies in the dark. if you did speak, it was never about one another, or anything that resided past skin and bone, nestled somewhere in the marrow, only felt. in instances where you did find common ground it was only ever art – literature, specifically, and when he was in a good mood, painting. henry only had one fascination and refused to entertain others; here lied his fatal flaw. thus, in a crowd of three and more, you could exchange remarks that would seem and sound important but held no real meaning.
“what sort of change have you noticed?” henry murmured. the lighting cast shadows. his hands twitched.
you were not sure, as you remembered him in much more detail and color. here, ashen-faced and obscured, all you saw was the ghost of his image, as though he had grown morose in a way that a single season could not alter. the greek class had often suffered for the aesthetic – self-imposed punishments of grandeur and excess that to everyone outside their circle seemed quite ridiculous, along with their dark clothes and mysterious miens and enigmatic jokes. some said they were haunted or blessed, but none envied them. alas.
troubled is the closest you could find, though if you were to voice it, he might take you for a child. it was never good to seek out his vulnerability. he would say you could never find it, and, inevitably, it would end up being the truth. henry wasn’t good at love. no one of were.
you shrugged, “you’ve become quiet.”
“am i, now?”
“more so than you’ve been,”
“perhaps you’ve just gotten better at listening,”
“unlikely,”
henry cocked his head. his hand, once again, twitched and there was an urge to reach out and grasp his fingers – some sort of absolution or at least a consolation for something neither one of you might’ve cared to mention. never did the man in front of you appear unsure, yet somehow, despite his best effort to the contrary, you felt a similar trepidation of an undefined thing.
henry was impossible to read. not just a mystery, but undeciphered in ways so beyond the mundane. over the years, you had collected enough clues to form a humble dictionary, yet much of what was missing could only be determined through his own misfortune and complacency – things which would, then, by nature and by fate, stray into your arms.
it did not matter, not entirely, at least. you did not love henry, but you thought that camilla did, and he, in turn, her. once you exhausted your inspection, perhaps you would pass that glossary to her, though you doubted that she would ever find any use for it.
“well,” henry said, “i suppose that’s to be expected. anything else?”
“would you enjoy a dissection?”
henry hummed, perhaps in agreement or curiosity, but it was very possible that he thought you foolish.
“no need,” he said, “yours is transparent.”
“really?” you countered, “they never are. people, i mean.”
“who are you thinking of?”
your mind drifted to bunny, likely curled on the cold tiles of the bathroom. with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and tie loosened, there was the picture of one not withering away but merely on the incline of a steep and lonely hill. all quiet in the dark of a windowless room from which he couldn’t even turn his head and see the stars.
it felt as though he would wake soon and interrupt. his presence always breached spaces he did not occupy, and the anticipation of his arrival always lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable. perhaps bunny would always exist in the shadowy corner-room between you and henry, because, if what francis said was true, henry was the first to know of it and had you, still.
you wondered if he regretted it, if he felt like brutus sticking the first knife into caesar’s rib, closest to the heart. you considered asking: in that moment, the urge felt insurmountable. instead, you said, “a little bit of everyone.”
inclined, you caught his gaze. an abysmal color and a disorienting shade, as deep and gloomy as the woods surrounding mount cataract.
“and me?”
“of course,” you smiled and slid a bit closer, “it’s not like you to ask. have you become sentimental?”
“not exactly,” his eyes moved to his hands. then, the flecks in the fireplace, the piles on the floor, “i’ve been thinking.”
“care to elaborate?”
“no,” he said. you understood his need for privacy, and a small part of you could appreciate his effort, or maybe, rather, that you got something of an answer at all. he did, occasionally, tend to disappear in thought. he remained, despite his reluctance, sitting with you. this, in a way, spoke more to you than the words that could never leave his mouth.
“this weather makes a body wistful,” you told him, “and the greek have always liked their tragedies.”
he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth before lighting another cigarette, “what do you know of greek?”
always the same argument. always the same contradiction. your attraction was tempestuous, and so, it should have surprised you neither the sudden bite or the wicked sense of amusement.
“all that any student would, naturally,”
“so, nothing,”
“i suppose,” you would not admit, for he would win, “henry,”
something in his posture betrayed him, but it was not his eyes, nor his tone, “yes?”
you were close then, much closer than you were moments ago. his lips thinned in a brittle, noncommittal line and his eyes drooped – more of a warning than anything.
