#Don’t Tread On Me patch

[deathdealertactical]

The History and Symbolism of Morale Patches

Morale patches are more than just decorative accessories; they carry a rich history and serve as symbols of identity, camaraderie, and personal expression. From their origins in military use to their modern popularity among tactical enthusiasts and everyday carry (EDC) users, morale patches have evolved into a unique form of storytelling. At Death Dealer Tactical, we celebrate this tradition…

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Stuck like glue

Request: "I'm going to scream your domestic character joining coop on his travels from her cabin is SO good 😭 I was wondering if you would write something with the same character in her cabin when coop turns up from nearby having taken one too many bullets? Or maybe he's sick and needs some jet. Some hurt/comfort fluffy sweetness"

A/N: Thank you to the awesome anon who sent the idea! Maybe not AS fluffy as we wanted, but there's for sure some soft Ghoul going on in here. And, oh yeah, the reader has a dog now. No description of said dog has been given, so please imagine as you'd wish.

Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader

WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence, brief mentions of sexual interaction.

Summary: Your favorite Ghoul needs to be patched up after a spat with some Raiders, and you always know just how to make him feel better.

Word Count: 2.0k+

Gif credit to @elisefrost from this set

You’re outside attempting to hang clothes to dry when you hear it. 

The soft but distinct sound of jingling metal comes from behind your cabin. You set one hand on the pistol strapped to your thigh and walk in that direction, eyes peeled for any movement. A bark echoes the sound from your porch, and you snap at your four-legged companion in an attempt to get him to stay. 

“Tiger!” You hiss. “Quit!”

 He relents with an indignant huff and returns to the porch, while the metallic noise keeps up in a steady pattern, akin to the cadence of a slow walk. You tilt your head at the thought and eventually move the hand off your pistol; only one person would dare tread this close in broad daylight with such carelessness.

“Coop?”

You don’t see him anywhere, but you’re almost certain it was the sounds of his old spurs that caught your attention. 

“Cooper if you’re tryna scare me, you know I'll gut you.” The threat is an empty one, but saying it gives you some hope that it’s indeed him and not a Raider or Slaver looking to score some loot. 

“No need, babydoll.” His voice sounds ragged, tired. “Don’t think I could scare a bunny rabbit at the moment.” 

You follow his voice to your left, and find the Ghoul leaned up against a tree. He’s practically swaying in the breeze, very apparently unsteady. You rush over just as he slides down and collides with the dirt.. 

“Cooper! What happened to you?” 

Your hands flutter up and down his arms, brusquely checking for any injuries. Nothing obvious jumps out at you, but he heals fast and external wounds are rare. A wheeze claws its way up his throat and morphs into a hacking cough. You recognize the sound as the need for a Vial, and grab at his bag. 

“Do you have any on you?” 

A stuttered cough answers. “Fresh out… s’why I came here.”

Your stash of Vials had been growing just about as long as you’d known Cooper. When you traveled together, he’d hand some off to you for safekeeping, and there always ended up being extras. Upon your return home, he’d tell you to keep them. It wasn’t shocking, given that he found his way back every couple of days.

“Alright, come on.” You crouch down and position yourself beneath Cooper’s arm. 

You can tell he’s weak by the way he leans into you, knees wobbling relentlessly as you pull him up. Another round of coughing wracks his body and you squeeze him reassuringly. 

“Couch isn’t far.” You chose your words carefully, avoiding any inkling of pity. Having an already deteriorating Ghoul is enough, let alone a defensive one who hates being pitied. 

Cooper does his best to keep up with your steps, but his movements are sloppy and uncoordinated. You can feel the heat radiating off of him through his jacket and hear him wheezing beside your ear. Stepping onto the porch gives him some trouble, but you manage to haul him up and inside the door. Tiger whines nervously, circling the pair of you as you trek inside. The Ghoul collapses onto the couch as soon as it’s within reach. 

After making sure Cooper’s not going to slide off the couch, you continue to the med-kit in your makeshift kitchen. The Vials are hidden at the very bottom, wrapped in cloth for extra cushion to prevent shattering. You decide there’s more than enough for him to take two, and carefully extract the mysterious chem. 

Cooper’s laid out on his back when you return with the Vials. One arm is thrown over his eyes and the other dangling off the side of the couch with Tiger perched beneath. The dog nuzzles his favorite person’s hand for attention, and it elicits a chuckle from you. Even as the only conscious person in the room, you were still second in Tiger’s eyes. 

“Coop.” You shake his shoulder gently. “Hey. Hey. Where’s your inhaler?”

You nudge his hat away and he blinks slowly. “Mmm.”

“Ok then.” You mutter and pat down his jacket, searching for the contraption he always carries. The coat yields no results, and you pat down his pants until you feel it tucked away into the pocket at his hip. “Finally.”

Cooper shuffles ever so slightly when you slip your hand into his pocket. “H-hey now. I know you love me, baby, but I-I ain’t got it in me right now.”

An errant smile pushes its way onto your lips. You snap the meds into place on his inhaler 

“Open up.”

He fails to heed your instructions, and you ultimately end up forcing the inhalant into his mouth. It never works instantly, but within a minute or so of administering it there’s movement. One of Cooper’s hands lifts to cup yours, puffing on the inhaler again. 

You release your hold on it and rock back onto the balls of your feet. It’s then you take note of the holes in his clothing, and run a hand down his chest. There’s numerous holes, some as big as your finger and others no larger than a pinhead. 

“Cooper, what happened to you?” You sit on the edge of the couch beside him as he takes his first deep breath without Chems. 

“I just turn’d in a bounty and some Raiders jumped me.” He looks down at your hand on his chest. “Bastards shot me ten or eleven times. Damn buckshot got me good.”

You nod. “I can tell. You were in a bad way, Coop.”

The Ghoul sits up slowly beside you so his legs can swing off the couch. “I’ll be good as new, soon as this stuff starts workin’ good.” 

Tiger hops up on the couch next to him, tail wagging with excitement. The dog licks your cheek on his way to Cooper and pushes his nose into the Ghoul’s shoulder. You chuckle at the interaction, patting the dog’s shoulders. Coopers are still hunched with exhaustion, and his deep-set eyes look even more so. 

“Well until they do, you rest.” You stand, glancing out the still-ajar door. “It’s getting dark anyway.”

Cooper, as usual, opens his mouth to protest. If there’s anything he hates, it’s feeling useless. 

“No arguments.” You point a finger at him. “I mean it.”

He grumbles, but relents. “Fine. Only if you turn somethin’ on that ol’ TV of yours.”

The television turns out to be a perfect method of relaxation. You have to remove Cooper from the couch temporarily, but wrestle it into the pullout bed form and line it with blankets. The Ghoul had given in to his exhaustion rather easily at the prospect of a comfortable bed and kicked off his boots to climb all the way in. You hung his coat on a nail by the door, but made sure to leave his guns, lasso, and assorted weapons within arm’s reach. The TV played some old soap opera from before your time while you snagged a couple of hard candies- a luxury item, as the nearest settlement called them- and made to settle in. 

Cooper had managed to prop himself against the back of the couch, feet kicked out down the length of the thin mattress. Tiger, seeking attention as per usual, is curled up against his right leg. A wet nose rests just beneath Cooper’s knee and twitches in interest when you unwrap the first candy. 

The Ghoul might as well be a dog himself for the way his ears perk at the sound of a wrapper. 

He watches intently as you very gracefully clamber to sit next to him. You pop the fruit-flavored candy in your mouth and scoot around until you find comfort. In this case, it’s leaned up against the Ghoul beside you, head dropping onto his shoulder. His breathing is still shallower than you’d like, but a vast improvement from where it was when he’d shown up. 

“You ain’t gonna share?” 

You open your fist and offer up one of the candies. “I suppose I could. But only for you.”

A smirk twists the corners of his scarred lips. You poke at the candies and attempt to read the labels to no avail. 

“I’d offer you a choice of flavor, but…” You shrug, looking back up to your Ghoul. “Slim pickings.”

He lifts a bare hand to your chin, tilting up. “I think the pickin’s are just fine.”

You smile and lean in to meet him, lips falling into a familiar dance.The hand on your chin slides down to grip your nape and holds you firmly in place. It’s not long before the candy is gone from your mouth. Its remnants remain, mingling with the taste of gunpowder and smoke. A few moments pass before you decide to separate

“Miss me much?” You inquire, cuddling yourself down into his side. 

His arm raises to accommodate your body and lowers it back down to encircle your shoulders once you’re settled. “I always miss you darlin’. For a variety of reasons.”

You hum softly, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Cooper’s hand trails up and down your arm, leaving wide trails of gooseflesh. “Well, the main one happens to be the lack of entertainment.”

You scoff. “I’m your entertainment?”

“Fuck yeah, you are. ‘Specially when you’re hollerin’ at scavengers and shootin’ anything that moves.” The Ghoul chuckles to himself. “Or trippin’ over a sleeping yao guai.”

You shove him playfully. “That was one time, and I shot it dead anyway.”

Cooper pulls you towards him, and you shift until you’re between his legs, back pressed against his chest. “That you did, sweetheart. I ain’t forgot.”

He grabs the nearest blanket and tosses it over your entangled bodies. You curl to the side and rest your cheek to his chest. Tiger shuffles his body with a huff, apparently frustrated with the lack of attention.

“What would you do without me?” You tap his chest gently, relishing in the warmth he produces. “Other than get eaten by a yao guai?”

The Ghoul scratches Tiger’s head. “Prolly go feral. Chase around some folk to scare em’.”

You know he’s joking, but the thought of losing him to ferality scares you to no end. Particularly since he’s just shown up on death’s door and almost hacked a lung onto your floor.

“Don’t say that.” You lift your head to catch his eye. “Please.”

Cooper may be a gruff old Ghoul with a dreadful outlook on the world, but he softens ever so slightly at your words.

“You know I don’t mean it, sugar. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

Two scarred fingers hook beneath your jaw and pull you back up to his lips. It’s tame at first, but the Cooper you know wastes no time making an appearance. His teeth nip at your lip gently and one rough hand slides up your side until it cups your breast. You press into him eagerly, climbing upwards until your thighs slot around either side of his hips. He responds by grinding them into you, delicious friction warming you from head to toe.  

Tiger decides he’s disgusted at this point, and hops off the couch with a comical groan.

Unbothered, one of your hands latches onto the lasso that is tossed on top of his pile of weapons. You loop it around his neck, gripping either side of the rope and pulling him in. Cooper smirks against your mouth. 

“Oh I love being stuck with you, Cowpoke.” You whisper against his mouth, earning yourself a quick bite to the bottom lip.

The Ghoul grins and quickly shows how much strength he’s regained by reversing your positions. He snatches the rope faster than you can react, and wraps the fingers of one hand loosely around the column of your throat. There’s just enough pressure to shoot a pang of arousal between your legs. Cooper knows you’re squirming, and presses a knee there to relieve some of the ache. 

“Glad t’hear it.” He murmurs into your neck, “‘Cause I sure as hell ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-------------------

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[that-house]

“Tell me about magic,” I said to the god wearing my friend’s corpse.

It (I would not grant it the honor of using her name) smiled at me the way she used to smile. It looked like shit, by the way, streaked with mud and blood and slowly spinning new flesh from atmospheric carbon to patch up the bullet holes our latest acquaintances had left it.

“I know every word in your human languages and none of them suffice. How would you explain a black hole’s accretion disk to a fish?”

“I don’t know. Try.” I didn’t bother voicing the threat but it was implicit, as it was in all of our conversations: your kind has died only once before, but it was at the hands of mine.

It sighed with the weariness of a parent about to talk down to a kid, but it signed up for this when it trapped itself on this rock with me. “It’s a puzzle that’s almost been solved since forever began, a puzzle of infinite complexity worked on by the million sharpest minds to ever be, all themselves fractured into dizzying arrays of subminds in temporally upspun pocket universes, all striving to refine those secret arts of law and mastery. It’s cooperation and competition, vines of knowledge strangling each other as we reach ever upwards towards the sun, clawing at each other in our desperate want. It’s a science. It’s like breathing. It’s like love.”

“I distinctly recall you saying that love is an idiocy reserved for us mortals, and a more efficient chemically-induced blindness than sodium hydroxide too.”

“And I maintain that stance, but it gets the point across, does it not?” It huffed with exasperation, you know, the way that she had a thousand times when we were young. An affectation? Or a bit of humanity bleeding into the monster?

“Mhm. Sure.”

It side-eyed me but kept talking. “You don’t have the point of view it would take to truly understand magic. You never will. Even if you saw the world the way I did, you wouldn’t have the context or the time to decipher it. For you it can never be a science, only ever an art.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“In truth I envied you. With infinity at one’s proverbial fingertips, what else is there to do? The greatest possible workings have all been deduced, those most absolute and inviolable inflictions of the will upon the cosmos, and all that remains to study are the fleeting shadows of concepts beyond even us. But you humans, you tread on new ground that we’ve long since mastered, internalized, and then forgotten. The best you can manage without literally blowing your own minds is a little teleportation. You’re clueless and flawed and you fuck it all up whenever you get the chance. And I envied you.” For a creature enamored with paradox, the idea of a god envying a mortal sure pained it.

“So you cut it all free, cast off the godhead, and came down from on high to slum it with we mortals. I bet you’re regretting that now,” I said, sticking my finger in the last bullet hole and giving it an experimental wiggle. It winced, but the wound closed up like it had never been as I withdrew my finger. Pain is a just a signal, it was always fond of saying. But it still cried whenever it lost a limb.

“Not in the slightest,” said the once-god wearing my friend’s corpse. “This is the most alive I’ve felt in eons.”

[maldaptivedreamer]

Save An Outlaw... - Arcane

Sevika groans, grasping her side. Warmth floods onto her hand as blood trails down her arm. Digging her heels into dark fur, she urges the horse faster. 

She huffs, shaking her head as she tries to chase away the darkness fogging the edges of her vision. Her snarl quickly fades, her body unable to resist the exhaustion consuming her.

content: Sevika x fem reader, errors/mistakes, wild west au, outlaw/cowboy sevika, young adult sevika, strained mother/daughter relationship, fighting/violence, guns, blood/gore, violence against animals, description of animal harm/mutilation, name calling, canon character cameo

wc: ~8k

a/n: This fic was inspired by the ao3 fic, I'm a Lady Lover Darlin', by Athena_Winter13. I love Sevika and cowboy Sevika hits different. Also this turned out to be pretty long, so I'll be posting it in 3 or 4 big chunks.

MINORS DNI NSFW 18+

Masterlist Next Part

The setting sun warms your face as you urge your horse faster. The town lights fade behind you as you ride further into the plains.

Slowing your pace, you click your tongue against your teeth in frustration. Dismounting, you pace back and forth, clawing a hand through your hair in agitation.

“I don’t understand, Honey. Mama’s crazy. I mean-” Scoffing humorlessly, you spin towards the light brown horse and throw your arms out by your sides. “I’m doin’ just fine on the ranch. Don’t need no man to keep up the ranch. Pa’s been gone a while and she’s done just fine without him.” 

Your heaving chest gradually slows as you silently stand there, watching Honey peacefully graze on a patch of grass. Groaning, you rub your face. “I know. I know. She’s just worried for me but that don’t mean-”

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your hair whips wildly against your face as you spin towards the noise. The foliage rustles, branches trembling together. 

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Furrowing your brows, you curse yourself for leaving the gun at the ranch. Scanning your surroundings, you desperately search for a weapon but only find a large stick. You can't help but laugh at your own stupidity before picking up the branch and cautiously approaching the source of the clacking. The sound of horse hooves and whinnying grows louder as you move closer, treading lightly around the dense foliage.

And then you see her.

A woman, around your age, lying on the ground. Blood darkens the material of her clothes and two shiny pistols lie holstered on her hip. Her muscular arms lay limp on her outstretched legs.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your eyes snap towards a large horse, its’ dark coat gleaming in the lowering sun. Swallowing nervously, you cautiously throw away your makeshift weapon and raise a placating hand towards the horse. He responds with a loud whinny and waves his head towards the woman. Your mind races with questions and theories as you take tentative steps towards the stranger.

"Yeah, sure. I got it, I got it... Hope your owner doesn't kill me." You mutter under your breath, trying to mask your nerves. "Or is alive." You add even quieter.

Grimacing, you lower to your knees. You eye her pistols, watching her as you slowly take them out of her holsters.

Placing a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder, you nudge her in an effort to wake her. Suddenly, she jolts awake and you let out a scream, falling backwards in surprise. Snarling, she reaches for her guns.

Heart racing, you press a hand to your chest to calm your rushed breaths. The stranger struggles to keep her eyes open. 

"Yah know, your growlin’ and huffin’ loses a bit of its’ scary when you’re bleedin’ out." You joke, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere. Slowly rising to your feet, you wave her pistols at her. "I took these just in case you tried to kill me."

Wrinkling your nose at her defensive stance, you shrug. "Though I'm sure you could kill me without it." You shove the guns deep into your skirt pocket and scan her form again. As much as you joked about her not looking scary, she definitely is. Pressed into a boulder and growling like a cornered animal. 

With a worried expression, you gently lower yourself to the ground, trying to show the woman that you mean no harm. "Listen." You say softly. “My town’s close. It’s small but we’ve got a doctor that can help you.”

Her silver eyes are frantic with fear and desperation as she scowls at you. “My guns, now.” She demands raspily.

Pursing your lips to the side, you frown at her. “With all due respect ma’am, I’d feel more secure if you didn’t have your guns.”

Her face is unwavering and she stares in silence.

Your lips part as you grow incredulous, watching as her red cloak wettens further with blood. Groaning, you cave. You make your annoyance clear as you sigh, pressing the cylinder release on each revolver. Eyeing her sarcastically, you tip the guns. The bullets clang against one another as they fall to the ground. 

Tossing them into her lap, you smile sharply. “Happy now?”

She quickly holsters them on her thighs. Grunting, the sound layered in pain, she presses a bloody hand against the rough surface of the boulder and slowly pushes herself to her feet. You step forward instinctively to help her, but she gives you a pointed glare.

Huffing in frustration, you stand with your arms crossed, watching as she struggles to stay upright against the rock wall. You roll your eyes at her stubbornness. “Plan on gettin’ on that horse all by yourself too, cowboy?” You say, unimpressed.

Sweat beads down her forehead and she can't hide her sharp intake of breath as she sways. Her face takes on a grayish hue and you rush to her side, ignoring her protests. “Easy, cowboy. Let’s getcha all patched up and you can be on your merry way, hmm?”

As you try to lead her towards her horse, her legs tangle with yours and you stumble, struggling to support her weight.

“C’mon.” You pant, urging her horse closer. “You wanted me to help and I’m helpin’. You gotta come a little closer.” You grunt out.

It doesn’t. You curse this stubborn, beautiful woman and her equally infuriating horse.

Tears fill your eyes in anticipation of getting her on the horse. You bite your tongue to keep from crying out, grunting with effort as you finally reach the stallion. You press your damp forehead into its fur, taking a moment to catch your breath. 

Before you can fully gather yourself, the stranger slips out of your grasp and mounts her horse. Your eyes grow wide as she heaves herself onto the stallion’s back.

Gasping, you throw your arms around her muscular thigh as she falls limp. Pressing your head into her thigh, you grit your teeth. “God-fucking-dammit.”

You take a few deep breaths, preparing yourself before jumping onto the horse behind her and using your body to steady her with each slow movement.

You wrap your arms around her tightly and grab onto the reins. A quick click of your tongue summons your horse to your side. And with that, you start your slow journey back to town.

Sevika slowly opens her eyes to the sight of a wooden ceiling above her. The bed beneath her feels soft and comfortable, a luxury she hasn't experienced in a long time. As she moves to sit up, her hand automatically falls to her stomach and she finds clean bandages wrapped around the wound. With a groan, she heaves her legs over the side of the bed and stands, wincing at the nauseating pain that shoots through her body.

Stumbling towards the door, she hears muffled voices coming from outside.

...

You resist the urge to groan. “Mama, I-”

Your mother’s voice is short as her face scrunches in anger. “You don’t know her. How many times I gotta tell you, she could’a hurt you. And you shouldn’t have been out so far past sundown.”

Your voice grows slightly high pitched as you try to defend yourself. “Mama, that’s not-”

“You think just anybody gets shot like that. You-”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. Absentmindedly, your eyes wander to a corner behind your mother. A small spider has inhabited the space, a fly flails in its intricate web and you watch in fascination.

“Are you listening to me?” Your mother’s sharp voice pierces your ears.

Wincing, you peek one eye at her and shrug. “Would it help if I said yes?”

She inhales a breath to continue, but the door is pushed open, interrupting her lecture. You sigh in relief as your mother turns to the stranger. Her lips part in a strained smile. Your mother’s voice is steely as she introduces you both to the stranger. “Good to see you awake, been nappin’ for quite a while. Gave everyone in town quite the scare.”

The woman glances at you, before nodding to your mother. She gruffly speaks, her throat scratchy and dry. “How long have I been ‘nappin’?”

Grimacing, you take a hesitant step forward and answer. “Bout four days.”

Her eyes rake over your frame, almost dismissively. Your mother glances between you skeptically, her voice protective as she steps into the space between you. “What’s your name, stranger?”

Clearing her throat, the woman ignores your mother's question and shifts her muscular frame against the wooden door frame. Her voice is demanding. “Where’s my stuff?”

You wince at her tone and quickly intervene. “Your horse’s bein’ well taken care of. Your stuff’s just in the room behind you.” Your eyes flicker to your mom, before you give the stranger a purposeful nod into the room. “I can help get you settled, right mama?” You turn back to your mother and flash her an innocent smile. 

Your mother’s eyes pinch in anger before she covers it up with a wide grin, her knuckles white as she grips her skirt tightly. “I’ll get started on dinner then. You let me know if you need anything.” She looks at you with a mix of frustration and concern before hesitantly going downstairs.

You both watch her leave, the air thick with tension.

Your smile fades as soon as she's out of sight. Turning to face the stranger, you lift a brow at her unmoving form. “You gonna go in or you wanna ask your questions out here?” You ask dryly, your voice laced with annoyance.

You both silently sit on opposing sides of the room. Grimacing, your eyes dance around the room while hers remain steady on you. You fidget under her intense gaze, nervously scratching at your wrist. Letting out a resigned sigh, you finally break the tense stillness. “I told you, I had to hide ‘em so that they’d help you. I’m sorry.”

Silver eyes darken into a murky gray and she purses her lips angrily. “Well, un-hide them and bring them to me.” 

Huffing a breath, you roll your shoulders and meet her gaze. “And where exactly do you plan on hidin’ them? You look plenty scary and everyone in town is already keepin’ a close eye on you. If they see you carryin’ then there’s no tellin’ what they’ll do.”

The stranger's eyes narrow, the intensity of her glare sending a chill down your spine. “If you think I can’t kill a few deputies with my hands, you're wrong.”

Sputtering, you jump out of your seat and frantically wave your hands in front of you. “Woah, woah, woah. Hold your horses, cowboy. Ain’t no lawmen here. I told you, my town’s small. If you’re runnin’ from something’ then this was the best place to end up.”

The stranger remains expressionless, causing another uncomfortable silence to settle over the room. Your nerves begin to tingle and your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. Cringing, your voice comes out awkward and rushed. “So- uhh- you hungry? And what’s your name? If you don’t wanna tell anyone your name for whatever reason then just give me a fake name. Jus’ somethin’ to call you by would be nice instead of ‘stranger’, yah know?”

Sighing, Sevika feels a gnawing hunger in her stomach. Huffing another annoyed breath, she stands and answers you. “Sevika.”

