#i think even if they were withering away when he steps into the room - the flowers would start blooming magically.

[hyunpic]

2021 / 2024

[thekinslayed]

The Way to a Man's Heart

summary | In which Aemond's new wife earns his affections through her care for his niece.

pairing | king!aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | fluff, KING AEMOND HEHE, slight angst, arrange marriage, allusions to trauma, aemond is the dad that stepped UP! contains some spoilers for f&b

wordcount | 3.6k

note | back with some king aemond, but something sweeter this time :) idk music terms so apologies for anything that i might get wrong!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Aren’t you hungry, Jaehaera?”

It’s become ubiquitous for Aemond to be met with silence. It was rather frowned upon to act in such a way in the face of the new king, but His Grace has found that his niece was inadvertently exempt from standard.

She had refused her meals again. Since the war’s end, Helaena’s girl had reclused into the lonely solace of her mind. It reminded him too much of his fallen sister, with their faraway gazes and cryptic whispers. Jaehaera, once bubbly and exuberant with the blissful hum of youth, grew weary, burdened by matters no young girl should ever be subject to. The shift in her behavior raised much concern from her Septa that there were no other means but to call upon her uncle in hopes of a way to get through to her. Aemond would never say it out loud, but such efforts would be futile. 

Despite being the only connection left tethered by blood, the one-eyed king couldn’t be at a greater length to his niece’s reach. He used to be a prominent figure in her life, back when war hadn’t taken what they didn’t wish to give. Aemond loved being around his sister’s babes. He relished in helping them take their first steps and watch their lives take shape. 

Perhaps it’s guilt that stopped him from reaching out to her. His hands were all bloodied and bruised, porcelain flesh all torn up from fighting his way to get to the throne. His ambition cost him much, and now he has seen that it cost her too. No mother to keep her close to her bosom, no father to carry her on his shoulders, no brothers to tumble around with. He had done this to her.

“Jaehaera?” he tried again.

It would take a lifetime and more to atone for how he has wronged her. He would have to weep on his knees if it meant she would grant him the undeserved forgiveness. If she ever turned her face to look at him, that is. She would stare out the window, always so deep in thought, unacknowledging of the man sat across the dinner table. Much like Helaena, in a sense.

Her plate, bountiful with colorful bites of meat and greens, grew colder with the air in the room. She hadn’t eaten in two days, the last time being only a few reluctant nibbles of cheese during her customs. It left Aemond wary with an apprehension he hadn’t so much felt even in battle. It had him frightened. 

Watching his mother wither away had done something to his once stone-dry heart. They hadn’t seen eye to eye long before then, with their contest for power when Aegon lay burnt severing any warmth their bond once had. Alicent’s last years were spent in darkness, with nothing but ghosts to keep her company. The fever that took her was a mercy, Aemond would like to think. He couldn’t let the same happen to the young girl, now nine, before him. Yet, he was clueless. The king, in all his razor-sharp wit and dexterous intelligence, was at a loss. He’d never felt more helpless sitting there at the opposite end of the dinner table, separated by a distance ever-growing by the day.

Being queen was rather lonesome. You were left on your own most days, free to wander around the halls and indulge in whatever pursuit filled up time in your day. You didn’t see your husband much, and if you did it was only at court or by the occasional call of duty to his chambers. This didn’t surprise you really, it was not as if your marriage was borne out of romance after all. Rather, done so to appease the growing questions about the fragility of his position with his rise to power. 

It could be worse. He could be cruel, either with his hand or his tongue, but he was none of those things. You wondered whether it was only because he hadn’t had the chance to be.

Perhaps, you could say he was kind; gracious enough to grant the wants and the needs you voiced through his staff if it meant he had one less person to worry about. The king was an enigma, a passing shadow in the halls you were only granted a glimpse of now and then. 

It wasn’t for a lack of trying on your end. You had attempted in those spare moments you had with him, had dared to get through the impregnable wall of his character, all to no avail. His priorities simply lay in the crown, not in small talk and hopeful glances.

With another day left to dwell on matters out of your reach, you’d taken to establish a routine of your activities. In the mornings, an hour or two of prayer after your meals, then entertaining your ladies-in-waiting in your solar until you tire of wanting for company. The latter part of your days were spent alone, a welcome solitude after constantly being attended to. You would paint, or read, or embroider, though sitting down with your harp would be the most enjoyable of all.

You had brought your lovely carved instrument to the capital when you wed, a piece of home brought with you into a foreign court. A room at the end of the hall was bestowed upon you dedicated to your music playing, conveniently placed at the end of the hall and away from your husband’s apartments. 

Your fingers never tire of strumming tune after tune. It was the greatest pleasure in your young life to be able to procure sweet melodies ever since you were a girl. Music filled you with something bright, something alive. You could close your eyes, lean on your harp and nothing else would matter. The scriptures would describe devout faith as the means to unlocking a divine state of being, an otherworldly form where one was light as air. You would argue that music served the same purpose.

It was easy to get lost in it all. The hours would effortlessly pass you by and nightfall would greet you when you floated back to the ground. You would have to be reminded of supper sometimes, or if the king required your presence in his bedchamber. However, there was less of that these days. 

Thus, it came as a surprise when one day, while finishing up the tail end of the song of Alysanne, you found a pair of amethyst eyes watching you from the open door of your music room. Jaehaera stood there with a hand on the doorknob, curiosity evident in her face.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning to the young princess at your door with a soft smile. “Hello, princess.”

Not a word was uttered from Jaehaera’s lips, merely staring at you with those bright violet hues that shone in the late afternoon sun. You hadn’t spent much time with her, much to your regret. The king, a scholar partial to the importance of academics, had her busied with lessons from both the septa and the maester. The growing concerns about the princess’ well-being reached your ears in hushed whispers, as did the efforts of your husband to care for her fragility.

“I wasn’t too loud, was I?” you quipped lightheartedly, tilting your head in hopes of spurring a reaction from the quiet girl. Her response came in the form of a shake of the head; you figured that was a start. She seemed to be without her septa, nor her handmaiden, only the armor-clad Kingsguard standing tall behind her smaller form. Your eyes flickered to the knight, stating the princess would be under your care, and nodding to him as the door closed shut. “Come,” you beckoned.

She approached you with small, unsure steps until she stood an arm’s length away. You watched as she eyed the instrument with an inquisitive gaze, and you wondered if the Targaryens ever expressed interest in diverting affairs like music. With the look on Jaehaera’s face at the foreign object, you figured not. “Have you ever played the harp before?” you asked, earning another shake of the head, wispy silver tresses swaying with movement. “No?” She fidgeted on her feet, small hands absentmindedly playing with the gold embroidery on her skirts. Her eyes displayed the intrigue her lips would not voice, and it spurned a twinge in your chest. “Would you like to try?” you offered, which made her eyes flicker to look at you for the first.

“I do not know how,” she said unsurely, voice small and meek. You were delighted to hear her speak, ever more encouraged to become familiar with the young princess.

“Tis rather simple! Here, try this,” you suggested, tugging on one of the strings for her to follow. She approached the carved wood, pulling the thin hair with less sureness than you did. It visibly vibrated as Jaehaera let go, a low chord flittering through the room. You held onto the harp as the young princess, interest now fully piqued, tugged on another string, now a higher tone. “It sounds different, doesn’t it?” 

You let her pull on the strings as she liked, merely holding the instrument steady while you watched her with a smile. You had half a mind to pull her into your lap and hold her close as if she were your own, but that would be too forward. She had gone through much, been made subject to brutalities at the hands of barbaric adults that made your heart quiver at the thought of such an innocent soul going through all of it. Though your womb remained childless, you’ve always wished for children of your own. Granted, you assumed you would not be blessed with a babe any time soon if the lessening instances you and your husband tried to procreate were anything to go by, but the maternal urges in your budding heart grew in the presence of the girl. You wished to care for her if she would let you.

“Would you like to learn how to play a song, sweetling? Your favorite one perhaps,” you suggested. Her eyes brightened at your offer, eagerly taking a place on your bench when you scooted over for her to sit. Flowers of Spring, she told you. A rather elaborate song to perform for someone having never played, though you figured you could teach her the simple way of creating the melody.

You shifted to let the harp lean between the both of you, taking the weight on your leg lest it became too heavy for her. Jaehaera looked so small beneath the large instrument, her arms not lengthy enough to reach the last few strings. You watched with vivid amusement at her instantaneous shift in focusing on following which stings you tugged on. Her silver, almost white, brows furrowed when she would make the wrong note, a huff of frustration escaping her nose.

“It’s alright, just try again,” you comforted her softly. There was no real melody yet, merely a few notes played carefully in the right order, but her dedication was quite stellar. It reminded you of yourself in your girlhood, when you would escape from your own lessons with the septa in your home just to play your harp. Suffering your father’s ire was a welcome consequence if it meant you could escape the present world for a moment.

A knock on your door interrupted your impromptu tutoring, gathering both your attention. The grand oak opened to reveal your handmaiden carrying a steaming pot of tea, followed by another young servant with a tray full of teacakes and pastries. “Your afternoon tea, my queen,” she said, greeting you with a curtsy. You caught the way Jaehaera’s bright purple hues followed the sight of fresh treats, quietly observing as the table was prepared for your enjoyment. If what you heard from the maester was anything to go by, you knew the young girl was starved.

“Shall we take a break for a moment, Jaehaera? I often find myself rather famished after a bit of playing. Don’t you feel the same?” you asked, earning another meek nod from the girl. You soon found yourselves sitting by the open balcony, preparing the young princess a plate. With every bite she took, the more she spoke. Words flowed out of her crumb-lined lips, telling of anything that came to mind— her lessons, her dragon, even the dreams she would have of her mother. It was evident how much she had longed to have a listening ear, jumping from topic to topic without finishing the last, and so, you listened.

“What do you mean no one has seen her? How could you imbeciles lose a young girl?!” 

Aemond’s head was already throbbing hard enough from the tedious council meeting that took up the better part of his afternoon. What made it worse was the news that greeted him the moment he exited the small council chamber. Jaehaera was nowhere to be found, having slipped away from her afternoon customs at the library to gods know where. An instant panic settled into a chill in his spine, the memory of hearing of his sister’s peril taunting him in the back of his mind. He took slow, deep breaths, willing himself to calm. 

He couldn’t think this way. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Aemond had promised Helaena that her girl would be protected under his care. He can’t fail her again.

Both Jaehaera’s septa and handmaiden quivered under the king’s deathly glare, heads bowed in fear of meeting his eye. “The princess was to take her lessons, Your Grace, though a matter requiring my attention with the maester had my arrival delayed, and when I arrived… s-she was not in the library.” Exasperated, Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose. The thumping in his temples only worsened at such incompetence. 

“Her guard, where is he?”

The silence that greeted him made his hand itch to draw his sword to cut their heads off right then and there, but the arrival of a squire stopped him before he gave in to his violent urges. “My king,” he bowed. “The queen has offered her invitation for supper in her apartments.”

Gods, you sure had your timing. He waved his hand off in an angry dismissal, resolve now cluttered at what to do first. Your sudden invitation was rather odd. Aemond wouldn't deny he hadn’t cared for his wife much. His mother was sure to be reeling in her grave on his shameful treatment of such a refined woman, but you merely came with his duty.

However, he was still a man. The indifferent king would admit you were as comely as they came and of good upbringing. He was rather appreciative of the fact you were never too forward, only ever eager to drink up any ounce of attention he gave you. Until now, it seemed. 

“The queen has expressed your presence would be greatly appreciated, my king. She hopes it would be the most pleasing for all of you to dine together for your meals.”

All? 

Aemond could scarcely recall a time in the short moons you had been married when he had purposefully sought you out in your wing of the royal halls. The path to your apartments was unfamiliar, the sight that greeted him in its interior even more so. “Husband,” you greeted him from the dining table upon his entrance. Your smile welcomed him with a warmth he had refused himself to be familiar with, your eyes sparkling against the amber glow of the hearth. His apparent confusion seemed to amuse you, mirth decorating your lips as you watched him approach. 

Aemond’s good eye flickered at the sight of his niece, his anxiety from her disappearance bubbling down into an aggravation that tickled his sharp tongue. “You have left the castle in shambles, Jaehaera. Escaping your lessons like that! What have I told you about wandering off unchaperoned?” he scolded, though his ire was quick to falter at the pitiful look that flashed across her cherubic face at his tone. Jaehaera dropped her eyes to her lap, fidgeting with the napkin in her hold.

A soft hold on his wrist prevented him from speaking any further, your beseeching gaze unknowingly loosening the tension he held in his shoulders as you rose from your seat. “She was with me. I dismissed her guard while she spent the afternoon with me in the music room. I thought Ser Derek could guard us just fine. I should have informed you of it, ‘tis my fault, husband,” you explained with an apologetic look on your face. Aemond could only stare as you spoke, and he thought of a time when he was able to get a look at you this close. His mind drew blank. “Come sit, let us eat,” you beckoned him. He let you guide him to his seat, right beside yours. The small, round table served to make supper a rather intimate affair.

This all felt foreign to him. A wife who poured his wine for him, a little girl to care for, and made sure was well-fed. 

No book had taught him this. The one-eyed king was proficient in talks of politics, battle, and history, but not of domestic affairs. His upbringing surely wasn’t the standard to hold, he knew that much. Though it seemed you were more adept at this than he, gracefully bridging the gap around the table with a smile. “Would you like to tell your uncle what we did today, sweetling?” you asked with an urging nod.

His niece chewed on the small nibble of bread, pondering on her words. Aemond waited with bated breath to her speak. It had been far too long since he had heard her, past the small, one-worded response he would have to coax out of her, and even those were rare. “The queen showed me how to play the harp. I learned how to play some of Flowers of Spring, though it was quite hard, but I liked it,’ she said softly, punctuating her sentence with a bite of chicken. Aemond could tear up at the sound of her voice with such a simple answer. His chest started to feel lighter than it did in a long time. The smile that spread his cheeks wide couldn’t be helped, his relief palpable at the sight of her finally taking her meals.

“Wonderful, my darling. I am very pleased to hear you enjoyed yourself,” he remarked, his tone now rid of the harshness it held when he first walked into the room. His gaze met yours, already staring back at him. You shared a nod of understanding, and it was then the bridge between the king and his wife started to be crossed.

The young princess, who’d now taken her second plate of roasted potatoes, looked at his wife with an urging look. A flicker of remembrance had you turning back to him, voicing out her wishes. “Jaehaera has informed me of her wishes to learn music. She’s taken quite an interest in the harp, it seems.” Aemond turned to look at his niece’s eyes, small beads of amethyst that held glimmers of hope, and he couldn’t find it within himself to disapprove.

“Of course, we shall find you a mentor of your liking,” Aemond said, satisfied with the delighted look that overcame Jaehaera’s features. He’d scout the best tutor in all of Westeros himself it meant seeing the way her eyes lit up at his approval. It was the first time since the war that Aemond finally felt himself getting to her, a success sweeter than anything he’d felt on the battlefield.

Supper was a delight Aemond never expected to relish in as much as he did. The battle-hardened king had once resigned to the fact that he was alone in his glory, despite the many faces that swarm him daily. He was starting to realize his new life might not be as lonesome as he thought, with a niece who took his hand as they walked and a wife leading them to the room at the end of the hall. Your husband watched you with a newfound fascination as you strummed the strings on the harp, and you had never been so close to his reach. His good eye would study every furrow in your brow as you played, or the shift in your spine as you readjusted in your seat. Your eyes would close, carried away by the melodic tunes your fingers were able to create, and he thought you were utterly beautiful like this. He pondered on what other facets you had that made you whole, and how he could explore them. Perhaps he had been a fool; blind to what was before him. His lifelong strive for greatness had him believing he was cursed, destined to be struck down at his time of judgment. It was by some miracle that the gods deemed it fit to grant him a chance of a life of warmth and affection, a prize even more valuable than gold. “I must thank you, wife,” he said to you at the end of the night, bestowing a kiss on your knuckles that left you blushing.

You broke your fast together come morning. Afterwards, he found his way into the gardens to join you for tea. The first of many.

He would become acquainted with the path to your apartments for supper every night after that, as well as the sight of his niece and his wife awaiting him at the dinner table. The evenings would always be capped with an hour or two of you playing, and eventually, Jaehaera had mastered a few songs to play for you as you both looked on proudly. 

It would come as no surprise when he began to seek you out, a natural urge to get closer that had him yearning for his presence despite the call of his duties. His fondness only grew with the care you had shown his niece, an instinct that left him thinking how great you would be with a babe of your own. The gods would bless you when the time was right but until then, Aemond was pleased with the little family he had, with his niece and his lovely wife. 

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jjk men with a s/o who has social anxiety

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

Gojo is, hands down, the worst person to have around when you have social anxiety because he’s the human equivalent of putting your phone on max brightness in a dark room. Subtlety? Never met her. He thinks the best way to help you “get over” your anxiety is to throw you directly into situations that terrify you—which is objectively the worst way to handle it, but he’s Gojo, so logic does not apply.

“Just talk to them! What’s the worst that could happen?” he says, as if your brain hasn’t already created 19,294 possible worst-case scenarios in the last three seconds.

But if he sees you really panicking, he does become your ultimate human shield. He will talk so much and so loudly that no one will even notice you’re in the room. He’s like a one-man hype squad—dramatically introducing you to people, telling fake stories about how you once saved a baby from a burning building (??), and physically spinning you around like a confused sim to “showcase” you to others.

He also thinks he can fix your anxiety with money. You’re nervous? BOOM—he just bought the entire café so no one else can be there while you order. Scared of talking on the phone? Don’t worry, he hired a personal assistant to do all your calls. You get anxious at big events? Guess what—you’re now watching the concert alone in a VIP skybox, courtesy of Satoru “I Have No Concept of Boundaries” Gojo.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

Unlike Gojo, Geto actually listens when you say you have social anxiety. He’s your calm, soothing presence who always has your back. If you’re at a social event, he stays close, and does all the talking for you.

Someone pressures you into talking? Geto immediately places a protective hand on your shoulder and effortlessly takes over. “Ah, they don’t feel like talking right now. You understand, don’t you?” (Read: You better understand, or you will be dealt with.)

Geto has zero problems with being your designated spokesperson. If you need something from the waiter but are too anxious to ask, Geto just lifts a lazy hand and orders for you like it’s second nature. And if you ever need an excuse to leave somewhere, he straight-up lies for you.

He always notices when you start getting overwhelmed, even when you try to play it cool. “Do you need a break?” “You wanna go home?” “I can fake an emergency if you need an out.” He has 10 different exit strategies prepared at all times.

He also gaslights you into confidence (in a good way). If you say, “Ugh, I was so awkward,” he immediately replies, “No, you were mysterious and cool.” He refuses to let you spiral.

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami takes your anxiety very seriously and does research to figure out how best to help you. He probably has a folder of PDFs titled “How to Support Someone With Social Anxiety,” and he reads all of them.

He notices you struggling in conversations and subtly steps in, redirecting attention away from you without making it obvious. He also has the unique skill of making excuses for you so smoothly that even you believe them. He never forces you into situations that make you uncomfortable. If you don’t want to go somewhere, he’ll just stay home with you—no questions asked.

He also takes over any “adult” interactions you dread. Need to call and schedule an appointment? Nanami’s already dialing. Don’t want to talk to a stranger? He steps in like a well-paid lawyer. You once told him that you hate making returns at stores because the confrontation stresses you out. Next thing you know, he’s standing at the counter, receipt in hand, calmly saying, “This item was defective. We’d like a refund.” The cashier is terrified. You’re in awe.

At restaurants, he’ll call the waiter over if you’re too nervous. At events, he’ll stand in front of you like a personal barrier so you don’t feel exposed. And if someone talks too much or makes you uncomfortable, he stares at them until they wither away into dust.

Nanami never makes you feel bad for being anxious. He just accepts you as you are and adapts accordingly.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

Choso, bless his soul, does not understand social anxiety, but he understands you—and that’s enough for him. The first time you explain it, he just blinks slowly. “So… you feel like dying when you talk to people?” You nod. He nods back, solemn. “Okay. I will protect you.”

He takes this very seriously. If he senses your discomfort, he physically puts himself between you and the offending person, staring them down like a guard dog. Someone talks too much and won’t let you leave? Choso suddenly appears behind you like a horror movie villain, towering and unsmiling. “They don’t want to talk anymore.” You swear you hear boss music.

He thinks hand-holding is the solution to all your problems. If you’re anxious, he just grabs your hand—even in situations where it’s unnecessary. Grocery store? Holding hands. Walking through a park? Holding hands. Sitting next to each other in silence? Holding hands. It’s like his instinctual support system.

He also never pressures you to be social. If you don’t want to go somewhere, he just stays home with you. You could literally say, “I’m too anxious to go outside today,” and he’d nod and say, “Understandable. We stay inside forever now.”

Choso also becomes way too invested in your coping mechanisms. You once told him that looking at your phone makes you feel less awkward, so now, if you ever get anxious, he just wordlessly hands you his phone. No explanation. No context. Just here, take it. It’s always open to some weird Google search like “How do birds know how to fly if nobody teaches them?"

You love him so much.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji has no clue what social anxiety even is. You try explaining it, and he just squints at you like you’re speaking another language. “You’re scared of talking? Just don’t talk.”

You sigh. It’s a lost cause. Despite this, he is somehow still your biggest protector. His solution to your nervousness? Make you feel like you own every room you walk into.

If you hesitate before going somewhere, he hypes you up. "What do you mean you're nervous? Look at you. You’re hot. If anyone even looks at you wrong, I’ll break their kneecaps."

That being said, Toji lives for watching you suffer (affectionately). If you get flustered in social situations, he finds it hilarious. You mumble your order at a restaurant? Toji leans in, smirking. “What was that, sweetheart? Speak up.” You turn red. He grins.

But if anyone else makes you uncomfortable? Oh, they’re dead. Toji has zero patience for people who push you too hard. If someone tries to force you into a conversation, Toji just slings an arm around your shoulder and leans in, voice deceptively casual. “They don’t wanna talk, dumbass. Walk away.” They always walk away.

If you’re anxious in public, he distracts you with absurd nonsense. “Bet you ten bucks I can steal that guy’s drink without him noticing.”

Toji also loves using you as an excuse to leave events early. You both hate being around people for too long. If you’re nervous at a party, he just physically carries you out like a sack of potatoes. If you get overwhelmed in a crowd, he bulldozes a path through people like an unhinged linebacker.

And despite all his chaos, he always makes sure you feel safe. Because at the end of the day, Toji might be a menace, but he’s your menace.

[mahalachives]

The Neglected Mate Tragedy

pairing: azriel x reader (brat, dramatic mate)

summary: In which you resort to other ways in trying to get azriel's attention

genre: humor, fluff

Azriel knew you were up to something the moment his shadows alerted him to a disturbance outside the meeting room. He didn't even need to look—your energy alone could be felt from across Velaris, brewing something ridiculous.

Then, the doors slammed open.

A collective pause fell over the Inner Circle as you strode in, draped in a flowing black veil, your gown so dark it looked like you’d walked straight out of a Gothic mourning portrait. Your arms were crossed, your chin tilted in exquisite dramatics, and Azriel—poor, patient Azriel—only sighed as you swept into the room like a tragic widow.

Rhys was already biting back laughter, but it was Cassian—traitorous, useless Cassian—who immediately stood from his seat and clutched his chest.

“My lady,” Cassian gasped. “Why do you wear such sorrow?”

Azriel closed his eyes briefly, willing himself not to throw his dagger at his so-called brother.

You exhaled dramatically, clutching your own heart as you swayed.

"My husband," you lamented, voice thick with suffering, "the mighty Spymaster of this court, has abandoned me—left me to wither and perish in loneliness, forgotten, unloved—forsaken for nothing but endless, cold, unfeeling paperwork.”

Azriel, deadpan: “…I saw you ten minutes ago.”

You turned to him with theatrical devastation, as if his words had physically wounded you.

"Ten minutes," you sniffled, your veil fluttering, "is a lifetime in neglected mate years, Azriel."

Rhys choked on his wine.

Feyre, whispering to Mor. "Do you think she rehearsed this?"

Mor, whispering back. "One hundred percent."

Amren just stared, unimpressed.

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a slow, measured breath.

"What do you want?" he asked, already knowing this was your favorite game—annoying him until he snapped, only to bask in his attention.

"What I want?" you repeated, aghast, stepping closer as if the very question pained you. "What I want is for my husband to remember that he has a wife. A wife who suffers, alone and unattended—"

"You were literally in my lap this morning," Azriel reminded you.

"And look at me now!" you cried, gesturing to yourself in despair. "I had to take drastic measures!"

Cassian looked like he was about to fall off his chair laughing. Rhys was now openly grinning, and Feyre covered her smile behind her hand.

Azriel knew exactly how this was going to end. He had two options: humor you, or suffer further.