“are you going to kiss me?” you asked.
he wanted to, he must’ve, for it had been the only sensible action – you always pressed for what would hurt least. to drown and swallow poison. it was a favorite, and, for some reason, one he allowed, like an agreement reached. to your knowledge, he only ever let himself indulge in you.
henry only leaned in, which was enough for you. his mouth, a second, not any less tantalizing than the first. and you had kissed him with a brazen softness, enough that his hands snaked to grasp the back of your neck. another hit. the smoke and ash settled deep in your lungs. you had pushed it out in a groan when he dropped his hands to your thighs, pressing hard and confident as he had on those nights when you found each other too lonely. the ache he created was wonderful.
you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it until it untucked. he swallowed and whispered in a language you were familiar with but couldn’t speak, and lifted your skirt.
you kept the cigarette between your teeth as he mouthed down your jaw and neck. his finger traced the skin at the back of your knee and that tickling spot right below your ribs. goosebumps rose and followed his touch. he nipped at the crook of your neck and dragged you onto his lap.
“you are dressed far too heavily, and terribly,” you heard him say, and when his lips found the shell of your ear, you could not stifle the shiver. the whole room felt claustrophobic, hot and steamy, like the aftermath of a scalding bath. your breaths grew labored. you closed your eyes against it and clawed into his arm.
henry said, again, this time more slowly and with a dull emphasis, “terribly.”
“how dare you insult my taste,”
“would you allow for a remediation of my sins?”
“luckily, i’m in an agreeable mood.”
henry’s own sigh was long and somewhat labored, as though a great pressure had been taken off him. and his hands flexed, moving up and down your back. a rare instance, to find him restless. you could admire this in private.
the press of lips to your neck. the collarbone, jutting sharp in the firelight.
there was the urge, sudden and quite novel, to caress his face, cup his cheek, graze the edge of the scar of the eye that’s colder than its twin, that shrouds you in a mist. such an act was outlawed, naturally, thus, the opportunity came and went, carried away on a drafting wind of smoke. an irredeemable misfortune, and you flicked the cigarette into your abandoned coupe.
“are you comfortable?” the gentle cadence of his voice sent a wave through the warmest depths of your abdomen.
“yes.”
henry, having brushed away your stockings, stroked at the insides of your thighs. there was a light feeling in your head, an almost dizzying sway. a subtle rocking, like boats at port, from where the two of you were perched. his digits dug into the firm meat. beneath his hands, a stretch of burning skin and sinew. muscle clenched and quivered, “terribly inconvenient, by the way.”
“how do you mean?”
“all the layers,” he muttered.
“good,”
“never good,”
and then, suddenly: “are you wet?”
“if you touched me properly, you could tell,”
henry ignored your response. his hand climbed upward, and found a place between the gusset and the middle seam, rubbing, testing.
“recently,” you said, “i’ve become fascinated with joseph cornell.”
“you’re stalling,” henry informed you without inflection, slipping a finger through the damp center. a harsh noise of pleasure left you when his tongue slid between your lips. one, then two, circling and sinking with the utmost delicacy.
“why? are you not curious to hear what i think of his boxes?” you managed, halfway.
another stroke. his thumb rubbing, slow and considerate, in the spot that makes your toes curl, tight and demanding. when his eyes opened and found yours, it was almost comical – his fingers in you, mouth and mind on a completely different path, yet the connection was there all the same. even more so, while trying to be detached, fumbling over buttons and laces.
“no,”
“you might learn something,”
he quirked a brow, “you truly wish to waste time talking?”
“aren’t you?”
“i am taking an assessment of your willingness to submit,”
“are you certain it’s not the other way around?”
henry rarely responded with malice; each action was carefully devised and, in conjunction, quite merciless. in this case, he dropped his hand from the vee of your legs and tugged at his shirt collar. the emptiness was startling, as was the feeling of tension that coiled tightly in your gut. then, he grabbed his drink and sipped from the sparkling glass. petty revenge, something he always assured was beneath him.
sensing defeat, you decided to placate him. after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you slipped onto the ground and knelt.