You quickly move ahead of her and send her an unsure smile. “S’good to meet yah Sevika. If that’s your real name. Oh, and just so you know, you kind of smell like shit right now. But don't worry, I'll show you where the shower is later." The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them. Silently sighing in embarrassment, you cringe, your shoulders curling in on themselves.

With a deep breath, you rise from your crouched position. Adjusting your hat, you click your tongue and swing your leg over Honey. With a steady trot, you follow the fence line, scanning for any signs of further damage or breaches. Absentmindedly, your mind wanders to the stranger in your home. Sevika.

The sun beats down relentlessly as you guide Honey along the fence line. Your thoughts drift back to Sevika, wondering what kind of trouble she might be in. A woman with a gunshot wound doesn't exactly scream 'law-abiding citizen.' But there's something about her that intrigues you, despite her gruff demeanor.

A flicker in your peripheral vision snaps you back to attention. You pull Honey to a stop, squinting against the glare. Seeing a small gap in the fence where the barbed wire has frayed, you approach the damaged section. With a grunt, you dismount.

As you examine the break, the sound of approaching hoofbeats makes you turn. Your breath catches in your throat as you see Sevika riding towards you, her red cloak billowing behind her. She still looks grey and sickly.

Frowning, you shield your eyes from the sun and speak up to her. “The hell are you doin’?”

Sevika scowls at you. “I’m leavin’.”

Nodding, you send her a sarcastic smile. “And exactly, how far do you think you’ll get before you bleed out?” Shrugging, you chuckle mockingly. “And this time I won’t be there to rescue you, princess.”

Sevika's scowl deepens at your words. She shifts uncomfortably in the saddle, her face drawn in pain. "I can take care of myself." She growls, but her voice lacks any real heat as she grasps her side.

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing her skeptically. "Sure you can. That's why I found you half-dead in the middle of nowhere." You take a step closer to her horse, your voice softening. "Look, I get it. You're not the type to sit still and let others help you. But you're in no shape to be ridin’ off alone."

Sevika's jaw clenches as she glares down at you, clearly torn between her desire to leave and the reality of her condition. You can see the internal struggle playing out on her face.

With a sigh, you place your hands on your hips. "You've got a safe place to rest up and heal. Why the rush to leave?"

Her silver eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why do you care? You don't know me."

"Maybe my mama’s teachin’s of that ‘take care of thy neighbor’ bullshit finally stuck." You retort with a smirk. "Or maybe I don’t want the supplies and time I spent on the mysterious stranger I rescued to go to waste." You lie, attempting to appease her.

Sevika remains silent, her gaze intense as she studies you. You can almost see the gears turning in her head as she weighs her options.

Finally, she lets out a resigned sigh and slowly slides off her horse. “I’m not takin’ your pity. I’ll work for everything. And I want my shit back.” She grumbles.

Eyeing her from the corner of your eye, you grab your tools and give her an easy task. In her pain induced haze, she doesn’t notice.

You both work in silence for hours, the repairs taking longer with her help.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you glance over at Sevika. She's leaning heavily against a nearby post, her face ashen and her breathing labored.

"Alright, the fence’s done." You announce, trying to keep the concern out of your voice. "Let's head back and get somethin’ to eat."

Sevika opens her mouth to protest, but a sudden wave of pain causes her to grimace and clutch at her side. You move quickly to support her and she attempts to push you away.

"Don't be stubborn." You mutter as you help her onto her horse. "You've done more than enough to earn your keep today. If you don’t rest now, you’ll just have to stay longer." With an exhausted nod, Sevika trots to the house.

You quickly follow behind, hovering close to her.

Reaching the bunkhouse, you leave the horses at the porch. Finding the building empty, you nod towards the bathroom. “Why don’t you go clean up, replace your bandages, and I’ll get started on the food?”

Sevika hesitates, her pride clearly battling with her exhaustion and pain. Finally, she gives a curt nod, gathering some clothes and limping towards the bathroom, one hand still pressed against her wound.

You busy yourself in the small kitchen, throwing together a hearty stew. As you're stirring the pot, you hear the bathroom door open. Sevika emerges, her hair damp and her face looking slightly healthier.

"Sit." You say, nodding towards the table. "Food's almost ready."

Sevika obeys without protest, sinking into a chair with a barely concealed wince. You ladle out two bowls of stew and set one in front of her, along with a chunk of bread.

You both eat in silence. Each spoonful of food is a slow, deliberate movement as you watch her closely, your eyes fixed on her stomach.

Your spoon scrapes against the bottom of the bowl as you study her. "How's your stomach?" You finally ask, your question laced with worry and concern.

Sevika pauses mid-bite, her silver eyes flicking up to meet yours. For a moment, she says nothing, seeming to weigh her words carefully.

"It's fine." She finally grunts, returning her attention to her bowl.

You can't help but scoff at her stubborn response. "Yeah, alright."

Sevika's eyes narrow at you, but you ignore it. "Look, I know you're not one for showin' weakness or askin' for help. But if that wound gets infected, you could die. So how about we cut the bullshit and you tell me how it's really feelin'?" You say bluntly.

For a long moment, Sevika just stares at you, her face unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, her shoulders slump.

"It… hurts." She admits reluctantly. “And I…”

She trails off and you wave your hand for her to continue. Sighing, her spoon plops into the bowl as she drops it. “I couldn’t change the bandages.”

You nod, pursing your lips. "Alright, let's take a look then."

Sevika hesitates, her pride clearly warring with her need for help. Finally, she gives a curt nod and slowly stands, grimacing as the movement pulls at her wound.

You lead her to the bathroom, gesturing for her to sit on the edge of the tub.

"Shirt off." You instruct, rummaging through a cabinet for fresh bandages and antiseptic.

Sevika complies slowly, her movements stiff and pained. Kneeling in front of her, your eyes meet hers briefly before you focus on her wound.

"This might hurt a bit." You warn softly as you begin to peel away the old bandages. Sevika remains stoic, but you can see the tension in her jaw as she grits her teeth against the pain.

The wound is angry and red, but thankfully shows no signs of infection. You clean it gently, feeling Sevika's muscles tense under your touch.

Attempting to distract her, you start talking. “It looks good so far, no inflammation or anythin’. Should take about 2 or 3 months to fully heal.”

As you work on Sevika's wound, you can feel her intense gaze on you. You try to keep your hands steady as you apply the fresh bandages, hyper-aware of her proximity and the warmth radiating from her skin.

"There." You say softly, smoothing down the last edge of the bandage. "All done."

You look up, meeting Sevika's silver eyes. For a moment, neither of you move. Then Sevika clears her throat, breaking the spell.

"Thanks." She mutters gruffly, reaching for her shirt.

You stand quickly, averting your eyes as she buttons up her shirt. "No problem. Just… let me know if you need help again, alright?"

Sevika nods curtly, her walls firmly back in place.

Nodding back, you send her a tense smile and leave.

Sevika is still cautiously detached, but you can see the tension, ever so slowly, dissipating with each day as she regains her strength.

Running your tongue over your dry lips, you rub your face in frustration and slowly traipse towards the horse stables. As you approach, the sound of raised voices catches your attention and your feet quicken into a run.

“Watch your tongue, boy.”

“Fuck. You. If you think that bitch dotin’ on you means anything, then-”

You burst into the stables, heart pounding. Sevika stands tall over John’s smaller figure, her fists clenched at her side. John's face is red with anger, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

"Hey." You hiss, rushing between them. "What the hell is goin' on?"

John sneers, pointing an accusing finger at Sevika. "This outsider thinks she can just waltz in here. She don't belong here!"

Sevika's eyes flash dangerously. "I don't want nothin' from you or this town. I'll be leaving as soon as I can."

You place a hand on Sevika's arm, feeling the tension in her muscles. "John. Back off."

John spits on the ground. "What?” He asks incredulously, before his tone shifts condescendingly. “Why? You too busy lickin’-”

With a fierce growl, you curl your hand into a tight fist and put all your weight behind it. The force of your punch meets the bridge of his nose with a loud crunch, causing his face to whip violently to the side. Undeterred, he quickly retaliates with a hit to your mouth.

Grunting through the pain, you launch yourself at him in a tackle. Straddling him, your knees pin his arms to the ground and you unleash a series of punches on his face. Each impact sends shockwaves of pain through both of you, but adrenaline fuels you.

Sevika stands to the side, silently watching you.

Moving back, you spit on the ground next to him. "You crazy fucking bitch!" John wails, his voice muffled by his hands.

You stand over him, your fist still clenched and shaking with anger. "Leave and don’t fuckin’ come back." You snarl.

John stumbles onto his feet, shooting both you and Sevika a venomous glare before stumbling out of the stable. As the sound of his footsteps fades, you turn to Sevika, your anger slowly dissipating.

"You alright?" You ask, eyeing her with concern.

Sevika’s face is an unreadable mask. "Didn't need your help.”

Scoffing out a laugh, you flex your aching hands. “Who said I was defendin’ you? He essentially called me a cock ridin’ bitch and it’s not the first time he’s mouthed off. Been dyin’ to get rid of that asshole.”

Sevika turns her head away from you, her silver eyes sparkling with amusement as she exhales. You feel the tension in your body release and a warmth spread through your chest at the sight of her smile, albeit small.

Her gaze roams over your figure as she licks her lips and tilts her head, studying you intently. A mischievous glint flashes in her silver eyes as she speaks. “Who woulda thought somethin’ so little and gentle like you, coulda put a grown man on his ass?”

Huffing out a tired laugh, you swipe a bead of blood from your lip. “Oh, I’m plenty gentle. But I’m rough when I need tah get the job done, baby.” A playful smile tugs at your lips as you glance at Sevika before dusting yourself off. “And I wouldn’t exactly call John a grown man.”

Sevika hides a smirk and nods towards the house, her voice teasing. “Guess it’s my turn to play nurse, huh?”

You nod, wincing as the adrenaline fades. “Fuck, I forgot how much that fucking hurts." Sevika's smirk widens as you shake out your hands, following you back to the house.

As you both make your way back to the house, you can't help but notice the way Sevika's eyes linger on you. There's a newfound respect in her gaze, mixed with something else you can't quite place.

Inside, Sevika starts rummaging through drawers for the first aid kit.

“Underneath the sink.” You perch on the edge of the table, watching her move and bend despite her own injury.

"Got it." She says gruffly, turning back to you with supplies in hand. She steps close, almost caging you against the table. Her body heat radiates against you as she examines your face. Her calloused fingers gently probe your swollen lip and you wince.

"Sorry." She mutters, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She begins cleaning the cut, her touch surprisingly gentle and you can’t help but stare at her as she works.

"You didn't have to do that." She murmurs, moving towards your bloodied knuckles.

You wince slightly at the sting. "Like I said, it wasn't just about you. John's had it comin' for a long time."

Grey eyes meet yours briefly before she silently nods. Swallowing, you ignore the flutter just below your navel and shakily speak. “Thank you.”

She pauses, her hand hovering in the air before slowly lowering it. Her lips part as she lifts her gaze, her breath catching slightly. You hold your own breath, watching as her eyes flicker to your lips before returning to meet yours.

A heavy warmth settles over your body as you feel the soft brush of her breath against your dry lips and you drop your eyes to her plush lips.

Her voice is low and husky as she responds. “Welcome.” Lowering her head towards yours, she starts closing the distance between your lips with agonizing slowness.

“What the hell happened!?!” The loud slam of the front door echoes through the house as your mother storms inside, her footsteps heavy and angry. You both instinctively move away from each other. Her touch still lingers on your skin and you feel your shoulders drop in disappointment.

Trying to compose yourself, you raise a hand to your mouth. You attempt to clear your throat, but only manage a small cough. "In here mama." Your voice breaks.

Your mother purses her lips when she sees you, before slowly approaching you. She looks tired, with dark circles under her eyes and lines of worry etched into her forehead. You avoid looking at either one of them as she grasps your chin and tilts your face towards hers. Sucking her teeth, she releases your chin and picks up your hand, roughly brushing her thumb over your bruised knuckles.

A sharp pain shoots through your hand and you instinctively pull it back. “Oww. What the hell mama?” You cry out in surprise.

Stepping back, your mother rubs her forehead in frustration. “What happened?” She asks, her voice laced with concern and disappointment.

Frowning at her, you speak defensively. “John was yellin all kinds a’ stuff and mouthin’ off. Was callin’ me names and stuff.”

Inhaling an angry breath, she closes her eyes. “You got into a fight with John cause he was callin’ you names?”

Smiling sarcastically, you shake your head. “Okay, well one, it wasn’t much of a fight. And two.” You glance at Sevika. “He called me a cum guzzlin whore. And a dick ridin’ cunt before he hit me. Was I not supposed to defend myself?” You ask, tone incredulous despite your embelishments.

Your mother's eyes widen in shock. She opens her mouth to speak but seems at a loss.

"This wasn’t the first time." Your mother finally manages, her voice strained at the statement. Sevika shifts closer to you, her eyes darting between you and your mother. "You should have come to me." She grits out.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "And what would you have done, mama?"

Your mother's lips press into a thin line. "I would have believed you. I do believe you. I would have talked to him."

"I talked to him plenty." You retort, your voice rising. "Do you think that I can’t handle things myself?"

"That's not what I'm saying." Your mother insists firmly. “But you need to know what battles to fight and which to walk away from, especially if you’re gonna take over my ranch.”

You feel your anger rising, your face flushing with heat as your hands clench on the counter. “That’s all I’ve ever been prepared for. If I’m not ready, who’s fault do you think that is?”

Your mother's eyes narrow. “I should pop you in your goddamn mouth, girl. And that’s one fight you won’t ever be able to win.” Sevika tenses and your mother’s gaze flicks briefly to her before returning to you with heavy intensity.

Clenching your jaw, you send Sevika a look before taking a deep breath, visibly trying to calm yourself. “I’ve got everything from here, cowboy. Why don’t you head back to the bunkhouse and rest?”

Sevika ignores your mother’s annoyed glare, searching your face. “You sure?”

You feel a hint of comforting warmth break through the haze of anger and you nod with a small smile. “I’m sure, cowboy.” 

Nibbling on your lip, you narrow your eyes at her after a moment of contemplation. Keeping your eyes on your mother, you move to Sevika and lower your voice. "Rafter. Above Honey’s stall.”

Recognition flashes over her face and you send her a nod, backing away. “I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

Sevika sends your mother a dark look before leaving you both alone to sit in the stifling silence.

Feeling the anger return in full force, you can’t help the bitter comment that whips off your tongue. “Still think John’s good for me mama? I told you, I didn’t like him.”

Narrowing her eyes, she purses her lips in anger. “No. You ran away, like a child.” She takes a step closer. “You’re a grown woman, act like it.” She hisses.

“I ran away, because if I hadn’t, I would have told you that I didn’t want a life like yours. Pathetically, waiting on hand and foot for a man I don't love, much less like.” You send her a sharp smile. “I was walking away.” You match her tone, throwing her words back at her as you turn away.

With a loud groan, you forcefully throw your blanket off of you. Your tired eyes burn and water as you struggle to fully open them. Weary and disoriented, you slowly pull yourself up and begin to clumsily get ready in the dimly lit room.

The lingering anger from your argument rises as you leave your room. You let out a loud sigh as you take slow, heavy, steps down the creaky stairs. Passively aggressively, you hope you’ve made enough noise to wake her up.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you pause, listening for any signs of movement from your mother's room. Nothing.

With a mixture of relief and disappointment, you head towards the kitchen. You move mechanically, chugging a glass of water and snatching an apple from the countertop.

With a crisp crunch, you take a bite of your apple and step out onto the wooden porch. The cool morning air greets your skin, causing you to shiver slightly. Moths flutter around the porch light, their delicate wings beating against the warm glow. In the distance, crickets chirp in harmony.

Then. They don’t. The sounds of nature are replaced by an eerie silence that settles over the ranch.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you mutter under your breath. “What the fuck?” 

As you move closer, squinting your eyes in the darkness, you see it. A gap in the fence. Panic rises within you as growls and the sound of screeching animals fill the air.

The apple falls to the ground with a dull thump as you sprint back into the house. You take each step two at a time as you rush up to your mother's room. You burst through the door and with a flick of your wrist, you flip on the light. Flinging open the door to her closet, you push her clothes aside.

She jumps up with a gasp and screams. ”What the hell are you doin’!?!”

Ignoring her question, you grab the shotgun from its place and quickly load it with salt rounds.

"There's a hole in the fence." You explain urgently. “A pack got in. The dogs are holdin’ em off, but somethin’s wrong.”

Firmly gripping the gun, you rush out to the bunkhouse. Kicking open the door, you flip on the lights and shout. “Up, now! There’s a pack attackin’ the cattle.” They jump up and you don’t stay to watch them get ready.

Sprinting back out into the darkness, you deftly leap over the splintered remains of the fence, your gun raised.

The ranch dogs bark and snap at the snarling wolves surrounding them, but they are heavily outnumbered. The wolves’ ears are pressed flat against their heads, their hackles raised in anger. They refuse to back down, their eyes wild with hunger. Some are already stained with blood and bits of flesh hang from their gnarled mouths.

You take aim at the closest wolf and pull the trigger, unleashing a spray of salt rocks that hit its body with a loud crack. It flails in pain with a whimper, retreating slightly.

Heavy footfalls rush up behind you, but your eyes remain on the snarling animals. Taking aim again, you shoot, hitting another wolf. "What do you need me to do?" Sevika's voice echoes in your ear.

"You find those guns?" You grunt without taking your eyes off the advancing wolves.

“Yeah.” She responds gruffly.

Sighing with relief, you roll your shoulder. “Good. If they get too close, shoot.”

Closing in, you take careful aim and fire off shots at any that come within range. Sevika shoots a lunging wolf as the other ranch hands finally join you.

Gunfire and the sound of snarling wolves fills the air as you and the ranch hands fight to drive back the pack. Your ears ring from the constant barrage of shots, but you remain steady.

Sevika moves with surprising agility beside you, her own occasional shots ringing out. You catch glimpses of her in your peripheral vision - her face set in grim determination, silver eyes flashing in the darkness.

….

The chaos of the night fades as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. You stand amidst the aftermath, surveying the damage with a heavy heart. Several cattle lie motionless on the blood-stained grass, their bodies torn and mangled. The surviving herd huddles together, still trembling from the attack.

Your ranch hands move about, tending to the injured animals, disposing of the dead ones, and herding the frightened ones. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Sevika approaches you, her face grim and spattered with dirt and blood. "How bad is it?" She asks, her voice low and gravelly.

You run a hand through your hair, your exhaustion and stress evident in every movement. "Could've been worse." You mutter. "Lost about four, maybe more. Won't know the full extent 'til we search the ranch and do a proper count".

Rubbing the crease between your brows, you sigh. “Fuck me, it’s too early for this shit.”

Striding over to one of the corpses, you bend down and carefully examine the dead cow. Its once plump and healthy body now lies lifeless on the ground, chunks missing and entrails spilling into the grass below.

“What’re you lookin’ for?” Sevika wrinkles her nose in disgust, covering it slightly with her hand.

Narrowing your eyes, you furrow your brow in concern. "Somethin' don't feel right." You mutter, clicking your tongue as you tilt your head. You inspect the blood that covers the cow's body, noticing how it has congealed into a thick, dark brown crust around the edges. “Does this look fresh to you?”

She shrugs indifferently. “I don’t know.”

Standing up straight, you use your boot to lift the cow's head, revealing a clean line on its neck. Closing your eyes briefly, you let out a seething sigh. “Shit.” You curse.

Running a hand over your weary face, you wince as your fingers brush against the cut on your lip. It stings and you can taste the metallic tang of blood as you stalk towards the broken fence.

Examining the damage with a deep frown, you turn to one of the ranch hands standing nearby. “Lay it on me, Arlo. What’d you find?” You say with a tense exhale.

“Well.” He begins, lifting his hat to scratch at his head. Flicking his nose, he points at the fence post with a calloused finger. “I don’t know of any axe-wieldin’ wolves, but it looks like the posts were hacked to shit and the railing planks were tossed.”

Raising your hand, you lightly trace the splintered wood of the fence post.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, he continues. “The gate’s bein’ worked on now. But whoever did this was pretty pissed.”

Nodding in agreement, you drop your hand and pat him on the shoulder with gratitude.

Stepping away from the fence, you shield your eyes from the harsh rays of the sun, peering up at the house. Your mother sits on the porch, her expression unreadable as she rocks back and forth in her chair. You release a tense breath and roll your shoulders. Deciding to retreat to the stables, you drop your hand and turn towards Sevika, silently gesturing for her to follow.

You both settle onto a bench and you prop up the shotgun against the wall beside you. Rubbing your hands on your thighs, you attempt to still them as they tremble with residual adrenaline.

"Nice thing to wake up to, ain’t it?" Sevika's gravelly voice breaks the silence.

You grunt in response, acknowledging her statement with a slight nod.

Sevika shifts, her thigh brushing yours as she leans back into the wall. “How you doin’?” Her silver eyes flick up to meet yours.

“I’m fine.” You reply curtly.

Immediately regretting your tone, you cringe inwardly. But Sevika simply chuckles lowly, a deep rumble that eases the tightness in your chest. “Yeah, alright. How’re your face and hands?”

“Care to take a closer look for yourself, cowboy?” The retort slips easily, too easily, from your lips and you immediately regret it. Your eyes dart around around nervously and you straighten, clearing your throat. “This is a fuckin’ mess. Wonder what happened.” Your tone is laced with sarcasm.

Sevika studies you for a moment as you avoid making eye contact. Eventually, she nods and clears her throat before leaning onto her knees, her thigh rubbing against yours. “John.” She huffs out.

You ignore the heat of her thigh and rest your head against the wall with a groan. “Can’t wait to have that conversation. Mama’s gonna be real great to talk to after yesterday.” Your words are dripping with cynism and frustration.

You close your eyes, letting out a long exhale. Sevika remains silent beside you, her presence oddly comforting.

After a few moments, you open your eyes and turn to face her. "He's always been a sore loser, but this is a new low. He couldn’t have made it more obvious. I mean, the timin's too convenient. Right after our fight, and the cattle… " You trail off, shaking your head.

Sevika's jaw clenches, her grey eyes tracing the angry lines etched on your face. The muscles in her jaw tense and flex as she speaks. "Why was he around for so long?"

You scowl, feeling a surge of fury rising in your chest. “You can thank my mama for that.” Your voice comes out low and harsh, your words dripping with bitterness. Rubbing your temples, you stand up from your seat.

"Well, I’m off to see the wizard." You try to inject some humor into your statement, but it falls flat in the tense atmosphere. "Wish me luck, cowboy." You lift the shotgun into your hands.

Sevika's eyes narrow dangerously, her gaze following you as you make your way towards the door. "If you need me." She says with a hint of worry. "I’ll be close by."

Sending her a grateful smile, you nod silently in farewell before making your exit.

Each step towards the house feels like trudging through quicksand, each one sapping more and more of your energy.

Your mother continues staring, expressionless, at the damage to the ranch as you step onto the porch. The old chair beneath her squeaks with each rocking movement.

Sitting down on the old wicker chair, it lets out a tired creak, matching your own exhausted sigh. You lay the gun across your lap, nervously picking at the skin around your fingers as your eyes dart back and forth between each worker on the ranch, their faces reflecting the same exhaustion that you feel.

"We still need to search the ranch but we know we lost four." You begin. "Three are injured, one went into labor early. But the rest are fine, just scared shitless." You pause, rubbing your burning eyes. “Gate and fence should be finished in the next few hours. George’s circlin’ the perimeter, lookin’ for any other damage and strays, and I’ll go back around later.”