He sighed. Stood up.

And in a single, swift motion, shadow-stepped directly in front of you.

Before you could utter another over-the-top monologue, Azriel scooped you up, veil and all, into his arms.

"Oh!" you gasped, clutching his shoulders in faux shock. "Has the mighty Spymaster finally come to his senses?"

Azriel looked at his brothers and deadpanned, "You're all insufferable." Then, without another word, he vanished you both out of the room.

The last thing he heard before shadows carried you away was Cassian’s gleeful, “LONG LIVE THE NEGLECTED MATE!”

Epilogue: Five Minutes Later

When you landed in your bedroom, Azriel dropped you onto the bed unceremoniously.

You laughed delightedly, pushing back your veil.

"Did you miss me?" you teased, batting your lashes.

Azriel leaned over you, pinning your hands above your head, his voice low and lethal.

"No," he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against your neck, "but you’re about to wish I had.”

Your smirk immediately vanished.

And for the first time that day, you had no comeback.

End.

[dameronspector]

The Past Will Catch Up (Part 2)

Pairing: Manny Alvarez x GN!Reader

Summary: You should’ve killed them, then and there. You and Ellie both, should’ve simply killed them. But now they’ve hurt you and Manny faces a huge challenge when he finds out who hurt you. AKA everyone gets their revenge.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, guns, gunshot wounds, physical fights/assault, hospitals, panic attacks, nausea, Abby and the others meet their end, ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Cursing, Manny is a love sick fool, Manny and Reader want children/talks of children, Manny supports Jackson Hole, Reader is mentioned to have hair, Reader is mentioned to have muscly arms, Protective Manny, Worried Manny, Worried and sad Joel, Ellie and Tommy that's all i think.

This is LONG one. Sorry if it's not that good or the timeline doesn't make sense, but I'm not following the game or the show and there's not enough Manny content yet. Let me know if i have missed anything!

PS: I don't know anything about the game, my characterisation is based off the wiki information, the show and my own imagination.

AN: here is the part 2 pls pray this doesn't extend omg.

Manny was going crazy. He was hearing you everywhere, was seeing you all around him, and his fucking hands still won't stop shaking. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, just staring at you, hoping you'd make some movement or even lift a finger. He barely registered a nurse come in to check on your vitals, looking at him in concern before Tommy walked in and gave him the same look of pity and sadness. Honestly, Manny felt sick. He was still useless. But he just couldn't get his body to move from the chair. He hadn't eaten anything for 5 hours now, his stomach cramping in hunger but that wasn't important.

Then, there was commotion. The door opening harshly and a familiar voice rung out, "I don't fucking care, Tommy, I'm-" and they abruptly stopped, stepping inside the room and walking around Manny to see you.

"(Name)...", Ellie's voice was shaky as she called out to you and laid a hand on your head. Manny could faintly hear her sniffles but he was too focused on his hands intertwined with your left hand. Another pair of footsteps walked into the room, they were heavy and hesitant, as if the person wasn't ready to come in yet.

"Joel! T-they're- tell them to open their eyes. Joel, I-", Ellie desperately cried to Joel and he simply stared at the scene with his eyes brimming with tears, stepping closer to wrap his arm around Ellie and replace her hand on your head with his. Ellie tightly hugged him, her face burrowed in his chest, tears soaking his jacket while Joel's eyes fell on Manny and his dejected body language, a dead look behind his eyes, both of his hands firmly grasped around your singular one. Joel knew that look. He had that look after realising that Sarah had died and he had it when he killed everyone in Salt Lake.

He just hoped Manny would be wiser than him and not do something reckless. And he prayed to whatever gods up there that they kept his kid alive, while simultaneously vowing to not let their perpetrators live in peace.

-

It's been two days. Two agonising days of not seeing any progress in your condition. Two days of Manny not leaving the chair even after everyone asked him to. Two days of Joel barking at the doctors to help you and Tommy wallowing in his sorrows and two days since Ellie talked to anybody. Maria and Dina were trying their best to hold the Millers-Alvarez together, but to no avail.

Manny was ready to wither away next to you in that uncomfortable chair. He didn't care about the rest of the world. All he knew, was that he wouldn't leave your side. He had managed to ingest some food and water, Maria encouraging him by saying that you'd want him alive and responsive when you woke up. She then asked him to shower, after a lot of effort and pushing, and he eventually caved, wanting to look good for you.

For now, he was half heartedly munching on a sandwich, the task excruciating, when he noticed some movements on your hands. He froze, hands dropping the sandwich on the plate while observant eyes focused on your face. Your eyes moved behind your eyelids and he almost threw the plate away, standing up in alarm and just taking you in for a while before you scrunched your face in pain. He was shaking with the anticipation, his eyes blown wide and mouth open in shock.

"H-hey, baby? (Name)? Look at me, c'mon. C'mon, angel, please. Try for me, please-", he whispered the words like a prayer, his hands hovering above you while you kept scrunching your face up when he finally heard it: a small groan.

He was spiralling—torn between staying beside you and calling a doctor when you slowly tried to open your eyes, a series of pained groans and whimpers leaving your mouth. Your gorgeous eyes opened blearily, struggling to focus on your surroundings while your lips smacked against each other, in an effort to get rid of the dryness.

Manny was frozen by your bedside, his eyes brimming with tears after looking into yours.

“Baby?”, he asked hesitantly, his voice cracking.

You scrunched your eyebrows and blinked rapidly, trying to get rid of the blurriness when your eyes finally focused on him, your Manny. Lifting your uninjured arm up, you reached for him, the movement sending pain across your stiff joints, causing you to moan in discomfort. Manny rushed forward to hold your hand, not wanting you to stress yourself any further.

“Hey, hey, easy. It’s okay. You’re home”, he reassured you and placed a hand on your head, smoothing your hair back.

“Manny…what happened..”, you whispered, your throat scratchy from disuse. He picked up the glass of water and urged you to sip it, you felt your throat feel refreshed after.

Manny frowned, “Someone ambushed you and Tommy. They hurt you”, his voice shaky while he put away the glass.

You furrowed your brows, trying to remember what happened. Then suddenly, Abby’s crazed face flashed in front of your eyes and you clenched your jaw. Manny took note of this and frowned again, but looking at the distress on your face, he chose not to discuss it right now.

Your tired eyes then fell on your left hand, noting that your ring was missing. “W-where’s my ring?”, you asked in a groggy voice.

Manny was so out of it and sick from worry that he hadn't noticed your missing ring, at all. He gently lifted your hand in his and rubbed a thumb on your ring finger. "Oh. I'm not sure, baby. I'll-"

"I had it on...It-it was right there. Where's the ring, Manny?", you asked in a confused voice again and the heart monitor beeped faster, conveying your obvious distress at the situation.

Manny furrowed his brows in concern and caressed your head gently, "'s okay, angel, we'll look for it, I promise. I-", You shook your head vehemently, "No- no, no, I-"

The door opened to reveal the nurse appointed to you and her eyes widened in surprise, before she walked away to call the doctor. Once the doctor came in and checked on you, you spoke up again.

"Where...where is my ring? I had it on, it's not there anymore", you asked in a desperate manner, eyes tearing up and hand squeezing Manny's tightly. He pursed his lips, unable to understand why you were so worried about a ring when he almost lost you.

"Angel, the ring's not that important. We'll get you another, please, you need to rest-"

"It's okay. Here", the doctor interrupted Manny, before motioning the nurse over, who presented the ring--now with the blood stains cleaned from it--to you.

You pulled your hand out of Manny's and reached for the ring before he took it from the nurse to carefully put it on your ring finger. Finally, the heart monitor calmed down as you did and Manny let out a sigh of relief, watching you fiddle with the ring. What he didn't know is that the ring and the thoughts of him kept you alive in that store.

"Okay, you need to be careful for the next few weeks, or maybe months, if you don't rest properly. No heavy lifting, no rigorous training or exercises and most importantly: no patrolling. You're lucky that bullet wasn't lodged inside your body. But your ribs are extremely sensitive. One wrong move and you could cause yourself serious injuries. Manny, do not let them over exert themselves at any cost", the doctor instructed and Manny solemnly nodded, a wince leaving you at the realization that Manny was definitely going to be a helicopter parent now.

Once the doctor left the room and the nurse changed the bottle of whatever painkiller they were using, Manny was quiet again, his eyes solely focusing on you. You gave him an exhausted smile and motioned him over, patting the space next to you on the small hospital bed. He swallowed his tears before slowly approaching the bed, sitting on it carefully to avoid jostling you.

His bloodshot and tired eyes stared at you before he leaned in and gently pressed his face into your neck, his curls tickling your jaw lightly. You felt his tears damp your neck and you were taken back to that moment in the QZ again, when he first confessed to you.

Since you couldn't move your arms, you settled for leaning your head against his and nuzzling it like a cat, the scent of your shared strawberry shampoo hitting your nose. You inhaled deeply before lazily speaking into his curls, "What's wrong, baby?"

He paused before raising his head, staring at you with his damp and rosy cheeks, his face glistening in the white light of the room and his curls messy. He looked like an angel as always.

"What's wrong? I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you for real, this time. I-", he scoffed in a self deprecating manner, "I shouldn't have let you go. Or I should've joined you. I was so worried. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack when we couldn't reach you-", he paused abruptly as is breathing fastened. He was hyperventilating.

You bring up a hand to cradle his cheek and rubbed a thumb across his soft skin, "Manny, look at me. It's okay. You need to breathe for me, okay? Try to breathe with me, Em", you drawled soothingly and took in a few light breaths, careful not to agitate your ribs, him mimicking you by taking in deep breaths and eventually calming down, a hand coming up to press against yours and lean into your palm.

"There you go. I know it must've been scary, and I'm sorry for that. But I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere, I promise", you smiled at him sweetly and he closed his eyes, leaning in to kiss you when the door opened. Manny pulled back to see who it was, face shifting in slight irritation at the interruption.

"Are they awake?", a voiced asked him and he nodded, the door opening further to reveal half of the Miller family. Your eyes shone with content.

"(Name)!", Ellie cried out before replacing Manny on the bed and holding your hand, her teary eyes and red face making you coo at her. Manny watching this silently.

"Hi, El, it's okay. I'm here", you reassured her as her lower chin wobbled, she replied with a vehement nod, hand caressing your left one. You noticed another body stand behind Ellie and looked up to see Joel, in his flannel shirt and graying hair, his kind and warm brown eyes staring at you with so much emotion in them.

You felt your breath stutter at that, eyes filling up with tears immediately. "Hey, Pops", you greeted him shakily, him coming around to massage your uninjured shoulder tenderly, like a father.

"Competing for the strongest Miller, huh?", he joked with a trembling voice and eyes brimming with tears. You let out a wet giggle and nodded at him before realising that Tommy was in the room as well. You turned to your right and saw Tommy standing in the corner, his arms crossed tightly and head lowered.

"Tommy? Won't you see me?", you asked softly with a frown tugging on your lips. You could vaguely remember his distressed face and cries for you to stay up. But you were sure of one thing, that Tommy protected you and brought you back to Jackson in one piece all by himself. You never doubted him on that. You also knew he'd blame himself for the attack.

Tommy's head snapped up and he took note of the remaining three eyes turning to look at him as well. His tearful eyes shone and he looked at Joel, body shifting tensely and in hesitance before Joel gave him a nod.

Tommy slowly made his way over, Manny staring at him intensely. You saw the stress and emotions shift across Tommy's freckled face, your chest twisting in pain at that. He looked at your bandaged shoulder and let out a stifled cry, arms holding him up by pressing against your bed. You stared at him sadly, "Tommy...it's okay. Look at me", you whispered in reassurance. He shook his head in disagreement and you saw a tear hit the bed sheet. Joel and Ellie look at Tommy in empathy while you stared at him helplessly.

"I shoulda told you to join me in the storage room. It was fuckin' stupid of me to leave you behind like that. I can't-I can't believe this happened right in front of me. I'm sorry, sweetheart, I-", a choked breath cut his sentence short. Manny clenched his jaw in anger, tightening his hands around his biceps to control it.

Before you could console him, Ellie spoke up, her tone furious, "Who the fuck did this, (Name)? Just tell us the name, I swear-"

"Ellie", Joel stopped her sternly, "Not now."

"What-", she glowered before Manny spoke up, "She's right, Joel", he stated before walking over to the foot of your bed, all four of you looking at him in surprise.

"Angel, if you knew those people, please tell us who they were. I understand if you want some time but please, try to tell us", Manny requested you in a low but soft voice.

You froze. How the hell were you going to say that the people who attacked you were Abby and Nora, in front of Manny? What if he thinks you're making shit up. What if he goes out in search of them and never comes back. What if-

"Kid?", Joel's gruff voice snapped you out of your thoughts, Manny watching you closely.

You swallowed thickly. You wanted to make them pay. Even if you had to wait for months till your injuries healed properly, you'll wait and then hunt them down. Morality went out of the window the moment she chose to torture your father, anyway.

The problem was that if you told Manny later, he'd still be upset that the others knew before him. And if you told Manny first, the rest of them would feel betrayed as well. You didn't care about Abby or Nora or the WLF. You cared for your family. You feared for them. You couldn't let what happened with Joel, happen again. He still limped, his knee bothering him to the extent that he couldn't even bend or crouch down without it hurting. Every time you saw that, it made you so mad that you felt like marching over to Seattle and unleashing hell on all of them. And not to forget today's cowardly act.

You steeled yourself and clenched your jaw, looking directly at Manny while delivering the shocking news in an eerily calm voice, "It was Abby and Nora. Abby ambushed me first, Nora shot me and Abby broke my ribs. They also said they'd be coming back for Joel...and I."

The whole room was silent. Nobody spoke a word but their faces said it all: Joel's face hardened in anger, Ellie's shifted in shock, Tommy's head snapping up in realisation and Manny- Manny was frozen still. It was like he had experienced a paralysis attack. You looked at him with sad eyes, understanding his predicament.

It was Ellie who broke first, glaring at Manny, "What did you do? Were you secretly contacting them?", she yelled, making her way towards Manny.

Your eyes widened as she accused him before Joel grabbed her hand and gently pulled her back, "No, He was with me and Maria the whole day. Ellie, don't pull stuff outta your ass", he conceded firmly and Ellie huffed in frustration, pulling her arm out of Joel's grip.

"Tommy, set a meeting with the council, now. And if there's not gonna be enough votes, I'm goin' out there myself, I don't give a fuck", Joel murmured in a furious tone, his teeth gritted and eyes darkened. Tommy numbly nodded his head in agreement, feeling his stomach twist in anger and disgust.

You snapped your head to look at Joel, "Joel, what the fuck? You're not-" "I'm coming with you, too", Ellie piped in with a determined voice, her hand squeezing yours.

"Ellie, shut the hell up, both of you aren't going anywhere. I'll go-"

"You're not going", Manny and Joel replied simultaneously, their voice laced with finality.

Your eyes widened in exasperation before you tried to get up, in the flow of the conversation, letting out a yelp as you jostled your body too much, agitating the injuries. Immediately Manny was onto you, his hands gently pushing you to lay back, your face screwed up in pain.

"Don't move", he chided you with a serious look in his face, "We'll talk about this later."

"I'll talk to Maria and set up an emergency meeting", Tommy announced before addressing Manny, "Would you...uh-you sure you wanna attend this one? It'll be pretty gnarly if you're present", he told Manny straightforwardly. All of you knew that everyone would immediately point fingers at Manny if they found out the WLF had ambushed you.

Manny seemed to contemplate it before swallowing thickly. He was kind of amused at the fact that once again he was stuck in a situation where he had to prove his loyalty. But he'd do that again, if that meant forever with you.

He cleared his throat, "I'll attend. I know all the places and stuff that they could be hidin' in. Plus, I can trick them into turning in. I'll give you all the information, even if everyone votes 'no'", he confessed sincerely.

Tommy nodded before squeezing your arm lightly and heading out of the room. You caught your breath and looked at the three remaining people with desperation, "Don't do anything stupid, please. Please let me do this. I can't- I can't lose any of you, please", you almost begged them, your voice wobbling from the tears stuck in your throat, the heart monitor going off again.

Manny looked at Joel with his eyebrows furrowed and sighed in worry, his hands coming around to cup your face, oh so tenderly.

"Angel, you need to rest, okay?', you opened your mouth to interrupt, the monitor still going off as you stressed yourself even more, "I know, I know. Look at your heartbeat, you're working yourself up...How about this, you eat somethin' and then I'll help you sleep, hm?", Manny asked you quietly, his thumbs tracing circles on your cheeks before catching a stray tear and wiping it.

You frowned and looked at Joel and Ellie, "Do as he says, kiddo. He's been sittin' here for the past 2 days", Joel reasoned with you in a serious tone, knowing you'd listen right away if he told you that Manny hadn't left his seat next to you since you came back.

You looked at Manny in surprise, his gaze averted from you and you let out a hushed 'Okay'. Joel and Ellie left the room to give the two of you privacy and check in with Tommy and Maria.

You didn't fight much after that, too tired and sleepy to do anything. Manny fed you some of light food that the doctor had recommended and helped you wind down, caressing your head lovingly, your eyes shutting down and opening tiredly. He looked at you and drank you in--your beautiful features, soft skin and hair spread like halo on your pillow. His beady brown eyes pierced into your skin, making your half asleep form blush lightly. "What're you starin' at, Alvarez?", your words slurred out sleepily, your cheeks warming up.

The corner of Manny's mouth quirked up slightly for the first time in 2 days, amused at the fact that you still blushed and got shy whenever he looked at you, even after spending half of your lives together. "I can't stare at my gorgeous fiancé?", he teased and you scoffed.

"I look like a mess right now", you mumbled in response, your eyes half shut in comfort, the warmth of his hands on your head lulling you deeper into a sound sleep.

"No you don't", he simply stated before leaning in close to press a kiss to your nose, your cheeks and the corner of your mouth. You frowned in dissatisfaction, Manny chuckled lightly at the cross look on your face, "What is it?"

"You...you missed", you whined and jutted out your lower lip, the meds and exhaustion making you loopy, moodier and clingier than usual. Manny smiled brightly, his cheeks turning red with happiness and eyes crinkling. He then leaned in and kissed your jutted out lip softly, before you kissed him back properly. He kissed you three times before departing, his nosed smushed against yours, and pulled away, smiling at the content look on your face. "There. Happy?"

You hummed.

"Will you sleep now?", he asked and you nodded, fully closing your eyes and passing out promptly, leaving Manny to tuck the blanket around you and plant a lingering kiss on your forehead, muttering an 'I love you' on the skin there. He wanted to stay with you, but Maria had stopped by to visit you and informed him that they were going to hold the meeting now. He reluctantly parted with you, Maria assuring him that the nurses would look after you in his absence, her personally instructing them to do so.

-

Of-fucking-course the council voted 3/8 to the plan. Manny, Joel and Ellie were positively fuming. If it was possible, you'd see steam coming out of their ears and people wouldn't question if these three were related. They held a similar look of displease, ire and anger towards all these cowards who chickened out. They also had the same look of shock when Seth spoke in their support, agreeing to seek revenge on yours and Joel's behalf. Shockingly, nobody questioned Manny. Because everyone was too busy protecting their peace. But rules were rules, and they helplessly watched as the council voted 'No' to the plan and watched Tommy's distressed and guilty face in between the other council members from afar. Manny's sharp eyes noticed Jesse shifting in discomfort on Tommy's right and his jaw ticked, carefully curating a plan in his head.

-

After every one was dismissed, Ellie left with Dina and Manny asked Joel to bring in Tommy and Jesse to your shared house. Manny's mind was working overtime. He didn't want to go as far as kill Abby and Nora but he wanted to get his lick back. And he could get it by helping the others find out their location, which was cake walk for him. He'd even assist them to trick the Seattle crew into thinking that he was turning himself in, just so they would be caught off guard by the others.

He cursed whatever entity present up there, asking why must he be the one to make these difficult choices. Why does he have to choose between his old family and this new family he was blessed with? But he had specifically asked Nora to stay away from you. They didn't listen to him then, and they didn't listen to him now. Your unmoving face kept flashing in front of his eyes and straightened up, his conscience becoming clearer and clearer.

Joel, Tommy and Jesse gathered in your living room, Manny informing them about the plan, the layout of the base, the hot zones, the populated zones, the hideouts--all of it. He brought out stuff from his old supplies and laid it in front of the three of them: his map, his weapons, the symbols to identify the soldiers--all of it. They soaked in the information and decided to leave at night, during the switch between the night shift patrols. Manny hesitated before nodding yes, his heart falling into a pit at the fact that he'd leave without you knowing. Joel gave him a look of understanding and patted his back.

-

When Manny came back to the hospital, you were still fast asleep, your mouth slightly parted and face lax with relaxation. He felt a small smile creep onto his face, glad that you could get some much deserved rest. He sat down on the chair that had become his home since the last few days and held your hand in his, fingers playing with your ring.

"You're not gonna like what I'm goin' to do. You'll be very upset, I know. But- I gotta put an end to this, angel. I can't- They can't hurt you again. They have no right to. Not when I specifically asked her to stay away from you. Seeing you like this-god, I was this close to breaking apart. When Tommy told me you'd gotten ambushed, I felt like the biggest coward in the world. I should've been there with you. I'm sorry I didn't fight harder. I had promised you a forever with me, I'm goin' to fight for it now. Please forgive me if you can, amor", his low and gruff voice confessed to your sleeping form, his chest aching with the love and affection he carried for you. He leaned in to press a lingering kiss to your head and when he pulled back, he saw your teary eyes looking up at him in despair. His mouth fell open and face froze in shock.

"You were going to leave without waking me up?"

You sounded so small and forlorn that he cradled your face between his palms and kissed you deeply, his mouth smushed against yours in a passionate embrace, his nose pressing into the divot of your cheek. He sucked your bottom lip before pulling on it, bringing out a light moan from you, his hands tucked behind your ears, thumbs holding your jaw up in line with his mouth. You pulled away breathlessly, Manny leaning his forehead against you and both of you closed your eyes, a few tears sliding down both of your cheeks.

"Promise me you won't do anything do stupid. You have to come back to me. I can't lose you again", you whispered against his lips and he pressed his forehead into yours more. He linked his pinky finger with your left one and lifted it to press a kiss against your joined fingers, the action causing a nostalgic smile to take over your face.

"I promise", he mumbled it against your fingers before slowly retracting himself from you and leaving the room, both of your chests feeling hollow after.

-

Originally, Ellie was supposed to partner with Joel. But when Joel went to call her, she was gone. Not only her, but Dina was missing as well. Joel cursed and informed Tommy, the four of them deciding to leave earlier than intended, having to distract a few patrollers before successfully sneaking out of Jackson. Manny was their guide, him making the way and carving out the shortcuts. They came across a few dead bodies, Manny informing about the fight between the Seraphites and the WLF, his insides curling with disgust and guilt as he saw what the WLF did to the children. After riding through a storm, they finally reached Seattle, and Manny asked them to lay low, stating that the skyscrapers had snipers on the top floors. And that's when they spotted Ellie and Dina. Joel suggested they split--it was decided that Joel and Jesse would be following them while Manny and Tommy would set off to find the others.

-

Manny wasn't prepared for the emotions he'd feel when he saw any of his old friends. But now that he spied on Owen behind foliage with an irritated and angry Tommy, he completely froze, confused between wanting to let Tommy unleash his emotions and luring in Owen with stealth. He chose the latter and told Tommy to lay low while he pulled Owen aside.

He clamped a hand around his mouth and muttered in his ear, "It's Manny. Just follow me", Owen's eyes widened before he nodded promptly with his hands raised. When they were inside the abandoned hotel, Manny released Owen before discreetly removing his gun and tucking it in his jeans. The taller man turned around, before Tommy pressed his rifle against Owen's head. Owen paused and raised his hands again, eyes flashing with betrayal before Manny clenched his jaw and motioned him to turn to around.

"Where's Abby", Tommy questioned with gritted teeth. Manny couldn't remember seeing him this angry in the past 2 years. You'd told him that Tommy was even more ruthless than Joel, which was unbelievable but now he understood what you meant. Tommy was just as protective of his family as Joel was. He’d suppressed his anger for what they did to Joel for two whole years. He wasn’t going to hold back now. Manny understood that.

Owen gulped, "I don't know, man. I swear-", Tommy pressed the mouth of the rifle harshly into Owen's chest and cocked it, his eyes furious.

"Okay, Okay. She's supposed to be patrolling the theatre in Capitol Hill. I don't know if she'd still be there or not", Owen confessed, his eyes flickering from the rifle to Tommy.

"I know where that is", Manny confirmed and Tommy sized Owen up in disgust.

"You open your fuckin' mouth and see what I can do", he threatened before pushing Owen out of the way, exiting the main entrance of the hotel. Owen stared at Manny in disbelief, "Manny, what the fuck?"