“henry,” you began, and reached for the fly of his pants. the outline of his cock was obvious beneath the smooth fabric, thick and promising, “home ruler,” in one instance of drunken curiosity, the lot of you agonized the meaning of your names, that perhaps they, somehow, unknowingly dictated your fate, “unwilling to shed his crown. is the head not heavy? most kings lost theirs, you know.”
“flattery doesn’t suit you.”
“folly, then,” you replied, dragging the flat of your palm across his groin and taking pleasure in the strained hiss, “are you going to let me do as i please?”
“i think that is,” at the peak of his inhale, you reached into his trousers and curled your fingers around his stiff cock, “quite apparent.”
you grinned, lazy but triumphant, thumbing the blunt ridge. smudging the dribble of white at the leaking head and reveling in his restrained reactions: the minute tremors, the twitch of his jaw, a gasp caught in his throat. you would have kissed him, again. his face might’ve twitched, something uncontrollable that would’ve given away his longing, if only he hadn’t pushed it down.
with a slow pump, your hand traveled. the size was admirable, familiar, nearly to the point of nostalgia. henry had touched more parts of your body than some of the lovers you took as an earnest attempt for passion. you had begged him once, half-gone, half-wild with what you thought was need and impatience, to only fuck you – without his clever mouth and his careful hands, but he hadn’t said yes, no, had only grabbed your jaw and pressed a sucking kiss to the soft and sensitive skin beneath your ear. a promise, almost. and in a way, it had been.
“you remember?”
henry’s voice snapped you to attention, and when you looked up, his expression matched his darkened eyes, intense. something flared hot and needy in you, and with it, the desire to be open and dripping for him. he curled a hand in the small hairs on the back of your neck, stroking the skin there and, even briefly, allowed himself an indulgence in the pleasure he could get from a single touch, and rocked his hips.
“vividly,” you told him.
the flames, behind you, cast him entirely in silhouette, and his shadow projected forward and rose tall, stretched. a ruler, indeed.
his chest moved slow and purposefully, and when he released your hair, the lack of contact felt like a shock to the system. his hand closed around your forearm, “come here.”
the tone, hoarse and hushed and so quietly demanding, startled you, and you stood up so quickly that your head spun. henry placed his hands on your hips, steadying, ushering you back to where you belonged.
“just there.”
legs, parted, framing his waist. fabric, bunched between your thighs. breathing, slowed. a firm, calming weight, pinning you down. the firelight glinted in his eyes.
“henry,” you called. and the only thing to signal his movement was a bob of his adam’s apple. the cufflinks of his sleeves swayed and flickered. he hummed, neither affirmation nor disagreement and entered you with a grunt.
more. skin flushed. eyes crinkled and tightened. more. nails curled and scrabbled for purchase.
there, your name on his lips. it was disorienting – not so much a cry, or a whisper, but something between the two. henry always spoke carefully, as though each word should carry the most weight, so each syllable, in turn, he would construct and cut, meticulous and mathematical. but here, breathless and wanting, they rolled out in a steady litany, never faltering.
all fire and scorching, the pitch of it high and needy. to thrust and bruise, the idea fizzed bright and brilliant at the apex of your spine. with each snap of his hips, a part of him carved a piece of you out, and each ragged noise shook loose a piece of your skin. it would fit him perfectly. then he would slide right into those hollow spaces that swelled and throbbed, expanding beyond tolerance. in moments like these, you loved him – his body, his touch, his face, everything that could not be articulated.
“please,” you begged him, trying to curl around the ache, “i want-”
“i know, i know,” he murmured, with a tilt of his head. his hair, you noticed, had lost its immaculate shape, wild and frazzled by your fingers. your heart swelled and contracted: you wanted to do it again, over and over until his whole countenance resembled nothing more than that of a ravaged man. your power, the only thing you had over him. henry closed his eyes.
“spread your legs a little wider,”
a moan slipped when his tongue flicked and curled against the side of your neck, wet and sloppy. the sweet roll of his hips, his fingers pulling at the buttons of your attire and squeezing the fleshy swell of your buttocks. it was always too much.
you licked your lip, shaking when his teeth gently pinched. and, for a moment, the smell of pine permeated the room. as though it were his own sweat and the heady musk of his natural scent, and not a waning bottle of cologne.