Squeak… Squeak… Squeak…

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees and letting out another heavy sigh.

Rubbing your chin, you lick your lips and draw in a deep breath. “We both know who did this.” You squint into the distance with a frown.

Slowly turning to you, she finally responds, lifting a mocking eyebrow. “And what are you gonna do about that exactly?”

Your nose flares in anger and you clench your hands in restraint. “I’m not gonna sit here and do nothing. I have to do something. And I’m gonna start with finding him.” You hiss with a tense jaw.

With determination in your shoulders, you stand and walk towards the stables. The ground crunches under your boots as you make your way down the path. “Look at what happened the last time you did something.” She calls out behind you.

Your mother's words hit you, stopping you in your tracks. You whirl around, eyes blazing with anger and hurt. 

"What happened last time?” You say, your voice high with disbelief. “You mean when I defended myself against that asshole? When I stood up for myself like you never did?"

She rises from her chair, her own eyes flashing. "I'm talkin' about you pickin' fights you can't win. Look what it's cost us already!"

"Cost us?" You spit back. "This ain't on me, mama. This is on John, and on you for bringin' him 'round here in the first place!"

Your mother's face hardens. "Watch your tone, girl. I'm still your mama."

"Then act like it!" You shout, your voice cracking with emotion. You roughly tap your chest. "For once, just fucking once, take my side!"

You don't wait for her response, spinning on your heel. Spotting George’s approaching group, you redirect towards him.

As he begins to dismount, you raise a hand. “Hold on. Tell me what you found first.”

Leaning forward on his saddle, he readjusts himself before answering. “Someone clipped the barbed wire in two spots. We’ve already patched ‘em up. Found three more dead cows."

The relentless sun beats down on your back, causing a bead of sweat to trickle down your spine. You nod, squinting up at George. “I need you and whoever else you pick to pay a visit to Mama John. If her son’s there, bring him here. If he’s not, question her.”

You turn towards the stables and Nora calls out to you. “Think it was John, boss?”

You scoff, not pausing in your strides. “I don’t think. I know.“

As you approach, you see Sevika leaning against the stable door, arms crossed over her chest. Her silver eyes meet yours, a question in their depths.

"I'm goin' after him." You say before she can ask. "You comin'?"

A ghost of a smile flits across Sevika's face and she pushes off of the door. "Lead the way angel."

You give a grateful nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. "Thanks for havin' my back out there." You squeeze her arm as you brush past her.

As you saddle up Honey, you sneak a glance at Sevika and see her shrug nonchalantly, her face giving away little. "Didn't do much." She says in a cool tone.

"You did plenty. Quick on the draw, even with that boo-boo of yours." You insist softly, trying to convey your sincerity. "I'm glad you were there.”

Pausing on the buckles of the saddle, you lock eyes with her. “That you’re here." You say with emphasis.

That emotion you can't place flickers over Sevika's face again. She clears her throat and jumps onto her stallions back. "So, where’re we headin’?"

As you lick your dry lips, your gaze drifts down before returning to Sevika. You mount your horse with a grunt. “Doesn’t have much family, but his mama’s got a house on the edge of town. I sent a pair of ‘em that way.” You nod towards one of the dusty roads before heading in the opposite direction. “We’ll split off. Head to the general store.” 

Raising an eyebrow, she follows closely behind you. The streets are lined with wooden buildings, some showing signs of wear and tear while others gleam with fresh paint. As you pass by, heads turn to watch your arrival, their nosy eyes hungrily biting into your skin. But you pay them no mind, focusing instead on the path to the general store.

Sevika meets every invasive gaze with a glare, and tilts her head at you in curiosity. “The owner a gossip?”

Puffing out an amused breath, you shake your head. “Nah, but I’ll be sure to call him that to piss him off sometime.”

Finally, you reach the center of town. The wooden structure looms ahead, its creaky sign swinging gently in the breeze.

You can hear the whispers from curious onlookers as you guide Honey to a stop in front of the building. Dismounting, you tie Honey’s reigns to the railing and wait for Sevika.

As she slides off her horse, you lean in close and lower your voice. "Don’t mind him if he starts teasin’. He’s harmeless."

Sevika nods, her eyes scanning the street warily. "And if he isn’t?"

You shrug, pushing open the creaky wooden door. "He is."

As you both enter the store, a bell chimes softly overhead. The air inside is cool and musty, a welcome relief from the scorching heat outside. Shelves lined with various goods stretch from floor to ceiling, creating narrow aisles throughout the space.

A heavyset man with prominent mutton chops looks up expectantly from behind the counter, his eyes lingering on Sevika. "Was wondering when you’d show up." He drawls, setting aside the ledger he was writing in.

You approach the counter, your boots creaking against the wooden floorboards. "You seen John?"

His bushy eyebrows furrow downward in sympathy. "Hate to tell you this, kid." He pauses, glancing over your shoulder at Sevika. “But he’s gone. ”

Your heart drops and you shake your head in disbelief. “What d’you mean he’s gone?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily with a meaty hand, he sighs deeply. “I mean, he's gone. He left.” Raising his head, he nods towards the back of the shop. “The boy spotted ‘im high-tailin’ it out of town on horseback at sunrise.”

Your heart sinks as you realize how you just barely missed him. Sevika’s monotoned voice helps ground you slightly. “Any guess on how far he could be? Where he’d go?”

He shakes his head, with an apologetic smile. “I don’t. But I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thank you Benzo. I appreciate it, like always.” You reply dejectedly.

He gives a slight nod in return. “Course, kid. M’ sorry I couldn’t have been more help.”

You knock a bruised knuckle against the counter in frustration before shaking your head. “You were plenty help. It’s just not anythin’ I wanted to hear.”

Sending him a terse, but grateful smile, you both leave.

Next Part

[heich0e]

“Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Your head pops up as the unexpected voice makes itself known, twisting your face towards the sound only to see a figure standing at the end of the alley. He’s silhouetted where he stands—a shape more than a person. You can tell he’s tall, broad, and has a knot of hair tied up loosely at his crown. 

Geto Suguru steps into the light where you can see him better, though it makes his sudden appearance no less surprising. 

“Did you drink too much?” he asks, treading a few steps closer as he eyes you worriedly. You pull yourself up from where you’d been crouching on the ground.

“No, no. Just getting some air,” you reply with a stiff smile, dipping in a bow and quickly adjusting your pencil skirt once you’re back upright.

He has his tie loosened over his shirt with the top button undone, and his suit jacket is nowhere to be seen. He considers you for a moment, and his attention makes you want to fidget but you fight the urge.

You watch as he pulls packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt and offers it out to you. “Do you smoke?”

“No, thank you,” you say with a quick shake of your head, smoothing your hands along the front of your skirt and then moving to step past him back towards the entrance of the restaurant. “I should go.”

He angles his body in your way before you can.

“No need to leave on my account,” he says, peering down at you. His face is partially in shadow because of how he’s standing, angled between you and the mouth of the alleyway that leads back to the busy street, caught in a small dark patch between the streetlights and the light affixed to the grungy brick wall. He tips his face up and the light touches his features once more, catching in his brown eyes as he waits in anticipation of your response.

“I should get back inside.” It’s strangely difficult to meet his gaze, so instead you look past him towards the street as an unwelcome heat surges up your throat to flood your face. A car passes quickly by the alley, and you watch as the headlights come and go in a flash.

“Why?” the man before you asks, placing the cigarette he’d fished out of the pack to his lips. He uses his teeth to keep it there while he fumbles through his pockets for a lighter. “You’re clearly having a terrible time in there.”

Your eyes snap up to meet his in shock.

“No I’m not,” your reply is notably indignant, even though his accusation is valid.

How would he know anyway?

“The smiley, nice-girl bit’s gotta be getting old, isn’t it? Pouring everyones drinks. Cleaning up everyones messes.” He laughs, though it’s only to himself, before clicking his lighter to life and holding it to the tip of his cigarette until it catches. The cherry burns red and bright on an inhale, and smoke slips from his lips as he adds, “You don’t have to lie to me, I’m not your boss.”

“I’m not lying,” you insist, but your performance isn’t particularly convincing. 

Truthfully, the very last thing you wanted to do after a ten-hour work day—capping off a fifty-hour work week—was come out drinking with your colleagues. You’ve never really liked these kinds of gatherings, even if the company is the one footing the bill. They always get a bit too rowdy for your liking. Always drag on a bit too long. And you know that you’ll inevitably be the one stuck forcing your plastered boss into a taxi in the wee hours of the morning, while the rest of your equally-sloshed coworkers find their own ways home.

But the department chair, the very same one you’re sure will be singing karaoke with his tie around his forehead in only a few short hours, had been adamant that everyone in marketing attend the gathering since the sales section was joining in too. 

Hence the sales employee standing toe-to-toe with you, blocking your path.

You know Geto Suguru, but only indirectly. The sales and marketing departments are separated by a single floor in your company’s office building, and often work on projects together. Geto is a section lead in sales, with a long, illustrious history behind him before he worked his way up to that role. He’s made a lot of money for the company, and a lot of friends along the way—what with his easy charm, silver tongue, and undeniable good looks. His reputation precedes him—in both good ways and bad.

The fact that he’s here talking to you—a fresh-faced, relatively new-to-role nobody in comparison to his lengthy history with the business—is what you have a hard time wrapping your head around.

“Sure, sure.” Geto waves his hand dismissively, ash fluttering off in tiny specks from the end of his lit cigarette. “I’m sure you just love making all those copies, remembering coffee orders, and running that section lead of yours’s errands too. Oh, and don’t forget when he takes credit for your ideas.”

Your stomach drops. 

He keeps going.

“This upcoming brand collaboration is exciting,”—he takes a puff of his cigarette, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you—“too bad no one knows it was you who came up with it, huh?” 

Your fists clench tightly at your sides, your lips pressing together in a thin line.

Geto blows the last of the smoke in his lungs from the corner of his pursed lips, away from you.

“That’s the first honest expression I’ve seen on your face all night,” he says with a sly smile tugging at his lips.

Your hands are shaking.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask him weakly.

He tilts his head to the side, like your question confounds him.

“I’m not doing anything,” he says, and he sounds like he genuinely means it. “Have I said anything that isn’t true?”

You bite your lip, staring down at your pretty, professional pumps as you stand on the craggy pavement of the alley.

“You’re allowed to be angry, but don’t direct it at me for pointing out the people who keep screwing you over,” Geto says, and the way his voice sounds a bit nearer and the smell of his cigarette gets stronger tells you that he’s dipped down closer to you even though you don’t watch him do it. “No one’s gonna hand anything to you if you don’t fight for it.”

You glance up at him, your expression and your tone equally flat. “And what if I’m not a fighter?”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” he says, chuckling a bit as he backs away from you.

You watch him as he watches you—contemplates you, like he’s sizing you up. He drops cigarette suddenly to the ground, still only half-burned, and crushes it with the toe of his shoe. You hold your breath as he takes another step towards you.

He leans forward.

“Hit me.”

“Pardon me?” The bewildered question rushes out of you all in one gasping breath, and you take a loping step back in shock.

“Come on, just one,” the man goads you further, rapping against his jaw with the knuckle of his index finger as a smile twists his lips up at the corners.

“You’re drunk,” you spit out incredulously, shaking your head and quickly moving to step past him.

“I’m not.” He sidles smoothly into your path once more before you get the chance to flee, like he’s half-a-step ahead of you at all times. 

It’s infuriating.

“Alright, then you’re just insane,” you offer instead.

You knew the sales department had a reputation for being a bit wild, but this is beyond all your expectations. This is nothing like the charming, easy going Geto that you’ve heard all your female colleague gossiping about in the break room.

His smile falls, and he crosses his arms over his chest. You try not to pay too much attention to the way his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“I’m still your senior, y’know,” he says, and his voice is a little bit colder now. More admonishing.

You’re very acutely aware of that fact without him saying it.

You huff out a frustrated little breath through your nose, crossing your own arms over your chest in a mirror of his stance.

“I’m not hitting you.”

Geto’s brow quirks curiously.

“Why not?”

You can’t believe you’re having this conversation.

“Because that’s assault,” you counter his question shortly.

“It’s only assault if I press charges—which I won’t.” You know he’s telling the truth but it doesn’t make it any more convincing. He tilts his head to the side again, and a silky strand of his dark hair slips into his eyes. “Haven’t you ever hit anyone before? It’s cathartic.”

Your lips part in an expression of astonishment. “Of course I haven’t.”

The man in front of you looks mildly surprised at your answer.

“Do I look like someone who goes around fighting people?” you ask him incredulously.

“You look like you’ve got some repressed rage in you,” he says with a smirk, and the expression only worsens when he sees the way you react to it.

He taps his cheek again before tucking both his hands behind his back and leaning in close to you, like a man offering himself up to the executioner’s block. He shuts his eyes.

“C’mon, just a little one.”

“I won’t.”

“You should.”

“I won’t.”

“How come?”

You take his face in your hands suddenly, tilting it up to meet your gaze.

“Geto-san,” you say quietly, your tone bordering on desperate. “I’m not going to hit you, so please stop asking.”

He opens his eyes slowly, his dark lashes fluttering as he blinks up at you. After a moment he smiles, and his eyes curve into narrow crescents as he leans subtly into your touch.

It’s quiet in the alley, but your heartbeat is quick underneath your skin.

“Can you blame a guy for trying?” he asks you coyly.

You’re still cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

They’re warm.

“You really are crazy,” you reply softly to his question, though it’s not much of a reply at all.

He hums, turning his face so his nose drags across your wrist. His lips brush against your palm as he speaks once more. “I’ve been called worse.”

You don’t doubt he’s telling the truth.

Slowly, the dark haired man picks himself up to his usual height. He’s closer to you now than he’s ever been—and thanks to the little cat and mouse game that the two of you have been playing, you’re very nearly pressed against the alley wall. You can’t even see the street anymore beyond the expanse of his wide shoulders.

Everywhere you look, you only see him.

The realization sits hot and heavy in the pit of your stomach.

“I know you’re a good girl, but what are we gonna do about all that stuff you’ve got pent up in there?” Geto lifts his hand and presses a featherlight touch to your sternum over your diaphragm, his fingertips trailing delicately against the smooth plane where the arch of your ribs ends. Your breath hitches painfully as you stare up at him, a sticky knot at the back of your throat preventing you from forming any response—not that you can think of anything to say. 

Geto smiles down at you, his expression soft.

You see the faintest flash of sharp teeth behind his pink lips.

“Don’t you want me to help you let it out?”

[vrystalius]

Gyomei’s favourite dish.

His training is taking a great toll on both his mind and body. You took it upon yourself to make sure he’s eating regularly.

Flufftober prompt: Favourite food

Pairing: Gyomei x wife!reader

The smell of simmering rice inside your favourite pot and stir-fried vegetables filled the empty residence of the some hashira. You full heartedly supported the decision to plan a hashira-training instance in order to prepare the other slayers for the impending war against the demon king, but you are not approving the amount of meals Gyomei is skipping and nights he is skipping in order to either train his slayers or to train on his own. As his wife, you promised to each other to take care of the other. Your husband does that plenty by cooking meals, preparing baths or even cleaning the whole house. He’s incredibly sweet and so caring, so how can you not return the favour for once?

You’re preparing Gyomei’s favourite dish, Takikomi-Gohan. But since he’s still a devoted monk, you left the meat part out and instead used some fish your husband caught just this morning. Now, all you had to do is wait on your husband to return from his training and taste your with love (and with a hint of both boredom and loneliness) prepared dish.

You slowly got tired from waiting on him but were determined to stay awake, just to see the happy expression spread over his face once he realised you actually made his favourite dish. Finally, around midnight, your front door opened with your husband quietly treading through the hallways. Despite his blindness, he sensed your presence in the kitchen.

“Love. I believed you were in bed at this hour.”

Oh gods, his face looks sunken in and those black patches beneath his eyes reach all the way into the abyss, his clothes had a little dirt on them and the muscles on his forearm still looked incredibly tense, with thick veins protruding. Gyomei cocked his head slightly and approached you. You shoved the bowl of Takikomi-Gohan towards him.

“I cooked you a little something, I thought you’d might like to eat after training.”

You took his large palm into yours and handed him some chopsticks as a way to encourage him to take a bite. A soft smile spread across his face. Your husband sat down beside you and pulled the dish closer to himself before turning to you.

“Have you eaten today?”

His worrying made you smile a little. You patted his bicep to give him some physical reassurance.

“Yes, don’t worry. Please, go ahead.”

His smile grew and began eating the dish you so lovingly prepared for him. Tears began streaming down his face once he recognised what you’ve made for him. Gyomei gently placed a hand on your thigh, his thumb slowly running up and down.

“You remembered my favourite. Thank you.”

Your husband leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You giggled softly and his affection and leaned your head against his bicep, your hand briefly brushing over his arm before finding rest on top of his large hand that was still resting on your thighs.

“Will you be joining me in bed soon? I’m tired.”

Hearing you say this made more tears flow down his cheeks. A hint of a smile spread on his face.

“If you are patient enough to wait on me to finish this meal, I can show you my second favourite dish.”

Knowing exactly what he meant by his smile, your whole face flushed and you gently slapped his arm. You’re not quite used to your husband flirting with you out of nowhere. Perhaps it’s the sleep depravation speaking for Gyomei.

🎃

Now, I really like Gyomei, but I’m always incredibly nervous whenever I write for him. I’m intimidated by both his blindness and his character XD also, I’m wondering if anyone ever reads my little author notes. I’m always just talking about silky unrelated stuff anyway, soo…

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves!

🎃 Oktober event masterlist 🎃

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Diabolical 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, extreme profanity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Billy Butcher

Summary: your neighbours has some strange friends.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Ah, cunt!” 

The man’s voice rolls under your door. His accent adds a certain slant to his words that makes them sound even harsher. You hover your mug in front of your lips, steam curling from the freshly brewed tea, as your eyes drift over in detest. 

You lower it and carry it with you to the door. You lean in to see through the peep hole. The same dark hair, the same long black jacket with the patch on one shoulder, and the same lumbering form. He thumps again on the door across the hall. 

“Hughie, open up, ya skinny cunt.” 

He uses that word again. Your lip curls and you huff. He keeps on. 

You slide back the chain and your adrenaline pumps into your chest. You flip the lock back slowly and pull the door in an inch. You peer through the space as the man checks his watch and grumbles. 

“Where are ya, Hughie?” He grumbles and shakes his head. “Big fucking stick bug, won’t answer ya phone, won’t come to the door...” 

“It’s not very nice language, is it?” You chide. You’re just as surprised as the man as he stands straight and freezes. He turns to you stiffly as you let the door open a little more. 

“Eh? And who are you, then?” He tilts his head this way and that as he growls. 

“I live here. Who are you?” You say defiantly. You sip your tea to keep your nerves under wrap. 

“Wouldn’t you like know, sweetheart?” He snickers. “Oi, you ain’t happened see the skinny one lives over here?” He jabs his thumb behind him. 

You stare at him. You shake your head again. His eyes narrow and flick up and down. 

“Too good for the likes of us, eh? You and your fancy porcelain? What’s that? Royal Daulton Cuntware?” 

You gasp and bat your lashes. “Excuse me, I haven’t been rude. I’ve only asked you to keep it down. Other people live here besides your friend and they don’t appreciate hearing your profanity every morning.” 

“Eh,” he gives a crooked smirk, “you listenin’ for me, sweetheart?” 

“I don’t know you, sir, and I shouldn’t like to.” 

“Ain’t ya so proper? Sirs and shouldn’ts and tea.” He taunts. 

You take a breath and back up, “I would only appreciate a little consideration, but thanks. Have a lovely day.” 

“Oi, go on and hide then, darling.” He tugs on his lapels and squares his shoulders. He chuckles again. 

You stop the door before you can shut it all the way. You bristle at his laughter. “I don’t think you’re funny.” 

He chortles again. He steps closer and you go rigid. You can’t measure up to a man like him. You still the tremour in your hand before your tea can slosh towards the brim. 

“Well, I think you’re right hilarious. Why don’t you go on? Tell me, eh, are you more offended by the shit on my boots or the onion on my breath?” 

You steel yourself as you grip the door tightly. “Don’t come any closer.” 

“Ah, I don’t got that sorta time. Whatcha think a brute like me would do then?” He stops and plants his feet wide. 

“You needn’t be so impolite--” 

“Needn’t--” he mimics. Before you can stop yourself, the tea splashes across his face and chest.  

You recoil as the porcelain drips in your hand and you gape at his stunned grimace. His blue eyes flash and you kick the door shut as you retreat. You put the chain in place and twist the lock. You press your back to the door and listen, heart pounding, and wait. 

His treads scuff on the floor and he sighs. The floor groans as he moves and you watch his shadow beneath your door. Yet, no banging comes at the door. 

“Ah, bollocks, that’ll stain.” His grumble follows him down the hall. 

You have no idea what you were thinking. A man like that is dangerous. You don’t need his name or anything else. You can tell just by looking at him.  

You’re not the sort to associate with the type. You didn’t think your neighbour was either. Then again, you only know Hughie because he dropped a sock in front of your door. He didn’t stay to chat as he snatched it and chased that pretty blonde inside. 

You turn and stand on your toes to see through the peephole. He’s gone but you don’t dare go out and make sure. You’ll do best not to show your face again. Just drink your tea and hide, like you always do. 

[cynic-spirit]

Dragonsoul

aemond x reader

fluff pining, longing waiting

In a world where finding your soulmate is as simple as passing them on the street, the black thread tattooed on everyone’s wrist serves as a constant reminder of what could be. When the thread turns gold, it means you’ve found the one person destined to be yours. Most people don’t have to wait long—weeks, months at most—before their tattoo changes, leading them to a love that will last a lifetime.

But in the shadowy alleys of King’s Landing, where power and fear walk hand in hand, there's a man whose thread has never changed. Aemond Targaryen, a name that sends shivers down the spine of even the most hardened criminals, bears the same small black thread on his wrist as everyone else. Yet, for as long as anyone can remember, it has remained as black as the night.

Aemond is no ordinary man. He rules the underworld with an iron fist, his name whispered in hushed tones by those who dare to cross him. Tall, with the signature silver hair of his house and a single sapphire eye that misses nothing, he is as feared as he is respected. His other eye, covered by a black leather patch, is a reminder of the battles he’s fought and won.

People say that Aemond’s thread will never turn gold, that he’s too cold, too ruthless for love. He scoffs at the idea, dismissing it as a weakness he cannot afford. Love, in his world, is just another weapon to be used, another way to manipulate and control.

His siblings, Aegon and Helaena, have both found their soulmates. He remembers the day his brother’s thread turned gold, Aegon’s cocky grin spreading even wider as he flaunted his newfound bond. Helaena’s thread changed not long after, a quiet, serene smile gracing her lips as she met the person fate had chosen for her. They both had their destinies laid out before them, their golden threads a constant reminder of the love they had found.

But Aemond? His thread remains unchanged, stubbornly black, as if it knows something he doesn’t.

It’s easy to tell himself he doesn’t care. Aemond indulges in his work—crime, training, and the endless tasks of maintaining control over his empire. There’s always another rival to crush, another deal to broker, another lesson to teach his men. In the quiet moments, when the city sleeps and he’s left alone with his thoughts, he reminds himself that he doesn’t need or care for a soulmate. His power is all that matters; love would only be a distraction.