Manny scoffed before admitting, "I'd told you not to let her come after (Name). I'm not gonna do anythin' to stop them or hurt you. But I'm gonna do everything to protect (Name)", his finger poking Owen in the chest. "And don't try anything. I mean it", he stated casually before walking away from a speechless Owen.

-

It was morning by the time they reached Capitol Hill. Manny watched in thinly veiled terror as he saw Tommy wreak havoc on anybody who stopped them. Manny would knock some people unconscious, maybe kill a few who were annoying and meddling. But Tommy was truly, off the hinges. Manny didn’t say word.

They managed to reunite with Ellie at the park near the theatre, Joel, Jesse and Dina missing next to her. Tommy immediately went into panic mode as he took in the haunted and exhausted look on Ellie’s face. Manny felt his heart thunder against his chest.

“Where’s-”

“Jesse’s gone.” Pin drop silence.

Manny sucked in a harsh breath and Tommy ran a hand across his face, his eyes tearing up before he stammered out, “J-Joel and Dina?”

Ellie swallowed, her face damp with tears, “Dina was injured. Joel said he’ll take her back to Jackson.”

Tommy and Manny exchanged a look, getting the vibe that Ellie was hiding something but chose to discuss it later.

They decided to stick together, now that they were lessened in number.

“We can’t enter through the main entrance, obviously. We need to go ‘round the back or climb through a broken window. If she’s here then she might have some other people with her too. We gotta be careful”, he murmured and Tommy and Ellie simply nod, going around the theatre and looking for any entry.

“There”, Ellie pointed at a broken window and they made their way over to the wall, the wet ground squelching underneath their boots. Tommy intertwined his hands to let Ellie step on them when they suddenly heard footsteps. All three of them froze before Manny aimed his rifle and walked towards the sound, gesturing Tommy and Ellie to continue.

Manny peeked around the building to see that the patrollers were making their way over to the back. He needed to distract them, quickly. He turned around to see that Ellie had managed to climb through the window and Tommy was half way through. Deciding to take the risk, Manny clenched his jaw and slowly picked up a stone, flicking it across the opposite direction and breaking a car window in the process. It seemed to have worked, as he heard the area clear and footsteps receding.

Manny slung the rifle around his back and climbed up, Tommy’s hand extended in waiting. He clasped his hand around Tommy’s and let himself be pulled, entering the room with a dull thud. They had broken into the projector’s room.

“Alright, luckily we can keep an eye on her from up here. We might have to wait for sometime because she’s probably stationed at the front and on that direction”, Manny informed lowly, his voice coming out too loud in the quiet room.

Ellie nodded and Tommy seemed to be deep in his thoughts, his jaw ticking. Manny quirked an eyebrow, sensing something was off.

“We’re gonna split”, Tommy answered gruffly.

“Man, are you kidding? Do you not see the soldiers? This is a heavily patrolled area. Trust me, I know. If they found out what you’re here for, they’re gonna obliterate you, and I mean that. Tommy, don’t do this”, Manny gritted his teeth, his patience wavering with Tommy’s recklessness. How could a man so patient and calculative act like this during such an important moment? Especially now that he had a wife and a kid waiting at home?

But it seems the stubborn gene runs rampant in the Miller household and Tommy’s wide eyes stared at Manny and Ellie intensely, his decision clearly flashing into them.

“I’ll be fine. D’you trust me?”, he addressed Ellie and Ellie stared at him dumbfounded, hating that it had come to this and the fear of losing her uncle looming over her head.

Ellie’s face scrunched in pain and she nodded hesitantly. Before any of them could interject, Tommy had already made his mind as he rushed over to the window and climbed down. Manny ran over to it, watching Tommy run past the building and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fuuuuck! Fuck. Okay. Ellie, listen. I know you don’t trust me necessarily. But we need to stick together, alright? For (Name)”, he pleaded with Ellie and she agreed reluctantly.

-

They waited till nightfall, Tommy still hadn’t returned and honestly, they weren’t sure he would. They were just scared about what they would do once they got back to Jackson.

Footsteps echoed through the hall causing Manny and Ellie to stiffen up, slowly peeking through the viewing window above the table.

Their eyes widened as they fell on her. Abby. She was surrounded by four other soldiers that Manny didn’t recognise. They were winding down for the night and Manny decided it would be the perfect time.

“Ellie, we’re gonna shut down the lights. I’ll distract the soldiers, you take Abby”, he murmured while looking for the light switches.

Ellie stared at him in disbelief. Was it really that easy? He was really doing this?

“How can I trust you?”, she asked him, her hand slowly inching towards her gun.

Manny clenched his jaw, “if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it before we even reached Seattle. Wouldn’t take much time for me to do that”, Ellie fell silent at that.

He continued, “I had warned her not to come after (Name). Yet she did. She betrayed me. I might not feel okay with killing them or hurting them, but I can help you.”

Ellie was in awe of his ability to make such quick decisions. He was so sure of what he was doing, it was kind of impressive. He reminded her of Joel, just a little. She nodded and followed his cues, sneaking down the stairs after he cut off the power supply.

They heard footsteps come up and halted, their guns pulled up. Manny gestured to blend into the shadows and as soon as he heard the dull thud of heavy boots, he pounced on the person and clamped their mouth shut, his arm tightly wound around the soldier’s neck, cutting off his breathing effectively. Manny nodded at Ellie to move forward, as the soldier slowly dropped unconscious by his feet. There were 3 soldiers with Abby. One was down, and now they needed to look out for the others while also keeping an eye on her.

As they descended and approached the chairs in the hall, Ellie’s foot accidentally hit one of the chairs and she winced before Manny pulled her down with him, his finger resting against his lips, telling her to keep quiet and listen.

“Who’s there?”, Abby’s voice rung out and Ellie’s eyes widened. Manny clenched his jaw. This was it. He motioned Ellie to stay where she was, while he would sneak behind Abby to find the other soldiers and take her by surprise. He told her to wait for his signal, his signal being a low whistle.

Manny’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he was able to point out only one other person in the hall with Abby, assuming that the other went out to check the lights. He decided to make a noise on the second exit and that immediately got their attention, Abby asking the soldier to check it out. As soon as the solider stepped out in the exit, Manny tackled him, the solider testing his patience and trying to make noises to get Abby’s attention. Manny rolled his eyes in irritation and pulled out his knife, lodging it against the man’s shoulder and tying a thick cloth around his mouth, muffling his cries.

Manny wiped the blood on the soldier’s shirt like it was an inconvenience and decided to put in all his acting skills to lure in Abby, to make it look like he was harmless. He felt a little uneasy at the thought that he was doing this against someone whom he had considered to be his best friend once. But the thought of coming back home to you motivated him.

He clicked the safety on his gun and purposely made his footsteps apparent, so that she gave him her full attention instead of focusing on Ellie.

“Drop your weapons”, her stern voice rung out and he paused, playing the part.

“Abby?”, his rough voice called out.

Abby froze, walking closer to Manny with her gun still raised.

“Manny?”, she whispered in disbelief, her eyes blown wide. Manny felt an inch of empathy for her. He knew that what they did to Joel kept all of them awake. He still got nightmares about it. Manny lowered his gun and raised his hands in surrender before Abby brought him in a hug.

He hugged her hesitantly, his hands awkwardly patting her back before breaking apart.

“Wh-what’re you doing here? You’re alone?”, she asked curiously.

“Yeah, I’m alone.”

She scoffed, “So, they finally decided to show their true colours, huh? (Name) included?”

Manny clenched his hands tightly, his patience wearing thin. He was about to give her another chance but this was just too much now. Especially since she was the one who decided to attack you unprovoked.

“Yeah? Why’d you attack them, Abby?”, Manny asked and she froze, her sarcastic laughter dissipating.

She let out a breath, “What? Attack who?”, her hands coming up to rest on her hips, feigning an unbothered expression.

Manny let out a humourless laugh and shook his head, “You’re not fooling anybody. But anyways, I’m sorry….not sorry for this”, he conceded before whistling lowly.

Ellie immediately got to her feet, approaching Abby and pressed her gun behind Abby’s head. Abby froze, her grip loosening on her gun, which Manny took out of her hands and tucked in the back of his jeans.

Her head whipped to look at Manny, “What the fuck is all this?!”

Manny shrugged while Ellie grabbed Abby’s shoulder aggressively and turned her around, her hand tightening around Abby’s shirt and bringing her closer to the mouth of the gun.

Abby’s eyes widened as she recognised Ellie in the low light of the few dim bulbs.

“Leave me-”, Abby struggled against her grip, Ellie gritting her teeth in annoyance and firing a shot into Abby’s knee. Just like how she had done to Joel.

Abby howled in pain and fell on the carpeted floor, her sobs echoing across the empty hall. Manny clenched his jaw and turned his head to the side.

“I’ll keep an eye out”, he muttered to Ellie and approached the door, standing guard against it to stop anybody from coming inside.

“No! Wait! Manny, they’re messing with your head. Stop it! We can all-”, Abby’s choked cries were cut off by Ellie spitting a “Shut the fuck up” and landing a swift kick against her ribs, just like how she’d done to you. Abby gasped and writhed around in pain.

Manny ignored their altercation and walked away, standing outside the hall with a million thoughts weighing him down. He was split between telling Ellie to stop and wanting to give you justice.

-

After getting into an argument with two soldiers and eventually having to dispose them, Manny was back on the lookout outside the doors. Ellie stepped out of the hall, her face and clothes covered in blood as she took in the two dead soldiers by Manny’s feet, his clothes covered in blood splatters as well.

Manny looked up at Ellie, and he immediately understood that she’d done it. Abby was dead. Swallowing past the dread, he grabbed Ellie by the arm and slowly dragged her out of the lobby, walking upstairs to a storage room and locking it before checking the perimeter from the window. Once he noted that the coast was clear, he opened the window and encouraged Ellie to drop down first, joining her closely behind.

Once they had reached down, they managed to barely escape from the big halogens projecting on the ground. Once they tore through the fence, they booked it for the hotel where Ellie and Dina had stashed a few radios.

-

"Tommy, come in. Tommy, this is Capitol Hill, come in!", Manny spoke into the radio but only heard incessant disturbance on it, him lowering the device in frustration.

"Fuck. If we wait here for any longer they're gonna find us. We need to move, now", he informed Ellie who was frozen still. Manny looked at her and put his hands on her shoulders carefully, before shaking her a litte.

"It's difficult for you to do anything right now, I know, but we gotta get back home, Ellie. I promise, Tommy will join us. You trust him, don't you?", Manny's breathless voice called out and Ellie looked at him before nodding numbly.

"Good. Let's pack up and leave, Miller", he encouraged her and the two of them ran away, abandoning the hell hole that was Seattle, with a flicker of hope that Tommy manages to reunite with them.

As soon as they left the hotel, their radios buzzed, a broken voice coming out of the speaker.

"Ellie---me at---it's Tommy----the border!"

Ellie and Manny exchanged a relieved look before running away from the city.

-

After spending the whole night walking in heavy downpour, they were wet, dehydrated, hungry, and tired. They laid low in a nearby broken down house, leaving as soon as the rain stopped and finally reached the border. The foliage next to the kept shuffling and both of them raised their guns only to see Tommy exit from the behind the overgrown bushes.

Ellie sighed in relief and ran over to hug Tommy, the older man hugging her back fiercely and giving a nod in Manny's direction. Tommy indirectly hinted at ending everyone. Everyone that came across him was killed. Manny felt his hair stand up with fear and he fought a shiver, Ellie staring blankly ahead. He didn't want to think about all this here. He feared he would either throw up or rip his hair out. Maybe one day he'd tell you about his thoughts on all this. One day.

For now, they regrouped and focused on only one task at hand-- going back home, Manny chest aching with yearning to reunite with you.

-

It's been four days since they left. You were officially discharged now. Joel and Dina had returned on the second day itself and it made you confused and shocked at the fact that Joel had agreed to turn around. Maria decided to shift you back to Joel's house for a while, so that you wouldn't be alone. He went back to the hospital to get Dina treated, and joined you in your old room, quelling your worries and filling you in. He told you that Dina was shot with an arrow and was pregnant, the news making you gasp in fear and surprise. Then you understood why Joel turned around, trusting Tommy to look over Ellie and not wanting the two vulnerable girls to come back alone.

"What about Manny? Did Tommy radio back about where they are?", you mumbled while picking a thread on the blanket.

You were still not allowed to walk too much still, lying down and sitting being the only options. All this bed-rest made your mind wander in dark places. After Manny left, you were so dejected that you cried yourself to sleep. You refused breakfast the next morning, Maria having to surveil you to make sure you ate something. The gnawing fear in your chest wouldn't let you breathe easy, the constant worrying for Manny making you sick. It was confusing, you were not only worried for his emotional state after meeting his friends, but also feared for the worst outcome- him abandoning you to join them again. You wouldn't recover from the latter, that much was clear. You had not removed his sweater from your body since he left, requesting for your shared blanket to be brought in to Joel's house. You just prayed that he'd come home to you, safe and sound.

Joel sighed, "He radioed in once, last night, to tell me they were leaving. Nothin' after that, I-", Joel's response was cut off from the noise of fists banging against his front door. Sitting up in alarm, you and Joel exchanged a look before he told you to stay put and wandered downstairs.

Your chest thudded in anticipation, screwing your eyes shut if incase he comes bearing some bad news, your hands shaking with anxiety when-

"Angel."

You whipped your eyes open and they fell on Manny. His clothes were a little damp and dirty, hair curling from the water and his facial hair slowly growing in, but it was still your Manny. Your eyes filled up with tears and you gasped, him rushing over to your bed side, eyes flitting across your face.

You lifted your left hand up to cradle his cheek, him leaning closer to it and his coffee coloured irises not moving from your face.

"Em..", you whispered and pressed your forehead against his, both of your eyes shutting close in contentment. You felt him inhale deeply, his pretty nose brushing against yours, a hand coming around to rest on your thigh gently.

"It's over", he mumbled against your lips and surged in, kissing you feverishly. Both of his hands came up to hold your face in them, his lips caressing yours in a sensual yet loving embrace. He heard you inhale sharply, breaking apart to let you breathe but kept his hands on your face.

"I'm home", his eyes brimmed with tears and you frowned, your hand buried in his curls, nails scratching his scalp gently.

"Are you okay?", you asked him worriedly, completely understanding if this took a toll on him. It was natural. And you'd hold him through it all.

He pursed his lips, a tear falling past his cheeks and dropping on your blanket, "I don't know, yet. It hasn't set in...but you're here. That's all I care about."

You gave him a sad smile and pulling him closer, his arms carefully going around your back and his face tucked into your throat, lips and curls tickling you lightly. You lean your head against the side of his and press a kiss to his temple, "Yeah. I'm here, always. I love you, Manny."

His breath hitched before his lips moved against your throat, "Te quiero mucho, angel."

It'd take a long time for him to heal. But as long as you had each other, you'd both be just fine.

Fin.

-

AN: RAHHH ITS DONE! please like and reblog, i love to read your comments! 🥹

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[busybeewriting]

And so, the stars aligned.

Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader.

Summary: After the Cauldron had transformed you and your sisters into High Fae, it takes some adjusting. But as life settles down, your left with searing normalcy and dealing with your sisters being grossly in love.

Warnings: None!

This is going to be part of a ongoing series! Feel free to send over any other ideas!

Requests are open!!

part two part three part four Masterlist

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You were happy for your sisters. Truly. Feyre had found Rhysand and made her life here better than anything you could have imagined back home in the rundown cabin you had grown up in. Nesta, well she was still Nesta. But now she had Cassian. And they were annoyingly in love.

But here you were. Sitting in the gardens with your only other single sister, book perched in your lap as you get distracted watching how Elain floats gracefully through the gardens. She had a few smears of dirt across her cheek, and a light sweat sheen made it look like she was glowing as the sunlight hit her. The sound of footsteps echoed as someone approached the gardens. Looking over you saw Azriel standing there- noting how he purposefully made himself known before entering. He doesn't bother to look in your direction at first, his eyes trained on where Elain was kneeling.

"Az!" Elain chirps, quickly standing and smoothing out her dress. Smiling up at the Shadowsinger. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Azriel had the faintest smile as he looked at Elain. "I wanted to make sure you were doing well." Finally he looks over in your direction. His hazel eyes meeting yours as he seemed to share the same sentiment towards you as well. Elain seemed to remember that you were there as well. Looking over at you, she gives an easy smile.

"I think we're doing well. What about you? y/n?" She asks overly sweet. And you knew your sister well enough to know she was telling you to answer and find a way out so she can be alone with Az.

Smiling as well, though admittedly tighter due to her sisters look. You understood her hesitance with her mate. But did she really not even respect the man enough to just flat out reject him? He clearly wasn't accepting her indifference as rejection. "I'm well." You nod, standing and stretching with a slight yawn. "I think I'm going to take a nap."

Elain winks at you, taking Azriel's arm as she tugs him further into the gardens. Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you head upstairs toward the room Feyre had crafted just for you. And you couldn't lie. It was so nice to have your own room, your own space. A luxury you couldn't have ever imagined the nights you laid on the floor of the old cabin.

You were young when your mother passed. You had barely known what life was like before poverty. Just two years younger than Feyre, it had been enough to ensure that you couldn't read- but like Feyre you knew the Alphabet…at least somewhat. You wondered if you could teach yourself to read now? You look at the book you had in your hands and sighs. Tossing it aside, you just occasionally flipped through the pages to make it look like you were doing anything else but getting lost into your head. Letting yourself fall back onto your bed, looking up at the ceiling. Boredom was going to kill you. Not wanting to wither away just yet. You got up with a heavy sigh and decided to go find Nyx. If there had been nothing good about becoming a High Fae, he would be your shining light. He was the Archeron's pride and joy. You and your sisters argue over being the favorite Aunt. Nesta claims that since she saved his, and Feyre's life, she is automatically the favorite. You and Elain told her that Nyx doesn't know her yet so it's not a fair assumption. Secretly, deep down you know that you're the favorite.

Making your toward Rhys's office- where you knew Feyre tended to be around this time. Gently knocking on the door, "It's open!" Rhys answers and looks toward the door expectantly. Stepping in you give a small smile.

"I have come to steal your son." You joke, walking in and seeing the baby in Feyre's arms. Her and Rhys laugh as Nyx perks up at you reaching his little arms out. You can't help the smile growing on your face as you take him. "Well hello there, Nxyie!" You coo as you brush the hair out of his face. He babbles to you, and you nod along to it. As if it isn't just gibberish.

"Nothing exciting going on y/n?" Rhys asks, standing from his desk as he wraps an arm around Feyre and presses a kiss to her temple. You shake your head.

"You're welcome to join us, we were just about to go out to lunch." Feyre offers, her smile is soft and sweet. She was practically glowing here. Gently you shook your head.

"Nah, when's the last time you guys had some alone time? I've got Nyx go enjoy." You give your sister and her mate a gentle smile. They look at each other- eyes glossing over as they talk to each other. You try and keep the ache in your heart out. Watching your sisters fall in love was the best thing that ever happened to you, to them. You were so insanely happy for them it was sometimes hard to remind yourself that mates take time. And yours would be out there, and you'd find them one day.

Feyre turns to you, "If you're okay with watching him then we'd be happy to take you up on the offer. "

"I can compen-" Rhys begins but you cut him off before he can continue.

"He is my nephew, Rhysand." You hardly used his full name. Giving a playful glare as you turn away with Nyx, who giggles at the movement. "You don't have to pay me to watch him."

Feyre laughs and shrugs, looking up at him. "I told you she wouldn't accept." Rhys hands his hands up defensively.

"Don't say I didn't try." He gives an easy smile to you and Feyre. In a few quick steps he presses a kiss to Nyx's head. "Behave for your Aunt." He tells him gently, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. "And you, call me if you need anything." You nod and smile as Feyre also quickly kisses Nyx's cheek and tells him that she loves him. Hugging you as they leave.

You look back at the infant in your arms. It was strange to how much this little guy looked like your sister, but there was so much more Rhys in him. He blinks his big blue eyes up at you. "Well Nyx. It's just me and you." You sigh and give an exaggerated shrug to jostle him- earning a giggle.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Laying on the floor, you continue to play with Nyx. His attention currently on a crinkly kids book. And you try to read the book with him- able to make out a few words.

"Pretending to read that one too?"

You jump as you whip around to see Azriel there. HIs face remains stoic, but his eyes have a glint of amusement in them. You wrinkle your nose at the Illyrian in front of you. "Spying on us?"

He raises any eyebrow and crosses the room, sitting next to you and picking up Nyx. Holding him up above him, "Hello Nyx." Nyx babbles in return and Azriel nods along as well. He looks back toward you as he lowers Nyx and passes him back the book. "He says that you were reading to him."

You smile, leaning back on your hands as you look at him. Raising an eyebrow while Azriel continues to look at you- you'd normally shy away under the Shadowsingers gaze. But for some reason today you can't seem to do that right now. "Is that so?"

Azriel simply nods. "But if you ask me, I think you were just fake reading to him."

If there was one person who had picked up on your inability to read. It would have been the Spy master himself. "What makes you think that?"

Not expecting the challenging tone from you, you could swear that Azriel looked shocked for a second. But he leans forward, equally as challenging. "What is your book about?"

Shit. You blink, what would make it so he wouldn't question you? "…romance. Pure. Filthy romance. I got it from Nesta." You lie quickly and pray to the Mother that he believed you.

Azriel nods, seeming satisfied with that answer. "You ran out of the garden quickly." He notes. You could have sworn that as you looked at him leaning back there was a…sadness to his voice. But that would be ridiculous. He was in love with Elain.

"I wanted to give you and Elain time." You shrug, looking back at Nyx who is now smashing two trucks together. You take one of the rubber ducks on the floor, setting it on your nephew's head.

"I went out there to talk to both of you."

You don't dare to look at him. "Is something wrong?"

"…No." He says after some contemplation. Taking another duck and setting it on the babes shoulder. Nyx seemed unbothered by it. Continuing to smash the trucks.

"Then, no harm no foul. Right?" You smile as you look back over at Azriel. And the spy master didn't flinch at your words, but something told you that he didn't agree.

"I suppose." He nods. Getting up and bowing to you. "Goodbye Nyx, Goodbye y/n."

You scoop up Nyx and make him wave, trying to ease the tension. "Say bye-bye Uncle Az!"

And there was a hint of a smile from Azriel before he turned and walked out. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

a/n: This was a lot of exposition, but I swear that there is more drama coming up!!

[0omillo0]

DANCER! LEE KNOW X EX DANCER! READER

Warnings!: None! Fluff and Comfort <3

masterlist

… In this familiar place, the practice room, with Lee Know in front of you, something stirred—a memory of who you used to be, and maybe, just maybe, who you could be again…

The soft lights of the practice room reflected off the polished floor, casting a gentle glow across the space as Lee Know moved with fluid precision, his body in perfect harmony with the music filling the room. Each step, each graceful turn, seemed effortless as if the rhythm coursed through his veins. You sat quietly on a bench by the mirrored wall, watching him dance like you always had, with awe and admiration.

He was mesmerizing, lost in the music, and every movement was filled with passion.

For you, though, dancing had become a distant memory.

It had been months, maybe even years, since you’d last felt that same passion. Your love for dancing had slowly withered away, suffocated by the weight of insecurity and self-doubt. You’d stopped looking in mirrors because every time you did, you no longer saw the dancer you once were. The confidence you once held so tightly had slipped through your fingers, leaving you feeling like a shadow of your former self.

Lee Know finished his routine, breathing heavily as he wiped sweat from his brow, turning to you with that familiar smile—the one that always seemed to reach his eyes, the one that had always made you feel a little less lost.

“So, how was the performance?” he asked, a playful edge to his tone as he walked toward you.

“You were incredible, as always,” you replied honestly, though there was a hint of sadness in your voice you couldn’t quite hide.

He stood in front of you, towel draped around his neck, and gave you a thoughtful look. “You know, I still wonder why you stopped dancing.”

The question made your stomach knot, a familiar ache settling in your chest. It was something you asked yourself often but could never seem to answer fully.

You lowered your gaze to your hands, fiddling with the hem of your shirt nervously. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I just… lost confidence. Or maybe I was scared I wasn’t good enough anymore.”

Lee Know crouched down in front of you, bringing his face closer to yours. His dark eyes searched yours, full of warmth and sincerity. “You were never ‘not good enough,’” he said softly, his voice firm. “You were one of the most talented dancers I’ve ever known. You still are.”

His words hit something deep inside you, stirring feelings you’d tried to bury. “I don’t feel like that anymore,” you whispered, the doubt heavy in your chest. “It’s been so long. I’m not the same.”

Lee Know stood up, reaching out his hand to you with a determined look. “Come on,” he said, voice steady.

You blinked, confused. “What? Where are we going?”

“Just come dance with me,” he repeated, not letting you shy away.