“hold onto me,” henry whispered and allowed for nothing more, driving the movement out of your hands. the tempo spiraled upward. at the center, the tension was building. there was a moment of vertigo.
and it was easy enough, as things had always been between the two of you, to ignore the disjointed voices in the back of your mind. how when you two first kissed, it’d been without grace. how the rain fell, trickled, all around you, drowning the dryness in your throat. how the next day, he asked if you would regret what you’d done. and here, now, a different but striking feeling: the warm haze brought on by alcohol, his palms were hot, slick with sweat, his belt digging into you.
henry grunted and swore to a god neither of you had put much faith in. the flush on his cheeks was impossible not to reach out and touch, his eyebrow scarred with the same sort of smooth texture and fading red, his lashes, long and fine, flickering against the high edge of his cheekbones. i love you, you wanted to tell him, but the high struck you ruthlessly, turning you to liquid.
in the aftermath of this brief paradise, you shared a look.
“i still despise this weather,” you said.
henry’s mouth quirked. and what had been the impulsive dalliances of two desperate people became, once more, two lonely creatures with enough distance between to fill one of henry’s beloved epics. the quiet, in the wake of catharsis, was rather terrifying, and the clatter outside – the rain, the wind, and the cold – almost accusatory. he offered you a cigarette.
you took it without thank you and let him light it.
“should i drive you home?” he offered, voice raspy. his shirt had wrinkles and his collar sat funny. the skin beneath was pink, and there was the barest mark where you had sunk your teeth or dug a nail too hard. you bit the end of the filter, watching the flame waver before rising into ash.
“you’re drunk,” it felt necessary to remind him, though it never stopped him.
“do you want me to drive you home?” he asked again. a long pull and a thin veil of smoke.
“yes,” you said, “i’ll go wake bunny.”
“no,”
“no?”
“stop it.”
“stop what?”
“speaking of him,”
“has he done something?”
silence.
“henry?”
“leave it,” he said, but his tone was tight.
“alright. i’ll get my coat, then,”
“of course,” he murmured, standing slowly. you shouldn’t have seen him put his hand against the wall to steady himself, as though any drunken spell had fled, and with it, his equilibrium. the movement was both conscious and contrived, a fact of necessity, and not like the rest of him, braced by his surroundings and firm in stature. a self-constructed illusion, designed to project a set of attributes meant to create the atmosphere of authority. he embodied it well, but he was still, stripped of the mythos, simply human.
you watched him settle and raise his head with a gentle exhale. a mere lift of his shoulders, and he resembled a man in control, content, satisfied – everything henry was, and yet, within the façade, you could see the truth of his discomfort, recently, and without fault, brought upon by an uttered name.
in the upcoming months, you would understand and wonder if there was something you could have done or said to warn him of a future that was inevitable. no matter how many nights you had spent distressing over this question, the answer would always make itself obvious.
there was nothing you could have ever done.
thank you for reading !
Husband!Jamie loves you and your surprises! ۶ৎ
Jamie knew you like the back of his hand.
He knew which song you put on repeat when you were upset but too stubborn to admit it. He knew you hated when your hands got cold so you had no choice but to reach out for his. He even remembered the job you swore you’d have when you were eight.
So it was almost insulting that you thought he wouldn’t notice the way your thighs shut when he called you “annoying”.
The way your teeth caught your lips and the way the air shifted before you mumbled a “sorry”.
It baffled him even more that you thought he wouldn’t notice how you started to purposely get on his nerves.
How you would purposefully misbehave in public just to feel his tight grip on your arm as he scolded you for being a “annoying whore.”
How you would laugh a little too hard at his friends when they were over just to see his expression tighten as he called you a slut.
It shocked him how deliberate you were, how you would constantly push his buttons just to get something—anything out of him.
How you’d apologize so sweetly afterwards, a pout forming on your lips as your hole clenched around nothing.
It surprised him really, the way you’d bite your lip when he threatened to make a mess out of you before forming a pout like he hurt your feelings.
Even the way you’d whimper when he threatened to hit you for just being so aggravating.
It surprised him how quickly you’d hide the shift in your legs and a whimper on the verge of spilling out of your throat behind a trembling apology and a carefully crafted frown.
It surprised Husband!Jamie even more how he’d get a boner from it every time.
You surprised him.
And maybe that’s why he loved you as much as he did.
- a/n: i know this is so ooc of jamie but in my imagination jamie would do anything to make me happy even if it’s being mean and abusing me 🥹😓.