He convinces himself that the ache he sometimes feels is nothing more than a passing weakness. That he’s better off alone, unburdened by the complexities and vulnerabilities that come with finding a soulmate.

So Aemond throws himself deeper into his work, his every waking moment consumed by the pursuit of control and power. He trains harder, fights fiercer, and builds his empire brick by brick. Every night, he walks the streets of King’s Landing, overseeing his domain, his cold eyes missing nothing. The black thread on his wrist remains, a silent testament to the life he’s chosen.

But in the darkest corners of his mind, where even he doesn’t dare to tread too often, Aemond wonders if his thread will ever change. And if, perhaps, it does, what it will mean for the man he’s become.

Aegon leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Aemond. "You know, little brother, it’s almost amusing that you’re still running around with that black thread. The most feared man in King’s Landing, and yet... no soulmate. What’s the matter? Scaring them all off?"

Aemond didn’t even look up from the map he was studying, his voice calm, measured. "I don’t need a soulmate, Aegon. And even if I do find her, I’ll reject her."

Aegon chuckled, shaking his head. "You say that now, but just wait until that thread turns gold. You’ll be just as—"

Aemond cut him off, his eye finally meeting Aegon’s with a cold intensity. "It won’t. And even if it does, she’ll mean nothing to me."

The finality in his tone silenced Aegon, the room falling into an uneasy quiet.

Aegon raised an eyebrow at Aemond’s response but decided to let it slide. He leaned forward, changing the subject. "Speaking of things that mean nothing to you," he began with a grin, "there’s a party tonight. Big affair—Targaryens are hosting it. Almost 500 people, all the major players in the city, and some from beyond. Strictly business, of course, but it should be... entertaining."

Aemond’s expression remained impassive as he folded up the map. "And you’re telling me this because...?"

Aegon chuckled. "Because, little brother, it’s expected of you. You know how these things work—show your face, shake a few hands, remind everyone why they fear you."

Aemond sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. But don’t expect me to stay long."

Aegon shrugged, still grinning. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Aemond stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his all-black suit. The fabric was immaculate, tailored to perfection, every line sharp and precise. Black was the only color he wore, the only one he owned. It suited him—uncompromising, severe, just like the reputation he had carefully cultivated over the years.

He reached for his cuff buttons, his gaze flicking to the small black thread tattooed on his wrist. It was a habit he couldn’t seem to break, even though it had never changed, never given him any reason to hope. The thread was as black as the suit he wore, a permanent reminder of what he didn’t have and had convinced himself he didn’t need.

Aemond’s fingers lingered over the thread for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Maybe I don’t deserve love,” he thought, the words cold and unbidden in his mind. He quickly dismissed the thought, fastening the cuff buttons with practiced precision. Love was a luxury, a distraction. He had other things to concern himself with—like the party he was about to attend, a gathering of the city’s most powerful players, all there to solidify their alliances under the Targaryen name.

He straightened his jacket, giving his reflection one last glance before turning away. The party didn’t matter to him, but his presence did. It was a necessary part of the game he played, the world he controlled.

Without another thought, Aemond left the room, his steps measured and deliberate, ready to face the night and the role he played so well.

The grand ballroom of the Targaryen estate was alive with the buzz of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the opulent room, where nearly 500 of the city’s elite mingled, making deals and forging alliances under the guise of celebration. Aemond moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his every movement purposeful and controlled.

Aegon was in his element, charming guests with effortless charisma, his golden thread plainly visible on his wrist as he exchanged pleasantries and flirtations. Aemond, on the other hand, gave the crowd the bare minimum of his attention, offering a polite nod here, a brief conversation there. Women, drawn to his aura of power and danger, flocked to him, their gazes lingering, their touches bold. They threw themselves at him with obvious intent, hoping to catch the eye of the infamous Aemond Targaryen.

But Aemond’s responses were distant, his interest almost nonexistent. He was polite, detached, offering them just enough attention to be courteous but never more. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the business side of the evening, on the faces of potential threats and allies.

As the hours passed, the night seemed like any other—a routine, a necessary part of his life. Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Aemond felt a strange sensation creeping into his chest. His heartbeat, usually steady and controlled, began to quicken, pounding erratically in a way that he couldn’t ignore. The sudden intensity made his breath catch, and his hand instinctively moved to his wrist.

The tattoo—it was burning.

Aemond’s eyes widened, a flash of shock and confusion crossing his face for the briefest of moments. He clenched his fist, trying to focus, but the sensation only grew stronger, more insistent. The burning under his skin became almost unbearable, and for the first time in years, Aemond felt genuinely off balance.

He quickly excused himself from the woman he had been barely listening to, his voice calm despite the turmoil inside him. “Apologies, I need a moment,” he said, his tone clipped but polite.

Without waiting for a response, Aemond turned on his heel and made his way through the crowd, his steps brisk as he headed toward the restroom. The sensation in his wrist was intensifying with every step, the burning now almost searing, as if his body was reacting to something—or someone—in the room.

He pushed open the door to the restroom and quickly locked it behind him. The mirror in front of him reflected his composed exterior, but inside, he was anything but. His chest tightened as he looked down at his wrist, dreading what he might see.

For a moment, he hesitated, his breath coming in shallow bursts. The room was quiet, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Aemond swallowed hard, then slowly rolled up his sleeve, his heart pounding in his ears.

What he saw made his breath hitch in his throat.

The black thread on his wrist was no longer just black. It was shifting, shimmering as if something deep within it was coming to life. The darkness that had always defined it was fading, giving way to something... brighter.

Aemond stared in disbelief, his mind racing as he tried to process what was happening. The burn, the erratic heartbeat—everything suddenly made sense, and yet, it was the one thing he had convinced himself would never happen.

His thread was changing.

Y/N stood backstage, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. As a professional pianist and music teacher, she had performed countless times, yet tonight felt different. The Targaryen party promised an audience of the city’s elite, and the stakes felt higher than ever.

Her long black hair flowed down her back, framing her face as she adjusted the collar of her elegant dress. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in her stomach. The murmurs of conversation and laughter filtered through the walls, but all she could think about was the weight of the crowd’s gaze.

When the time came, Y/N stepped onto the stage, the grand piano gleaming under the soft lights. She faced the instrument, avoiding eye contact with the audience, and placed her fingers above the keys. The fear of scrutiny loomed large, but she was determined to lose herself in the music.

As she began to play, the rich, melodic strains filled the air, weaving through the chatter. The haunting beauty of the piece captivated the audience, drawing them in as Y/N allowed the music to envelop her. Each note flowed effortlessly from her fingertips, yet her heart raced with the fear of being watched.

Then, just as she lost herself in the performance, she noticed a flicker of gold at her wrist. The black thread tattoo that had always defined her began to shimmer, transforming into a radiant golden hue. Her breath caught in her throat as realization washed over her—her soulmate was near.

But before she could turn her gaze to find him, a loud shout broke through the melody. “Get away, you freeloaders! The party’s over!” Aegon’s drunken voice rang out, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire as he shot into the ceiling.

Panic rippled through the crowd, and Y/N's heart dropped. The music faltered for just a moment as startled guests turned toward the chaos, their eyes wide with fear. In that instant, the golden glow of her thread dimmed against the backdrop of confusion and disorder, the connection slipping away before she could grasp it.

Her pulse quickened, and she instinctively looked down, the brilliance of her thread overshadowed by the chaos erupting around her. The moment of potential connection vanished, leaving her standing alone on stage, the applause fading into distant murmurs as she struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Aemond stood frozen, staring at the golden thread on his wrist, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he could barely contain. For a few moments, all he could do was try to steady his breathing, grappling with the realization that had just hit him like a bolt of lightning.

His soulmate was here, at the party.

The truth of it washed over him in waves. She was close—close enough for his thread to change, close enough to alter the course of everything he thought he knew about himself.

“Who is she?” he thought, the question burning in his mind. He needed to find her, to see the face of the one who had unknowingly changed his fate. His pulse quickened again, this time with urgency, as his eyes darted to the door. It was just 500 people, right? He could find her, he would find her. He’d turn over every stone, every guest, if he had to. The cold calculation that had guided him all his life kicked in, and he knew that he would not rest until he identified her.

But just as he reached for the door, ready to step back into the crowded ballroom, he heard a noise outside. It was faint at first, but unmistakable—a muffled shout, followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor.

Aemond’s hand hovered over the doorknob, his instincts shifting from the desperate need to find his soulmate to assessing this new potential threat. The noise came again, louder this time, accompanied by hurried footsteps and the murmur of raised voices.

His mind snapped back into the mode that had served him so well for years—alert, calculating, and prepared for anything. Whatever was happening out there, it wasn’t part of the evening’s planned events. Aemond knew better than to ignore disturbances, especially in a place that was supposed to be under his family’s control.

He took a deep breath, pushing the rush of emotions aside, focusing instead on the immediate task at hand. He needed to know what was going on, to assess the situation before it spiraled out of control. The search for his soulmate would have to wait—at least for now.

With a swift motion, Aemond opened the door and stepped into the hallway, his eyes scanning the corridor for the source of the commotion. The noise was coming from just around the corner, near the entrance to the ballroom. He could hear more clearly now—raised voices, the unmistakable edge of panic creeping into the tone of the guests.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, the golden thread still gleaming on his wrist as he moved toward the sound. Whatever was happening, it couldn’t be good. And it seemed that, for the moment at least, the mystery of his soulmate would have to remain unsolved.

As Aemond stepped into the main area of the party, the scene that greeted him was chaotic. Guests were hastily leaving, their faces painted with a mix of shock and confusion. The atmosphere that had once been lively and filled with laughter was now charged with panic.

In the center of it all stood Aegon, clearly drunk, a wild grin plastered on his face as he brandished a gun, shooting it toward the ceiling. “Get away, you freeloaders! The party’s over!” he shouted, laughter mingling with the chaos.

Aemond’s heart raced, and he sprang into action, his instincts kicking in. “Aegon!” he called, his voice sharp and authoritative, cutting through the commotion. “Put that down before someone gets hurt!”

But Aegon, in his drunken haze, seemed oblivious to the danger. Aemond pushed through the throngs of fleeing guests, his mind racing as he assessed the situation. Half the guests had already left, their hurried exits echoing the urgency in Aemond’s chest.

He closed the distance to Aegon, his expression hardening with determination. “You need to stop this right now!” Aemond shouted, trying to get his brother’s attention.

Aegon looked at him, still grinning, but Aemond could see the flicker of mischief fading. “Oh, come on, Aemond! Just having a little fun!” he slurred, waving the gun around carelessly.

Aemond felt a surge of frustration. “This isn’t fun; it’s reckless!” He lunged forward, grabbing Aegon’s arm and forcing the gun down. “You’re ruining everything!”

In the chaos, Aemond’s wrist brushed against his suit, and he instinctively peeked at his tattoo. His heart dropped. The golden shimmer was gone, replaced once again by the familiar black. The warmth and connection he had felt moments ago had vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

“Aemond?” Aegon’s voice broke through his thoughts, the drunken haze giving way to confusion. “What’s wrong?”

The weight of the moment settled heavily on Aemond’s shoulders as he looked around at the disorder. He had been so close—so close to discovering his soulmate, to understanding what it meant to feel this new connection. But now, as the last remnants of the party unraveled, he felt the threads of fate slip through his fingers like sand.

“Just... stay out of trouble,” Aemond said, his tone clipped as he forced himself to refocus. He had to regain control of the situation. He glanced back at the dwindling crowd, noting the last few guests who lingered, unsure of what to do next.

With a resolute breath, Aemond stepped back into the fray, ready to salvage what he could of the night.

As Y/N stood at the piano, the chaos of the party unfolded around her. She caught a glimpse of Aemond Targaryen through the throng of guests, emerging from the restroom, his expression dark and determined. He moved swiftly toward Aegon, who was still brandishing his gun and shouting.

A rush of anxiety flooded through her. What would happen next? The tension in the air was palpable, and Y/N felt a cold sweat on her brow. She could see Aemond’s outstretched hand, his brow furrowed with intensity, and she knew he was about to intervene.

But the thought of the confrontation made her heart race with fear. Aemond’s fierce demeanor, mixed with Aegon’s reckless behavior, created an atmosphere that was volatile, and she couldn’t bear to witness what might unfold.

With a shaky breath, Y/N made a decision. She couldn’t stay here any longer, caught in the tension of the moment, so she slipped away from backstage. As she moved, she avoided making eye contact with anyone, feeling the weight of their gazes on her, and the fear of being drawn into the chaos overwhelmed her.

The music faded behind her as she hurried out of the room, the sounds of shouting and gunfire echoing faintly in her ears. The allure of the golden thread, the connection she had felt just moments ago, was overshadowed by the turmoil that had erupted around her. All she could think about was escaping the madness, leaving the uncertainty of the night behind.

As she stepped outside into the cool air, she felt a mixture of relief and regret wash over her. The opportunity had slipped through her fingers, lost in the chaos of the party, and now she could only hope that whatever happened inside would resolve itself without further violence.

The morning light streamed through Aemond’s window, casting a warm glow across the room. He sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on the small black thread tattooed on his wrist. It was unchanged, the familiar darkness mocking him with its permanence.

He couldn’t shake the memory of the previous night—the fleeting moment when the thread had shimmered gold, the realization that his soulmate was near. It had felt like a revelation, an awakening, but Aegon’s reckless antics had shattered everything before he could grasp it.

“Damn it, Aegon,” Aemond thought bitterly, frustration bubbling within him. “You couldn’t just behave for one night? Was it too much to ask to let me have this moment?”

He felt anger course through him, fueled by the knowledge that his brother’s stupidity had cost him something precious. “You’re such an idiot. Do you even realize what you’ve done? You had to go and play the fool, waving a gun around like a child! Do you think this is a game?”

Aemond clenched his jaw, recalling the chaos Aegon had wrought, how quickly the atmosphere had shifted from anticipation to panic. “You’ve ruined everything. You had your fun at my expense, and now I’m stuck here, still waiting.”

The thread on his wrist, once a symbol of the potential for love and connection, now felt like a chain binding him to his frustration. “How could you be so careless? You’re supposed to be my brother, not my downfall.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to focus. “So close yet so far,” he mused, longing filling his chest. “If only you could keep your mouth shut for five minutes. I could have found her. I could have finally understood what it meant to feel whole.”

Aemond glared at the thread, wishing for it to transform again, to be the golden mark of his soulmate that would signify a future he desperately craved. But now it remained black, just as it always had, a reminder of the connection he’d nearly grasped but had been cruelly denied.

“Next time,” he thought fiercely, “I’ll be ready. I won’t let you ruin this for me again.” He vowed silently, determination sparking within him. The world felt heavy on his shoulders, but he knew he wouldn’t give up. He would find her. One way or another, he would make it happen.

part 2

LIKE AND REBLOG PLEASE <3. ITS MY FIRST FIC MOBSTER AEMOND!!

Let me know if I should continue this 🌼

[johnpriceslamb]

hi there! i really liked your arthur with a feminine gf fic and id love to see more like that! could i maybe request a fic with a cute girly reader who is a friend of mary-beths and when mary-beth brings her to camp she spots arthur and literally goes heart eyes for him🥺 maybe whenever shes visiting camp arthur always finds an excuse to go over and talk to them just so he can see her aww! and its so obvious to everyone in camp and they all tease them over how sweet on each other they are🥰

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌 ! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

꒰ Arthur Morgan has his eyes on a certain hyper-feminine doll .꒱

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! Mary-Beth being a giant tease and a flirt to reader . hyper-feminine! reader . fem! reader . many pet names in use . awkward-written ending . quick luv stori . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . reader has a dada and a mama . 2.3k words

the sounds of pearl tipped necklaces rattling together and ribbon-laced dresses ruffled in the precious spring breeze, paired with soft giggles and a nervous coo.

A stifled babble escapes her lips,

“Am I um.. even allowed to be here?” [name] meekly stammers. She holds onto her friends hand, her floral patterned dress was hitched slightly over her knees with her other hand, in reluctancy in which; to get her newly bought dress dirty from the ground they treaded upon.

She’s heard of people trespassing their gangs property, and much to her dismay— she may end up as dead as roadkill. A small shiver goes down [name]’s spine at the thought of that.

Mary-Beth had been wanting to show her a couple of her new books she’s bought in st. Denis— thus the excitement pouring from her aura as she drags her across the Van Der Linde’s property.

“Don’t worry yer pretty lil’ head off. I’ll just tell em’ yer with me. What could possibly go wrong?” She pats her shoulder with a reassuring smile. A slight grimace etched amongst [name]’s face as her bow-tipped shoe is coated with a bit of mud when she took another quiet step.

[name] doesn’t look convinced at all. The grip on her hand grows a bit tighter which signified her nerves playing in. Mary-Beth always teased her for being such a worry-wart.

“..Um, well, a lot actually.” [name] prattles on.

Mary-Beth rolls her eyes.

“Hush, now.”

She does what she’s told. To shut up in a non sugar-coated manner. The aroma of many boiled meat and vegetables in a pot comes hitting her nose as soon as she enters the area. She can’t help the little nose crunch as the smell hits too abruptly for her to even know. She’s about to question Mary-beth what that smell was—

“Ah! Mr. Pearson’s cooking again.”

[name] doesn’t know wether to ask her whom this Pearson guy was, or to stay quiet. She chooses the latter. A slight tilt to her head as her ribbon-tipped hair slightly falls down her shoulder out of habit when she’s confused.

This camp was interesting, she thought. [name] could only hope that there aren’t much people. She shyly hide behind Mary-Beth’s figure as they treaded closer to her spot in camp.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Unfortunately for [name], there was a certain amount of people that made her feel uncomfortable. She resists the urge to complain, biting her tongue to keep the words in. However, there were a few she’s met that she can’t help but admire. Karen and Tilly, their names were. Sweet girls they were, she deemed.

She sat upon a small patch of grass, her hands fiddling with a few strands of the everlasting green out of boredom, listening to Mary’s voice as she spoke.

In Mary-Beth’s hand adorns a romance-genre book, she’s reading the lines out loud. [name]’s cheeks become a darker hue at a certain line she verbally says— resulting to the both of them quietly giddily giggling.

“I cannot believe he’d actually do that to her,” Mary-beth comments as she fawns over the characters. [name] eagerly crawls towards her, re-reading the line she’s just read out.

“I thought he liked Sarah though?” [name] squeaked.

“Same!” Mary was far too happy to be able to share her love for books with another. She ends herself with a soft sigh, “I reckon he’ll leave her in a span of a click.”

“Mary?”

“Mhm?”

“Who.. Who’s that?”

This gets the girls attention. She quirks a brow, looking at the direction of [name]’s lithe finger. It’s not easy to hold back a smirk curling onto her lips.

“You pointin’ to that cowpoke over there?” Mary grins.

[name]’s doe eyes were practically planted with hearts, and she’s stammering like a tiny lamb, “I—I um.. uh.. I was just..”

“He was just starin’ at me, so I um.. nevermind—”

She cuts her off, “—His names Arthur,” Mary teases the sweetheart, “Lookit chu’!”

[name] could only shrink, “I.. shut up would you?”

“Whenever you swear it’s like looking at a yapping puppy.”

[name] fully turns around, the back of her head facing the burly cowpoke whom curiously stares at the pair of girls from afar.

“‘shut up’ is not a swear word, Mary-Beth!”

“Is so!” Mary-Beth argues back. She doesn’t mention the fact that Arthur’s slowly creeping up from behind.

“Shut up doesn’t have any implications of vulgar words now does it?” She puffs out her cheeks. Mary-beth can’t suppress the small smirk planted on her freckled face. The man stalks towards them closer, in a lazy manner.

“It so does! It’s considered rude and disrespectful— which is quite literally the definition of a curse word.” Closer.

“Mhm, even so it all really depends on context—” Closer.

“—Now how ‘bout you just caaalm down, sweetheart?” She drags the ‘a’ in calm to further on annoy her. Mary-Beth teases the dolled-up sweetheart, playing with her ribbons by twirling it around her finger.

[name] broods, huffing as she quiets down and crosses her arms like an itty-bitty brat. Goodness was she cute! Mary giggles.

Suddenly, the freckled-face darling stands up from her spot, eliciting a tiny ‘where you going?’ from [name].

“Just gonna get another book! I’ll be back in a second.” She cheekily trots away.

[name] could only tilt her head at her unusual behaviour.

Only for her to freeze up immediately at a quiet rumble of a man’s voice from behind—

“Mary-Beth’s been botherin’ you, I assume?”

[name] shyly turns her head around— wispy lashes fluttering as she stands up awkwardly to match his height— barely even. A whole foot taller than she was.

She fiddles with her fingers, before quietly nodding. It’s obvious to Arthur that she was a shy little thing. So with that information, he’s gentle in his approach, his tone is more softer.

“Got a name, little missy?” He asks. Oh, his voice.

“[name],” she shyly babbles. He was certainly NOT bad looking. She’s so, so so shy. “And you are..?”

“Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

Despite already knowing his name, she can’t help but admire how his southern drawl drags.

“‘s nice to meet you, mister Morgan,” She meekly says.

“Just Arthur.”

“Oh- sorry.” She stammers.

Arthur can’t help the lazy grin on his face.

“No need to be sorry,” He hums. “Mary-Beth’s friend?”

“Best friend,” She corrects him with a tiny smile.

“Ah.” Despite the silence that continued on, it was somehow comforting around them. Guess his dim tone and sweet intentions made her feel like a comforted little bunny snuggled inside a warm burberry blanket.

Arthur’s eyes size her up and down. He doesn’t comment her shyness, rather her appearance. It was like looking at a live porcelain doll.

He can’t help but question, “You from Saint Denis, lil’ - missy?”

That pet name makes her shy.

“Mhm,” She fully looks at him. She has to tilt her head just to look at him. Her hands were behind her back, and she rocks on her platforms.

“Mm.. Figured.”

“Oh? How so?” She curiously quirks a brow.

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “You look like a right tulip, missy.”

[name] almost lets out a soft giggle at his teasing. Her cheeks feel warmer, as do her nose and the tip of her dainty ears. A tulip?

“It’s the attire, is it not?” [name] leans back on the souls of her black bow platforms, tinkering those wispy lashes at him.

Gosh, what he’d do to just.. kiss those squishy cheeks of hers.

“Mhm. ‘S all frilly and.. so..” Arthur trails on. He mindlessly fiddles with the folded gossamer lines attached to her light pink dress. She allows him to, can’t help but also allow his scent to invade her nose— smoke and.. gunpowder. A large cry from her sweet vanilla scented perfume sprayed on her neck.

They’re both cut off by Mary-Beth strolling in with her other books. That cheeky, little smile she sent to Arthur makes a vein pop in [name]’s head, realising why she left so quickly.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

It was her second time visiting the camp-site.

From her previous experience, she figured that it wasn’t all that bad.. just ignore some folks.

[name] adorns a pink puff-sleeved ruffled dress with a simple pearl necklace— a bit similar to her previous outfit. From her giddy stance, it looked like she was waiting for Arthur, and not Mary-Beth.

Her smile even becomes brighter when she sees him nearby. And quite frankly, Mary-Beth has had enough of being answered with silence and shy eye-contact from afar. It was cute, yes, but it was becoming frustrating to bear.

“—And Johnathan allows her to wear his deceased wife’s ring! How absurd.” Mary-Beth squints her eyes at her response.

“Mhm,” [name] mindlessly hums, staring at Arthur.

“…He also ate a raw fish.” She tests.

“Mmm.”

“..He’s tap dancing.”

“That’s nice.”

She groans, poking the girl, “Are you even listening to what I’m saying right now?”