You shook your head quickly, panic rising in your throat. “No, Minho, I can’t—”

“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” he said, voice calm yet insistent. “Just dance. Like we used to. Just you and me.”

You hesitated, looking at his hand, feeling the weight of everything holding you back. But the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet reassurance he always carried, gave you the courage to take his hand. He pulled you up gently, leading you toward the center of the room. His touch was warm, familiar, and comforting.

Lee Know pressed play on the stereo, and a slow, familiar melody began to drift through the room—a song you both knew well, one you’d danced to countless times in the past.

He looked at you, his gaze soft, filled with something deeper than just friendship. “Don’t think,” he whispered. “Just let your body remember.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to drown out the doubts in your head. When you opened them again, Lee Know was there, moving with ease beside you. Slowly, hesitantly, your feet began to follow the rhythm, your body remembering the motions. At first, you felt awkward, rusty, but then something clicked. And suddenly, you were dancing.

You felt it—the freedom, the joy that you’d missed so much. The weight of your insecurities melted away, and you found yourself moving with him, your steps flowing with the music, with the familiar beat of the dance. It was like nothing had changed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel broken.

When the music ended, you stopped, breathless, but light. The relief, the joy, coursing through you was something you hadn’t felt in so long. You looked at Lee Know, who was watching you with a smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“You haven’t lost anything,” he said quietly, his voice full of pride. “You’re still you. The dancer who could move like nothing else mattered.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, but it wasn’t from sadness this time. It was gratitude, relief—hope. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I don’t know how you do it, but you always make me feel… like I’m worth something.”

Lee Know’s smile softened, his thumb brushing gently across the back of your hand. “Do you want to know why?”

You nodded, your heart beating fast, unsure of what he would say.

“Because you are,” he said softly, eyes locking with yours. “You’ve always been special to me. Not just because of how you dance… but because of who you are.”

His voice was quiet, but the weight of his words made your breath catch in your throat. You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying, but your heart was already racing ahead.

“And I wasn’t going to tell you like this,” he continued, a hint of nervousness in his voice now. “But… I love you. I have for a long time.”

The world seemed to freeze around you. His words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You searched his face, looking for any hint of doubt, but all you saw was honesty, a vulnerability that made your heart swell.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face against his chest. “I love you too, Minho,” you whispered, feeling his arms wrap around you in return. “I always have.”

His embrace tightened, and in that moment, with the soft glow of the practice room around you and the echoes of the music still in the air, everything felt right.

For the first time in a long time, you felt whole.

[lullxby]

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ RAY OF SUNSHINE (p.j.)

summary : in which percy jackson feels attached, in some way, to a girl he just met.

w.c. : about 1k

a/n : part 2! thank you for all the support on the firsg part, there will be more to follow!

this is also on my wattpad: poet1cmystery

warning(s) : none!

| riordanverse masterlist | navigation | part 1 |

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

percy awoke near midnight, having slept for almost seven hours. he had been woken up by a nightmare, just like usual. The stars hanging in the sky painted a serene picture for him as he stared out through the small infirmary window, the view calming him quickly. for once, the camp around him was quiet. no bustling demigods, no chattering kids. just quiet. 

the son of poseidon sat up, looking around more. he was never in here for as long of a time as he had been currently. he never noticed how old the withering wood was, its brown shade falling to a reddish-beige. they were surrounded by magic but still couldn't repair the infirmary. huh. he could definitely see the imprints the apollo children had made, even just in the small room he was in. there was an overall sense of brightness, despite the late hour it was. it felt welcoming, in a way. 

he debated on going back to his cabin now or staying here until morning. the harpies would be out, so that definitely wouldn't be preferable. still, could he really stay for this long? y/n had told him to stay until he felt better...

so, he stayed, in hopes of seeing her again. he was still curious about the connection he felt to her. curious about why her eyes felt so familiar. he tried to rack his brain for answer, yet nothing came to mind. there was a faint image of those eyes on a little girl, their e/c being illuminated by a ray of sunshine. but that was where the memory faded. nothing around the young girl seemed familiar, none of the scenery. he couldn’t even tell if the memory was indoors.

percy noticed the lack of movement, even inside of the infirmary. apollo kids had to sleep too. the only sound he heard was the low chirping of crickets, occasionally seeing one of their tiny bodies hopping by, being illuminated by the fading moonlight.

the lack of light was seamlessly replaced by an orange hue, accompanying the rising sun in the distance. it must’ve been closer to morning than what he had thought. well, that just meant he got to see this mysterious girl sooner.

the stars faded slowly, as if running from the intruding daylight.

y/n walked into the infirmary, smiles and all, the view causing a small grin to even grow to his own face. the optimistic attitude she often boar wasn’t new, but still found a way to draw him in.

“oh!” she looked surprised to see him, was that bad? should he have left when we woke up? the wide smile said otherwise, but he was beginning to think it was permanent, regardless of the situation. his mind raced, and he didn’t know why. it wasn’t like this with anyone else that’d help him. why her?

“i didn’t realize you were still here. are you feeling better at least?” she questioned, concern lacing her features.

“uh, yeah,” he swallowed, trying to get the ugly taste out of his mouth, “ ‘m feeling a lot better. thank you.”

“it’s what i’m here for,” she replied cheerily, spinning on her heel and moving away from the open doorway.

 he gave it a few minutes, then slowly sat up. as the blanket fell from his shoulders, a sudden wave of cool air reminded him of the shirt he wasn’t wearing.  his eyes roamed the enclosed area, searching for the familiar orange fabric of his camp-tee. then, he saw it hanging on a plastic hanger, seemingly clean. he took slightly shaky steps towards it, eventually shrugging it over his shoulders, letting it fall past his arms. 

he walked out of the room he was in, slightly zoned out. unfortunately for him, he bumped into the girl he had been trying to figure out.

“ah, shit, sorry y/n,” he said quickly, gently reaching to grab her arm to steady her.

she didn’t seem bothered. “it’s alright, are you going?”

he nodded, releasing his grip from her arm. “i’ll see you around?” he asked, hoping the answer was yes. maybe then he could figure out where he knew her from.

“of course, percy.”

her words made him smile, even if she just meant them half-heartedly. (she definitely did, he could tell.) he stepped out into the now fully-risen sun, its rays beating down on him despite the chill held by the autumn air.

immediately, he was greeted by his short, fast-talking friend. the one and only, leo valdez.

“where have you been?” the boy exclaimed, his head tilting slightly upwards to meet percy’s eyes.

“dude, it’s been like a day,” percy said flatly.

almost on instinct, percy checked his pockets for his trusted pen. no matter how long he had had it, he still wasn’t used to the fact he couldn’t lose it. just like he suspected, it was safely sitting in the back pocket of his jeans.

percy’s gaze wondered back towards the infirmary one last time, before quickly flicking back to leo, trying to listen to what the boy was discussing as they walked further and further away.

he noticed leo looking at him expectantly, and just nodded his head, seemingly agreeing to what had just been said. “yeah, of course.”

“you weren’t listening, were you?” leo groans.

“not at all,” the boy admitted, not wanting to lie to one of his closest friends.

“tell me again?” he offered, smirking sheepishly down at leo, who rolled his eyes. still, the boy repeated what he had said, this time earning a real response from percy.

the two boys conversed, occasionally shoving each other around as they walked over the dirt pathways winding between the camp cabins. eventually, they heard a horn blow, signaling breakfast.

arriving at the pavilion, percy noticed y/n walking towards a table seating annabeth chase, piper mclean, and luke castellan. wait.

luke castellan?

why was she sitting with luke castellan? 

why did percy care? 

he didn’t. right?

no, of course he didn’t. why would he?

taglist : @iamforeverandalwaystired, lmk if you wanna be added!

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 2) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 14.5𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘢 (nothing too graphic but please be warned!!), 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

note: it's here 🤲 header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

the next morning you woke, Ghost was gone again, much to your chagrin. you were beginning to pick up on a pattern—a strong tendency to disappear without a trace. his clothes were absent from your room and the kitchen table, where you haphazardly undressed him without thinking about the evidence left behind for an unsuspecting one-four-one and Kate to see. 

the only trace of Ghost’s presence in your room last night was the neat pile of undergarments and clothes on the ottoman nestled in the corner of the room. after washing up, you slowly redressed that morning. in the mirror, your neck was covered in swollen purple patches—a parallel image to the softness of your bruised inner thighs. you were lucky enough to have been lent a high-collared blouse from Kate, mulling over everything with a bitter distaste in your mouth. 

it only grew when you stepped into the back room, Soap looking positively smug and Gaz avoiding your eyes. John looked undisturbed as he paged through a book, sipping at his coffee mug with his boot neatly crossed over the other beneath the kitchen table.

“good morning,” Soap sang, practically skipping to you and handing you a sticky, cinnamon bun, rolled up in a sweet delight.

“thank you,” you said with a polite dip of your head, sitting beside John at the table.

“you know, Gaz,” Soap said suddenly, turning to his friend who only paled in response, his face looking sour. “i could’ve sworn i heard something last night—”

you withered with shame, but luckily, Gaz kicked him hard in the shin to shut him up. immediately they began to bicker, and John only gave a disapproving grunt.

“where’s Kate?” you asked, meek, and desperate to escape the three men in the room. 

John jerked his head in the direction of the main store room, and you whispered a quick thank you to him, wiping the last crumbs on the back of your split skirt rudely before making a beeline out the room.

Kate was tending to the shop, lounging behind the counter as two customers perused the catalog. she was stitching together pieces of leather with a wax thread and needle. 

you carefully noted the absence of Ghost in the store room as well, but didn’t comment on it when she shot you a fleeting, knowing look. it was gone as soon as it came and yet it made you burn with shame nonetheless.

“Ghost is out on business again,” she explained, sewing with a practiced hand, and you frowned.

“I wasn't…” the words died in your throat. instead, you implored, “let me join one-four-one today.”

she paused her ministrations and sent you a look of grief. “why? so you can run away?”

that irked you. “you know i won’t.” in a meek voice, you added, “where would i even run too?”

she shrugged, returning to her leather pieces. “i don’t know. maybe off into your own rich glory.”

you resisted rolling your eyes. smoothing the front of your split skirt, you folded your hands politely, posture straightening.

“are you really going to ransom me to my daddy?” you challenged, and her hands paused

“because if you are, i know your secret base of operations. i know all your names, one-four-one’s, and Simon’s. i know what one-four-one looks like and that you’re working with los vaqueros.” 

her eyes narrowed, brow pinching.

you continued. “i think all that information would come very handy for Turner and my daddy.”

“so what are you going to do?” she snapped, “run straight to Turner and cry at your daddy’s feet?”

“no,” you said cooly, “i think you don’t plan on giving me back to my daddy at all.”

her eyes flashed and you contented with her glare, meeting it with the strongest one you could muster.

“because if you did plan on it, i’d tell them all that and more in a heartbeat. so why’d you let me in on all that information in the first place?”

taking a shaky inhale, you hoped to god you were right. “i know too much. i think you’re planning something else for me.”

she stared at you for a long moment before heaving a long sigh, screwing her eyes shut, surprising you when her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped grin, her blue eyes crinkled with a wild look.

“Ghost said you were a smart girl.”

she returned back to the leather work, finishing off the needlework by snapping the string with her teeth, pulling it taught with a knot.

“but no,” she said with finality, and you balked.

“no…?”

“let’s say that maybe Ghost is planning something for you. something big,” she dramatized with a mocking smirk. “you’re still our hostage. you stay here, the boys ride out. simple.”

she shot you a displeased look when she finished. “if you weren’t here, i’d be riding out too.”

you swallowed, shoulders falling slowly. all that pent up energy deflated from you like a balloon, defeat curling in your stomach. looking out the front store windows, you saw Sugar dozing at her fence post. you eyed her saddle on a rack behind the store counter. 

nodding, like you were deep in thought, you stepped away from the counter. “right,” was all you offered and she gave you a mixed look of pity and irritation. 

as if on queue, the one-four-one boys clambered from the back room, murmuring low words to Kate so that you couldn’t hear. Soap tipped his hat to you on the way out, and he began to turn away when you clutched at his elbow. 

“where are you going?” you asked, casual, and his brows raised, looking from you to John to Kate.

after a long look, she just gave him a slight nod.

“five miles north. ‘nother nearby town,” he relented with a shrug, and the way his lips tightened let you know he was leaving something else out. you cocked his head at him, pressing with curious eyes, and his mouth fell open but Gaz grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him out the store, Soap shouting in protest.

“be back before sunset,” John said, gruff, closing the door behind them with a resounding thud. 

you watched as they saddled up in the bright noon light. Kate sighed. the look on her face let you know she was lamenting just as much about their departing as you.

you lazed about the main store room, eyes flicking between the leather crafts items. belts, wallets, holsters, a few couple saddles. the clicking of the wooden clock suspended on the opposite wall served as your entertainment for the afternoon.

when Kate finally excused herself to close the shop for a lunch break, washing up first, you knew you had to make quick haste. sneaking down the hallway, you passed by the bathroom as quietly as you could, you were surprised to find the basement door unlocked.

maybe they did trust you, a small voice spoke in wonder, but you mentally swatted it away. your desire to find out what the hell was going on burned brighter than anything else.

you descended quickly down the stairs, wincing at every creak and thud, till your feet met cobblestone. sweeping around in the darkness, you pulled out the matches you pocketed last night. lighting one with a quick stroke, the room lit up in a warm orange glow and you scrutinized the place.

in one main room, preserves of fruits and veggies, miscellaneous barrels, and leather working stations littered with various tools and supplies crowded the room. you could only assume the doors branching from the main room were one-four-one’s bedrooms, and you confirmed as much when you tried turning the knob of each one, finding them all firmly locked.

cursing, you wished you could remember that lock picking trick Tommy used at the schoolhouse to prank teachers in your childhood. you clambered through the space, squeezing between a nook of filled shelves, pausing when an old bookcase caught your eye. by it was a small circlet of space, several chairs, and a desk sprawling with papers. you walked to it, hand smoothing over the map littered with marks, lines, needles shoved into the wood at certain locations.

the writings made no sense, all in their own code. a large portion was circled in red with a big T scribbled in the middle. you squinted. Turner, most likely.

it was north of the town you were currently in, or so you assumed by the small star bead shaped from an ivory bone pinned down on the map. like Ghost said, you were on the border of southern california, your mama and daddy most likely twenty miles to the east in Arizona. below southern california lay another red circled portion, dipping into mexico and southern texas. LV, it read, in a smaller, less menacing font. los vaqueros.

blue circles stretched from the west to the east, centered around towns and cities, big and small. one location in particular was familiar—jackson county, missouri. all that blue, stretching from california to louisiana, was one-four-one territory. you balked at the physical size of it.

the more passing seconds you took to study the map, the more you worried Kate may emerge from the restroom and find you snooping in their basement. if she did, you dreaded the thought of being locked up in your room for the remainder of your possibly indefinite stay.

a piece of paper caught your eye. it was a letter addressed to Turner from your… your daddy. you poured over the note, running over the quill grooves in your hands.

Mr. T,

my darling belle has been stolen by the devil. you promised me that working with you meant no harm to my family. i want her back. i don’t want no man getting the idea that they can steal my things from me.

you shuddered. his things, he had called you.

i want your men on every one of one-four-one’s outposts. none of their towns will be safe. i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

your eyes ran over the line again. social?

if Ghost won’t give me my daughter, i’ll make him.

your daddy didn’t sign off the letter. carefully, you put it back down in its place. how did the letter even get there in the first place? had Ghost intercepted its messenger during a shootout in a northern town?

you swallowed. did Ghost find it in your own daddy’s house? your house?

the thought of your daddy, keeled over his desk with a bullet wound in his temple, blood oozing out in a puddle as Ghost loomed overhead, pocketing Daddy’s letter in his trench coat, made you sick to your stomach. 

you thought of what Ghost said the night prior. i searched half the plains for your horse.

did that include your daddy and mama’s house? your breath hitched. was your mama alright?

you steadied yourself against the nearby bookshelf, distracting yourself with its contents instead. fictional literature stared back at you, and you brushed your fingers down their spines in a slow descent until you met the very bottom row. a line of small journals, so small you could squeeze them into the extra space in your pocket, stared back at you. picking one on the very edge, your eyes widened at the title scrawled over it. 

GHOST.

you opened it to its latest entry, dating back to the day you were taken by Ghost. in all capital letters it read:

PICKED UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.

beneath it was a sketch of your profile and… numbers. there wasn’t an exact order or sense of them but they littered the page.

despite the numerical mystery, you found your eyes lingering on the catch of light conveyed through Ghost’s drawing, the twinkle in your eyes and the barest smile on your lips. you admired the attention to detail before flipping through to earlier pages.

a familiar, blaring title stuck out to you that dated back several weeks ago.

PICK UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.

there was more writing below it.

RANSOM: $25,000 REFUSAL → PHASE TWO

you flipped to the page after it to find another entry on a typical grocery list. you thumbed through more pages with a frustrated huff, finding nothing more on phase two or a ransom. just more sketches of wildlife, horses, and scribbled dull paragraphs on irrelevant business investments.

you mulled over the strange entry and its date from weeks prior. the night Ghost had taken you had been an arranged dinner out of the blue with only a few days of notice. but the date of this entry suggested that Ghost had been arranging the dinner for much longer. 

more than that, Ghost had forced your daddy to make a decision at the dinner table—pay up or let Ghost steal his daughter as collateral.

Ghost didn’t necessarily know that your daddy would go with the latter. but the entry already had a resolute ransom for your safe return, and a phase two plan for when your daddy refused the ransom. which, to your knowledge, has not happened yet.

in spite of your confusion, there was a relief knowing that your suspicions from the conversation with Kate earlier had been confirmed. they wouldn’t be giving you back to your daddy.

right?

quickly, you pocketed it, hoping no one noticed its absence as you weaved out the basement and up the stairs. the door was still shut as you left it, and you blew out the match, slowly opening the door, your heart hammering. there was a silence on the upper floor, a warm draft passing through the narrow hallway, blinding light streaming in through the windows.

you noticed movement beneath the bathroom door, and let out a shaky breath. what felt like hours in the basement was only minutes.

but you knew you didn’t have much time left.

you made your way down the hallway and into the main store room. hooking Sugar’s saddle over your forearm, you made a quick haste to your horse who lazily drank at the water basin by the fence. patting her shoulder, you saddled her up in record time, hitching the cinch tightly with the grind of your teeth. untying the reins, you grabbed the horn, hoisting yourself up by the stirrup.

as you backed Sugar away from the leather crafts store, you heard Kate shout, your head whipping to see her already moving with a terrifying speed to her own horse, a burly and strong looking thoroughbred that snorted heavily.

with a slap of your reigns against Sugar’s shoulder, and your heel digging into her flank, she took off with a pitched whiny. you always thought she was a crazy wild thing, but you were more glad for it now than ever.

the rush of the wind at your face didn’t help the scramble through your mind for the mental image of the town. the bell tower pointed to the north—head on a swivel, you pressed a hand on your stetson to keep it from flying away. conveniently, the thing chimed, making it known it was two hours past noon to the town

you pulled sharp on Sugar’s reigns, spurring her on through the sparse crowd that scurried out of your way as you headed straight for the tower, and out the town. the cobblestone path underfoot quickly fell into a dusty dirt and you headed dead on into the forest.

weaving between the sparse trees, ducking beneath them, and wincing when some prickly pines brushed at the exposed skin on your cheeks, you steadied on for a gallop for as long as you could muster before you were sure Sugar needed a break.

when you slowed to a standstill, listening for the breaking of a horse through bushes and leaves, met only with chirping and the rush of the forest, you nudged Sugar to walk on.

she hung her head low, winded, and you rubbed at her neck in comfort. 

Soap had said the town was five miles north. your eyes sweeping across the barren terrain, you hoped that you wouldn’t come across a different town five miles north of one-four-one’s hidden base.

after another thirty minutes of short gallops, followed by slower canters and trots, you eventually wandered far enough to spot a town on the distance of the horizon.

you startled when a big boom resounded across the land, shaking the earth beneath you. something—a building maybe—that spearheaded the sky fell with a crash. Sugar whinied wildly, stuttering backwards with jerky movements, but you urged her on ahead with clucks and a heeled boot at her flank.

you rode fast to the town, swerving around the masses of people running around it. a woman, tugging on her floral, broad brimmed hat, carried two children under her arms and ran into the woods with next to nothing. some men rode out on horses, charging ahead without a glance back. 

as you neared the outer wall of the town, you could hear the ricocheting gunshots, loud shouting, screaming, crying, the beating of horse hooves.

you cursed yourself for not thinking to grab a firearm. trotting along the wall, between a stretch of two buildings a man rode past in a flying gallop, twisted back to shoot at something—someone riding after him. you recognized his raucous, wild laughter.

Soap.

you spurred Sugar forward, creeping through a break in the walls where more townspeople leaked out in a panic. on the main dirt pathway, a horse tied to its fencepost tossed its head wildly. a revolver flashed in its saddlebag.

riding around the building, narrowly avoiding running people underfoot, you flanked the horse and pulled the revolver from the horse, then leaned down to untie the poor, squirming thing so it wasn’t in the line of fire. you grit your teeth, trying to mentally will your own horse from wriggling so much. once its reins were pulled loose, the horse bucked and made a beeline for the woods.

“hey!” an older man, beard flecked with gray, ran at your horse with a wobbling, drunk ire. the owner, you presumed, by the gun he was loading in his hand.

pressing hard into Sugar’s flank, she sidestepped him and you took the butt of your newfound revolver, jamming it into his jaw hard. he slumped to the ground ungraciously.

turning your horse in a fast pan, you rode from street to street, revolver swinging as you searched for familiar faces. it was a dizzying panic. you didn’t know who was who, or what was what, in the mass alarm. 

“that’s her!” whipping your head over your shoulder, a group of men sharply turned their horses in your direction. Turner’s men.

cursing, you spurred Sugar on in a wild gallop as they pursued you.

you checked the cylinder of it—it was only half full. three bullets. cursing yourself over and over again, you gave them a wild chase, weaving between buildings and people into a marketplace. a cart of vegetables went flying as Sugar lurched, last second, to leap over it.

the movement jerked you, and you slipped to the side, world turning over as you fell to the dirt and skidded a good ten feet, knocking back into another cart. your revolver lay discarded a short length away, stetson thrown somewhere else.

Sugar galloped off without a second to look back.

scrambling to pick up the revolver as the group of Turner’s men approached fast on horseback, you gasped when your ankle completely gave out on you, falling once more to the ground. the adrenaline pumping through your veins didn’t give you a second to hesitate, crawling forward to grab the gun.

you shot into the group blindly, satisfied when one man shrieked, holding his arm where crimson poured, and slipped off the side of his horse. picking yourself up, you limp as fast your could leg could let you move down a branching dirt path, thunderous hooves coming from behind you. 

you checked over your shoulder. they were dangerously close now.

the closest man’s hand—a turquoise bracelet glinting on his wrist—came down and swooped for your hair, missing when you ducked. but he groped for a hold on your clothes, when suddenly, he crumpled into the dirt behind you. blood splattered across your back, and you bit back a scream when a strong arm hefted you up onto their moving horse.

“i got you, darlin’,” John gritted out, and you clambered into the front of his saddle, clutching desperately at the mane of his chestnut mare as he spurred his horse on faster through the streets with one arm around your waist.

a rider approached your right flank, trying to maneuver close enough to shoot John and not you, but John was too fast and blew his head clean off. you couldn’t suppress the scream that tore from your throat. 

John barked over the roar of the wind. “i’m gonna need you to cover my blindspots, eh?” 

you nodded rapidly, panning your revolver over your shoulder as another rider neared.

“deep breath,” he commanded, swerving his mare to get out of range, bullets whizzing past your head.

you took a deep breath, watching the rider edge closer to your left as he slapped the reins against his horse’s shoulder, willing it to go faster. his eyes blew wide when you caught a glimpse of his gaze under the brim of his stetson, mouth parting in shock when you fired.

the bullet hit his chest dead on, and you watched in horror as his eyes went cold and empty, whole body slack as his shoulder crumbled forward in the saddle of his horse, before slowly slipping off the side and falling to the ground with a crash. his horse thundered on without him, blood soaking the dirt in a crimson halo around the corpse.

“good bloody shot!” John roared in your ear, and you turned your attention front again. the roads were emptier now with the stragglers having evacuated the town.

John slowed as he neared the town’s center square, and one man on a grulla and the other on a bay circled the fountain square in a pan, shooting at the men who came barreling down each pathway. each one dropped like a fly.

you counted about a dozen bodies on the floor of the square.

the man on the grulla laughed maniacally, who you instantly recognized as Soap. the other rode with a tight rein with a mechanic movement.

John pulled his horse to a sliding halt, almost making you fly over the shoulder of his chestnut if it weren’t for the arm around your waist.