“Uhuh.” [name] unconsciously fiddles with the ends of her dress. She’s still staring at his direction. Doe eyes expand abnormally larger at the sight.

The girl in front of her droops. But pipes up again to get her attention.

“Arthur really likes flowers.”

That gets her attention. [name] immediately whips her pixie-sized head towards her with a tiny ‘ooh?’ Just the mere mention of his name makes her tummy flutter and giddy.

“You’re a real sucker for him ain’t ya?” Mary coos and giggles, nudging her small arm.

[name] shyly shrugs, “H—He’s nice m’kay? I can’t help it, I like nice guys..”

“To you,” She continues, “To you, he’s nice. To others he’s an absolute.. menace.”

“I’m thinking.. He has a real soft spot for ya,” She winks.

[name] could only scoff, “We’ve only met once, ‘Bethy.”

“He’s a real sucker for them frills and bows. He sees a pretty girl like you and he’s all lamb-like. Stumbly on the legs and stuttery on the mouth.” Mary teases, “And your one pretty girl, [name].”

“You think I’m pretty?” [name] sweetly swoons at her words.

“Darling, you’re quite literally the cutest girl i’ve ever met!”

“Marryyy…” [name] softly whines at her constant fawning, “You’re very pretty too, y’know.”

“Huuush,” Mary-Beth giggles and smooches her cheek. Sweet girls.

Suddenly, that cheeky little grin comes crawling onto her face. [name] tilts her head, weary and meek. She’s up to something.

“..Wh..what?”

“Your boyfriend’s behind you.”

“Boyfriend??? Now, what in the world are you—” [name] suddenly becomes quiet as she turns her head around and makes eye contact with Arthur. He gives a shy smile to both of the ladies, a sheepish expression on his face.

“I’ll leave you two be~” Mary-Beth stands up and cheekily skips away.

Silence surrounded the two.

“Hi, Arthur.” It was like looking at two teenagers in a puppy love.

“Hello, [name].”

Her heart speeds up. She shyly looks down at the ground, unsure of what to say. Despite this being their second time interacting, she can’t help the meekness flooding in her system.

“I’m startin’ to wonder if yer clothes are strictly pink-only.” He gestures to her short little dress.

She giggles softly, “I do have a few non-pink clothing y’know.” [name] is comfortable enough to peer at him through those damn wispy lashes. Puckered lips, cherubic-like cheeks, and those puppy eyes.

“I wouldn’t believe that,” He lets out a bent arm towards her for her to take gently and stand up. [name] does so, standing to her full height with her pixie-like hands holding onto his arm like an elderly couple.

“Mind a stroll?” He asks with a gentle, soft tone.

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” She pipes up.

And there they went off.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

[name] was getting ready.

This time, she wasn’t there to visit Mary-Beth. She was here to visit Arthur.

More so because of his request of her to come back soon. If she were to be a puppy, her tail would be wagging as quickly as the speed of light. She was giddy at his request.

This was… the umpteenth time they’ve interacted with each other. Quite literally, everyone knew they’d get together sooner or later.

She adorns a white, cotton-like ruffled dress with a simple heart shaped necklace. On her head, she wore a pretty little bonnet.

As she approaches the location, she can’t help the sweet smile on her face as she sees Arthur coming towards her direction again. His hair was simple— a bit neater than before and his usual black vest outfit, with no grime or dirt anywhere.

“Hi,” She waves giddily.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He allows her tiny hands to come and place themselves near his bicep. He bends his elbow a bit near his figure to allow her come closer to his stature. He makes a mental note to be more careful around her. The bonnet on her head catches his attention.

He murmurs a soft ‘cute..’ underneath his breath, as he leads her away to take a little stroll around a pretty little meadow.

“How was your day, hm?” He asks.

“Good,” She shyly replies, “Daddy’s doing okay now. He’s not as sick as he was a week ago.” His heart softens.

“Ah. That’s good.”

“How about you? How was your day?” She asks with a glimmer in her eyes.

“Decent at best.” He replies with a slight grunt, gently pushing her away from a small puddle he can see that’s formed on the ground. Doesn’t want her shoes to get messed up from the dew-dropped floor. He’s genuinely thinking of just picking her up.

“How’s yer ma and yer pa doing?”

“Good and good,” She happily smiles, very happy that he’s asking about her family. Her doe eyes light up at a pretty pink wild flower, a smirk etched on Arthur’s face as he sees that cute little expression of hers.

A soft ‘huh.’ escapes his lips, he stops suddenly. Arthur’s blue eyes sizes her up and down, only realising just now—“You’re not wearing pink.”

[name] looks up at him, itty-bitty smile, “Told you I don’t have just pink coloured clothing.”

He snorts at her answer, “Damn brat, you are.”

“Your brat.”

“Yeah. My brat.”

[capitalism-and-analytics]

@bigboysdrinkmilk

1/ This "scenario" wasn't invented. It is based on an actual scenario.

2/ Not really sure the Gadsden Flag is symbolic of Conservatives and fun fact, there are other ideologies than Liberal and Conservative

3/ Unlike your anecdotal scenario, this scenario can actually be verified for not being "invented"

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Home Alone, 1990

Pairing: Reacher x Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Notes: Hi!!! It’s time for Kinkmas!! I’ve been preparing for weeks for this….and still didn’t finish everything 😀😀 it’s fine. It’s fine I just forgot they had to be in order it’s fine

There’s something special about tying Reacher up. 

You sit on his waist, humming softly as you tie his wrists back to the headboard. He can get out, you both know that, but he’s giving you control and that’s what makes it hot. 

He’s got a funny little smirk on his face, while you wrap him up in the brightly colored garland and boop his nose. You fix the Santa hat on his head and pat his chest. 

“You look good” 

“Do I?” He flexes his wrists a little as you toy with the band of his red boxers, teasing both of you. 

“Mhm…” You toss your hair over your shoulder, displaying your perky tits in the pretty red lace bra you’d greeted him in when he came home. You took his hand, pulling him toward the bedroom with a mischievous glint in your eye, he immediately knew he was in for it and eagerly followed you back. 

“You comfy?” 

“Sure am… you like what you see Peaches?” 

You nod slowly and grind against him gently, rolling your hips seductively. He struggles against the restraints slightly, wanting to hold your hips.

“Well shit” He looks up at them and tugs a little harder and you swat at his chest. 

“Hey! You said you’d be good!” 

“I don’t know how long I’m gonna be able to keep my hands off you, but fine” He lets his hands hang again and you stroke his cheek, your hand looks so small against his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and you gently pull away. 

“So what’s your plan, hm? " he asks lazily. Though his body betrays him, you can already feel him hardening underneath you. 

“I’m glad you asked” You reach over for a red velvet bag with gold drawstrings. You pull them apart and wriggle your eyebrows playfully at him. He raises an eyebrow as you slowly pull the device from the bag and present it to him. It’s a purple wand-looking thing with a large marshmallow-looking tip, you set the bag to the side of him and smile wickedly.

“I thought…maybe it was your turn to feel what you put me through every time you want one of your little marathon sessions” 

“You fully enjoy those” 

“Shut up, that’s not the point! The point is-“ You narrow your eyes at that stupid smirk he always seems to have on his face “The point is, I think it’s your turn to suffer” 

He tests his bonds again, they tickle his skin but he feels comfortable. He settles into the bed and grins at you as he bucks his hips. You squeak and slap your hands on his chest, bouncing on his cock.

“Do your worst” 

You frown at him, your little nose crinkling as you stick your tongue out at him, of course, he’s trying to still be in charge…. It’s fine, you’ll change that soon. 

Reacher's eyes widen as the vibrations from the wand send jolts of pleasure through his aching cock. He lets out a low groan, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"Fuck, Peaches," he growls, his deeply strained with need. 

"That feels...intense."

The thin fabric of his boxers does little to dull the sensation, the vibrations seeming to penetrate right to his core. His cock throbs, growing even harder as you tease him with the toy.  Laughing evilly. He rolls his eyes at you but lets you continue your little torture session. 

"You're gonna make me bust in my damn underwear if you keep that up”

You smirk and leave it at the base of his cock for a moment 

“Maybe that’s what I want… maybe I wanna see you cream your pants like a lovesick bitch.” 

His chest heaves with ragged breaths, his abs flexing as he fights the urge to thrust into the vibrations. His blue eyes are dark with lust, boring into yours with an intensity that makes you shiver. 

“You’re treading on thin ice, Y/N” 

“It’s on the lowest setting you big baby” 

You turn it up a notch, stroking his cock slowly with it through his underwear, you lick your lips when you notice the wet patch of precum on the front of them. You lean forward and lick it, your tongue dragging along his boxers as you moan softly. 

Reacher lets out a guttural moan as you turn up the intensity of the vibrations, the toy sending shockwaves of pleasure through his hard cock. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious friction. 

Suddenly these stupid little restraints feel like metal shackles as he fights the urge to rip them off and grab you to pull you down on his throbbing cock. 

His breath hitches as your tongue drags along the outline of his shaft. The sensation is driving him up the damn wall, and he can't help but thrust his hips forward, seeking more of that wet heat.

"C'mon, Peaches baby, don't tease me," he all but pleads, his blue eyes staring into yours with a level of intensity that makes a delightful shiver run down your spine. 

"Wanna feel that sweet little mouth on my cock. Wanna fuck that pretty face till you choke on it." 

He doesn’t miss the way you squeeze your thighs together. 

“I like it when you do that, fuck my face”

Your cheeks flush as you suck on his cock through his underwear. It’s just enough to keep him on the edge but he can’t feel your mouth with his underwear in the way as much as he desperately fucking wants to 

He gasps as your hot mouth envelops his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, the vibrations of the wand adding to the intense pleasure. His hips buck upward, seeking more of that wet heat, but the stupid freaking barrier of his underwear keeps him from feeling your lips directly on his skin.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," he growls, his voice deeply strained with need. "Suck that cock like you mean it. Gonna fuck your pretty face till you're gasping for air."

He watches you through heavily-lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and the way you squeeze your thighs together again. It turns him on that much more knowing you’re enjoying this just as much as he is, he can hardly stand it anymore. 

"You're killing me here, Peaches. This what you wanted? Reducing me to a moaning mess while I cum in my pants??” 

“It’s exactly what I wanted”

You purr seductively as you keep sucking him through his underwear. The front of his boxers are soaked in his precum and your spit as you put the vibrator on his balls and leave it there. 

Reacher's body tenses, his muscles straining to not rip those wimpy little tinsel restraints as your words push him to the brink. The vibrations from the wand buzzing against his balls, the wet heat of your mouth on his soaked boxers, it’s almost too much to bear.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me cum" he moans, his deep voice strained with desperation. 

He bucks his hips, grinding his throbbing cock against your face, smearing his precum and your spit across your cheeks. The scent of his arousal fills the air, musky and strong.

"C'mon, darlin', don't stop," he pleads, sending a shock straight down to your core. "Wanna see that pretty face covered in my cum. Wanna mark you as mine."

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his abs flexing as he fights the overwhelming urge to cum. 

"Gonna- fuck...baby," he pants, his voice barely above a whisper. "Gonna cum for you"

With an animalistic moan, his cock pulses, spurting thick ropes of cum into his boxers. The fabric turns warm and wet as he empties himself, his hips jerking wildly.

You pull his messy boxers down as he comes down from his high and scoop up his cum rubbing it over your pussy as you finger yourself, rubbing fast little circles over your clit. You wanted him to finish first, wanted that moment to be about him, but now you want load after load from him.

“Fuck baby you did so good” you pant softly as you touch yourself, your head falling backward as you roll your hips against your fingers “So so good” 

"You're so fuckin’ hot," he watches you with wide eyes, his deep voice teeming with a new growing desire. 

"Playing with yourself like that, rubbing my cum all over your sweet little pussy."

Even if he’s just cum, his cock twitches, already starting to harden again at the dirty show in front of him. The tinsel restraints dig into his wrists as he tugs at them, desperate to touch you, to feel your wet heat around him.

Reacher's hips buck again, his half-hard cock sliding against his stomach, smearing his cum over his torso. 

"I just wanna fill you up, baby. Wanna pump you full of my seed till it's dripping down your thighs."

He licks his lips, his gaze fixed on your fingers as they work your clit. 

"You want that, don't you? Want me to fuck you senseless, make you cum on my cock over and over again."

You swirl your fingers through the messy cum, spreading it all over your pussy as you listen to him try to convince you to finally ride him.

“I don’t know… maybe.. maybe I want something else first… like, your mouth?”

His eyes light up at your hesitant little suggestion, he can work with that, fuck can he work with it. 

“That sounds good to me sugar, I’ll eat that pretty little pussy until I’m suffocating and you’re screaming” 

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he watches your fingers keep working, the little cogs in your brain turning. He can’t help imagining the taste of your arousal mixed with his cum. 

"Come on Peaches, perfectly good seat right here just waitin’ for you” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You climb over his torso, hesitating for just a second as you settle on his face, his head securely between your thighs. You roll your hips against his lips for a moment, letting your head fall backward slowly as you moan. You grab the headboard, thighs shaking as you press your forehead against the headboard.

“Ooh my god” You mumble softly, giggling a little as you grind against his face “Holy shit” 

He’s had enough of playing good for you as he snaps the tinsel and grabs your hips, pulling you down harder against his mouth. 

You shriek and grip the headboard as he laps at you eagerly, his tongue dipping deep inside you. 

“Fuck you taste so damn good” He moans, His voice muffled by your body. 

"Gonna eat this sweet little cunt till you're screaming."

His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking your sensitive nub as he sucks it between his lips.

His nose nestles in between your lips as he buries his face deeper, inhaling your musky scent. He licks and sucks at your pussy, his tongue diving as deep as it can go, trying to reach your womb.

He seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard. At the same time, he slides a finger into your tight hole, pumping it in and out as he finger-fucks you.

Reacher adds a second finger, stretching you open as he curls them up to rub that spongy spot his fingers reach so perfectly. He can feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your arousal dripping down his chin.

"That's it, baby," he growls "Cum for me. Wanna taste that sweet honey on my tongue."

Your body falls apart as you cum on his tongue, grinding against him wildly, your hips rolling, you know he can take it. You know that he wants to take it. You scream his name, gripping the headboard with all your strength as you cum in his mouth, splashing down his chin and soaking the sheets. He keeps his fingers pumping in and out until you fall off of him onto the bed, your body shaking as you pant into the pillows. 

He reaches down, stroking his aching cock a few times to coat it in your mixed fluids. Then he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock nudging slick folds.

"Ready for me, darlin'?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

You shake your head no, unable to even answer him you’re so overwhelmed by the force of your orgasm. 

“Oh… that’s too bad” With that, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in your tight heat. You both moan loudly at the sudden fullness and the way you clamp around his cock like a vice. 

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with powerful strokes. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Look so pretty when you’re crying” He pants as the overstimulated tears fall down your cheeks, enjoying the dazed look in your eyes.

He grips your hips bruisingly tight, his fingers digging into your soft curves as he pulls you down on his cock over and over. He leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting and sucking at the sensitive bud, thoroughly enjoying the way you keen loudly and scratch at his shoulders. His other hand snakes up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“That’s my good girl, so willing to be fucked raw” He pistons his hips faster, the bed creaking beneath you as he fucks you into the mattress. His balls slap against your ass with each powerful thrust, stretching you wide with each hit to your cervix. 

With a guttural moan, he pushes himself inside you all the way to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot seed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he empties himself deep inside your womb.

“Jesus fucking Christ” He pants heavily, collapsing on top of you, he thrusts shallowly as you cum again, falling apart underneath him messily. He buries his face in your shoulder, kissing your neck gently as he keeps his weight on you. Sure he’s crushing you but he’s so big and warm and you’re so delirious you don’t give a fuck. 

“You did so good” Reacher shifts slightly, mindful of his softening cock still buried inside you. He rolls you both over so you’re sprawled on top of him, your head resting on his chest. His large hands splay across your back, one dipping lower to cup your ass possessively.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing little patterns on your skin and you nod slowly, curling into him more. He nuzzles into your hair, breathing in your scent, and smiles

“You gonna say anything? Miss hearin’ that cute little voice of yours” 

You look at him, your chin resting on his chest and he smirks 

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk for a week” 

He squeezes your ass in his hands, jiggling it a little “Mmmhm that was the goal I had in mind… make sure you can’t run from me” 

Your mouth drops and you swat at his chest as he snickers and pulls the blankets over you two.

“You know what this means right?” 

“Nuh huh” You shake your head and he grins absolutely wickedly, sending a nervous shiver down your spine.

“It’s my turn to tie you up next time” 

[blvdheart]

life is beautiful, but you don’t have a clue

⇢ getting all bruised up and battered with minimum medical aid from the government is brutal. leon doesn’t believe he deserves to be helped, though. after months of hiding these moments of vulnerability from you, he lets finally lets you in, knowing deep down that you wouldn’t turn him away

cw: fem!reader, established relationship, leon’s alcohol dependency and low self-worth, religious guilt, attempts to hide depression, brief description of wounds, angst, comfort and reassurance, patching him up, small snippet with chris, 3.2k wc

note: i promise there’s more to me than just writing ooc smut for him 😞 i rewatched vendetta and omg i want to hug him so bad. (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) i’m not sure if the small font is too straining on the eyes, if it is, lmk!! i’ll change it back to the regular sized one. if you see typos, no you didn’t

divider below is by @/cafekitsune!!

just how many confessionals and assigned prayers would it take for leon to be forgiven for all his wrong doings? probably more than he could keep track of. then again, he hasn’t clasped his hands together and recited a muttered chant for redemption in ages. the belief in a savior dissipated alongside his naive outlook in life once upon a time.

he had laid on a cold hard mattress for hours in the infirmary made specifically for DSO agents. the nurses didn’t give him much care, though. he was patched up, prescribed some pain killers, and sent home. the recovery period was over a month long, but he knew he wouldn’t actually be granted that much rest before he had to be back in action.

two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. he’s dealt with those same conditions time and time again, but it never got any easier, especially as he got older. he was busy basking in his misery, longing for only two things: the bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue, and his girlfriend’s soothing presence.

he tried to keep this part of him hidden, he was ashamed. he had already opened up to you about his job, and how he would be away for long periods. what he didn’t tell you was that those said long periods usually included his recovery, so you didn’t have to see him all broken and battered. he usually kept all the lights in his house off even when the evening approached, so you wouldn’t know he was back in town if you happened to drive by his place.

the two of you had gotten together a year and a half ago, and he used to be more…stable. he feared you’d up and leave him if you found out how bad it had gotten for him.

but the thing is, he knew you would take care of him. your love for him was unconditional, and he didn’t know whether to be grateful for it or to feel sorry for you. after all, he was known to have occasional outbursts of irritation, being on edge from all his baggage and his frequent doses of hard liquor. but he wasn’t a bad man, he just needed some TLC.

he could nurse his good ol’ mind numbing beverages stored coldly in his fridge all he wanted, but it wouldn’t make him feel any better. in fact, his self-hatred only grew once he found himself depending on alcohol. in his head, he chose to rely on a drink to feel a buzz. in reality, that was far from the truth. a man like him was drowning in the depths of his baggage. PTSD, survivor’s guilt, and alcohol didn’t mesh well.

it was you who kept him sane, really.

you were the skin-kissing sun after a harsh thunderstorm, like a balm to his traumatized and guilt ridden soul. you saw him for who he was, the selfless and love-yearning man he had always been, not a grouchy killing-machine like some people started to view him as of late.

even when he was overseas, your love always managed to reach him.

it was those heartfelt text messages and voicemails he often received that made him tread through his missions carefully, he knew there was someone back home worth living for.

voicemails:

“hi leon! i know you said you might not have internet connection over there or that your phone might break but…um…i dunno, there’s a chance you’ll hear this, so might as well, right? i really miss you. i was procrastinating during my job the other day, yeah boo me…but i made a list of some movies we can watch when you’re back in town. maybe you can come over and we can cuddle on my couch all night, hehe. anyway, i hope you’re okay. i really don’t want you to get hurt or anything. call me when you fly back in?”

“oh shit, is this voicemail? [incoherent mumbling] uh, okay yeah. hi leon, i’m at rite aid right now. i don’t wanna sound nosy but i saw some of the bloodied medical tape you left in my trash and…and i just got worried and wondered if you needed anything? maybe you didn’t want to concern me but, tell me next time okay? let’s see…there’s a lot of different brands, i dont know which one you’d like. call me back ASAP, i’m gonna stay here for a bit longer just in case you do. bye, i love you!”

“okay i figured you wouldn’t pick up. i know it’s like four am but i just woke up and my dream was about us! it went like…like…oh shit. i think i forgot already, bummer!” silence, and some hums. “i literally just had the dream like five seconds ago and i can’t remember it anymore. i’m pissed! anyway, see you tomorrow? or today, technically. bye!”

messages:

found this meme and it reminded me of you…wait do you even know what a meme is? ha, loser

here’s the link to the letterboxd website i told you about earlier!

come overrrr, i’m off work at 8 today. unless my asshole of a coworker shows up late again, ugh

you left your jacket at my house, it’s mine now!!!

not sure if you fell asleep already but please text me back when you can and when you’re sober. ik we just had an argument but we should talk it over, i want everything to be okay between us, i love you. you’re not mad at me are you??

replaying those sweet voicemails was like a remedy, providing such raw tenderness that nothing else in the universe could. you were the epitome of an angel walking the earth, keeping him from falling into the pits of hell by visiting his dreams whenever fell asleep all splayed out on his floor with an empty bottle by his side. it should be you snuggled against him instead, on a bed.

while you gave leon all your sweet love, there were other people working behind the scenes, dishing out some tough love to leon. like chris, who had hit rock bottom once and didn’t want leon to fall prey to the same thing.

“and how about your girl? you really think she’ll want to deal with you being like this all the time?” chris asked, his voice more agitated than mad. he wasn’t angry, just worried and wanting to push the truth into leon’s head. he had found leon sitting on his ass with a drink too many times to be considered a brief stress relief.

“leave her outta this.” leon scoffed, turning off his phone (he had been staring at his wallpaper that was a picture of you.) “i don’t let her see this side of me.”

“side? leon, it’s not just a side. it’ll consume you whole. what happens when it becomes your whole life, huh? what happens when you start disappearing all the time?”

“get off my ass, chris.” leon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to not lash out. “i came here for some peace and quiet, not for you to nag at me like you’re my mother.”

“i’m not trying to–” chris cut himself off, unsure of how to get across to leon. leon was absolutely miserable, the only time chris saw some hope in his eyes was whenever he soberly rambled about you. “i’m just saying that you’ve got a good thing going for you, and i don’t want you to ruin it by not trying to get better.”

silence, so chris spoke up again. “she cares about you. so try to care about yourself too, okay? i’ve been there, i see myself in you. i know it’s not your fault that you’ve turned to alcohol. but, let her in, let her help.”

leon looked down at his glass, watching his own reflection, some guilt burning in his gut. he hung his head a bit, looking like a kitten that had just gotten in trouble. he knew chris was right.

maybe this once, he could break the cycle of hiding and cowering. his throat felt dry as he reached for his phone, wincing a bit at the shock of pain the movement caused.

his fingers struggled to tap his cracked screen, the brightness of it making his nose scrunch and eyes squint. eventually, he found the phone app, you were at the top of his list, and he dialed.

…

“leon!! hi, hold on, lemme turn my TV off, i was watching a podcast.” and surely enough, he could hear the background noise lower until it was gone completely and your heavenly voice was filling his ears again. “okay, done. i can’t believe you’re calling, i’ve been waiting all week! how are you? not hurt or anything, i hope? need me to pick you up from the airport or?”

his lips twitched, threatening to turn into a small smile at your bombardment of questions. but he bit it back, feeling undeserving of such happiness. your voice overpowered the weak buzzing of his fan and the wind that rusted outside.

“uh, no.” his voice sounded hoarse, so he tried to clear it. “i’m actually at home, was wondering if you could come over? i…kind of need some help. only if you can, i don’t want to bother you.”

the silence that lingered made him feel tense, his heart pumping so loud that the noise reached his ears. then he heard some shuffling over the phone, as well as some keys jingling.

“be there in fifteen.”

it was just like you to drop everything to help someone else, no questions asked (at least not yet.) god, he loved you.

his world had felt muted before you, devoid of any color and saturation. but every time you he thought of you, suddenly colors were blooming as if he was a blank canvas and your paintbrush strokes were bringing him to life and giving him a purpose.

waiting fifteen minutes felt like an hour, maybe because he was counting down the time on his fucked up lock screen. the numbers looked wonky, he could barely make them out. his watch was broken too, no luck there. having no concept of time, even for a moment, felt weird.

he eventually heard his front door lock twisting. he had given you a spare key just in case, he trusted that you would never snoop through his things or take advantage of that privilege.

“um, hello? leon?” you sounded worried.

“god, it’s dark in here…” you then mumbled, splaying your hand against the wall and searching for his light switch. a couple seconds later and bingo, the sudden bright light left you disoriented for a while.

“i’m on the couch. just…don’t say anything, please?”

your brows furrowed at his request, and you rushed on over, your shoes thudding against his wooden floor. surely enough, there he was, laying on his back with agony written on his features. he had his leather jacket off, his arms having nips and tears all over. small ones, at least, but still collectively all painful.

“oh leon…” a worried mutter fell from your lips, and you kneeled down, the harshness of the hard cold floor not even registering because you were too engrossed in him.

you didn’t want to cry in front of him, not when he was the one suffering. but the pain you felt in your chest for seeing your sweetheart look so defeated just had you getting a bit teary. leaning forward, you planted a kiss on his forehead, your hand raising to stroke the crown of his head. his hair was a bit knotted.

he leaned into your touch like a puppy, letting out a pleased sigh. your affection felt like a gift in a bow after the way he had been slammed around by infected enemies earlier.

“what happened? i—“ okay, he said no questions. you could save the context seeking ones for later, but you did have to know what was wrong. “where are you hurt?”

he didn’t dare look into your eyes, knowing that it would break him. he was looking down further at your neck though, so his gaze was at least on you.

“everywhere.” he managed to croak out with a dry chuckle. um, not helping. “if we’re talking specifics though, the doc told me i broke two ribs on my left side. i also dislocated my left shoulder, they put it back into place but um…y’know, it still hurts like hell.”

after taking a breath to compose yourself, you nodded and stood up. “okay. do you have an ice pack?”

leon nodded. “in my freezer.”

you went off to fetch it, also taking one of leon’s small kitchen towels and wrapping it around the ice pack before placing it onto the coffee table. then, you went to his bedroom, getting two of his pillows and the first aid kit in his bedside drawer.

his eyes lit up when you returned. you were so nurturing it made him want to sob into your arms. but he’d open up to you one step at a time, one day at a time.

“can you…can you try sitting up just a bit? you’re supposed to be a bit propped up.”

well, that wasn’t the worst he’s had to do with a broken rib. he could manage. with a grunt of pain, leon slowly propped himself up, giving you some time to slide the two pillows in.

“there we go.” with a small smile, you couldn’t resist but place another kiss against his forehead. it made him feel good, it was like all your gestures were doses of ibuprofen.

the coldness of the icepack had seeped into the towel. and you gently applied it to his left side, your eyes lifting to meet his face to watch for any indicators you might be hurting him.

“down or up?” you asked him, moving the ice pack up further. he hadn’t told you which ribs had been broken, after all.

“down, please.”

you hummed, moving it back down and letting it rest there.

“how do you know so much about this?” he asked. sure, an icepack was probably a no brainer but you seemed so sure of yourself by making him sit up more.

“google works wonders.” you shrugged alongside your answer. “i just figured some knowledge on the most common injuries would be good for me to learn since your job is pretty dangerous. call me psychic but i saw this in my future.”

some brief moments of quietness washed over afterwards, making him feel unsettled. were you angry because he had often kept his bedridden moments from you? he couldn’t tell.

“i’m sorry.” his apology hung in the room, every one of his nerves feeling on edge.

but it was your warm and gentle touch on his face that had him crawling out of his low self-worth and into reality. a reality where someone loved and cherished all parts of him from his darkest to brightest days. you.

“what are you sorry for?” your question was spoken through a whispered tone of voice. “you’re out here risking your life and saving people whose names you don’t even know, yet you’re apologizing?”

you kneeled down again so you could be closer to him, stroking the side of his face with your knuckles. “i wish you had told me, but i think i can understand why you didn’t. i don’t want you to feel like you have to hide this from me. you know i’m here for you.”

“i…i know.” he didn’t doubt how much you cared for him, but it was hard to feel like he deserved someone as great as you. what did he have to offer?

“c’mon, look at me.” you pleaded, having taken note of the way his pretty blue eyes hadn’t met yours even once.

he blinked, his eyes darting around a bit. he bit his bottom lip nervously before releasing it. it was only when he felt your hand slide down to hold his that he finally mustered the courage looked into your eyes.

he looked broken, but willing. a small glimmer in his eyes that begged for devotion and comfort, for his angel to continue guiding him even when he lost his path. to not be cast aside like he was replaceable. he couldn’t leave his job or the hell that was his life even if he wanted to, but you made life worth living.

you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “i love you, leon. through sickness and health.”

you couldn’t suppress the desire to kiss him yet again, this time scattering them all over his face. your affection brought a surge of joy over him.

the wedding vow reference made him crack a grin. he chuckled a bit even though it caused his injured body discomfort. “i love you too.”

“did you think i wouldn’t help you?”

while you asked the question, your eyes skimmed over his body. his clothes were nipped at, the tears revealing some patches of his skin that had dried up blood or that were bruised. geez. you just wanted to cling to him, but you knew that would only strain him.

“i knew you would.” he began, watching as you stood up and disappeared back into the kitchen. he could hear the sink running. “i didn’t want you to spend your time looking after me, you have your own life to live. you shouldn’t have to babysit me.”

you came back with a wet towel, using it to clean up the dirt and blood on his arms, making sure to be gentle.

“babysit you? that’s not what it’s called, leon. i’m taking care of you, is all. i know you’d do the same and be even more stubborn about it.”

his eyes were trained on you, appreciating the concentration you held while cleaning him up. like a feather, your nimble fingers only left fleeting sensations against his skin. so delicately and tenderly, you treated him.

“yeah, i probably would. thank you.”

“don’t mention it.”

you spent the next twenty minutes disinfecting all his open injuries and putting gauzes over them, making some conversation but keeping it light since you needed to focus. there was more of a sparkle in his eyes than before, you had patched him up both physically and emotionally.

“how’re you feeling?”

“better. can’t say i’ll be able to walk properly tomorrow, though.”

“you need lots of rest to recover. you should sleep.”

and he was fucking tired, having stayed up all day. his body had been on fight-or-flight mode so many times that it had exhausted all his emergency energy. and initially he was sure his injuries wouldn’t let him rest, but you were here now, watching over him.

“yeah, i should.” he agreed with you. “will you…will you be here when i wake up?”

okay. you felt warm inside, he was opening up to you, allowing you to stay by his weakened side. “of course. and the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and um, you get the point.”

you lifted a hand to rub at his temples, alleviating the headache he had. leon groaned contentedly, his long eyelashes fluttering as his eyes shut. he could feel some drowsiness kicking in already.

“i could get used to this.”

“mhm, just go to sleep.” you voice was getting quieter and quieter in his mind, when’s the last time he fell asleep this quickly? maybe when he was 20. last time he had a broken rib, he didn’t get a wink of sleep.

maybe life was constantly testing him, disrupting his peace at every turn, seeping into all the crooks and nannies. but he found his person, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, the one who reminded him of how valuable his life and accomplishments were.

yeah, he could see his future, alright. one where he only picked up a bottle of beer during celebrations, one where he could be tangled up with you and be doted on without feeling guilt.

and it was sooner than later that those thoughts would be fulfilled.

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: t cw: implied car wreck, traffic, smoking tags: pining idiots, pre-steddie, mentioned Buckingham, word count: 928

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "traffic"

-

“Remember when you had the hots for Tiffani?” Eddie asked, his feet kicked up on the dashboard as he relaxed into the corner of the seat.

“Why is she the one everyone holds against me?”

“Because she made you a doll…of yourself.”

“So? You made a little guy that was me, hand-painted and everything,” Steve shook his head and grabbed the cigarettes.

Eddie knew he was pushing the guy’s buttons and should probably tread lightly but it was so fun and almost too easy. Plus, there wasn’t anything else to do. All they had for entertainment beyond riling up Steve was watching the daylight slowly disappear. Even the radio couldn't save them as they conserved gas.

He watched the cigarette find its home between Steve’s lips and fought every urge to hold his lighter out, lit and desperate for the closeness it’d require. Instead, Steve stared off into the horizon and waited for the lighter in the van to warm up.

“That’s different. First of all," Eddie started, finger to the sky. "You asked me to make that. I didn’t do it for fun and I never sneakily cut your hair to use for realism.”

“Neither did Tiffani.”

“You sure about that, I swear we all saw a little bald patch for a while.”

“You could, ya know, you could walk to Indianapolis. I think you’d probably beat me there,” Steve huffed.

It was so perfectly Steve that it made Eddie want to scream. He was literally pushing Eddie away but wrapping it up with a neat little bow. Get the hell out of the car but also then you wouldn’t be stuck in this god-awful traffic. I'm helping you more than I'm helping me.

He’d probably give Eddie his coat, a couple of quarters to call anyone should he need to, and a snack before literally kicking him out.

Of course, that was all if it wasn’t such a hollow threat. Eddie had more than learned that in all their time together. Something he hadn’t expected to say but here he was spending a lot of his free time with The Steve Harrington. Perhaps the weirdest thing to come from this whole monsters and alternate dimensions thing was learning what made the guy tick.

“God and miss hanging out with you? I love being trapped in my van and snapped at because you can’t control the weather.”

“We don’t know that the weather did this,” Steve finally lit his cigarette and cracked the window. Eddie tried not to stare but it was impossible to look away. It was some kink Eddie didn’t know he’d had until Steve.

“Either directly or indirectly, it did. So who are you kissing at midnight?”

“Is that why you were asking about Tiffani?” Steve said, passing over the cigarette just like Eddie knew he would. It was why he didn’t light his own, he wanted to share with Steve.

“You think Robin and Chris invited her to their place for the party? Robin likes to make you squirm but that feels too much for even her.”

“Nah because then she’d had to admit she was flirting with her too,” Steve laughed, holding his hand out for the cigarette.

They were losing the last bits of daylight and Eddie started to feel a little anxious. They’d been there for far too long and they had a limited break in the weather. The longer they sat here the worse it was going to be when they finally got moving. Hanging out with Steve was starting to rub off on Eddie. He was thinking practically. It was awful.

A few brake lights ahead of them lit up and gave Eddie a bit of hope. He shook his head and said “Gross” to what Steve had said.

“So who are you kissing at midnight then? You’re not going to be doing any better than I am,” Steve poked. Eddie deserved this for getting him worked up but he didn’t enjoy it.

“I dunno, maybe our odds are about the same,” he said, feeling just a little brave as he refused to make eye contact. Even as he felt the cigarette offered again.

All of this was ramping up to something but Steve wasn’t following the script. He was on edge and quicker to fight than normal. Something Eddie usually loved and even now was enjoying a bit but that’s because it was better than thinking too hard about asking the man to be his New Year’s kiss.

To confess he’d been harboring a crush so big it was impacting everyone around them seemed the perfect road trip confession. Eddie was even blessed with traffic. Which did little more than give him more time not to pull the trigger. It shouldn't be this hard, yet Eddie stayed silent.

He sucked in a breath and tried to stop thinking about it. The more he tried to set up the perfect conversation, the harder it seemed to be.

And as mentally planned, the van filled with whoops and cheers, only they weren't for Eddie’s confession. It was joy punctuated by Steve slamming the gear shift into drive. “We’re moving!” He said, shaking the wheel. With one last drag from the cigarette, he passed it off to Eddie. “Come on, I don’t think we’ll even be late.”

“Great,” Eddie sighed and watched the moment slowly creep by like the discarded McDonalds bag he’d been staring at for the past hour. He’d missed his chance and there was no way the universe was going to hand him another. Not like that.

[airbendertendou]

safety [of a killer’s arms]

gender neutral reader. no killer in mind so they/them pronouns used. killer is bigger / taller than reader [bc they're a lil monstorous it makes sense in my mind]

synopsis : an unnamed survivor [he/him] makes you feel sour - for lack of better words. one trial, you find yourself running to the murderer instead of away.

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

he always made you uncomfortable. sliding up beside you at the campfire ; his hands lingering when he patched you up ; sly nicknames that made your skin crawl. with a gulp, you flinch as the generator you’re working on finished, lighting up the spot you were hiding at.

taking in a deep breath, you stand and slowly observe your surroundings. the lack of a heartbeat and chilling feeling of being watched was absent — you were safe for now. you tread along carefully, eyes peeled for any sudden movements.

“[name],” the hairs on your arms prickle just at the sound of his voice. you don’t turn — you only continue moving forward. “we’ll be safer together. come stand with me.”

you ignore him. lips parted, your breathing struggles to steady as panic starts to build up. you can hear his feet shuffle behind you ; he’s starting to speed up to catch you. “[name], come on! it’s only us now.”

it sounds like a threat. his tone is reassuring, words light and airy, but it still feels like threat. it’s only the two of you ; no one else around. you gulp again, speeding up just a little more. he lets out what sounds like a laugh, “are we playing a little cat and mouse game?”

“go find another gen,” you call out over your shoulder. you quicken your pace a bit more, “we can still win this.”

“i did win, [name].” he lets out another laugh — it sounds menacing ; dark. everything a survivor shouldn’t be. “i’ve got you, all to my self.”

your heartbeat picks up, pounding in your ears. on the edge of a sprint now, you can see the killer of this trial in the distance. you speed up more, ignoring the muffled curse behind you as you barrel straight into their arms.

a vice grip is around their torso. arms around their waist, you bury your head into their neck as your breath leaves in panicked pants. “jus’ kill me,” you whimper out. “please.”

their hands are raised above them, weapon still poised from when they prepared to swing it at you. curiously, their eyes fly to where you came from ; to where your fellow survivor had now made himself known.

“[name],” you whimper at the sound of his voice. his eyebrows furrow, playful smile falling from his face and growing stern. “let them go. now.”

“he won’t leave me alone.” you whisper it into their chest as you burrow further into them. “watching me. waiting for me. touching me. i— he won’t leave me alone.”

their hands had fallen to your hips now, peeling you away from their torso. you whimper again but relax when they pull you behind them. just what had this man done — what had he made you feel — that was so bad you looked to a murderer for comfort? for safety?

he lets out a huff, taking a step closer. you mold yourself into their back in retaliation. “[name], come on. we have to win this game. jus’ you an’ me now.”

you want to scream at him. want to cry and yell and hit him until he stops talking ; until he stops eyeing you so desperately and hungrily. phantom fingers dance on your thighs, reminding you of the hidden touches he’d take from you ; careful whispers echo in your ears of the things he’d do to you once you were alone.

you couldn’t go with him ; refused to.

the killer of the trial made a show of raising their weapon again before they flung it toward him, hitting him directly in the chest. with a small oof!, he falls to the floor before struggling to get back up. as he limps away, he glares at you and it feels more sinister than the heart beating in your ears.

“safe.” it’s a promise. your killer pats your shoulders as gently as they can, moving you so that you’re a little more hidden. they crouch so that your eyes look into theirs, “safe.”

stay here, and you’ll stay safe. i’ll take care of him while i’m gone.

the breath of relief you let out is immediate. and it’s so stupid — how secure you do feel with someone who’s life revolves around murder. but, compared to the creeping touches and lingering gazes of your fellow survivor, they are a safe haven.

they come back after a scream of terror hits the area you’re in, drenched in blood and almost skipping with joy. gently, your hand is looped into theirs as they tug you along the map.

“home,” they say. “take you home.”

and so you’re lead to the hatch, lowered into it because your legs are too shaky to handle your own weight. before you fall, your fingers grip onto the edge of it and you peer up at the killer once more. your lower lip trembles, “thank you. i can’t say it enough — thank you.”

every trial with them after that feels gooey — warm — as you’re always saved for last and treated less harshly than the others. he never looks at you again ; instead he shakes in fear at the thought of you and the giant bodyguard you’d acquired.

lingering gazes come from outside of the campfire now — but they make you feel protected and watched over ; safe. they always manage to make you feel safe.

idk where this came from so don't even ask hehe <<33 tagging it w killers i thinlk would act like this but you can always add your fave <3 airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[dhampling]

ivory tower 18+ ASCENDED!ASTARION X AFAB!READER, 4.6K

Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city; but you want this.

woah boy! my first ascended astarion piece, so please be kind! dal is back babey! woooo! thank you to @bhaalism and @lipstickghoulie for dealing with me while writing this i love you both endlessly. wc: 4.6k cw: afab reader, female language used. breeding, mind-control, p in v, ascended astarion, public fingering, private banging, great times all round, as always if there are errors no there aren't, creampies, yippee

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep. Not really.

She sometimes slows just enough to find some purchase amongst the muddle, though - tiptoes lazy through highsun in soft linens, the burgeoning swell of soap suds and sunny rosemary through wide open wooden shutters. Lingering - sweat-soaking worn leathers, the sore of the flex in the arch of your foot splayed over cobble. As if to grasp at the memory, your fingers stretch out from your side and on to the dark oak of the armrest, in a moment of sheer jubilance. Summer. The sun. Wide bright mornings. Hopeful and hot as a bated breath. 

The city ambles onward this evening, no different despite the inclement weather and the din of an early darkness. Half-lidded through dark streets as rain smatters the roofs with wet, glistening something dozy under the tall oil street lamps and swirls of ever-present heavy fog. Gurgling whilst each drain fills with water and swallows deep into the sewers. 

Scatters the hay, bears the slip; sings a slow drunken stutter of thunder-wind whiling at the windows into the small hours. There’s a comfort to be found in it. 

The harbour bell will go on to toll for every sail weary ship coming in from the fog; the crescent caress of the Gate’s waiting arms lit low with oily dots of amber. That even this late into the night the bands of trawlers on the dock work crates and barrels into cargo holds with worn hands and ruddy cheeks. The gulls and their scattering squawks. The flapping of their fat feathered wings up into the clouds. 

From where you sit in the Ivory Tower you can hardly see anything at all. Fog obscures the streets to a point, other than the light patches under the oil lanterns out on the ramparts. The window runs dripping wet with condensation. Pools under the pane. 

A hideaway of sorts within the manor. Newly reclaimed by Astarion in some deal with the quivering council in order to keep him sweet. Not that he has any armies of undead in his retainer to command as yet, but they don’t need to know that. There’s time. You’re still blessedly mortal and able.

Astarion. 

He should be skulking the halls somewhere below with that unnerving silent step he’s taken to using. Your cheeks grow warm, the blanket over your shoulders pulled closer into your chest as you allow your mind to run wild; the scald of bliss to your brain like that of some ironmonger’s poker, split straight to the core. 

Your love. Your lover. 

Amongst his many newfound desires and passions seemingly includes the impetus to redesign a centuries-old palace from scratch, and while you doubt he has the want nor willpower to take the project anywhere near to completion you’re more than happy to indulge him during this burst of creativity. A designer’s eye. Lavish yet not ostentatious, he tells you. Your own private wing of the palace, and one you’ll share together. He has no need for his own private chambers. You’re the only one he wants to be beside. You understand that at its essence, it isn’t even necessarily a want to design for creativity’s sake, it’s important to you both to have every memory of the residence’s former owner gone. Every threadbare tread of carpet, every scuff on the wall; every painting being demounted by workers downstairs and shipped to the auction house first thing in the morning. You can hear them if you still enough, heart still beating in your chest and the low chunter of layman gossip.

The version of him you knew before his ascension was so very scared. Beautiful, but wavering. You loved him of course; and you always will  - it was that version of him, the one lost in the wilderness that you fell for, and gods; you fell hard - frenetic and whiny, fleeting as light snow never to settle on the forest floor. Wild-eyed. 

But this Astarion - the real Astarion, as far as he is concerned - has you completely and utterly enraptured each day you wake together, the same as ever, from the second your eyes open. Wrapped in those Daerlunian-import plush linens atop your gargantuan newly-installed four poster bed. Face of marble with those cattish dark lashes and eyes of carnelian crush. Enchants every room he walks into, as he always has. 

You don’t know he’s with you until a hand ghosts your shoulder, sinewy; with those deft pale fingers deep encroaching on your collarbone in his grasp. 

“I didn’t hear you, lover.”

“But I heard you.’

He circles round the velvet armchair, resplendent in his home finery. Not a crease to be seen. Voice soft, yet laced with a bristling concern.

‘Why do you insist on sitting up here?”

You err for a brief moment. 

“I can hear the rain on the roof, here. See some bustle when the fog clears. The city goes on.” You shake your head with a smile as he crouches beside you, nestling his head in the crook of your arm.

“But it’s cold. Dark. Come down - I can light the fire in our sitting room if you like?” 

“We have so many centuries yet to see together! What sense is there in not observing the world as it is now? Keeping record of the city as we saved it?”

His head lifts and his eyes meet yours, some churlish quirk of a brow in the low light.

“An archivist, now? Is that to be your profession alongside me? Whilst you raise our young?”

“If I wish it to be, yes.”

He laughs, a gentle low hum.

“Then an archivist you’ll be - the most renowned in all the lands. We’ll make it so.’ He stands once more and takes your hands from your lap, bringing them clasped to his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. 

‘I’ll begin planning on your archives - I presume you’ll want a library? Or something similar in your wing, maybe even an office. Who knows?”

Astarion looks to the room around you, the shapes covered with old canvas and the rickety floorboards underfoot. Cobwebs in the corner. There’s no grimace nor displeasure. He simply surveys as cool as still water. Objective.

“I’ll have some of the merchants relay their contacts come morning too. If you insist on expanding your territory up here then it must befit you.”

“Befit me?” You grin now. His hold on your hands remains secure.

“If you want me to say it, then I suppose I will. As many times as it takes to get it through that heavy skull of yours.’

His smile reaches his eyes as he circles back behind your chair, fingers splayed over your shoulders once more in a deep round kneading pattern.

‘There’s nothing you won’t have if you want for it. Nothing too good for you to covet, my solace; Saviour to the whole Sword Coast and every plain mite within its bounds.’

There’s a small pause as he bows to kiss the top of your head.

‘And I thank the stars every day that I can provide for you. That you saw the potential in me and lifted me higher, to such profane glory amongst the swill of common man. That my gold, my influence, and terror, and each lift of my blade is at your command and yours alone. That you stayed at my side.” 

He doesn’t like to mention the gods, hence the stars. Pointedly brings the grimace back into play, occasionally even furrows with the slightest twinge of anger brewing at his brow. The gods had no role to play in your shared victories. No divine intervention saved him from two hundred years of torment, from certain death after the crash of the nautiloid along that sun-soaked span of rocky beach;-

You did. You with your strange inclination toward the weak man he once was. The shell he lived in like a hermit crab on the shore, nothing more.