“picked up a straggler!” he shouted, turning into the fray as another trio of Turner’s men came down an alleyway on horseback.

Soap flanked your horse, shooting two of Turner’s men down as John finished off the other. flies were whirling around the dead bodies on the ground. you wanted to puke.

“first time gunslingin’?” Soap asked, a poisonous glint in his steel eyes.

you didn’t have time to respond because Gaz was shouting— “your left!”

John was whirled, but not in enough time before two bullets hit his chestnut with sickening thuds. she whinied, rearing, and for a second time, you were sliding to the dirt, ungracefully landing on top of John in a winded pile.

you scrambled off him and he crawled to his knees as he reloaded his revolver. your own was thrown somewhere away—obscured from view as a couple of Turner’s men slid off their horses, striding towards you at a dangerous pace.

head on a swivel, you scurried backwards, a low throb in your ankle blooming. the adrenaline was wearing off as a thickening dread seized you. Gaz and Soap were occupied, grappling a thickening trickle of Turner’s men into the town square.

a man with a gold tooth, you recognized as an affiliate of the man with the turquoise bracelet from a few minutes prior, swung his leg back and kicked John straight across his cheek.

two other men seized you by the front of your blouse to hoist you up, but you kicked and screamed, biting down hard on a hand that came to pull on your hair. he cursed, throwing you back down into the dirt, and you skidded till your back struck something hard. 

eyes widening, you twised your arm behind you to feel a familiar, cool handle. this time, you let them yank you up, letting the revolver fall into the loose cuff of your loose sleeve and holding it there.

the man with the gold tooth gripped your cheeks tightly and spat at your feet. his breath was grimy, alcoholic, and made your skin crawl.

“you’ve been giving us a hell of a time, angel.” his other hand stroked down your chest.

you twisted to bite his fingers and he slapped you, the strong sting bringing tears to your eyes. the two men were holding your arms back in a bind, one pressing his front into your shoulder, mouth almost to your ear.

“he’ll kill you,” you seethed, dead serious. the man with the gold tooth laughed.

“so you really are the devil’s angel?” he leaned back, hands on his holster, a menacing look twisting his lips. “thought Mr. Tuner was bein’ dramatic. looks like Ghost’s got a pretty missy now.”

the man by your ear chuckled, hot breath down your neck and you reeled, fighting against him.

“i’ll kill you myself if i have to,” you hissed, both to the man in front of you and to the one digging his hand into your backside, squeezing.

the third man sounded considerably younger, more nervous. “whadda’ we do with her, Charles?”

your eyes went wide. you remembered the man at the cabin, the one who said—

let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.

that’s what he had said.

a coiling fear seized your chest, your breath trapped and lungs stuttering. you looked to John, flattened and forgotten by Charles’s feet. you internally begged him to get up. when he didn’t move, you looked up behind Charles to Gaz and Soap, bloodied and firing round after round. 

when the men hefted you to your feet, half-dragging you down the dirt road, you struggled, tears welling in your eyes. “no—” Charles tried to cover your mouth but you bit his hand hard and he snarled.

“no!” you screamed, fighting even when they yanked you into an empty saloon and threw you against the bar top.

Charles held you down with an iron grip, and other man unbuckled himself with a malicious grin. you felt overcome with an intense fear, trying to squirm up the side of the bar counter, but Charles held you steady. 

you should’ve never come here. this was your fault. this was your fault.

the third man was just a boy, shaking as he stared at you splayed across the counter. 

help me, you mouthed, but he just turned away so his back was to you.

this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault.

soon, your struggling subsided, and your mind drifted to a far, far, far off place.

the cool gun tight in your grip kept you tethered to your sanity when Charles kissed your now exposed calf. you tightened around the handle, feeling its silver embroidery, the men too distracted to notice the click of the safety.

an eerie calm drifted up in you as they continued their movements, Charles’s hand slipping underneath your skirt and drawers. you noted the glass bottle half full of beer abandoned right above your head.

you waited for the second man to float upwards, till his mouth was on your neck, and you shoved your sleeve right under his chin.

his eyes widened in surprise at your compliant behavior, humming something like approval before you pulled the trigger and blew clean through his face. he fell to the floor with a thud, half of his face gone, and Charles shrieked, looking down at his body in horror. that’s when you snatched the glass bottle of beer over your head and lurched off the counter to strike him in the head—over and over and over again.

your body was a machine, moving mechanically. the bottle shattered and alcohol pooled into blood. you didn’t stop until you couldn’t see the gold shine in his gaping mouth, until two arms gripped at your wrists, pulling your back into a broad, strong chest.

the musk of bourbon, smoke, and earth cleared your mind.

“Simon?” you squeaked, returning to yourself. 

the familiar cold of his mask against your neck brought you back down to the ground. 

he slowly pried the shattered bottle from your hand, only the neck and jagged shoulder left behind. he folded your hands into his gloved ones, crossing over your chest in a tight bind, crushing you to him.

you should’ve felt like you were debilitated, or trapped even, but you never felt more safe in his arms as you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. he was the only thing holding together the pieces of you right now.

he shushed you, smoothing a big hand over your chest as he rocked your entwined bodies.

“it’s alright, lovely.”

“it’s my fault,” you chanted, voice raw with effort. “it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

Ghost didn’t respond to that, and instead began explaining with a calculated, low murmur into your ear. “i told the boys that there would be some Turner boys in this town. nothing they couldn’t handle. but there was an ambush.”

your breath hitched at that, cries dying in your throat.

“i was stationed with Alejandro and a lot of his boys in a town two miles west of this. we thought Turner would tear through there.” his thumb smoothed over your exposed neck. “he didn’t.”

it fell into pieces now. one-four-one stationed here, expecting less than a dozen of Turner’s men, when instead, they crawled through this town like ants. an ambush.

“Kate rode into town like a wild animal. i thought someone died.” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “i thought you died.”

you remembered the lashing tendrils of panic you felt in pressed against the wall in the back room, Ghost bleeding out a couple feet in front of you, the billiard parlor up in flames across the street.

had he felt the same?

“the boys,” you began instead, pushing the memory away, “how are they?”

he gripped your chin, turning your face to his and pressing his forehead to yours. the swirling darkness of his eyes was more comforting than anything you had ever known.

“they’ll live.”

you shivered at that and he soothed you with a shush, gently pulling you to your feet. wincing, he caught your wobbling body immediately.

“hurt?” he asked cooly, but you could hear a sharp edge in it.

you gave him a sheepish look. “my ankle.”

he just nodded, sweeping you into his arms like you were his bride. even if it was so improper, the exhaustion that furled around you like a fog had you curled into his chest as he stepped over pools of blood.

over his shoulder, your stomach curdled at the sight of Charles, his face a gaping wound of pink, mangled flesh. he was half-beaten into the ground, and his associate was sprawled near his shoulder. the boy was nowhere to be seen.

you closed your eyes against Ghost’s neck, pressing your nose to its steady pulse. you barely registered the light that enveloped you when he stepped outside, the light crunching of dusty dirt under his boots a mile away. there was murmuring, new and foreign voices coupled with old ones. no more gunshots. no more shouting.

you let the foggy undertow pull you somewhere softer and sweeter—right into the roughness of your mama’s hands brushing your hair by the fireplace, Daddy reading an old book aloud behind your shoulder.

it was the rhythmic clatter of steel tracks against steel rail that stirred you from a light slumber. your sweet dreams had stretched into grotesque, bloody depictions the further they ran on, replaying scenes over and over in your head.

Charles’s face split open on the floor. red running from Daddy’s temple. a knife through your mama’s heart. Turner’s wrinkly hand on your thigh as he shoots three bullets through Ghost’s heart—his eyes wide as blood poured down his maskless face. but beneath the blood, he was faceless, skin smoothed over and pale, till his face morphed into Charles's deformed flesh and it replayed again.

a soft stroking along your thigh brought you further from the murky haze, and you pushed up against a solid form. you opened your eyes to find Ghost’s, blinking down at you.

there was an endless, crushing relief to see his mask still firmly clasped to his face. 

you tried to push away any lingering curious voices in your head, but they pushed through the weak pockets of your mental blockade, whispering out, what’s under it? 

you prayed that you wouldn’t find a faceless form beneath the red gleam of it.

his arm was wrapped around your shoulders and back, fingers digging into your waist and thigh. you were practically half in his lap, cheek pressed to his chest, his big trench coat slung over your curled up body.

for the first time, you realized, you awoke to Ghost’s presence by your side. you would’ve happily nuzzled back into his warmth and fallen back into the nightmares that clutched at you, if you didn’t realize that you had an audience.

eyes snapping open, and sitting up straighter, you blearily tried to shake the sleep away as you met the stares of several foreign faces sitting in chairs opposing you. save for the weary one-four-one—John dozing lightly, a new splint in bandage over his nose, Soap’s face a remote grim shade, Gaz’s and Kate’s attention trained on you.

you noticed Soap’s arm in a sling with a bitterness.

shifting, you looked out the train compartment window moving through the arid, weedy forest, sun dipping far into the horizon in a crimson-purple hue. 

“good morning,” Ghost greeted, pressing the nose of his mask to your hair. muffling a squeak, you tried to shift away because it was improper, but his strength held you close, hot gaze burning into your cheek.

you cleared your throat, looking to the man nearest to you. his hair was slicked back in dark curls, a toothpick between his teeth. he gave you a wild grin.

“we finally meet, chica,” he said in a beautifully lilted accent. he stood to offer his hand politely, and you would’ve stood to curtsy if Ghost’s hold on you wasn't so… possessive.

instead you put your hand in his and he kissed the back of it with a sly look.

Ghost tutted, muttering an impatient, “Alejandro.”

your brows rose when Alejandro released your hand with a laugh. he gestured to a clean-shaven, handsome man beside him.

“this is my most trusted right hand—Rodolfo.”

he smiled at you politely with a slight nod but made no move to shake your hand.

you nodded back. “pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Alejandro gestured to the other men littered around the room, leaning back in their plush seats. “and these are my men. los vaqueros.”

your breath hitched, looking around the room in a slight awe. these men were legends you heard of in childhood—iron fists of justice in the south that grappled with corrupt conglomerates and drug-dealing cartels. they also dabbled in their own bouts of illegal trouble. their hard-lined faces stared back at you.

instead you croaked, “where are we? and where are we going?”

you jumped a little when Ghost thumbed at your cheek, almost forgetting he was there. “we’re mid-way through southern california, bound for san francisco.”

your eyes ran over the los vaqueros, donned with bandoliers and sombreros, then one-four-one, looking much smaller and more meager. you couldn’t help but give them a weary smile, a warmth spreading in you when Soap perked up a smile of his own.

“why?”

Kate leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. you were eternally grateful for the comfort in at least one other female presence.

“we’re going to war.”

you stiffened. “what?”

Soap quickly followed. “against the Turner boys.” his eyes darkened. “they’re wreckin’ all our towns. they won’t stop and we don’t have enough boys to get ‘em.”

Ghost’s grip on your hip tightened. Gaz pushed on. “we’re going straight to the source.”

in san francisco?

you remembered the map in the basement, the large red circle over midwest california that included the bustling hub that was san francisco, with a scribbled T in the middle. a feeling of dread gripped your stomach. this was going to develop into a gang war—or something like it at least.

“does it really have to come to that?”

you grimaced when a terse silence followed.

“this is more than about money, lovely,” Ghost said with a thickness to his accent. “this is about revenge.”

you summed that much up from the dangerous flicker in Soap’s eyes, but you worried more about where you fit into the equation. you thought back to Ghost’s journal, a sudden apprehension for the arm coiled around you tightly. 

did phase two include you? were you of use once your daddy refused Ghost’s proposed ransom? and if you weren’t?

Ghost’s journal burned a hole through the pocket of your split skirt—maybe it was selfish, maybe it was childish, but a flurrying panic rose in you at the thought of going back home. you just couldn’t.

you bit back your tongue as Kate and a half-awake John moved to discuss with Alejandro in quiet murmurs that you couldn’t hear. they circled around a table, Soap and Gaz leaning into the conversation behind them.

you felt Ghost’s hand twitch on your hip as he shifted, gaze still trained on you.

sighing, you inclined your head in their direction. “go.”

he pressed his masked lips to your cheek in, what you deciphered as, a silent thank you. 

you just swatted at him with a blush as he helped you to your feet, drawing his trench coat tighter around your shoulders. Rodolfo lended you a gracious arm to lean on as Ghost neared the table, your ankle an irritable throb in the back of your mind. the crowd split, his broad form pushing through, and merged again, Ghost’s stetson half-obscured from view.

you wanted to join their circle, or lean in at least, and absorb their low murmurs, but instead Rodolfo helped you limp out of the train compartment into a plush hall.

you must’ve been in a first class sleeping car because you had not seen something so lush—springy green carpet beneath your boots and a ruby red wallpaper that crawled with patterns of roses and prickly vines. the lights overhead were gilded in gold.

Rodolfo must’ve caught your gaze because he gave you a half-smile, clarifying, “Kate pulled some strings.”

you just nodded weakly. the thought of one-four-one’s influence spreading to big railway conglomerates was staggering, but at this point, didn’t sweep you into shock.

he led you to a door with a carved brass knob and chiseled key hole, fumbling with a circlet of keys in his hand. you looked down the hall and startled when, at the end of the hallway compartment, you spotted a man staring straight back at you. he wore a fashionable black jacket with silver buttons and embellishments, a cap on his head that read pullman porter on a brass plating.

his eyes flickered from you to the door Rodolfo opened with a soft click, before he drew the hallway compartment door shut with a slam. you watched him stride away fast through the window, other first class passengers lounging lazily in the opposite compartment. 

“senorita?”

Rodolfo held the door open for you and you thanked him quickly, pulling yourself together and stepping into the luscious, but cramped, bedroom. politely, he closed the door, and you were left in a relief crushing silence.

the bed bowed beneath your weight as you sunk into it, kicking off your boots and laying out Ghost’s trench coat, falling back on it. you itched to loosen the strings of your corset but it was buried beneath too many layers of clothes for you to care about that now.

instead, you emptied the pockets of your fraying split skirt. you lined up Ghost’s journal, the matches, bunch of rope, and extra ammo on the bed. at the sight of it, you couldn’t help but lament the continuous absence of a revolver in your inventory.

you wondered if it was one-four-one’s intention to keep it that way as you picked through the room. there was an oil lamp on the nightstand—a carved cherry wood piece you took a moment to admire before moving to the equally exquisite armoire. opening it with a gasp, a bright bunch of fabric spilling into your face and almost knocking you back.

the thing was stuffed full of dresses and fancy garments—dresses, skirts, blouses in silk and chiffon with lacey embellishments. for a moment, you panicked. was this your designated room?

from outside the door, you heard someone taking slow steps down the hall. the knob was hallway turned when you swept up the stolen items you had laid out on the bed and shoved them back into your pockets. 

Ghost slinked into the room without so much as a word and a tired look. your heart was still beating out of your chest.

“ever heard of knocking?” you frowned deeply. “what if i was indecent?”

he huffed an amused sound at that, eyes twinkling as he sat on the bed. “i’ve seen you indecent before.”

your stomach curled at the memory. suddenly, being in such close proximity alone with Ghost felt like a sinful thing, and a heat snaked under your skin, traveling up to your cheeks till it burned in your ears.

he cocked his head at you but not unkindly. “we need to talk, lovely.”

you nodded. “yes.” then, curiosity overtook you. “but what’s this?” you gestured to the open doors of the armoire behind you. 

he cleared his throat and avoided your eyes, shifting on the bed. “they’re for you.”

your brows shot up. that’s what this was?

you looked from Ghost twitching on the bed to the stuffed armoire. you could imagine him picking out dresses and blouses and skirts at a tailor shop with Kate by his shoulder as you slept away the afternoon’s traumatizing events, then boarding the luxurious train with you curled into his arms.

a romantic gesture?

before you let your thoughts run away from you, sitting beside him on the bed, you had wanted to thank him in that polite manner your mama has always taught you, but you find yourself wanting to tease the apprehensive tenseness in his shoulders instead.

“it’s going to take a lot more than money to charm me, Simon,” you called softly, leaning into his side.

even if he had plenty of it, you thought dreamily, eyes running over the expensive fabric of his black suit.

he just scoffed, turning his head completely from you, but didn’t lean away. you inched behind him to smooth your hands over his shoulders which seemed to impossibly tighten even more.

“so tense,” you said in his ear, massaging your thumbs into the fleshy parts of his back. head tipping back slightly, his slow, deflating exhale didn’t go unnoticed. 

“we need to talk,” he repeated, voice gruff. you leaned over his shoulder to peer at his face, but his eyes had already slid shut beneath his mask.

humming, you rubbed circles into the back of his neck, then inching back down between his shoulder blades and along his spine. one hand on his back, you slid the other to the front, watching the way his shoulders laxed with wonder.

when your fingers fiddled with the button of his vest, his gloved hand caught your wrist, heavy eyes looking over his shoulder at you with a warning that dripped with something darker. you squirmed under his gaze, skin feeling impossibly hot, a familiar clench in your stomach.

“you minx,” he said, voice a low rumble that coaxed a whine from your throat and only darkened the look in Ghost’s eyes.

he began to push you over to the bed with a hand on your chest, towering over you with a glint in his eye, but you yelped, squirming away from his hold. the movement tipped you over the edge of the bed and you crashed into the nightstand, almost knocking over the oil lamp. your ankle screamed in protest, but the images flashing through your head cut right through the pain.

the man unbuckling his belt. Charles’s hand holding you down in an iron vice, rough lips against your skin. his hand digging into your naked flesh beneath your undergarments. both of them looming over you with black eyes, and the glint of gold—

“lovely?” Ghost steadied you with an arm around your waist—but not in a way that constricted you. his eyes searched your own.

“what is it?” he demanded, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

“nothing.” you laxed, curling over him and instead pressed him down so his back hit the bed with a thud. “it’s nothing.”

you clambered over him clumsily, allowing his hands to guide you to a comfortable position, legs hooked around his waist and hands braced against his chest. it was solid and warm beneath you, like a rock that swelled slowly. you bit down on your lower lip, trying to the best of your ability to ignore the sharp stabbing of your ankle.

“you sure?” from his warm grip on your hips, and the narrow of his eyes, you knew he didn’t believe you for a second. you didn’t think he was stupid enough to not know why.

but you nodded with a stuttering breath anyway. “just let me…” you searched for the words, finding your head back in the place where you laid with him only a night ago. “take care of you.”

you unbuttoned his vest as he worked on your blouse, pulling it off with an ease that sent chills down your spine. you squeaked with surprise when he pulled you flush to his chest, sitting up to throw his vest to the floor and strip off his dress shirt. untangling yourself from him, you stood to undo your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles.

you looked up to Ghost who watched you from the bed, eyes a hungry, smoky glare. you studied the muscled gleam of his torso, breath hitching at the sight of his stitches. the wound was a raw pink and dangerously loose.

huffing an impatient noise, you yelped when he pulled you back onto his lap, pressing his mask into your neck and hair. it screamed such a Simon gesture that it had you melting into him, clutching at the fabric on the back of his head. 

this was Simon. any dread furling at the edges of your mind dissipated. but still, you couldn’t hold yourself back from worrying— 

“your stitches?” you gasped, feeling him pull up the fabric of his mask and press his hot lips to your neck, tongue sliding out.

a breathy noise left your lips and you squirmed, bracing your hands against the brawn of his shoulders to push him back down to the bed again. he gave way easily, to your surprise.

in the low light of the day, his lips looked pretty and full as he licked them. “they’re fine.”

you ran your hands over his chest, gasping when he pressed his hips up gently into you. there was a hardness in his pants that felt delicious against that painful ache of your core.

you muffled a sigh, allowing his hands to drag you over that hardness once more, then you gasped again. your eyes snapped up to his and he smirked, teeth glinting in the light.

“feel good?”

your head tipped back, hands scrambling for purchase. you gripped tightly at his forearms.

“i’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you whined out as he rocked you back and forth.

“you are,” he grunted through gritted teeth, head lolling back against the pillows, his muscled neck bobbing with a heavy swallow. your eyes followed the movement with a hunger, feeling a strange desire to lick over it.

even through your drawers, the friction felt like heaven, and as his movements grew faster, the tightness of your corset felt constricting around the heavy pants of your breast.

noticing this, Ghost moved to quickly unstring it, your hips endlessly canting against him. you felt a wonderful burn in your core, traveling up to your chest, throat, and tingling behind your eyes that were screwed shut.

you gasped when the corset fell away, a coolness enveloping your bare skin, jolting when you felt something hot and wet at your nipples. looking down, you moaned at the sight of his tongue swirling around the hardened buds of your breast, suckling one into his mouth. it left your chest tingling, the feeling raw and sensitive and foreign, but you only wanted more.

“that’s it. moan for me, princess,” he purred, one hand trailing down your bare spine and stopping at your backside, massaging it down into his hardness, spurring your hips forward.

you barely registered his words, biting down hard on your lip to keep the growing noises at bay as Ghost led you closer and closer to an inevitable precipice. he drew away his tongue from your chest, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. you whimpered in its absence.

“louder, pretty thing.” he tugged back a bit on your hair, so your head tilted back and your lax jaw fell open, releasing a slew of pretty sighs that had him humming approvingly.

“good girl.”

his husky words sent you hurtling over the edge, and your body shook with pleasured delight, vibrating across your skin in seizing spams. you would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for the strong arms that circled your middle.

“Simon…” you whined, clutching weakly at his arms as he scattered kisses all across your jaw, neck, chest, breasts till the murky colors exploding in your vision faded.

he lowered you back down to the bed, and you collapsed beside him, panting. he stroked at your hair, turning onto his side with a warm fullness in his gaze. your lips stretched into a weak smile and you craned up to kiss his neck softly, licking over that swollen appendage in its center like you had wanted to earlier.

you relished in the way his breath hitched. eyeing over his body, there was still a bulge in his dress pants that stirred your curiosity.

sending him a silent question with your gaze, his knuckles dragged over your exposed arm. he cocked his head. “i’m alright, lovely.”

“but…” your face heated up. “i want to see.”

he shifted on the bed, black eyes darting over your face. for the first time since you’d known him, Ghost looked… nervous.

“why do you want to see?”

“because…” the words died in your throat. his lips stretched into a wry grin.

“you don’t need to. i like you like this,” he sighed, twirling your loose hair between his fingers.

your brow furrowed. “like what?”

his grin grew fuller. “innocent.”

you mustered your most bitter look and threw it at him, mood plummeting when he let out a throaty laugh.

“you really want to see that bad?” his eyes went dark again, and you nodded eagerly.

with a long look, a hand twitching at his side, he just sighed and willed you closer with a beckoning hand. you sat up with a sharp clarity to your mind, inching forward towards his pants. he remained leaned back against the pillows, one arm stretched over his body and cradling the back of his head as he unbuckled his pants with one hand.

he pulled himself out of his undergarments, the flesh heavy, swollen, firm, and drooling a thick fluid at the flushed tip. your whole body heated up with something—shame, embarrassment, longing, or something even deeper.

“oh,” you squeaked, avoiding his gaze entirely, though you knew it was burning into your cheek. he grabbed your chin, turning your head to meet it.

“we can stop here, but i don’t know if i can hold back if you just—” he swallowed hard, “watch me like that.”

“like what?” you asked, lips parting and eyes growing doe-like.

he cursed, and you watched in amazement when his hand flexed around his length, abdominal muscles flexing in time with it, tip oozing out more fluid. weirdly, saliva pooled in your mouth, and you resisted the urge to swallow it back.

you wanted to put your tongue on it.

“like that,” he rasped, throat strained with effort. 

you gazed at him wordlessly, hands feeling restless. you wanted to touch him.

he cocked his head. “what’s wrong?” 

when you said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line, starting to tuck himself back into his pants, and you felt a growing panic in you. “i told you i’m alright pretty girl—”

“no!” you lurched forward to snatch his wrist away, his length straining against his stomach. his eyes snapped up in surprise and you felt your entire face go red with embarrassment. “i mean,” you inhaled deep, “no. i… i want to…”

you swallowed hard. Ghost lips twitched, a very amused expression stretching his face.

“can i…?”

his hand rubbed over your thigh, squeezing. “can you what, pretty thing?”

you whimpered, clutching at his hand. “want to put my mouth on it.”

the growl from the back of his throat should’ve scared you but it only spurred you forward, settling closer to the side of him, your thigh firmly pressed against his as you sat your backside over your ankles. one experienced a stabbing pain, but the sight in front of you cut right through the nagging sensation.

Ghost’s gaze was intense, heavier than you ever felt before, even with his body laxed back into the pillows, one arm hooked behind his head.

“go ahead, lovely.”

tentatively, you reached out, brushing your fingertips over the very tip of it where all the fluids were spilling out in rolls down his length. the hiss he let out made your core shiver, vibrating back to life in slow, hot pulses.

“what does it feel like?” you whispered, and his eyes closed.

“good.”

“how good?” you pressed, dragging your fingertips down the underside and back up again. his breath hitched when you brushed over a sensitive spot nestled beneath the tip. massaging at it with your thumb experimentally, his eyes snapped open again, snatching up your wrist.

your heart skipped a beat, a new worry clouding your mind. had you done something wrong?

on the verge of apology, you stopped short when he pressed a kiss to your inner wrist.

“you have to tell me if you want to keep going or not.” his eyes flashed. “if we do, i won’t want to stop, and i don’t want to scare you.”

even beneath the layers of his mask, the way his jaw was set in a grim clench, you could see the sincerity in his face.

“i want to make you feel good,” you said with finality, and his lips twitched up.

“i know you do.” he rubbed your cheek with affection. “such a polite girl.”

“tell me what to do,” you almost begged, squirming in his hold, and he guided your hand back down to his swollen length, gasping when he wrapped your entire hand around it.

it was wet, sticky, warm, throbbing.

“feels good when you squeeze tighter,” he said softly, eyes going hazy when you immediately obeyed. slowly, he dragged your hand up and down its length, going completely lax against the bed.

you watched in amazement, clenching your thighs together as your entire hand went up and down it in a rhythmic grind, the swells of his chest rising faster with every ministration. his eyes fluttered close periodically, sometimes tightening his hold on your hand, then going loose, altering speeds between painstaking slowness and a quick jerking movement.

“doin’ good, princess,” he panted, and you flushed at the praise because you really weren’t doing anything.

scanning over his body, you remembered the way his breath stopped short when your tongue was on his skin. 

you wanted to hear those sounds again. 

leaning down, you shyly mouthed over the skin at his neck, sucking there, and you were immediately spurred on with the low groan that left his lips.

your lips traveled down past his collarbones, to the plush muscle of his chest, tongue circling his nipples now, and he jolted in beneath you, hand stuttering almost to a stop.

“christ,” he gritted out as you sucked there, thighs squirming together for an ounce of relief.

you found it when Ghost snaked a hand beneath your drawers, seeking out your puffy clit and eagerly discovering it, rubbing firm circles against you.

your lips fell away from his chest, and you almost crumpled onto him, grinding down into his hand with a greediness that bloomed through your whole body. he hummed approvingly in your ear, kissing the shell of it gently, when you jerked your hand over his length on your own—matching the movements of his fingers on your clit.

“fuck, just like that,” he rasped, sounding a bit desperate now.

his hand fell away from yours around his length, gripping at your hip instead to steady you. when he sped up, so did your hand, sparks flying beneath your eyelids as you keened loud. his lips were on your neck, and your whole body went numb, but your gaze was intent on his own length that throbbed deliciously strong in your hand.

it twitched, then shuddered, and you felt Ghost muffle a groan against your neck as his hips stuttered up, watching in amazement as fluids spurted out from the tip in rhythmic pulses, rolling down over your hand in a milky substance.

you both shuddered through mutual pleasure, and once the last of the wracking waves struck you, you crashed forward into his chest, a sticky and sweaty mess.

you caught his eye, tired and half-lidded, a bead of sweat going down his neck as his chest rose rapidly, and you couldn’t help but laugh—feeling giddy from the open display of his own pleasure that Ghost had just revealed to you.

his lax face shifted into one of amusement, craning down to kiss your nose. that’s when you remembered—

“i didn’t put my mouth on it,” you realized with a cracking disappointment. 

looking down to his length, now softer and still covered in the fluids, you leaned down to press your tongue to it, but were pulled back suddenly by a soft hiss.

“don’t,” Ghost rasped, and you gave him a wide-eyed apologetic look. 

he just shook his head. “it’s different than this—” he smoothed a hand over your clothed cunt, and you gasped with embarrassment at the blunt movement, “—s’more sensitive after i orgasm.”

you tilted your head. “orgasm?”

he brushed the hair from your sweaty forehead. “your climax,” he elaborated in a seductively smooth voice and you blushed, pushing his hand away as he smirked. you knew what he meant.

your gaze traveled back to the pool of fluid on his stomach, a curiosity brewing in you. “is that what this is?”

he followed your gaze. “mhmm. it’s what this is, too.”

he snaked his hand back into your undergarments, and you jolted with a gasp, squirming when he pressed two fingers against your entrance. when he pulled them back to show you, there was a sticky wetness on them—similar to the one on his pelvis.

“oh,” you said, flushed with embarrassment at such blunt displays of education.

you mentally chided your mama for teaching you absolutely nothing about this. though, you assumed she would’ve told you before your marriage about… lovemaking.

before a crashing guilt could consume you, the view of Ghost wrapping his tongue around his fingers that were sticky with your orgasm startled you back to reality.

“Ghost!” you exclaimed, pulling his fingers out of his mouth. 

his brow furrowed as he huffed with frustration. “what?”

“that’s improper!” you slapped at his chest. “very improper! and…” your face screwed up. “unsanitary.”

that face-consuming smirk of his stretched his pretty lips. “don’t forget i was drinking it straight from the source last night.”

with your hand to your mouth, you gasped, pushing yourself completely off the bed as he shook with quiet laughter, delirious with it, even.

“i’m done with you,” you said with a roll of your eyes as he beseeched you to come back, but you refused to comply, clasping your corset back around you.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched him mop up the wetness on his body with his balled up dress shirt before he padded over, swiping your hair over your shoulder.

“let me help.”

you felt him lace the thing back up, and tug it close loosely. you sent him a look over your shoulder, instructing him to tighten it more, but he just grumbled, barely tugging it tight and you ended up shooing him away to do it yourself.

he gave you a grumpy, reproachful look and you had to bite back a grin at his behavior—that intimidating stoicism returned as promised as a rising ocean tide.

from the armoire, you picked out a loose nightgown, bodice embroidered with small bows and lace, sleeves pulling into a wide bell shape at your elbow. Ghost was still half-naked, leaning back on your bed with a sleepy gaze. he gave you a highly approving hum when you pulled it on before excusing yourself to wash up in the lavatory.

drawing Ghost’s trench coat back around your shoulders, and stepping into the hall, you muffled a shout when the same pullman porter was stationed at the end of the hallway, eyes boring into you. in the darkness of the night, shadows were cast strangely across his face, and his eyes looked like they were a pure black.

resisting the urge to step back into your room, where a very dangerous and strong outlaw lay, you just gave the porter a polite nod to move to a lavatory in the opposite direction. the porter stood stock still in the dark, not even moving to acknowledge you.

bitten with fear, you sighed in relief when you pushed into the private lavatory, locking the door behind you. inspecting your appearance in the mirror, you cringed at the disheveledness of it. there was a dark, purpling circle of exhaustion under your eyes and a swollen pink hue to your face—not to mention the frizzy circlets of hair defying gravity on your crown.

you took your own washcloth and dipped it in the basin, turning the faucet, praying for hot water. when none came after you stripped yourself of your nightgown, you grimaced as you scrubbed the cold washcloth over yourself. you wet your hair and brushed it back, splashing your face with the icy water, toweling off, then redressing yourself in the nightgown.

a hand on the lavatory knob, you worried about the porter at the end of the hallway. what if he had moved? what if, when you opened the door, you’d open it to his face—the all-encompassing black of his eyes?

suddenly, events just hours prior came crashing down on you. men looming over you. the sickening thud of the bullet hitting that man on his horse, face going black, before falling to the ground with a crunch. the clink of a belt.

gunshots were in your ears, an intense ringing after each click, trigger, pull, boom and smoke.

“no,” your hands shook as you slid down the lavatory wall, covering your ears. 

the banging became louder. with each boom another body dropped dead, blood unfurling around it like a bad omen, its tendrils snaking. snaking towards you. 

“no, no.” you couldn’t stop shaking.

this was your fault.

you had killed three men today. one, on the horse, second, bullet through the face, third, beat him to death in the ground. beat him to death.

this was your fault. this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault—

“HEY!” you jolted back to reality, breath in a dizzying flurry. really dizzying flurry. when you stood, you felt nauseous, almost keeling over and throwing up. you pressed your forehead to the cool of the wall, swallowing back the bile hard.

there was a banging knock on the door.

“how much fockin’ longer are ye going to take’n there?” you tried to work out your voice but all that came out was a scraping rasp.

“sweet mother of mary and jesus, what does a man need to do to piss ‘round here—”

you swung the door open suddenly and Soap jumped back with a yelp, pressed flat against the opposite of the narrow hallway. the soft, yellow lighting poured out into the dark hallway and bruises you didn’t notice before littered Soap’s cheeks, his right eye a pocket of swollen, purple flesh.

his anger dissipated in a second at the sight of you, giving you a nervous, wry smile.

“sorry, lassie, didn’t know it was you—” he paused suddenly, face contorting. “are ye cryin’, lassie?”

you touched your fingers to your numb face, pulling back to find a wetness on your fingertips. you just stared at him as he fumbled awkwardly, mouth opening and closing.

you spoke for him. “i killed three men.”

he didn’t even react, expression deflating as he nodded. “it happens, lass.”

he reached out a hand tentatively, just barely brushing his good hand over your shoulder, the other still hanging limp by his chest in a white sling.

how can murder be normal?

“no, i killed them. on purpose.” something in you broke. “i wanted them to die.”

he just shook his head again, gripping your shoulder tightly now. “they would’ve done worst te you if you didn’t, bonnie.”

you chewed that, finding it indigestible no matter how you looked at it.

Soap continued quickly, “i enlisted when i was sixteen. saw things in a war i shouldn't've. luckily one-four-one and Laswell had my back…”

he smiled fondly before shrugging. “war happens. death happens, lassie, whether you wish it on someone or not. those men had it comin’ for ‘em.”

nodding slowly, you barely mustered a tight-lipped smile when he patted your shoulder brazenly, beaming with a grin. behind him, a grumpy looking blonde materialized in the hallway, her hair tousled and still in full riding attire, grip tight at her holster. Soap’s grip dropped immediately.

“what’s goin’ on here?” Kate demanded, looking from you to Soap.

you jolted, the roughness of her expression pulling you back to reality. a creeping shame rose in you—crying in front of a man you barely knew, confessing your sins to him in your lacey nightgown in the middle of the dark, narrow hallway. Kate’s gaze hardened, and you balked, struggling to find an explanation when Soap interjected.

“i was just waitin’ to use the loo!” he tossed you a smile, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that told you to play along. “funny meetin’ you here in the hallway, princess!”

like ice water dumped over your head, you were strung back into your body. 

you rolled your eyes. “don’t call me that.”

“right,” Soap sang, “only Ghost can say it. apologies, lass.”

you stepped out of the lavatory with Ghost’s coat around you and Soap slid in after you, shutting the door. looking into Kate’s furrowed face, you could see the red-rimmed bloodshot of her eyes and the bags beneath them. she looked exhausted.

beyond her, down the hall in the compartment where you ventured from earlier, John, Alejandro, and Rodolfo were still engrossed in conversation.

Kate followed your gaze with a sigh. “don’t even ask, missy,” she warned with a warm hand at your back and you suppressed a smile.

you were grateful as she led you back down the narrow hallway to your room, the porter still in the same spot from earlier, eyes dead on you. eyes looking dead as well.

you tried your best to ignore him but his head jerked, cracking it, rolling back his shoulders from the stiff position. rushing a bit faster, you could feel Kate’s hand tighten against your spine as you fumbled with the room key.

you jolted when she called down the hall.

“what the hell’re you lookin’ at?” she griped at the porter, who finally turned his head to the window beside him.

her eyes narrowed, and she grumbled low into your ear, “don’t go venturing off in this train alone at night, as much as i know you love to explore.”

there was a dripping sarcasm in her voice that you chose to ignore as you swung the door open, bidding her a soft goodnight as she gave you a tight-lipped smile before it dropped from her face into a scowl. but the full look in her eyes made you feel as though you may have grown closer than you thought over just the past three days.

shutting the door behind you, you leaned against it, sighing out, before turning to find Ghost in a sprawled out position like before. your spent clothes for the day were folded in the corner on a plush chair as well as his own. you couldn’t help but smile at that seemingly persistent habit of neatness he had as you laid down his coat over the back of the chair.

you neared him but he didn’t turn to look at you, just leaned his head against the wall.

you crawled onto the bed and brushed your knuckles over the red mask. you were disappointed to see the black fabric beneath it pulled down over his jaw again.

“have a good wash?”

he blinked owlishly out the window on the opposing wall, desert passing by serenely, washed in a cool blue tone by the sweep of the moonlight. the rattling of the train clinked through the room.

you opened your mouth before swallowing down hard. 

no one has to know about your episode.

Soap had made sure of that in front of Kate, and you felt endlessly indebted to him. how would Ghost react if he knew you were having… mental struggles? you could only pray under your breath that it wouldn’t persist, but you doubted god was listening to your meek voice after the sins you’ve committed today.

shivering, you just nodded with a smile. “refreshing.”

“good.” his face swung to you, a hardness to his eyes. your brow furrowed but you buried it with another smile. “we need to talk.”

blinking, you slinked away from him and sat on the far edge of the bed, which wasn’t very far at all in the cramped room, his outstretched foot resting against your hip. you leaned back against the window, the moonlight casting his mask in a blue gleam.

“we do,” you agreed, though about what—you didn’t know where to begin.

what exactly would happen once you reached san francisco? would you be included in their business, or would they shut you out like before? a stranger and a hostage? 

you one-overed Ghost’s relaxed form, to the muscles of his torso, the veins spidering up his arms, and the distant look in his eyes.

what was going on between you and Ghost?

what exactly was phase two?

you thought back to this afternoon in the basement and what you had found—the intercepted letter from your daddy and Ghost’s journal. your eyes darted to the pile of clothes in the room.

“looking for this?”

you jolted when he tossed something onto the open space of the bed beside you, stomach dropping at the words scrawled over it.

GHOST.

a snaking dread sized you, any lingering warm feelings of your shared night sliding off your body like icy water.

your eyes snapped up to his—cold and dark. 

like the porter’s, a traitorous voice in you called out, but you immediately willed it away, because this was Simon.

“you can’t blame me for snooping.” your jaw clenched when he didn’t respond. “you took me and confined me to the shop. no one told me what would happen to me. i needed to know if…”

you swallowed around your next words. “...if you were going to ransom me back to my daddy.”

Ghost made no move, didn’t even blink, hand twitching on his bare chest.

“you want the truth?” holding your breath, you gave him a curt nod.

“i was going to,” he chewed out, and you blinked. “last night i was still deciding.”

last night. when you were curled up in his arms and he had taken your first bout of innocence from you. a spark of something dark lit within you. as of recent, it seems he’s taken a lot from you in general.

your gun, your innocence, your parents. your home.

“did you go see my daddy that day?”

that day when you said you were searching for Sugar, you wanted to challenge, was it all a lie?

you thought back to the intercepted letter—your daddy’s anger seething through the note, and his promise to wrung one-four-one of everything until he got you back. maybe the proper term was rescue.

Ghost’s jaw clenched. “yes.”

you sucked in a breath, a spiraling panic coming back to you like the one in the lavatory before. you willed it away best you could, pressing cool knuckles to your temple as you closed your eyes. images flashed—your daddy dead, blood everywhere, all over his papers, letters, clothes, a bullet in his temple and Ghost with a revolver to his head. was he dead?

did Ghost kill your daddy?

“is he alive?”

you waited for the answer with bated breath.

“‘course. even if he tried to kill me.”

a whoosh of air left you, and you leaned your head back against the cool window, taking in Ghost. his head was tilted, a curious glint in them that you ignored. 

his voice was cold. “anymore questions?”

you gave him a hard stare. “what changed your mind?”

“about?”

you scoffed. “not selling me away after…” last night. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

his foot pressed into your hip but you ignored it. he sighed out.

“i went to your father to offer a ransom.” your brow raised. “$25,000.”

this sounded familiar. 

“but he refused.”

you flinched at that, somewhere between a crushing weight of disappointment and embarrassment falling on you. you wiped away a brewing wetness in your eyes. Ghost couldn’t return you if your daddy didn’t want you in the first place.

“so?”

his foot dug deeper into your side.

“he told me something else.”

you finally met Ghost’s gaze, his head tipped forward and brows furrowed. you could tell from the way his eyes pinched with a haunted glare.

after a long silence ensued, you poked at his foot. “what was it?”

the void bluntness of his voice told you it wasn’t anything good.

“he refused the ransom because of his pride, but also because he didn’t want to ransom you when…” Ghost sucked in a breath, “when you already belonged to someone else.”

your mind reeled at that.

“what?”

“he thought it wasn’t fair he had to pay. he was already working with a businessman to make you his mistress.”

your stomach curdled, heart beating out your throat. “no, that’s…” you choked down some tears, “that’s not true.”

the end of your words turned up in a weak tremble that you desperately wanted to hide but Ghost pinned you down with his eyes.

“he was going to make you Turner’s mistress. that was part of their deal.”

your blood chilled at that, body going impossibly numb. what did this mean for you now? you scrambled to find purchase in your mind, in anything that would slow the spinning of the room. what did this mean for you now?

were you still of use to one-four-one? would they abandon you in san francisco to fight a war, leaving you to the streets? and if they did, would your daddy accept you back in his home, or turn you right over to Turner as his personal whore?

you shook, vision clouded over.

even if you didn’t choose your daddy, you still wish he chose you over everything.

you were his only daughter after all.

“that doesn’t make sense,” you said thickly, “why would he do that?”

Ghost was as still as a rock, his only sign of life was the hand that came down to play with the hem of your nightgown.

“bigger investment and more money, ” he said, voice eerily empty, and an iciness passed through you.

just another one of Daddy’s business transactions. 

you remember what Ghost called out at the dinner table that night.

you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?

your eyes flickered to Ghost again. had he known all along? or had he just taken a great guess from doing so many years of business with your daddy—who you really didn’t seem to know at all?

a weak, strangled noise came from the back of your throat.

“but in that letter,” you groped, clawing for anything, “he said he would do anything to get me back. he said that.” 

your voice rose and Ghost’s eyes slid away from you to the window behind you.

you felt like a whining, whimpering child. a mile long chasm was being torn straight through the room, and when you looked to the other side, Ghost was the older, war-torn man he always was and you were just… you.

hopeful, naive, innocent.

you.

you balled up into your chest and let the tears stream from your eyes in the most silent sobs you could muster, only the gentle clinking of glass on metal in the room, train chugging on relentlessly, dragging you in tow.

had you really thought, only five days ago, that you could become a gunslinger alongside Ghost? a cowgirl with a great shot and a tough spirit?

you felt so far from all of it that you dug your nails into the soreness of your ankle, relishing the way the sharp waves of pain brought you back down to earth.

there was a sigh in your ear, and two strong arms that wrapped you up, but you twisted in them immediately, your nails digging into the flesh of Ghost’s arms as you shoved him away. 

“don’t you dare,” you hissed, pressing yourself as far as you could from him in the diminishing room. your eyes flickered to the ceiling above his head. it really looked like the room was getting smaller—the ceiling shrinking by the second.

he only watched you with an eerie calm, a nauseous feeling climbing in you.

“you did this,” you spat through tears. “a couple days ago i was with my mama and daddy and everything was fine until you showed up.”

your breath shook. “you devil.” 

whether Ghost was hurt by it, you couldn’t tell, because he only blinked harshly, but you regretted the words anyways. because you knew that Ghost was telling the truth. even if you did stay with your mama and daddy, and Ghost had never taken you, you would’ve been swept away to Turner’s big estate in san francisco anyway.

but the bile poured from you like a sweltering, infected wound. “i would’ve been married,” you cried out, tears dripping from your trembling chin onto the breast of your nightgown. of Ghost’s nightgown.

liar, a voice in you hissed, but you pushed it to the furthest corner of your mind. 

“you stole me from my parents, took my honor, and you’re a liar!”

Ghost cocked his head at you, eyes glazed over and mask glinting. you hated that stupid mask. you just wanted to rip it off his face.

you jolted when he spoke, grumbling out, “i didn’t mean to.”

if there was a revolver slung in your holster, you would’ve shot him dead three times in the heart by now, just like your mama said.

Mama, a little girl in you cried, i’m sorry. i should’ve listened to you that first night in the cabin when he fell asleep.

he continued with gritted teeth. “i wanted revenge against your father for betraying me and i wanted revenge on Turner.” he wouldn’t look at you now. “i wanted to steal something of theirs and make it mine.”

of all the things he could’ve said, nothing in the world prepared you then. you lurched for him, vision red and wrapped your hands around his neck, wanting to see a flicker of fear in his eyes—or something other than the cold, dead wall you were talking to.

but he just flipped you easily in a calculated movement, weight keeping you pinned as you mindlessly struggled, arms in a bind above your head.

he talked over your cries and shouts now, voice in your ear— “i knew your daddy had a daughter. but i didn’t know she was so young and full of spirit and…” your struggling subsided. the look in his eyes seemed something like defeat. “...lovely.”

you spat right onto his mask but he didn’t even flinch.

“liar,” you hissed, working up into a frenzy again, squirming against his bone-crushing hold. “liar, liar, liar, liar—”

“i thought his daughter would be some rich, prissy girl who didn’t want anything to do with outlaws. then she told me she hated her happy, small town life, and her two parents that loved her.”

“liar, liar, liar, liar—”

“she told me that she could be a gunslinger if she wanted to be. she rode like one, too.”

you tried to scream and shout over his words and block it out of your brain, but his low murmur against your ear cut right through it all.

“when i realized what’d i’d done, that i’d stolen a girl who was a thief, it was too late. you saved my life when i got shot. i thought you would’ve ran away and left me for dead.”

his voice dropped even lower, the forehead of his cool mask pressing against your jaw. “i wanted you to leave me for dead.”

at that, your struggling subsided, confusion welling up in you like a stormy cloud.

“i wanted you to leave me for dead.”

he pulled back to press your arms to your chest and loomed over you.

“i wanted to be dead for what i was doing.”

you kicked out under his legs, knee connecting with something soft, and he dropped his hips with a hiss to pin you down.

“what were you doing?”

his voice was deceptively soft. “i was using you for revenge.”

more tears ran from the sides of your face like fleeing raindrops.

then a fast anger cooked in you, a slower simmer turning to a hot boil.

“i hate you,” you seethed, staring right into the wall of his mask. there wasn’t a human being beneath there.

just a calculated animal.

“i hate you,” you said again, voice breaking.

“good,” he nodded, though his tone was broken. “honest to god, i didn’t know your father was going to give you to Turner.”

you hissed, “how can you be honest to god?”

he ignored you. “i would’ve returned you to your family if they paid the ransom. even if they didn’t, i would’ve given you back eventually. but they didn’t want you and you didn’t want to go. it was always about Turner—we didn’t care about the money. your father happened to betray us and we found the perfect bloody outlet to Turner.”

you dug the side of your face into the side of the bed, refusing to look at him as he held you there. a pool of your tears formed beneath the swollen fleshiness of your cheek.

“i needed Turner to take the first step in this war. and he did. i got lucky when i happened to steal his future mistress.” his eyes flashed. “Turner hates it when his things are taken.”

“since, you’ve gotten what you want,” you cried, voice raw “what do you still need me for?” 

he closed his eyes. “i don’t know.”

“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”

his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”

you fell limp at that, feeling every ounce of energy drain from you—like the devil was sucking away your life force.

you wanted that poisonous, gurgling voice inside you to breathe out another liar, to call Ghost’s bluff for what it was, but it fell silent the moment you needed it most.

closing your eyes, Ghost’s body draped over your own, warm and solid and flushed together. he pressed his mask into your hair. 

bourbon, cigarettes, and the musk of wood and dirt and sweet spruce. 

you couldn’t even fight it. you don’t even think you wanted to—because even if no one wanted you in the world, not even your daddy, Ghost did want you for something. one thing. 

revenge.

“get out,” you whispered, and he didn’t move, a big, swelling rock above you.

“get out!” you shouted, straight into his ear, but he didn’t even flinch. after another long pause he slid off you with a gentleness, a fleeting caress of his hand against your swollen ankle before he slinked away. there was a soft click of the door closing, Ghost’s boots thumping against the floor in the hallway.

you stayed in that position for a long time, pressed to the mattress right where he had left you. 

it was like, if you moved, the invisible imprint of him against your skin would disappear like his physical form, lost into the night. 

maybe this is what you needed, you decided. maybe, if you could convince one-four-one of your usefulness, that you were important to them, even beyond Ghost’s revenge ploys, you would become a permanent member and carve out a space in their lives. but not Ghost’s. never Ghost’s.

a withering, squirming dread in your stomach made it known that it would be impossible. at this point, you were too tired to even try and convince them to let you stay.

so you turned over and forced yourself into a relentless, exhausting sleep.

ok that was kinda crazy. but i promise the angst will not last forever. chapter 3 coming soon.........

i hope you guys enjoyed!! &lt;;33

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @warenai @saturnknows @tomiesdiet @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @havoc973 @mr-sol

[x-gabrielle-x]

Withered Cards | IV

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death.