-

On bright days, you thank him for giving you time.

Time to live, time to breathe with full lungs. Time to allow you to burn your eyes in the beating sun with a silver pot of fresh coffee and whatever ridiculous spew the papers hold between the pages today. 

You know as you sit in comfortable silence that your time dwindles, and that your turning is inevitable. Your eternal wedded bliss is to be alongside him and will be as vivid in nature as all the colours of the astral plane, if he’s to be believed - and there’s no reason not to see his word as gospel. You can see each moment as crystalline as sea glass on sand. Forever with the man you love more than you’ve ever felt inclined to love anything. The bridal ceremony is but a drop in the vast ocean of your lives together. 

He thanks you too. Often alongside you with eyes closed in some dozy recline, forearm hanging lazily whilst he takes the sun on his skin like a blessing. A loose linen shirt akin to the one he wore back at camp at the start of your journey together, strings wide open, a blaze of blinding flesh at the corner of your eye each time he shifts.

The veranda on a clear day. Astarion has assured you he’ll never take this from you. He’ll never take anything that you don’t willingly give him with a clear heart - and why would you give him your ability to bask in the sun, like a street cat in days-warm dust? What purpose does that serve either of you, beyond making you a less useful weapon in his prized arsenal?

At one point, all you wanted was to talk to him - and it rings true even now. The want to be the bearer of all his tales. To learn about him, to be close to him; to hear him tear the world apart with that dulcet snarl, walking alongside each other on the barren dirt trails out in the wilderness. Hop-skipping to keep up with his quiet gait. Giving him back as good as you got. The glimmer of his hair in the sunlight, the way he’d sometimes just stop.

Close his eyes. Feel the heat. The gentle burn of highsun on tender flesh. A soft inhale.

That morning out in the clearing after your first night together. Arms outstretched in a welcome to the light. It had taken a few minutes for it to click as you’d silently watched on, why his sun salutation was so fond. So open.

It’s to be a long engagement with regard to your transformation whilst the manor undergoes renovations. Reason after reason as to why now isn’t the ideal time to commit you to eternity. You know why he wants to keep a hold on your precious mortality for the time being, of course; and that keeps you from the forever embrace of his Dark Kiss. It never changes. 

You’ll allow him to sire your children. You want him to. Crave it. Him.

Your very own lineage together, he whispers; frenzied by your ear as his fingers crawl the bare span of your thigh. He can breed you full like fate intended and you’ll have something - besides him - that’ll also last forever. Something of your own surpassing the death of all of your contemporaries. The Vampire Ascendant and The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate, flesh-on-flesh, skin smacking skin; his debauched groans and lewd whimpers as he buries himself inside you, your cooing breaths;-

You’ll wed normally too, for the interested eyes of the city. Some dull ceremony with the elites adorning all tables as gilded pieces might some decorative chess board, deceptive vows. Legally it makes things easier should anything befall either of you but the hassle almost makes the whole thing undesirable - gods, especially because he already treats you as some smitten newlywed might. Adores you. Follows you around the manor, stalking; like some wolf cub after its mother. Carries you to bed each evening and ploughs you senseless, until spit gathers in the corners of your wet, wanting mouth and you can’t see straight through grey-blear eyes.

He likes the idea of you taking his name by law. Melds with your own like it were meant to be, from the starter threads of whatever cosmic tapestry pulled you together, the marriage of your first name to his last, interwoven by a scholar’s hand in gold-shining delicate point.  

Ancunín. The House of.

Tapestries. Large, spanning the halls. The Sarsantyr's over in Waterdeep - they’ll be able to create what you’re picturing. 

A familiar gaze meets yours. It’s then that you realise you aren’t alone in your mind once more

“If you want tapestries, you only have to ask.” 

“In fairness - you didn’t give me a chance to.”

He hums, tilting his head a little in the sun’s glare.

“I’ll send for them. The Sarsantyr's, yes? Have them pack up all their little-’

He pulls a face and lifts his hands in some kind of puzzled shake.

‘Sewing bits? Textiles? I’ll send carriages. They can come and stay in the lower rooms. Create the masterpiece you envision.” Astarion sniggers a little at the thought of putting them in the old dormitory while you remain lost in thought.

“Okay. Check them through first though, yes? 

The real event - the wedding - will give you total ecstasy beyond your wildest preconception, you know this. Unfettered and euphoric. Books and books on the topic stacked clumsily beside your bed, reds and greens; the turning of a vampire bride in leather bound prose. You know what to expect in florid detail. You know to trust your lover, that the rabid creature you’ll become is only a temporary mental state precursing an eternity alongside him. 

And yet, you wonder about the children. They’ll be here by then. However many he decides is enough, naturally; assumedly under the care of some hired help whilst you engage in your thoroughly bastardised pastiche of a wedding ceremony. You laugh now. He’s still in your head, mulling over your thoughts as soon as you can think them. 

Will you miss them? Will they be your last thought before you pass away; Astarion unable to complete this ritual alone as he was unable to before? Will your death lead to his, leaving your dhampir offspring to ravage Baldur’s Gate unsupported by the windfall of knowing parents? There’s still no hesitation, though. You will bear his young. You want to. The consequences either way are vast and long-lasting, and you’d rather be at his side than facing his ire- 

“Love, what are these thoughts? What on earth is going on in that very pretty head of yours today?” His voice is a low drawl, pitying yet laced with affection. He sits straight in his chair whilst a hand lazily searches for yours atop the sun-warmed table; beyond the scope of the ramparts wall the low meander of city life continues on.

“Mulling things over.”

“You don’t need to do that, pet. Come now.’ He beckons you onto his lap and wraps his arms around your middle, hand searching for the soft pillow of your chest as your ass backs up to his abdomen.

‘You want me to make it better?” 

You nod gently, the sun catching your eye in a particularly bright beam and making you squint. 

“Please.”

“Poor thing. It’s okay.” As he coos; one hand finds the curve of soft flesh at your chest, holding the weight of your breast firmly as he starts lightly thumbing at the nipple through your nightshirt.

“There, now. Good girl.” Your head falls back onto his shoulder, a deep sigh as he lulls you into a new state of calm astride him. Birds sing overhead whilst you nuzzle his neck.

“I will miss this warm flesh of yours, you know. Terribly so.’ His other hand moves to your nightskirt, gently hitching the material bit-by-bit up your thighs until you sit exposed to the air. Nobody can see you from here - the faceless crowd little but colourful dots below; Astarion giving a small tense laugh as he feels your pulse quicken against him. 

He toys with your skirt, edging ever nearer your exposed cunt; and your eyes flutter closed. 

‘But the greater purpose… I just can’t let it go. Us. Our lives together. I sincerely doubt you want to wither away to age; to lose your extraordinary beauty-’

A gentle groan as he feels your warmth.

‘Do you, my most precious flower?” 

“Of- Of course I don’t. I want to be with you, as we are; forever.”

“Then we’re going to need to make a concerted start on the only thing setting us back, are we not?” His fingers gently tap on the crux of your pubic bone, threateningly close to your clit. You feel the familiar seep of your slit leaking onto the bunched skirt fabric and you think of honey. Some kind of sweet glaze.

“Yes.”

As you sink further into him his fingers move down just a little to meet your clit; and in response to your delighted sighs he very lightly begins to stroke either side of the engorged flesh. There’s no urgency to his movement nor his demeanour; just a treacle-thick teasing grin as he turns his head to kiss your blazing cheek.

“Good.”

There’s something borderline celestial about the gentle way he touches you, coaxing more of your slick from you with every gentle jerk. He deftly motions ‘come hither’ with a soaking middle finger dipping lightly at your hole then brings your arousal up to wetten your clit once more.

“You want this, don’t you?” A finger slips down to your cunt, this time slipping and nestling deep inside as you feel yourself writhe on him. One arm scrambles around the back of his neck to support yourself while he begins to curl at your spongy spot, and the anchor of your arousal shifts free.

“I’ve been rifling through that glorious mind of yours these past few days and I see you now. You want comfort. To comfort. To seek shelter in those warm lights on the horizon, to know you aren’t alone in the late hours.”

You nod furiously, wincing, desperate to feel him deeper. Thicker. You need more, your fox-eyed paramour giving only the barest minimum he can do to watch you squirm.

“You, with my babe in arm;- oh the image alone does things to you, doesn’t it?”

It’s as if he’s creating the visions in your head as he speaks them, bringing them to the forefront of your mind in hushed coos and silent gasps. As if by magic, the only thing on your mind is a primal need for him to fuck you full. Nothing else, no mind for coffee nor completed manor renovations. 

You will be round. You will brim with life before he turns you, and you’ll take to his seed the minute he offers it to you. You’ll accommodate him like no other across Toril could hope to. You wonder if he has the power to decide how many, as he adds another finger to your unbridled torment. If he could choose to speed the process up with a celebration of twins, triplets. An heir and two spares. Maybe he’d wait instead until the first was born, just to ensure the viability of his bloodline. A test.

He’s doing this; you become starkly aware as he withdraws his fingers, spiderwebs of glistening drool clinging to your inner thigh as he brings them between his lips and suckles. He’s giving you these ideas of grandeur because he can. Because you are his. Because you wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else, to be tied to any other notion of whatever a fulfilling life is, if it weren’t one shared wholly by him. With him.

“Let me take you inside, sweet one. Let’s take care of you properly, shall we? Curb this fever, hm?”

Please, you think. Please take this burning hole in my womb and make it full with you. Extinguish the flame with your unholy spend and give me children. Give me oud and orchids and a life of warmth, however long we both may live.

“Use your words, my love. Tell me you want this.”

“I want this. Please.”

-

On the bed you now lie, the room cool and dark; balcony doors open wide with light-billowing curtains. Sweat consumes you as your thoughts run wild, the smell of your arousal, clammy hands and deep breaths in the low light. Astarion approaches like something from a dream, shirtless now; smirk plastered cheek-to-cheek as he leans over your trembling form with confidence - your lust-addled fingers reaching for his steady form like a ship to harbour. 

“You want to feel it, little dove? Feel how you set me alight?”

He pries your wrist from him with gentle urgency, taking your hand under his and skating both downwards; down the plane of his tight torso, slowing to a stop just above his pelvis.

“Tell me - do you want to feel it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of your lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice - watching the way your hand twitches under his.

“Hm?”

His groan is guttural. Thick. He doesn’t even try to mask it, eyes wide as his hand shifts yours just a little further down and over the blistering burn of his heavy cock through loose linen trousers. A hazy sigh as he moans a small whimper at your touch.

“Please, Astarion. I beg you.”

It’s like his fingers are enchanted, the way they reduce you to this sodden mess. Unable to think unless guided delicately by his superior whim. 

“I need to bury myself inside you fully for this to take. I need your full attention, submission; your devotion to our lives together. Do I make myself clear?”

He’s giving you one final chance to withdraw. Your head clears for one sweet moment and you can do little else but stare at his bulge with heavy lids and your mouth agape.

“Crystal. I ache for you. Please, give this to me.”

You lift to meet him in a soft kiss, jaw slackened and cunt ablaze. Nothing else matters, no complications, nor possibilities of horribly mangled spawn from your womb as a result of your copulation. This scalding stupor that sends you insane won’t go away until he quenches it with his seed. 

Your response has satisfied him, if the way he stands sharpish and unties his trouser laces is anything to go by. The glassy head of his cock stands purple at his stomach, leaking wild at the slit and red-hot as your hand reaches blindly for him in your hunger.

He gently taps you away and back down onto the sheets. 

“Magic?” You hear yourself mumble, still amazed at how surely swollen he must feel with how sore he looks. Has to be. 

“Just me.”

There’s a tenderness in his eyes as he crawls back over you, legs instinctively parting and lifting at the knee to accommodate him. Something that compels him to hold your face in the hand that isn’t supporting his weight and just look at you, fondly; for what feels like an age.

Then he shifts once more to angle himself, decidedly spending no more time on preparation. The heat of his cock against your slit is unlike anything you’ve ever known, dizzying yet pleasurable; hard and yet still yielding, and as he thrusts a shallow dip into your core you swear you see angels overhead. Yes, you’re ready. You’ve never been more ready for anything than you are for the sheer ecstasy you know he’s about to give you, and he’s going to give you it in droves. Seismic tremors as he shifts a little and you adjust to him once again.

He nods. He hears you. 

Then, he snaps once more; and he’s lost.

Each glub of his cock meeting your spill as he ruts into you; the way you feel it running downward in long dribbles, with each and every mindless hump of his hips eking more honey from your cunt in spades. 

You hear the sounds of your shared carnal pleasure and it makes you clench around him in some kind of self-perpetuating cycle. Groans and whimpers and moans and hisses and the frequent egregious slaps to your thighs whilst he chases his high. 

He’s perfect like this. Halo of curls above you, voice silken as he calls you every pet name under the sun, his, always. Your legs ache already from being wound so tightly, interlocked around him, and you think of the prespill inside you already. How each fangy showman’s smile means he’s twitching at your cervix and leaking molten gold inside you with every thrust. 

It’s not until he nuzzles down to your neck that you remember to offer it, potentially for the last time on this mortal coil. 

“Are you asking?”

“Well, you didn’t offer.”

The immediate pang is one of violent nausea, subsiding quickly into a wooze coating the bottom of your stomach in black tar as he fucks upward. Unease. There’s something in his spit, you assume. Something that makes the gaping wounds a little more bearable, a little less raw as he kitten-licks the flesh between swallows. Ice courses your veins with adrenaline as it always does.

Astarion chokes down his first sip with an eager cough. The burgeoning panic wracking your limbs turns into a numbed haze as your lover feasts, big neat gulps whilst he clutches at your ribcage with fingers splayed deep and cock buried to the hilt, like a man starved. His hair tickles  at your jaw, the smell of something herbal. Slightly lemony. 

He splutters that he’s close and you feel yourself nearing your peak too.

There’s a profane desecration in what he’s doing, painting your walls in an attempt to get you pregnant. Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city. No villages to raise them, no cards nor flowers from friends or family; but you want this. 

You want him to taint you in his particular shade of crimson, visibly; so the realms know who made The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate come to heel. The man who compelled her through sheer love alone and to whom she gave everything. The indomitable force for whom you’ll die, only to resurrect forever as his.

Visions of your turning don’t scare you - all lightning and thunder, the cries of your dhamplings in some nursery down the towering halls of your palatial wing; and yet you’ll be safe in his caress. He wouldn’t let a single thing happen to you. He won’t. 

And as he cums; he calls your name.

Some rhythmic prayer over and over again; and with each kick of his cock he loses some of his bedroom charm and hurtles back to earth, humbly enraptured. More candid. His weary muscles tighten as yours threaten your own release around him.

“Cum for me, now. Milk me.” in a heavy whisper whilst he strokes the soft flesh of your cheek; and you do. You cum harder than you can remember ever before. Each wave of sheer pleasure some blackout tidal wave as you writhe, staccato in his arms. 

If you die during the ceremony, you’ll die happy. Should the younglings bite their way through your womb, it won’t matter.

You’re loved. He loves you, in soft kisses and gentle arms carried all the way to the waiting washtub. In the way he sponges your aching shoulders and brings a washcloth to your dazed face.

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep, not really.

But tonight it will, in the patient, visceral bliss of calm before a summer storm.

[whimsimille]

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 2: "Come home to me, darling."

(Jeong Jin-Man x fem! reader)

"Why are you leaving so suddenly?" You questioned, your voice bouncing off the tapestry that adorned the living room wall of your quaint shared apartment and the oak bookshelves filled with classics.

The comforting aroma of a simmering homemade tomato sauce filled the air, mingling with the sound of sizzling pans and the rhythmic chopping of crisp, fresh vegetables on the polished granite kitchen countertop. 

Dressed in a worn-out apricot apron adorned with faded sunflower prints, your hands were occupied with diligently kneading the carefully prepared pasta dough for your dinner, a recipe passed down from your Italian grandmother.

All of a sudden, the living room's normal sounds—the soft purr of Gunpowder, his gray cat curled up on the plush Persian rug, the low drone of the television playing the evening news—were replaced by an eerie silence that made your skin crawl. 

On turning, you noticed Honda in the midst of rushing preparations for departure. He was hunched over the suede couch, lacing up his sturdy boots, his face etched with stern concentration. Against the dimly lit backdrop of the room, his figure blended seamlessly, rendering him no more than a transient silhouette.

"Where exactly are you off to? And what's the urgency?" You signed, your hands dancing in the air while you leaned against the wooden door frame. A knot of unease formed in the pit of your stomach at the sight of his hasty departure.

His gaze met yours, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he signed back, "I have to go. Jin-Man needs me. I can't disclose more for your safety. You know how it works."   

He continued to pack his bag—a small duffel made of worn leather with patches on the corners and straps slung over one shoulder. As he did so, you caught sight of an old photograph falling out of the side pocket; it was of you both from what looked like a summer festival years ago, grinning widely under colorful umbrellas while balloons swelled around you both.

"But can't it wait until tomorrow? Is it really necessary to depart on the day that we get back together after several months?

The worn-out leather of the couch groaned under his weight as he rose, his tall figure casting a long shadow against the faded brown wallpaper. 

Moving towards you, he avoided the cluttered coffee table littered with dog-eared magazines and discarded newspapers. His leather jacket, draped over the back of a nearby armchair, was quickly pulled on, the rusted zipper scraping against the silence of the room.

"No, it can't wait. But I'll be back in time for dinner. I promise." Even as he used a gentle swipe of his thumb to remove a stray splotch of tomato sauce from your cheek, his smile never left his face. “When I return, we can lounge on the couch, munching on popcorn and be engrossed in those old Hollywood classics you're so fond of. You can also show me your progress with that hacking project you've been working on. Maybe try not to fry the motherboard this time?"

"First of all, you better keep that promise. Second,  I’ll hold you to it. Third, for your information, that was a one-time thing!"

"First, I will. It's a promise. And second, I remember it being a three-time thing." He chuckled, his laughter warm like a summer's day.

"Shut up. But tell me, why the secrecy? Why can't you share what's happening? Jin-Man usually keeps me in the loop when a mission comes up.”

Despite your persistent questioning, Honda remained resolute, his face as unreadable as a closed book. He gently loosened your grip on his arm. "Stop nagging me like Mama would. I can't divulge any details. It's not safe. But I need to go. Jin-Man needs me. Don’t you have any government sites to hack? Or do you plan on crashing our systems again?"

"Stop it, douchebag. You're being reckless. We need to tread with caution, especially now more than ever. You know that. And that was not my fault; their security was just… upgraded."

However, he simply shook his head as he smiled at your pout, pulling you into a warm embrace. The cold, hard metal of his brass knuckles, concealed in his pocket, pressed against your side. A chilling reminder of the danger that lay ahead. Yet you refrained from voicing your fears, choosing instead to hold him tight, the rhythm of your heartbeats synchronizing.

"Alright," you conceded, swallowing your protests, "at least take some food with you." Gesturing towards a Tupperware container on the table, filled with steaming eggs and a side of kimchi jeon—both staple dishes in your shared meals.

His eyes softened at your concern, and he took the offered container, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead before making his way towards the entrance.

As he neared the door, a rush of childhood memories invaded your mind. Sometimes you stayed up late whispering secrets under the covers; sometimes you felt his pain even when he was miles away, and sometimes you both fell off your bikes and ended up in the emergency room with scraped knees. They dubbed it the twin instinct, but to you, it was a lifeline, a warning system that alerted you when Honda was in danger.

"Honda, wait!" You called out, your voice echoing off the creaking wooden floorboards. 

The desperation in your plea stirred Gunpowder from her sleep, her tail twitching softly against the worn-out rug as though caught in a dream of chasing unseen mice. Honda turned, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes questioning in the pale afternoon light filtering through the gaps in the old blinds.

A knot of guilt twisted in the pit of your stomach, threatening to crawl out through your lips and fill the room with its bitter taste.

The two of you were caught in a moment where petty bickering had canceled all the plans you had carefully added to your shared agenda. Your hands, once intertwined in unity, had become unglued from one another, your fingers now tangled in the strands of hair sprouting from your head. The hateful words you once spat at each other—words that had plunged through the gaps of your milk teeth—had turned into a somber reality. It suddenly seemed oddly appealing to consider dying in order to keep him around.

"I...I love you, brother," you admitted, the words feeling foreign yet so right. It was something you should have said a long time ago, after your parents' deaths, when it was just the two of you against the world. But you had always been afraid—afraid that admitting your fears would make them real.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, an unspoken understanding passing between you two. "I love you too, sis," he signed before stepping out into the afternoon, leaving you in the silence of the empty apartment.

While life in the apartment carried on around you—the stove still burning, the TV blaring the evening news, Gunpowder curling around your ankles, licking your calves—you felt tears springing up in your eyes as your thoughts raced.

Come home, Honda. Come home and tell me everything about your day, from the way the sun glinted off the skyscrapers to the way the coffee tasted at your favorite café. Come home and argue with me again, about trivial things like who left the lights on or whose turn it was to do the dishes. Slam your bedroom door like you used to when we were teenagers and stomp around the house in Dad's old boots.

Come home and laugh with me, share those terrible inside jokes that only we understand. Handle your knife in the wrong way, the way you used to when you're not on a mission, when you're just my brother and not a covert operative. 

Come home and hold me again while I cry in your lap about the girls and boys that shattered my heart. Come home to fix the TV you always mess up with those greasy fingers of yours, leaving stains on the remote.

Scream at me if you need to; let out all that pent-up frustration that I know you keep bottled up inside. 

Come home and tell me how you always manage to burn the pasta, making it stick to the pots. Come home and let me nag about your messiness, about the dirty socks you always leave on the floor and about the dishes in the sink. 

But most importantly:

“Come home safe. Come home to me, Honda. Please."

2 months later

Late afternoon light filtered through the window, casting elongated, capering shadows across the glossy surface of your living room's hardwood floor.

Finally, after a whole day cleaning the place and trying to make it more child friendly, you were curled up in the embrace of the vintage couch and a soft, threadbare blanket, a relic from your childhood, was wrapped snugly around you, providing a comforting barrier against the creeping chill.

You idly stroked Gunpowder, who was as much a part of the family as any human member. Her fur was coarse, yet soothing under your fingertips.

Gunpowder was the only other living being that missed Honda as much as you did; her amber eyes held a profound sadness that echoed your own. You were grateful that Jin-Man let you take her from the animal shelter.

She didn't deserve to be alone, not when she had already lost so much.

With the monochrome scenes flickering against the brick wall, the contemporary television set in the room's corner was showing Casablanca.

Nonetheless, your mind was elsewhere, lost in a world of thought, meandering through a labyrinth of candid memories as your eyes were glued to the window, drinking in the expanse of the verdant family farm outside.

In your hands was your favorite cat mug, the one with the chipped ear and faded paint, a sentimental relic from your college days.

It was unusually quiet, the usual cacophony of farm life replaced by the relentless drumming of rain.

Not only was Ji-An nowhere to be seen, but Jin-Man's rusty truck had vanished from its customary location beside the red barn.

A glance at the old, ticking clock hanging on the wall—16:00, way past the time Ji-An usually got home from school—made your anxiety spike.

Just as you were about to pull on your trusty yellow raincoat to go look for her, you saw Jin-Man's truck pulling up the gravel driveway. He got out of the truck, his jacket hanging haphazardly off his broad shoulders, and his jaw clenched in a way that set off alarm bells in your head.