Summary: Despite the many different problems you overcome with Jason Todd, you always eventually make it back to each other. Even after his death, how could you still love a man who changed so much? Even when you made a turn for the worst.

Series Masterlist

Your body still ached from the hits that Joker had blown at you only a week ago, the scab forming over your split lip leaving a metallic tang on your tongue. The bruises still had yet to heal, the purple blemishes littering your skin and serving as a fresh reminder of just how cruel and nasty the Joker really was. It had been a week. A week since your failed mission, and a week since you had last seen Robin.

You had found yourself mostly staying hidden away in your tiny room back in the warehouse, finding that it was much greater comfort than having to be around the tantalizing grin Joker always sent in your direction, like a lion baring its teeth to its prey. So of course, when you had heard a loud bang on your door with the Joker bidding you farewell, claiming he had 'unfinished business to attend', you were more than relieved to finally stretch your limbs and let your guard down; just a little.

Though even without the Joker there for the few days you had, your heart would leap into your throat whenever you thought to hear something similar to his maniacal laughter. You were constantly on edge even without him there, and Harley seemed to be mourning his absence just as much as you were enjoying it.

Sitting on a random rooftop with the glimmering city lights below did little to ease your running thoughts. The familiar chill of the freezing air pricked at your skin to which you folded your arms against your chest for a sense of warmth. Gotham had seemed to be a lot quieter tonight, a very rare occasion. Crime was low, and the usual distant sirens were quiet. You could even hear the occasional laughter and cheers from the bar just down the street.

You wished to bask longer in the silence, in your own company, but it was quickly gone when you heard the soft thuds of boots on the floor behind you.

You didn't need to look over to know that he was staring directly at you, observant and intrigued. In any other situation, you would have found yourself reaching for your knife and defending yourself against the charging enemy, fists flying and weapons drawn for blood, but this was different. Very different. There was no harshness to his steps, no attacks thrown at you, only silence.

The silence dragged uncomfortably long, and you kicked your legs back and forth over the edge of the building as you let out a long breath.

"I didn't think the Robin would be paying me a visit tonight," you kept your gaze trained below. "If I had known, I might have put on my better shoes!"

The pounding in your chest grew with each word you spoke, but if he had come to fight you, he would have done it by now.

He ignored your comment and instead came up beside you. It was then you finally turned your gaze up at him, noticing his yellow, red and green costume. The dominoe mask shadowed his face, though you could see little due to the dimmed lights of the city. He was staring right back at you, a little too much for your personal comfort.

He slumped onto the edge of the rooftop with a huff, maintaining the safe distance between you both. You had to resist from smiling a little to yourself at the silliness of it all. Robin, your enemy, the one who had made you fail your mission and make the Joker’s anger flare was currently sat five feet away as if nothing had happened.

He was playing a dangerous game, yet you were curious to see the reason of his arrival. If he wasn't here to start something, why was he here at all?

The tension was thick with something you couldn't place, but the feeling was oddly unsettling. Not because you were fearful, but because you were oddly excited for this coincidental meeting.

"Tough week?" he questioned in a tease, pointing to your split lip and the yellowish bruise poking out from under your mask. You merely scoffed at the boy before subconsciously licking the cut on your bottom lip.

"Maybe. It would have been a hell of a lot better if you had left me that vial, though," you looked at him, catching the smile that had appeared on his face triumphantly before he quickly disguised it with a bored look.

"What did the Batsy say when you handed it in," you continued. "It better have been good, considering the Joker wasn't too pleased when I returned without the one thing he had asked of me." You gestured to your eye again, his gaze lingering there for a few moments too long.

He tensed at the mention of Batman, lips twitching into a frown.

"Nothing you need to know," he mumbled out, irritation laced in his voice. You quirked a brow.

"I think I do," you laughed, though it was obviously fake. "Considering you're the reason I got my ass beat."

He ignored you, instead shifting himself so that his leg was now propped up on the edge of the roof. He tilted his head in question.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Another Joker deed or dwelling in your failure," he taunted.

"Having a breather," you were quick to reply in defense, and you noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise. He let out a soft laugh, something that surprised you considering you didn't hear laughter too often where you were, or perhaps too much from the Joker.

"Something that we have in common," he mused, and for the first time you felt a strange sense of welcoming with Robin. With anybody, for that matter.

The both of you remained at a safe distance, but his presence alone was one that confused you. Tonight, even with him a mere five feet away, you weren't worried about having to fight him, worried about hiding away, or worried about who you were raised with. It was nearly as if in this moment, you had somebody who didn't pose you as a threat. Or at least, not much of a threat.

Robin's movements were relaxed and composed, abandoned of any tension he may have held before regarding your presence.

“I’m guessing you don’t do this often,” Robin concluded. “If not at all.”

You frowned at him, slightly offended by his comment. “How would you know?”

The corner of his lip tipped into a smile, and he shrugged, flexing his shoulders in a way that caused for his suit to stretch.

“I’m here nearly every night, and I can positively say, I haven’t seen you out here once.”

“And I bet you wish you could see me, little birdy,” you fake pouted, watching him closely.

He breathed out a laugh, his eyes squinting under the dominoe mask that concealed his identity.

"Believe me, if it didn't end in you nearly breaking my nose last time, I might have considered it."

You just stared at him, your mind trying to figure him out. In all honesty, you don't remember the last proper conversation that you had with somebody. much less around your age.

"How old are you?" the question had slipped out before you could stop it.

Robin glanced back at you; a brow raised. "Not much older than you, I'd guess," he looked you up and down. "How old are you?"

"Thats not an answer," you deadpanned, ignoring him. "For all you know, I could be a sixty-five-year-old woman with insane plastic surgery."

"But you're not," he clarified. "No old woman would be able to jump off rooftops and work for criminals like him."

You cringed at the mention of the Joker.

Robin let out a low hum, and the city lights from below flickered across the right side of his face in what seemed to be like a dance.

You opened your mouth. "You're not-"

"Stop." He cut you off.

You paused. "Excuse me?"

He held up a hand, his gaze going past you. It was only then you heard the quiet grunts and rummaging from a nearby alley. You were already on your feet and moving toward the sound, steps cautious. Robin was right on your heel, and by the time you were both on the ground hidden by the shadows in the alley, you could see a hunched figure leaning against the brick wall, digging through what seemed to be a purse.

You turned to Robin, a mocking smile gracing your lips. You gestured an arm out.

"Well? After you, Wonder Boy," you said.

He frowned. "Is that some way you're going to get me distracted and then knock me out when my backs turned?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, do I look like a hero who fights purse thieves?"

He looked you up and down. "Honestly, no."

"You didn't have to answer, bird brain. Just go!"

The man who had been distracted for long enough suddenly snapped his head toward you both, snarling.

"What the hell?"

The man stood abruptly, stepping closer, though Robin was quick to move from the outstretched hand of the man. With a swift kick, the man was doubling over with a grunt and spilling the contents of the purse onto the floor.

The man growled in annoyance, lunging for Robin again, but he was quick to duck down away from the mans clenched fist before it could make contact. You, however, watched on with amusement.

"You could have been a bit more original rather than a purse thief," Robin called out to the man.

The grunts exchanged between the two continued, and you cringed at the few hits Robin had received. You had to admit, he put up a strong fight.

"Little rat!" The man yelled, holding his head where a punch managed to land before he stumbled out of the alley, disregarding the purse he previously held.

Robin huffed, brushing a dark stray of hair away from his face. He looked over, meeting your gaze as you clapped mockingly, stepping out from the shadows and closer to him.

He stooped down, picking up what looked to be an ID.

"Do you know a Lora Johnston?" He said, flipping the card in his hand.

"Can't you search that up on a special little gadget or something?"

He mumbled out something that you failed to hear.

There was a pause.

"I think you could improve on your movement," you said, and his eyes snapped to yours. Something changed in his features that you couldn't place.

"Teach me, then."

Your mouth ran dry. "What?"

"If you teach me, then ill teach you some stuff." He was quick to add, but you shook your head quickly.

"I don't need your help."

You went to turn, but you let out a yelp when you were suddenly tugged back and landed onto the hard floor.

"You let your guard down too easily," Robin teased. You only glared up at him with annoyance.

You stood back up to your feet and wacked him on the shoulder, pushing past him and walking toward the alley entrance to leave, but he quickly called out to you.

You ignored him, but he called out again.

"What do I call you?"

You stopped and turned to him, eyes wide.

There was a long pause. "Nothing," you said. "I can't give you a name."

"Well," he thought, a suggestive smile gracing his lips that you knew you'd see again. "I guess I'll just have to decide myself."

You turned again, waving a hand this time. "Until next time, birdy!"

He let out a chuckle. "Until next time, Princess!"

You remain silent the rest of the walk, your interaction with Robin nothing like how you would have imagined it. He confused you more than you'd like to admit, but oddly enough, tonight was a change, and you liked it.

You couldn't remember the last time you had spoken to somebody so casually, the sense of normality something you craved more of. Though the two of you barely knew each other, much less trust, you had hoped it wouldn't be your last interaction.

@annabellelee @stormz369

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[bumblesimagines]

were you flirting with them?

you just gave me the impression we were exclusive.

Cassie Howard

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Mentions of drinking, mild/soft angst

Back to being stuck on mobile.. back to my roots... Moving is an annoying process y'all

Cassie remained in her spot on the worn-out couch, her hands curled around a plastic cup and lips pressed into a tight line as she watched the center of the room where classmates, strangers, and friends danced along to the song blaring through the speakers.

Baby blue's followed (Y/N) through the room, focusing on the way he laughed and curled his arm around the shoulder of some random girl. Her chest constricted and her hold tightened, the crinkling of her cup swallowed up by the music and chatter.

"Hey!" The cushion sunk slightly with added weight and Maddie's dark eyes peered at her curiously. "What's wrong?"

Cassie raised the cup to her shimmery lips, swallowing down gulps of the cheap beer before jerking her chin in (Y/N)'s direction. Maddy craned her neck, searching the sea of bodies until she found (Y/N).

"Dick." She hissed, turning back to her with a scowl. "Give me this."

Before Cassie could react, Maddy scooped the cup out of her hand and rose from the couch, shimmying and slipping her way through the crowd. Cassie stumbled after her, her name tumbling from her lips in alarm until Maddy reached the two and tilted the cup.

"What the fuck?!" The girl whipped around toward Maddy, hands flying toward her now drenched skirt and wiping at it furiously.

"It was an accident." Maddy scoffed, rolling her eyes as the girl stormed off to clean herself up. She spared (Y/N) a withering look before giving Cassie a small wink and disappearing into the crowd.

"(Y/N), hey," Cassie cleared her throat, carefully avoiding the spilt beer spreading across the tile floor. "Can we talk?"

Searching for a place to talk where the music wouldn't drown their voices or be filled with others proved more difficult than expected. Practically each room had vibrating walls or more than one person inside doing one thing or the other.

"Here." (Y/N) tugged on her hand and pushed one door open with his shoulder. He flickered on a light to reveal a small laundry room and leaned back against the dryer to look at her.

Unable to keep her mouth shut for much longer, Cassie blurted out, "Were you flirting with her?"

"Why does it matter?" The corners of his brows twitched, almost furrowing. His eyes swept over her figure curiously, somewhat knowingly.

"You.." Her cheeks burned. "You just gave me the impression we were exclusive.."

Most of the guys Cassie slept with only ever returned for one singular thing; those she dated eventually left to get with another girl or because the teasing from the other guys got to them. She'd been over the moon when (Y/N) treated her more kindly than the rest, even gifting her a necklace with her name on it for her birthday.

Had she really been foolish to think it was more than hooking up?

(Y/N) frowned, his eyes flickering away from her with a semblance of guilt creeping up onto his face. "I thought we were just friends, to be honest. I didn't mean to lead you on."

"It's- It's fine!" Cassie forced out with a laugh, the back of her eyes beginning to burn. She pressed her lips together again to keep them from quivering. "I shouldn't have- I shouldn't have assumed. I- I should go find my sister."

"Cass-"

Cassie tossed the door open and stepped out into the hallway, abruptly feeling too exposed in the gentle chill of the AC. She wrapped her arms around herself and ignored the sound of (Y/N)'s voice calling her name.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Devourer

Astarion x F! Tav

18+ predator/prey, adrenaline, dry humping, restraint, roughness, spit, biting, p-in-v, aftercare, scary vampire sex what can I say

Your beloved vampire has gotten very comfortable with you. But you wonder of he's been holding back some of his more supernatural tendencies...

Masterlist

-

"Love?"

"Hmm?" He intoned warmly, reaching out on instinct to find you as you came up behind him. A book open in his lap.

You leaned down, sating his searching fingers into yours. Kissing his knuckles softly.

"I have a question..."

He leaned his head back over the lip of the loveseat, looking up at you.

"I may have an answer." He teased, eyes round and trusting. Face relaxed. Open.

It still made your heart spin when he looked at you like that. You didn't know if you'd ever get used to it.

Which made your question all the more conflicting and potentially invasive.

"So you're a vampire..." You started.

"Ah, so you've caught on."

You gave him a withering look, only inciting a wider grin from him.

"You don't have to answer this, by the way."

"I have faith that we'll get to your question eventually."

You sighed in defeat to his laugh, stepping over the back of the loveseat. Tucking your legs next to his open lap.

"Do you ever have to... remind yourself to act mortal?" You waved your hand as you searched for words.

You didn't want to use the word pretend but that was closer to what you meant.

"Like in order to not scare people you kind of... pantomime? Gods, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

His voice was low, somber.

"Mask is the word you're looking for."

"Yeah..." You looked at him, trying to gauge if this line of questioning was too much.

"Well, the answer is mostly yes. A lot of my body's behaviors are muscle memory. But it can be a manual effort, depending on the situation."

He bent his wrist up, turning his forearm out. That little pop in the twisting joint.

"I know I broke my wrist at some point before cause there's still that clicking in there. Little remnants. My breathing, my mannerisms, it's kind of the same."

You traced gently along the thin skin on the inside of his wrist, turning to him fully. Bringing his hand to sit center of your crossed legs.

"How would you feel about letting that mask slip a little around me?"

He peered at you, many different emotions flitting across his face. Settling into apprehension.

"Darling, I don't think you understand what you're asking for."

You kissed the inside of his wrist, and he sighed in pleasure, hand settling on your jaw.

"Humor me, then." You paused, looking in his eyes. "I'm not scared, love."

He seemed to fight with himself then let out a scoff, squinting his eyes at you accusingly.

"I can't deny you when you look at me that."

You smiled, nipping at his palm.

He took a deep breath and released it. But it never returned.

His chest stilled entirely, a creaking in the back of his throat.

You hadn't realized how many tiny movements he usually made until they were gone.

It set off the natural alarm bells in your head, sharing space with this statue. Your instinct telling you to get away. You were a hare in a thicket and a wolf was staring you down.

His eyes had constricted to pinpricks, watching your minute movements it small scanning glances.

His mouth fell open as his eyes met your neck. Pupils widening fully out into saucers.

All of the air pulled from the room. His stock still body radiating contained energy.

You stood and his blown eyes watched you, tracking every breath you took, every twitch of muscle. Mouth salivating.

His eyes reflected bright in the candle light, two filmy orange discs.

He slid off of the loveseat, body fluid. Pouring into a deep crouch. Arms held out into his side.

Pupils constricting again, he uttered one creaking word.

"Run."

You took off like a shot, vaulting over the loveseat. Ducking down the hallway in a whip of hair.

There was no way you could outrun him even with your agility. Not when he was like this. But this was a game, one you were more than willing to play with him.

You could feel his presence behind you but couldn't hear it. A wraith on your tail.

Pulling the door open, you sprinted into the garden. Leaping over the rock wall, heading for the treeline.

Adrenaline rocked through you. You knew this was play, but your body didn't. Flooding you with tight coiled energy.

A shadow to your left, then your right. Cold fingers catching your wrist, then releasing. Your hair. He was toying with you.

You knew there was no hiding, your blood running too hot and fast to disguise. Outrunning was a fools errand.

Surprise was your only ally.

Stopping your feet suddenly, you ducked down.

His fingers brushed over where your head should have been.

His momentum took him a little farther, head whipping. Skidding to a stop, back foot sliding out.

He bared his teeth, smiling wide. He should've been panting like you, but he was all liquid. Sliding along the ground, hypnotic. Dipping his shoulder down, preparing to pounce.

You readied yourself, you only had one subterfuge in your book. Better make it count.

He lunged forward, a pale smear.

You ducked down again and slid feet first under his legs, twisting up behind his back.

He whipped around, laughing. His usual high lilting giggle a shriek. Sending shivers down you.

You took off again, his laugh against your back.

You caught sight of a great tree, leaping up and climbing branches in pulls of momentum.

Eyes cutting down you saw him fly along the forest floor, covering the ground in seconds.

Falling to all fours, he scaled up the tree in easy pulls of his fingers, barely holding on. Gravity looking away from him.

Crouched on the last stable branch you had nowhere to go. Effectively trapping yourself.

His eyes rose over the branch, burning orange disks. The moonlight catching his open smiling maw, sharp teeth slick with saliva.

Your heart kicked against your chest, a deep burning desire radiating from your pelvis.

Seeing him like this was dangerous for you in more ways than one. Thighs gripping the branch you were straddling.

"No where else to go." He chuckled, voice all gravel and heat. Near unrecognizable. Crawling towards you, limbs stretching luxuriously, as if he had all the room in the world.

You considered backing up but there was only a free fall for you there.

"You really tried didn't you, rabbit?" He caged over you, his body forcing you on your back. Arched over you, balancing easily on fingertips and toes. His glowing eyes flooding over your vision.

You knew he could smell your arousal, the slick forming between your legs.

"I think I deserve the spoils now, don't you?"

In one pull of his hand, he ripped your blouse open, the fabric tearing. Your breasts springing free to the cold night air.

You gasped and almost lost your balance, gripping into the side of the branch.

"Careful, we don't want you slipping." He purred, pinching a nipple between his long fingers.

You groaned, you wanted more and could tell he was holding back again.

One one motion you pulled his maw open and shoved your wrist inside.

He went statue still again, eyes flashing into yours.

Fingers digging in, he reared back, sharp mouth opening wider than you've ever seen before. A deep cracking from his jaw as he arched open and snapped down on your wrist. Getting in as much of you as his jaw could take.

You craned your head back, whimpering. Hips starting to rock against nothing. The pain pushing into a near unbearable pleasure.

His eyes were crazed, darting across your body in pulses. His mouth salivating obscenely against your wrist, the fluid pouring in rivers down your elbow.

Fuck, you needed him to touch you but you didn't want to break the spell.

You bucked your hips unconsciously, a silent plea.

His eyes zeroed in on that movement and in one motion lifted you by the waist and caged you against the trunk of the tree. Grinding his hips into yours.

Your head fell back, and his mouth latched on. Dragging fangs and suckling down hard on the flesh.

You gripped onto his forearms and he caught your hands and pushed them above your head, snaring them down in one hand.

He pushed your thighs out with his legs, splaying you open. Ripping the crotch of your leggings open, hips rutting into your soaked underclothes.

You were already a mewling mess, panting hard and arching. Just the friction of his cock against your cunt already dancing dangerously close.

Stepping up the trunk, he pushed you even higher.

You were now both suspended in air, only his body keeping you against the world.

Your legs threatened to give out, wrapping them tight around his hips.

He hissed, a clicking sound accelerating in his throat. Pushing your hips back far enough to get his cock out.

Without warning he yanked your underclothes aside and slammed fully into you.

Stars bloomed across your eyes, straining your wrists against his hand. Oh Gods it was too much, but not nearly enough.

His other hand came to your throat, looking at you with his head cocked. Watching every micro movement of your body as he rolled into you.

You could see the strain on his face, clearly trying to reign himself in again.

Taking your blood-stained wrist you smeared it across your face, your breasts. Red painted and defiled for him.

He leaned his head back and bared his teeth, a deep rattling growl reverberating through his chest.

Rutting into you viciously he began biting. Indiscriminately puncturing any flesh he could reach. Hard. Fast. Frenzied. Licking the wounds closed in the same ferocity, his saliva pooling again. Dripping down your neck.

It was all too much, your legs shaking in warning.

Erupting against his all encompassing body, you arched so hard you saw white. Shrieking out indignant pleading moans. The pleasure so agonizing it stole the air from your lungs. A crushing wave pulling you under, water pouring in your open mouth. Writhing helplessly against him.

He bit hard into his own arm, his dark blood dripping down his forearm. Restraining himself from ripping your throat out.

His face crumpled in pleasure, releasing his already bruising arm to push hard against your sternum. Holding you in place. Thrusting in hitching pulses.

As his end hit him, he started breathing again, something close to a death rattle pulling through his chest. Fingernails biting into your hips. A cry between a whimper and a scream ripping through him as soon as his lungs refilled. An obscene amount of his spend already leaking out of your joined bodies.

You held his head in your hands as he lowered you back down. Anchoring him back.

"I need you to breathe with me." Your eyes held his. Breathing in big diaphragm breaths in encouragement.

He followed, eyes still wild. Your breathing a deep tandem.

Breath ragged but slow, he checked over your body. Kissing softly along the bruises and bites. Removing his shirt and wiping you clean of his smeared love.

Fully back to himself, he cupped over your hand against his cheek.

"We probably should have set up a safety word." He sighed.

Smiling cheekily, you pulled him in for a soft kiss. "There's always next time."

He nuzzled into you. A purring sound as he let the air hiss through his throat.

You were delighted by this development. But the bigger question.

"How are we going to get down?"

"Well I'll be spider climbing, you have fun with that."

"What if I pushed you off. What then."

"You could try, little rabbit."

~

(this is my first time doing the you/yours format. let me know what you guys think! yeah woo!)

[muddyorbsblr]

forever & always

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @silverfire475 | View request here

Summary: On the way home after his shift at the hotel, Jonathan stumbles upon a coffee shop that might have just given your lives a turn for the better

Pairing: Jonathan Pine x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning/s: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, do not try me); unprotected p in v; shower sex; implied oral sex (f receiving); scenes mentioning terminal illness; scenes implying consideration of assisted death; potentially inaccurate depiction of mythical drinks; language [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: magical coffee shop au

Dick-tionary: » smut scene starts at "What are you up to, sweetheart?" and ends at "I love you so much." » fade to black oral smut scene starts at "You grasped the collar" and ends at next story divider

The lack of your presence in bed when Jonathan woke this morning was no cause for concern. In fact, hope bloomed in his heart that today would be the start of events taking a turn for the better.

It had been far too long since the two of you had one of those days.

He made quick work to pull a shirt over his head and run a hand through his hair, excited to fix you a decadent breakfast before he left for his shift at the hotel.

What was a cause for concern, however, was how he found you in the living room the moment he stepped out of your shared bedroom. Your mouth pressed into a grim line as you hung up the phone, a notepad and a pamphlet on the coffee table in front of you. The logo and the name on the front had his heart pounding away in his ears.

Dignitas

"Sweetheart." His throat closed up, almost unable to form any words. "We still have time. And there's no need to make a reservation, I don't think they stay occupied for long."

You gave him a somber smile at his dry attempt of a joke. "I…I know, babe. I know. I just…I wanna make sure of all the details so you don't have to worry as much after--"

"Y/N, stop." He crouched in front of you, tears welling in his eyes. It pained him beyond belief that you even had to think of details like this considering what you were already dealing with. The only thing that should be occupying your mind was building your strength. Hoping that whatever medication the doctors try out will finally start turning things around for the better.

But he also knew you were both steadily running out of time. And your words from around nine months ago began to echo in his mind, his heart feeling hollow at the memory.

We'll give it a year of our best effort. But if things don't look great at the end of it, I don't want to let this thing get the satisfaction of withering me into a shell of myself. I wanna go out on my own terms, while I'm still strong enough to make those choices.

"We still have time," he said again desperately. Three more months. You promised me at least that. "Maybe this round will have better results."

Your tearful expression nearly mirrored his perfectly, reaching over to frame his face in your comparatively smaller hands before pressing a kiss to his lips. "Jonathan, we have to come to terms with the possibility that things won't get better. That…there might be no beating this."

"Please no," he was barely able to choke out., fighting back the sobs that wracked his chest. "We've only just found each other, we haven't had enough time."

"I know, I know, sweetie. And it's not fair that we don't get to have more time." Hot tears began to stream down your face as your thumbs traced his features, and it broke his heart realizing what you were doing. You were memorizing his face. "But this is the hand we were dealt. And it's a shitty hand but there's no changing it."