You quickly signed , "Hey! Old man! Good afternoon to you too! Where's Ji-An?" as he stomped past you, heading straight to his office. But he didn't answer; he didn't even spare you a glance.

Following him, you tried to make sense of what was happening, but he closed the office door right in your face. You were left standing there, frustration bubbling up inside you, a sense of foreboding making your heart pound in your chest.

As you paced around the living room, worry gnawing at you, the front door creaked open. Your heart leapt at the sound, and you turned around, expecting to see Ji-An, safe and sound.

But what you saw made your heart drop.

Ji-An walked in, soaked to the bone and covered in mud, carrying her pink backpack—the one her mother had bought for her last Christmas. Her uniform was clinging to her small frame, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she didn't make a sound. Not a sob, not a whimper.

Seeing her, you rushed over, dropping onto your knees to be at her level. "Ji-An, sweetheart, what happened? Why didn't you come home with Uncle Jin-Man?" you asked. A flutter of panic seized you as she remained silent, her eyes downcast. "Did something happen at school? You can tell me. I'm here for you."

“I need a bath, Noona. I don't want to talk about it right now. Is that okay?”

You looked at her for a long moment, the sight of her shivering form causing a lump to form in your throat. Her hair, previously neatly braided, was now a mess; the ties you had made for her earlier that morning were nowhere to be found.

"Yeah… Of course, baby," you reassured her, offering a weak smile.

With a sigh, you slowly rose to your feet and gently took her hand, leading her to the bedroom. You could feel her fingers tremble slightly in your grasp, her small hand cold and damp from the rain.

You then went to the bathroom to prepare a warm bath for her. You quickly grabbed a fresh set of clothes for her—a soft purple cotton t-shirt and a pair of comfortable cartoon pants that had cute little teddy bears printed on them. You placed them neatly on the bathroom counter, within her reach.

Once the bathtub was filled with warm water and a generous amount of bubble bath, you helped her undress the wet clothes sticking to her skin. 

While Ji-An enjoyed her warm bath, Gunpowder sat in front of the bathtub. Her amber eyes were focused on the bubbles, her tail twitching with curiosity. Every now and then, she would bat at a stray bubble, her paw slicing through the air with a fluid motion as if it were a game.

With Ji-An safely in the bath and the clothes inside the washing machine, you then went to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. Using cookie cutters, you shaped the food into fun shapes—a star-shaped sandwich, fruit cut into the shape of animals, a bowl of soup with alphabet pasta. You even managed to make a small salad; the vegetables were bright and colorful. It was a small gesture, but you hoped it would bring a smile to Ji-An's face.

Throughout the days you've been living in this place, you've tried countless times to make Jin-Man and Ji-An eat at the same place, to share a meal like a family. But Jin-Man always avoided you and Ji-An like you were viruses, always eating small things before burying himself on the couch while watching movies all alone or in his office working with Pasin. It was frustrating to see the distance between them, but then again, it wasn't your job to force conversations and lovey dovey moments.

Once the food was ready, you set the table and then sat down in front of Ji-An, waiting for her to finish her bath. She emerged a while later, her hair damp and her cheeks flushed from the warm water.

Gunpowder, having finished her bubble play, twined around Ji-An’s legs as the child sat at the table. You both sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the gentle hum of the washing machine and the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.

Then, to your surprise, Ji-An was the one to break the silence.

"Today, I waited for Uncle Jin-Man to come and pick me up from school. But he was late, and it started to rain. I decided to walk home instead."

You watched as she continued to sign, her hands moving with a quiet determination. " I was walking in the rain when I saw Uncle Jin-Man's truck. He slowed down, but I didn't want to get in. I was upset with him. So, I continued to walk, even though it was raining hard. Uncle Jin-Man stopped and waited for me to get in, but I didn't."

“I wanted him to come out and apologize, to tell me he was sorry for being late. But he just accelerated and went away. I was so angry, Noona. I wanted him to understand how I felt and how it felt to be forgotten."  

"It's okay, baby. It's okay to feel upset. But remember, your uncle loves you very much. Sometimes, adults make mistakes too."

Shortly after dinner, you decided it was time for Ji-An to learn a new task: cleaning the dishes.

Filling the sink with warm, sudsy water, you showed her how to hold the scrub brush and guided her hand to clean the surface of the plates with gentle but firm strokes. You made sure she understood the importance of removing all leftover bits of food and how to rinse each dish thoroughly under the running water.

"Remember, Ji-An, cleaning is also a part of cooking. Once you're done eating, always make sure to clean up after yourself. It's not just about keeping your area clean, but also about respecting the people who will use the kitchen after you. See, we're not just cleaning up our mess; we're also preparing a clean space for the next person, " you signed, watching as she absorbed your words and continued washing the plates carefully under your watchful eye.

When you were done and completed with the task, you noticed that the sky had completely darkened, the bright hues of the day replaced by the deep blues and blacks of night. You gently dried Ji-An's small, pruney hands with a plush, soft towel and led her towards her bedroom. The room was bathed in the warm, cozy hue from the night lamp sitting on her bedside table, casting playful shadows that danced on the walls.

You tucked her into her bed. The fluffy comforter was pulled up to her chin, and you couldn't help but laugh at the way Gunpowder jumped onto her lap, purring contently.

"Noona," she signed, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light, reflecting the soft glow of the night lamp. "Can you tell me a bedtime story? "

"Of course, sweetheart. Do you have any particular story in mind?" You asked, settling yourself comfortably at the edge of her bed, your hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"No, you choose, " she shrugged, her small body snuggling deeper into the warm covers.

You mulled over her request for a moment, your mind flipping through the pages of the countless stories you knew. Finally, one came to your mind. "There's a sad yet beautiful story from my hometown about two squirrels. They were mates—lovers for life and the town's favorite pair of animals. They were seen everywhere together, always chattering away in their own language, their tails intertwined. "

With each word, you painted a vivid picture of their life together. You told her about the female squirrel's illness and the male's devotion and his refusal to leave her side even in search of food.

As you narrated, you noticed Ji-An's eyes welling up with a faraway look. She interrupted you multiple times. "Why didn't the male squirrel eat?" "Why didn't he find another mate? " "Do all squirrels do this? "

You answered each question patiently, explaining the depth of the squirrel's love and the depth of his grief. You told her about how the male squirrel mourned for his mate, returning to their empty nest alone each year.

As you reached the end of the story, you noticed Ji-An's eyes growing heavy. Her questions became fewer and farther between, her chest moving slower until she slept. Still, she was twitching ever so slightly, hands closed and then jerking open in a rhythmic pattern that spoke volumes.

In an attempt to provide some comfort, you laid down next to her, being careful not to jostle her too much. You wrapped your arm around her small form, pulling her closer to your warmth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of yellow and red. The hyena. It was lurking in the corner of the room, its eyes gleaming malevolently in the dim light, eager to haunt you too. You didn't even turn to look at it. It was there, but it wasn't real. You knew it.

"Goodnight, Ji-An," you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead, placing her bunny toy in the place where you'd been seconds before. "Sleep tight, sweetheart," you added, stroking her hair soothingly. "Noona's here. You're safe."

You switched off the night lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

As you left her room, you closed the door gently behind you, leaving the hyena and the remnants of your past locked away.

Easing back into the worn porch chair, the fabric of Jin-Man's purloined shirt fluttered against your skin in the cool night breeze. A stolen moment of solitude, with nothing but a half-burnt cigarette for company. 

The embers at the tip flickered, casting an eerie glow in the darkness. Drawing the cigarette to your lips, you inhaled, letting the sharp tang of nicotine coil around your senses and momentarily dull your worries. 

Eyes shut, you allowed your thoughts to drift to the intricate web of coding and changes you had to make in Murthehelp.

The only sounds were the distant hum of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves under the night sky's vast expanse. Yet, this tranquility was abruptly shattered by the encroaching sound of hushed footsteps gradually growing louder. Your eyes fluttered open to see Jin-Man standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the cigarette nestled between your fingers with a look of distaste as if you had the devil's hands between your lips.

A chuckle escaped you; the sight of Jin-Man, usually so composed, visibly irked by the cigarette, was enough to momentarily diffuse the tension. "Insomnia again?" you asked, flicking the ash off the cigarette with your thumb.

His hardened gaze didn't waver as he retorted, "I was waiting for you to come to bed."

You shrugged nonchalantly. Since your suicide attempt, Jin-Man has taken it upon himself to keep a watchful eye on you. The concept of solitary sleep had become foreign to both of you.

“What's eating at you?" he asked, his gaze softening slightly.

"Why did you abandon Ji-An at school?" 

"I got tied up and lost track of time," he replied, but his excuse fell on deaf ears. You scoffed at his words, well aware of the truth. He hadn't forgotten; he probably thought leaving Ji-An to trek home on her own would toughen her up.

"That's a load of crap, and you know it," you retorted, stomping out the cigarette under your feet. "Do you think making her walk home alone in the rain is going to make her stronger? Is that your grand plan?"

His silence was a response in itself, resonating in the quiet night air louder than any words.

"You are unbelievable, Jin-Man," you muttered. The scent of fresh paint and pine filled the air. It was a far cry from the gunpowder and blood that once filled your memory. But you couldn't help but crave it sometimes, even if it meant pain. Pain meant life; it meant survival. "You keep pushing her away relentlessly, like a stubborn child refusing his vegetables. You're so preoccupied with making her tough and resilient that you forget she's just a child. She needs your love and your understanding. You forget that she can't even communicate normally and that her aphasia is only getting worse! You don't even let me talk with her teacher, and don't pretend I don't know about the bullying she's enduring at school! We're not in Babylon , Jin-Man! We're in a small town where everyone knows everyone else. For heaven's sake, grow up!”

He retorted, his voice sharp as a blade, slicing through the heavy silence. “You should be more concerned with managing your own aphasia and PTSD. Ji-An’s not your responsibility. She's not related to you by blood. Drop this saintly act of playing mom. We're not her parents. This isn't a dollhouse and we're not Ken and Barbie.”

"Act? I kept Ji-An alive after her parents died! I trained her to communicate again! And even though it's hard, I've made her eat properly and taught her how to brush her teeth and do her homework again! I've been here for her every step of the way! You just... sit in your office or hide in your room!"

His jaw clenched tightly before he spoke again. "You think that's all it takes? Just feeding her and teaching her sign language?" He spat out angrily. The tip of his tongue traced his bottom lip as he continued speaking harshly, "It's not enough! She needs discipline! She needs structure!"

You shook your head violently. "She has enough structure! She needs us, Jin-Man! She needs our support, our guidance. She doesn't need a soldier; she needs a parent!" 

His face tightened, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. 

"Are you that afraid to care for someone, that afraid to love again? Are you hiding behind your uniform, your duties because you're too scared to face your own feelings?"

"Don't play with fire. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do! And do you think Jin-Suk would like to see his daughter being trained as a warrior rather than growing up as a normal girl?" you challenged, your voice echoing with the strength of your belief.

The mention of his brother struck a nerve. A flash of anger crossed his stony features, and before you knew it, he was charging at you like a wild animal. 

Suddenly, Jin-Man's hands shot out, pushing you roughly against the wall. Your back slammed into the gnarled wooden planks, the splintered texture scratching against your skin. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through your spine, causing you to gasp as the wind was knocked out of your lungs.

"Why are you doing this, Jin-Man?" 

In response, his large, calloused hands wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip, cutting off your airway. His fingers pressed against the delicate skin of your neck, the strength in his hands threatening to crush your windpipe. It felt like you were sinking into an abyss, the darkness of his rage engulfing you, making it impossible to breathe.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to pry them off. But his grip was unyielding; his hands felt like iron bands around your neck, tightening with every second that passed. As you gasped for breath, your vision started to spin, the edges blurring as black spots danced in front of your eyes. Your lungs felt like they were on fire, screaming for air.

Panic surged within you, a tidal wave that threatened to consume you. Time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity as you struggled to draw breath.

Finally, his grip loosened just slightly, allowing a sliver of oxygen to rush into your lungs. You gasped; the taste of air was like ambrosia—sweet and life-giving. Coughs racked your body as you struggled to regain control over your breathing, your throat raw and your chest heaving. The salty tang of tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision.

But you refused to back down, to give in to the fear. You locked eyes with him, defiance burning in your gaze. "Go ahead, Jin-Man, continue," you spat out, your voice raspy from the assault. "Kill me. But know this: my death won't change the truth.”

“Jesus, you're so weak, girl.”

A chuckle found its way through your bruised vocal chords. “Yeah? Wanna see who's weak then?”

Summoning every iota of your willpower, you retaliated against his suffocating hold. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin as you strained against his formidable strength. 

After a fierce and desperate struggle, your adrenaline-fueled power seemed to catch him off guard. With a sudden explosive kick, you managed to wrench yourself free, pushing him violently away from you.

Caught off balance, Jin-Man stumbled backwards. His feet skidded across the wooden floorboards, and his body crashed into the pot of vibrant lilies you had carefully chosen from the local market to adorn the porch. The pot shattered on impact, fragments of terracotta scattering across the floor, intermingling with the uprooted flowers and loose soil.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the brutalized lilies and the quiet patter of dirt falling onto the floor. But inside? Inside of you, the hyenas laughter echoed through your mind, mocking you for getting what you deserved—too used to chaos and violence.

The sight of the destruction seemed to snap Jin-Man out of his rage-induced stupor, his furious gaze softening as he took in the aftermath of your altercation.

"I'm done," you said, breaking the silence. "I'm done with this, Jin-Man. I'm done with your anger, your stubbornness, and your refusal to let anyone in. I'm done with the constant battles, the endless wars. I'm grabbing my stuff and leaving."

“Y/N…” He trailed off as he grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you around to face him. Your bodies were just inches apart now, his breath hot on your cheek as he pleaded silently.

“Don’t. Just shut your mouth and let me go. I'm not your Barbie, right?” Each word was punctuated by the bitter taste of blood as you absentmindedly touched your raw throat.

“You can't sleep alone.”

“I'll manage.”

“You can't remember when you last ate.”

"I'll set a reminder.”

"You can't drive without crying."

"I'll get a taxi."

"Ji-An needs you."

I need you.

"She needs you more."

"And you, Jin-Man," you added, the sting of your words sobering the air. "You need to realize that before it's too late."

----------------

April 3:

"Are you serious? Did I actually have to buy another chip to send you messages? You know, the store owner looked at me like I was crazy."

1 missed call from Ahjusshi

April 5:

"Ji-An keeps asking for you. She asked me to tell her the story about the couple of squirrels. You know, the one about their endless love and devotion."

2 missed calls from Jeong

April 7:

"Pasin showed me the link to the site. It's pretty quick and easy to access. Even an old man like me can make requests for guns, right? Technology these days, eh?"

April 11:

"She asked me to put on Casablanca. It's one of your favorites, right? I remember Honda telling me that you're addicted to Hollywood classics.”

“Gunpowder keeps sleeping on your side of the bed. I hate it.”

3 missed calls from Jeong Jin-Man, son of a bitch

April 22:

"I have a mission for you. It's critical and requires your skills."

"Can you come home so that we can discuss the details? There's something about it I can't trust in a message."

8 missed calls from the son of a bitch

“I guess I will ask So Min-Hye to replace you then. I know you wouldn't want that."

May 7:

“Ji-An's teacher told me that you visited her today. Did you really make two boys eat dirt by grabbing her money?”

“I could've helped.”

May 9:

“Went to the market today and heard Kyung Soo say that you're a good kisser. I had to stop myself from laughing."

“I heard from the locals that he went to the hospital after being knocked out. Strange, right? Or should I say, expected?"

May 16:

"Gunpowder brought a dead bird into the house. I think she's trying to replace you as the hunter of the family."

May 21:

"I saw a girl at the market wearing a dress you would like. It had sunflowers all over it. Made me think of you."

"She was about your age, too. For a moment, I thought it was you ."

-------

As Jin-Man speeds in the direction of Ji-An's school, his heart pounds against his ribs like a war drum. His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his forehead slick with beads of sweat. He curses himself silently, berating his own negligence.

How could he have not noticed that Ji-An hadn't come home?

The typical view of the small city blurs past him, the houses and trees merging into a hasty collage of colors under the evening gloom. The town's bakery, the park where the children play, and the old library all blur into indistinguishable shadows. But he barely registers any of it. His mind is filled with vivid images of you screaming at him for this oversight.

He imagines your small fists beating at his chest, your eyes—those captivating eyes that he secretly admired—flaring with anger and worry. 

“How could you forget her again , Jin-Man? She's just a child!"

The guilt, like a ravenous beast, gnaws at him, driving him to press the pedal harder. The old engine protests, its roar echoing through the tranquil evening. 

Suddenly, he remembers his phone.

Snatching it from the passenger seat, he dials your number hastily. The line rings once, twice, thrice, but there's no answer. He fumbles to leave a voicemail, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks into the device. "Hey, I… messed up. Ji-An... I… Just call me back.”

The voicemail ends with a beep, leaving Jin-Man alone with his thoughts and the eerie silence of the empty road. He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat, his eyes never leaving the road.

Nearing the school, his eyes flicked to the digital clock on the dashboard—it read 19:00, the hour when the last echoes of childhood laughter usually fade away. But now, the school grounds were eerily silent and deserted, a stark contrast to the daytime symphony of playful shouts and laughter. The playground, usually a vibrant hub of activity, was painted with somber shades, the swings swaying lightly in the breeze, their squeaky chains the only sound piercing the silence.

As he swung into the school's parking lot, a small figure suddenly sprang from the shadows, frantically waving his arms. 

A boy was shouting, his voice hoarse and strained, as he pointed towards the grimy basement door at the rear of the school building. "She's locked there!"

Without a second thought, Jin-Man abandons his car, leaving the engine running as he sprints towards the basement door. The door is locked, but within, he can hear Ji-An's voice, her pleas echoing through the desolate night. 

"Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man!" she is calling, her voice scratchy and strained, likely from the first use of her vocal cords in months.

Frantically, he scans his surroundings. His eyes land on a fire safety box nearby. Inside, he spots a hammer. 

With no time to spare, he smashes the box, glass shards raining onto the worn-out asphalt. He grabs the hammer, using it to break the rusted chains and unlock the door. 

In a final heave, he throws the door open, revealing Ji-An inside. Her cheeks were flushed red from crying and her eyes were brimming with a mix of relief and fear.

She doesn't waste any time rushing at him, her small fists pounding against his chest. He doesn't move; he doesn't try to stop her. She's screaming at him, her words punctuated by her furious hits: "Why did you take so long? You promised you were coming back soon! Why did you arrive so late? Why did you let her go? Why did you let Noona go? Why? Why?"

He could only look at her, absorbing her words and feeling each syllable like a physical blow. Her pain, her anger, and her confusion were all directed at him. 

Then he did the only thing he could think of—the only thing he thought you would have done in this situation. 

He pulled her into a tight, protective hug.

For minutes, he doesn't say a word until he grabs her, holding her close.

Turning to the boy, he nods, "I'll give you a ride home."

The journey to the kid’s home was silent, save for the muted hum of the car's engine and the occasional rustle of cloth against leather. 

Ji-An was huddled against the passenger seat, her body trembling slightly. Noticing this, he pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her small frame in the same way he did for you.

After dropping the boy off and Ji-An finally falling asleep, he drives aimlessly. The city lights flicker past in a hazy blur, their glow casting fleeting shadows on his face. He thinks of you—your laughter, your anger, and your determination. It's strange, he thinks, how the absence of someone can fill a room, a house, or a life.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone.

Glancing at the screen, he sees your name flashing. He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the decline button. 

But then he remembers how things used to be and how it felt to hear your voice without the weight of regret and guilt. He misses when your name didn't make his chest ache, when it was just a name he heard now and then but held no significance to him.

He yearns for the days when he didn't know you, when his eyes didn't instinctively scan every room he entered in hopes of finding you there. He misses the sight of you standing among strangers, wearing that ridiculous skirt he used to tease you about but now finds himself missing.

He finds himself longing for the mundane details. How you'd take off your shoes at the front door, placing your keys with care in the small glass bowl on the corner of the kitchen counter. How you'd drape your coat over the back of a dining room chair, your socks left at the foot of the bed next to the sleeping cat.

He misses holding back your hair as you succumb to the side effects of your PTSD pills, your body rejecting the chemicals meant to help you cope. He yearns for the times when you would climb under the white blankets with him, forcefully opening his arms to encase you between them.

He misses how you would place your legs on top of his and let your hands wander to his waist and chest. He misses hearing you say, "I missed you," telling him about your day as you would slowly drift off to sleep. And he longs for the times he would secretly kiss your cheek softly before he inevitably had to leave you for work.

He misses when you were simply strangers—not two people who act like strangers in public but once knew each other better than they ever knew themselves. He misses the simplicity of those days and the innocence of not knowing what it felt like to lose you.

Because, in the end, when the lights are off and his eyes flutter shut, the back of his mind always whispers your name, calling out to you like you are the only place he was ever meant to call home .

When he finally decided to answer the call, he placed the phone on the dashboard, the worn leather creaking under the weight. He switched to speaker mode, the familiar chime filling the small space of the car. 

"Hello?"

Tinny and distant over the phone speaker, you responded almost immediately. "You left a voicemail. What happened?" In the background, he could hear the faint, unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking open and the soft hiss of a cigarette being lit.

"Your voice sounds rough," he commented, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. "How many days have you been communicating only with sign language?"

"Shut up, motherfucker. What about Ji-An?”

"I…" he started, faltering. The words he needed to say were stuck in his throat, like a bitter pill he couldn't swallow.

“Look, Ji-Man. I have nothing to do with you anymore. I’m calling you back because you sounded like a wounded little bitch and you said her name. Drop the show and spit it out.”

“I failed again, okay?" The confession spilled out of him, the words tasting like defeat. But he couldn't stop there; he had to finish what he started. "But, look, Ji-An spoke.”

He could almost hear your sharp intake of breath and the sound of the cigarette being hastily put out in the background. There was a long, drawn-out silence, the kind of silence that spoke volumes. He could imagine your surprise—the way your eyes would widen slightly, the lit cigarette forgotten in your hand. But when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, filled with a strange mix of relief and trepidation.

"She spoke?"

"Yes. She called out to me. She used her voice, and she spoke."

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that everything is okay between us," he continued, his voice gruff, "But I'm also not going to pretend that we don't have a shared past. One that involves a little girl who misses you."

"You're such a bastard. You know how to manipulate me using her," you snapped, the sound of a chair creaking in the background signaling your agitation.

"Maybe, but it doesn't change the fact that Ji-An misses you. And you miss her too, don't you?"

A silence followed his words—not an uncomfortable one, but a silence filled with unspoken words and a shared history. And then you sighed, a deep, heavy sigh that echoed with the weight of your unspoken thoughts.

"I do miss her. But you, Jeong Jin-Man, are a pain in my ass.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at your words. "I've been told that before."

"I'm sure you have."

Another silence filled the line, comfortable yet heavy with years of shared experiences.

"By the way," he added, his voice softer now, "the key is still under the cat statue you put by the front door. You can drop by anytime."

"I'll think about it. But don't expect me to come running back, Jin-Man. We're not the same people we used to be."

"I know. But we're still us, aren't we?"

"We're something ," you admitted, a sigh slipping past your lips. "But I don't know what that is anymore."

"Neither do I. But maybe we can figure it out together, old lady."

"Old lady?" you scoffed, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Coming from a man who's 10 years older than me."

"Years are still years," he teased, a smile playing on his lips. "But whatever we are, Y/N, whatever we become, you're still… something to me. And so is Ji-An. Remember that."

"I will. I will, Ahjusshi."