He placed his hands over yours, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "All I ask is that we don't make any plans to go to Switzerland before the year's up," he murmured against your skin. "I want all the time I can get with you. I don't want to lose you a moment sooner than I absolutely have to."

When you nodded, keeping your eyes glued to the floor, he pulled you into his arms, laying your head on his shoulders as your body began to shake with your suppressed sobs. "I'm sorry," you told him, your words muffled by his shirt. "I love you."

"And I love you." He gently lifted you back onto the couch, making sure to take the pamphlet far away from you. "We'll revisit this together if the time comes. Until then I'm keeping this far away from you." He placed the offensive piece of paper into his back pocket before grabbing his phone and his keys before crouching down in front of you again. "Now…what would my beautiful fiance want for me to bring her home tonight?"

You gave him a smile that couldn't reach those somber eyes, and that cracked away at his heart even more. Those eyes that used to be so full of life, so excited to face the day ahead and go on new adventures hand in hand with him…now that light barely flickered, just enough to show that there was still someone in there. But whether they were fighting or simply waiting was anyone's guess. "Surprise me," was all you said.

The first thing he did when he got to the hotel was make a beeline for the back office facilities and put the Dignitas pamphlet through the shredder. He didn't even want to know that it was still in one piece, let alone within your reach, for at least the next three months.

He'd gone through the next nine hours essentially on autopilot, coordinating anything that the hotel guests may need, delegating where needed, and brushing off any advances from those that were far too forward by flashing a prop wedding band around his left ring finger and informing them that he was "a happily married man". It was a half-truth, but one he had every intention of turning into your reality before you decided that your time together had reached its end.

Jonathan would marry you. He'd marry you tomorrow in the chapel down the block if you were up to it.

He only began to perk up once he'd changed out of his hotel suit and was on his way back to you, stopping by at the new coffeeshop that had just opened a few doors down. Maybe he could bring you home a nice little pastry. Or a sweet drink.

The barista gave him a bright smile as he walked in, the establishment only housing two other patrons, one that was sketching away on a pad, and the other that had their nose buried in a giant tome of a book. "Hi there! I'm Eva, what can I get started for you?"

"Oh erm…I'm not really all that adept when it comes to ordering these kinds of drinks, that's usually my partner. What would you recommend?"

"I see…how about this, then, Mister…?"

"Pine."

"Right then. Mr Pine…why don't you tell me about your partner and I'll make something that I think would suit both her and you?"

A pressure seemed to lift from his shoulders. This…this I can do. "For one, she loves books. Completely loses herself in a good story. She used to love spending the day outdoors just happily flipping away at the pages of her latest paperback or breezing through her Kindle."

"Used to?" the girl caught on quick. "What happened?"

His shoulders slumped again, the weight on them returning. "She got sick. And it spread faster than we could get a handle on it." His heart constricted in his chest as he found the words tumbling out without much difficulty. "She has three months."

Eva became misty eyed over his story, and seeing how it was tearing him apart to even talk about what was in your tragically near future. "I'm so sorry," she said softly before turning to face the bar, fixing together two drinks that seemed to have a generous helping of a milk and honey mixture. Then after she placed the drinks on the counter, she placed a rather delectable looking slice of apple pie in a box. "Best with a heaping scoop of vanilla ice cream," she said while she rung up his bill. "She'll get much better after a really good dessert."

Jonathan gave her a sad smile as he paid his bill, brushing off her comment about getting better. The sentiment was sweet, but sadly he knew better.

The chances that there would be a light at the end of this tunnel…were slim to none.

He found you sitting at the exact same spot where he left you when he walked through the doors of your home. You perked up a touch when you looked up at him, seeing the drinks and the bags in his hands. And then you sniffed the air. "Apple pie?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, placing a kiss to the tip of your nose before placing the box down, as well as a pint of vanilla ice cream next to it. "That nose of yours is truly a marvel."

You took your drink from him with both hands, taking another sniff. "Smells like honey. Expensive honey."

He nodded. "It looked like honey, but I didn't ask what it was." You tapped your cup to his before you both took a sip, the rich and creamy sweetness coating your tongues upon contact.

It had to have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn you became a touch less pale after a few sips. Even more so when you took a bite of the apple pie with the ice cream, letting out a soft moan at the taste of the decadent buttery crust and the perfectly thick apple filling. "You really know how to spoil a girl, Mr Pine."

He reached over, swiping his thumb at the corner of your mouth as he gave you a bittersweet smile. "Anything for the future Mrs Pine."

You woke the next morning with a strange newfound strength. A kind that you hadn't felt since getting that curse of a diagnosis. Maybe even before then.

You tentatively stood up from the bed, shocked to your core to find that no part of you felt weak or straining. Rather your muscles simply just felt the way they did when you had spent far too long being sedentary, and they itched to be used again, wanting more than anything to go on a jog. Or perhaps show up to a dance class.

What had you even more shocked was discovering you could stretch without your insides threatening to make you double over in pain. You didn't just not feel weak, you felt strong. Brimming with energy that begged to be expended.

The sound of the shower had you deciding in no time just how you wanted to spend this newfound strength. You made quick, fumbling work to divest yourself of your sweats before joining your fiance in the shower.

"What are you up to, sweetheart?" You could practically hear how he smirked as he asked you.

Instead of answering him, you stepped closer behind him, taking a prolonged moment to appreciate how the hot water droplets traveled down his perfectly sculpted back muscles. You wrapped your arms around his midsection, your hands roaming the well-cut defined lines of his abdomen before traveling up to roam his chest.

"You're playing quite the dangerous game, my love," he rasped, placing his hands over yours. His muscles shivered, a shaky breath escaping him at your touch. When you pressed your lips to his back, softly humming against his skin, that seemed to break him, your fiance letting out a guttural groan before turning to face you. "My sweet Y/N, if you keep this up I may not be able to control myself."

You threw your arms around his neck, his hand instinctively splaying over your back as you rose to your tiptoes to pull him into an impassioned kiss. "I woke up today feeling good. Really good. Best I've felt in a while," you told him, moaning into his mouth when he pulled you even closer before kissing you again, his hand moving lower to grasp your thigh before hooking your leg over his hip. "And all I can think of right now is how to feel…even better."

Your hand moved down, softly caressing his chest and abdominal muscles again before moving even lower, your fingers tentatively wrapping around his hardening length. There was a thrill that shot through you, seeing how your touch affected him, his eyes fluttering closed as pleasure washed over him. He moaned your name, moving to press you against the wall. "Hold on to me, sweetheart."

You bit your lip as you followed his instructions, holding on to his water-slickened shoulders while he adjusted his hold on you. He lined your hips together before reaching between you and positioned the tip of his length at your entrance, his shuddering exhale warming your face as he moved it up and down your slick folds.

"If you start feeling faint, you need to tell me right away, am I clear, Y/N?" You managed to nod before you threw your head back, arching into him when he started to enter you in shallow thrusts, each taking him in deeper and deeper. Once he bottomed out he buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out an obscene moan. "Fuck, sweetheart you feel divine." He kissed along your collarbone, nipping and sucking a bruise onto the base of your throat. "It's been too long, my love, I don't think--"

You knew exactly what he meant. "I know, I know--Oh f-fuck!" Your joint moans filled the bathroom as his fingers found your clit and started rubbing in tight circles. It was like your entire body came alive like a live wire as your orgasm washed over you, your walls clenching and milking his cock as he filled you with his release.

His thrusts slowed, and he pressed his forehead to your temple, kissing your cheek. "I love you so much."

It warmed your heart how gently he handled you afterwards, finishing up your now joint shower and wrapping a towel around you before stepping out of the bathroom hand in hand.

Once he was dressed for work he pulled you into his arms one more time, kissing your temple before whispering in your ear, "That was an incredible start to the day, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight."

Jonathan couldn't seem to wipe off the smile that spread across his face through the first hours of his shift, his mind constantly drifting back to his time in the shower with you. To say that it caught him by surprise would be an understatement, but the surprise was more than welcome. The last few months, you could barely stand up and walk to the other side of the apartment without getting winded. And as far as he was concerned, the newfound strength was the best sign he could ask for that maybe things were finally taking a turn for the better.

Even the sight of the hotel guests that were starkly different from what he had grown accustomed to didn't seem to faze him. He gave the creatures with the near translucent wings, the vibrantly colored skin, and pointed ears the same bright smile, looking them in the eye which seemed to brighten their days as well.

Most humans still couldn't seem to adjust to the new reality of living with creatures they'd only read about in books, but ever since a battle took place someplace in Northern Europe, certain barriers between worlds had been taken down and hoards of mystical creatures now roamed the Earth freely. Some had even begun to put up establishments of their own, the last time he checked the news on their acclimation.

So when a woman with lilac skin and pink freckles approached his desk, he initially thought nothing of it and proceeded with his usual script of welcoming them to the hotel. "I'm not here for a room, Mr. Pine. I'm here to speak with you," she spoke with a frantic tone. "My name is Astraea, I own the coffee shop you went to last night. I believe my employee Eva worked on your order?"

"Ah yes, I remember. I was going to drop by after my shift to thank you all, it seems whatever drink Eva made for us put my fiance in a much better state this morning." Once again he couldn't fight back the smile; it didn't take much for his mind to wander back to the shower.

"That's actually what I came to speak with you about," the coffeeshop owner told him in a near apologetic tone. "You see, Eva thinks herself something of a problem solver, so when someone walks into the cafe with teary eyes talking about how he's about to lose the love of his life, she just…can't help herself."

"I'm sorry I'm not quite sure I follow--"

"Your drinks, yours and your fiance's, contained ambrosia, Mr. Pine. And while its short term effects will very much work to your favor, it's your life in the long term that I came here to discuss with you. The drink not only cured your wife of her illness, but it granted both her and yourself a prolonged lifespan."

Jonathan couldn't find it in him to focus on most of what she was saying. All he heard was cured. "She's not sick anymore?" Just saying the words nearly brought him to his knees, he had to hold on to the hard surface of the front desk to keep himself upright.

"Well, yes. Both you and her are now immune to any earthly sickness, but it's the other part that I've come here to discuss with and apologize for. The drink has prolonged your lifespan by an…indefinite amount. Possibly centuries…at the least. We don't know yet how this drink is to affect someone with a mortal composition. Mr. Pine I sincerely apologize for my employee's rashness--"

"There's no need," he cut her off, raising his hand in front of him. "You've done nothing but give me the best possible news I could ever ask for. The woman I love is healed, and I get to quite possibly spend centuries with her." He held his hand out to shake, and he cafe owner seemed relieved with his reaction. "Thank you. Please send my regards to Eva as well."

It wasn't long after Astraea left the hotel that a new worry began to take root within Jonathan. How would you react to this turn of events? Of course, he was certain that you would be ecstatic over the news that the days of hospital visits and experimental treatments were over, but it was the latter half of this new reality that he was unsure of your reaction to.

The vision that greeted him when he opened the doors to your home had his heart soaring. Soft music was playing and you'd just emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of ice cream in hand. You were wearing a cotton dress instead of the sweats that had become a bit of a staple over the last few months.

And God you were radiant, the spark in your eyes that once lit up the entire room had returned full force. You looked over to him standing at the door, a wide grin stretching across your face and reaching your eyes as you put the bowl down on the coffee table and walked over to him. "Welcome home."

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to him so he could capture your lips in a tender kiss. You sighed contentedly, pressing your body against him as his lips moved with yours, a muffled squeal escaping you when he lifted you with a single arm and carried you across the living room, sitting you down on the couch. "I need to talk to you about something, Y/N."

"Uh-oh," you blurted out. "No good conversation ever started with that." You turned your attention to the flowers in his hand. "Jonathan, what's wrong?"

He took your hand in his, kissing your knuckles before pressing a much longer kiss on your engagement ring. "Nothing's wrong, sweetheart. Well…hopefully after this conversation that will still be the case but if it isn't then I'm sure we'll find a way--"

"What happened?" Your question cut him off. "Did my doctor go to see you? Ohh God it's bad, isn't it? That explains the flowers and the--"

"Y/N, slow down." He placed the small bouquet down so he could frame your face, the rest of your words muffled by his kiss. "It's nothing bad, I promise you that much. It's just…" He let out a sigh, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn't be able to explain this without looking like he grew a second head. "You know those reports we've been seeing on TV? With the barriers between worlds coming down and all these new kinds of people settling down and setting up shop around us?"

You nodded your answer and listened as he recounted his conversation with the coffeeshop owner Astraea. About how the drink he brought home last night might have just brought about the miracle you'd been hoping for for the last year of your life.

"Are…are you telling me I'm not sick anymore?" the words came out of you in a heavy exhale, as if they tasted foreign on your tongue. "No more doctors, no more needles, no more ingesting God knows what in the name of an experimental drug for a trial headed by a doctor with a dream?"

This time all he could do was nod, tears in his eyes as he pulled you into his arms and lifted you up, your feet dangling inches off the floor. "No more, sweetheart. It's over, the nightmare's over."

"What did she put in that drink anyway?"

He took another breath before answering you. "Ambrosia."

Jonathan could practically see the wheels turning in your head, recalling the countless books you've read and your knowledge of mythology pieced together from both textbooks and novels. "The Olympians consumed that for immortality…" You looked up at him with panicked, and yet curious, eyes. "What happens to us?"

"I don't have the answer to that, my love," he said truthfully. "Astraea's best guess is that it prolonged our lifespans by a few centuries…at the least. I'm so sorry if I knew--"

"Hang on." You placed a finger over his lips, putting a stop to the rest of his apology. "What're you sorry for? I told you way before this nightmare began that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Jonathan Pine. And last night, I thought that that was just three months." Tears welled in your eyes as a face-splitting grin lit up your face. "Now you're telling me that that's…more. So much more. You have nothing to apologize for."

You grasped the collar of his shirt and pulled him to you for a kiss that he more than happily returned, his hands grabbing the backs of your thighs to lift you up again and back you up against the nearest wall. When he pulled away all the worry had gone from his face, replaced by a darkened, lustful gaze. He shifted his hold on you, a sinful groan slipping from his lips when your hips aligned and your core brushed against his hardening length over your layers of clothing.

"Ohh…" you sighed, your eyes fluttering closed as he rolled his hips again. And again. "Oh fuck, sweetie, what are you doing to me?"

"We get to spend the rest of our lives together," he said simply, carrying you into the bedroom and setting you down on the bed. "And I know exactly what we should do first." He rid you of your panties, throwing the little scrap of fabric haphazardly behind him somewhere, before running his hands up your thighs, inching the skirt of your dress upwards as he sank to his knees. "It's been too long since I've tasted you, my love."

Three months later

You walked through the doors of the Langham, taking a moment to pause in the opulence of the lobby before making your way further into the hotel to seek out the front desk. There was an extravagant bouquet on display right as you entered with vibrant colors. The lighting made them look almost like jewels.

It took you a minute, but you eventually found the front desk through the throng of people, mortal and mystical alike, that filled the lobby. The manager seemed to be fending off the attentions of one of the guests, her tits practically spilling out of her two sizes too small bathing suit.

"It seems you've had a bit too much to drink, Mrs Davies. Perhaps it would be best for security to bring you up to your room."

The woman pouted as a six-foot-seven security personnel began to escort her towards the elevator. Meanwhile the manager locked eyes with you, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, making him even more devilishly handsome if that was even possible, as his eyes greedily roamed your figure. Suddenly you were even more appreciative of the way you'd begun to fill your clothes again the last few months.

"May I help you, madam?"

You flashed him your brightest smile, fighting back a blush as he held your gaze. "Yes, I'd like a room for the night."

He didn't type anything down into the system. Instead he just grabbed a keycard from inside a drawer and made his way around the front desk, jerking his head towards the elevator. "Very well, then. Follow me." He led you to a private elevator to the top floor before walking down a long hall that only contained a handful of doors. "I hope this…will be to your liking," he said, his voice taking on a huskier tone as his breath hitched when you brushed past him as you walked through the doors.

Everything about the suite exuded luxury…with a touch of sensuality. There was a large heart-shaped box of truffles situated on the coffee table, a soft piano melody filled the space, and a trail of rose petals led to the open door of the bedroom, where even more rose petals laid atop the sheets in the shape of a heart.

"A honeymoon suite…" you said slowly, your breath hitching when you felt Jonathan's hands on your waist, his breath warming your neck. "You really know how to spoil a girl, Mr. Pine."

You let out a squeal as he turned you to face him, your faces now mere inches apart. "Only the best for you, Mrs. Pine."

A/N: Okay, so I stitched together two requests back when I was planning out the stories for the 500 follower celebration, but I can't for the life of me find the first request that covered the bit about Reader being sick 🙃 Anyways, I'm so happy to finish this one and cross out another request! Now I'm off to jump straight into the next, which is a fluffy lil comfort piece with our favorite god 🥹👀

'everything taglist': @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @huntedmusicgardenn @steaa90-blog

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again- Part Four

Summary: With the discovery of a special book, Y/n is one step closer to home. The inner court learns even more about her family back home. And Azriel needs a babysitter of his own

Series Masterlist

-Part Four-

Amren found them in the kitchen, food had been waiting for them on the counter before they’d even arrived, the house it seemed was sick of her not eating as well. She’d simply laughed at the nagging presence and started filling her plate. Azriel had entered moments later, a small scowl on his lips from being left in her dust. He’d huffed and quietly filled his plate, he wasn’t kidding when he said flying worked up his appetite.

“I have use of your stray, boy. Go find somewhere else to be.”

Azriel gives the small female an unimpressed look, “nice to see you too, Amren.”

Y/n pushes her half eaten plate away, waving off the wisps of shadows that angrily dance around her at the action, “Did you find something?”

“I had that insufferable songbird pull any books she could find with your Wyrd marks,” Amren says, snapping her fingers.

A pile of books fall onto the counter, old withered pages that look like they hadn’t been opened in many many years. A plume of dust flies off them and Y/n wisks it away with a small breeze.

“Can you read them?” Azriel asks, eyeing the pages one book that’d fallen open.

“I thought I told you to find somewhere else to be?” Amren snaps, though there’s no threat behind it.

“My babysitter here is vigilant in his task,” Y/n sighs ignoring the withering look Azriel gives her, she takes one of the books into her hands and flips through some of the pages, “My mother taught me what she knew of the marks. Protection, locking, unlocking, many things like that, but we never covered gates, it simply wasn’t possible, and she didn’t want me testing fate.”

“Well to bad, it would’ve been useful to know that now,” Amren sighs, picking a book out of the stack, shoving it towards her, “Gwyn said this one practically jumped off the shelf at her.”

Y/n eyes the title and almost drops the book in shock. Azriel takes a casual step closer to peer over her shoulder at the book, a shadow finds her arm and gently wraps around it, a comforting touch.

“You know it?” Amren asks, giving that wisp of shadow a curious look, “I couldn’t read it, what is it called?”

“The Walking Dead,” Y/n answers breathlessly, “in my native language.”

Azriel couldn’t read the book, but he still looks over her shoulder periodically as she flips through each page. She’d been at it for hours, taking notes on the scraps of paper littered over the dining room table. Amren had taken the remaining books to look over, most had been fae scholars from this world musing over the marks, nothing quite as useful as the book in Y/n’s hands it would seem. Amren would also look over the Book of Breathings, see if anything jumped out at her.

Y/n had barely spoken to him the whole time, quietly mumbling to herself once in a while as she wrote. Azriel noticed that her notes switched between his language and her own in sporadic patterns, sentences switching back and forth, one word in one language then the next in the other. Swirling letters that connected in long strokes of her pen. The words were close together, she hardly lifted the pen as she finished one to write the next, like her brain was moving faster than her hand could keep up.

She was so focused that she didn’t notice Azriel slip out the door, didn’t notice when Rhys had appeared and waved him towards the hall.

“How’s research going?” The High Lord asks, “Amren has yet to find anything useful.”

Azriel turns an eye through the door, at the female still engrossed in that book, “nothing yet, though it seems Y/n may put Amren to shame in relentless focus. I don’t think she’s looked away from that book for more than the few seconds it takes to write something down.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Amren she has the competition,” Rhys chuckles, “I hear you two went for a flight today. All over Velaris people are talking about the almighty Shadowsinger chasing after a bird all afternoon.”

He gives Azriel a shit eating grin and Az scowls back at him, “she was determined to leave her babysitter in the dust.”

His scowl deepens when Rhys just laughs, “what? Don’t like chasing after pretty females?”

“I’m sure his ego is just bruised cause he can’t keep up,” Y/n’s voice calls out from the room behind them, “Big strong males tend to dislike being shown up by us pretty females.”

Azriel glares over his shoulder at the female who hadn’t even looked up from her notes, “I can keep up just fine.”

“Sure you can,” she laughs, turning a page, “I won’t hold back next time if that’s what you wish.”

His shadows laugh in his ears and he turns his glare on them. Rhys next to him grins as he walks into the room, eyes taking in the mess of papers full of Y/n’s half put together thoughts. She finally looks up then, acknowledging the male with a small nod of her head.

Her eyes are tinged red, like she hadn’t even blinked in the time she’d been sitting there. She glances at him, grinning at the scowl still on his lips. He glares harder, shoving his shadows down as they continue to laugh at him.

Rhys looks between them, “found anything useful?”

It breaks their stare and her smile falls. Azriel gets the strangest sense that he wants it back.

“Yes and no,” she sighs, “I recognize a lot of it, this was the book my mother learned a lot of what she knows of the Wyrd marks. She used it to open a gate to the place souls rest once to talk to… a friend. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere, I just need to keep looking.”

He notes the pause, the shift of her tone, whoever Aelin had tired to talk to, it was a sore subject. Take a break, she’s sad again, sad, she needs to rest, working for hours, hours, break. Azriel is half tempted to hiss at the nosey little shadows. They’d been at it for the last hour, as soon as the sun started to dip below the horizon, it’s like they switched into nanny mode. He wasn’t sure why they were so concerned anyway, she was more than capable of taking care of her damn self.

“The gates are the tricky ones,” she continues, grabbing pages of notes, “I’m close to figuring it out, I could probably open a gate, but to get to the right place is the hard part is opening one to the right place. I could just as easily walk right into a hell realm as I could into my own. And as fun as that seems, I’d rather not test my luck.”

“How many realms are out there?” Azriel asks.

“Who knows,” she shrugs, “my mother remembers falling through many, she couldn’t even describe most of them because of how fast she was falling. Give me a day and I think I could figure this out-“

“You’ve been at it for hours,” Rhys cuts in, “surely you could take a break. Maybe join us for dinner? We’ve all stewed up more questions for you, Cassian has a list.”

Yes, yes, yes, dinner, she didn’t eat enough, yes. Mother above, he wished he could get the shadows to shut up.

Y/n hesitantly glances at the papers surrounding her on the dining room table, “I seem to have commandeered the space. I’d hate for it to get stained.”

Azriel could tell that what she really wanted to say was, I need to keep working so I can get home. It was written in the longing glances at the book, in the way she flew towards the horizon like home was on the other side, the way she looked at the sky expectantly, searching for something he couldn’t quite figure out.

“We’ll eat at my home,” Rhys shrugs, “your research will be here, exactly where you left it when you return.”

She looks ready to argue, to deny, to beg to stay, but instead she sighs, “Is dinner a casual affair, or does your lot like to preen?”

Rhys laughs, “It’s whatever you like, preen as much as you wish.”

She hums, “My babysitter and I will be there shortly then.”

Mother, give him strength. She pushes to her feet, giving him that saccharine smile as she walks past him towards her room. Her scent lingers as she leaves, that hint of embers stronger than usual. He can’t help the subtle intake of air, nor the shadow that grazes her wrist like it would wrap around and make her stay.

She’s barely out the door before Rhys is clapping him on the shoulder with a quiet chuckle, “do you need a babysitter? I’m sure Cassian would like to return the favor.”

Azriel snarls at him, “We’ll see you at the house brother.”

Rhys just laughs again, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he moves towards the door, “take your time. I wouldn’t blame you for being a little late.”

“Get out.”

Azriel waits for her in the living room, she’d still been in her room when he’d gotten dressed, which wasn’t surprising since it only took him a few minutes to change into a slightly nicer shirt, he didn’t bother with the preening, Rhys did that enough for all of them.

Heel clicks on the floor alert him to her approach, she turns the corner into the room and Azriel couldn’t stop the way his body goes absolutely still.

He thought night court black suited her but he was wrong, she looked good in it but it didn’t compare to the way she looked in this dress. Deep green of a forest, the silk fabric flows with her body like water, showcasing each of those curves like currents, with accents of silver thread and shining jewels that glow in the light like the stars above. She’d lined her eyes with kohl, giving them that sultry look that could drive a male wild. And her lips, Mother help him, her lips were painted a deep wine red, so dark it could’ve been black.

Gorgeous, she was absolutely gorgeous. He’d known she was pretty, he wasn’t blind, he’d noticed when he’d found her laying in the moonlight, even covered in blood she was beautiful, but it didn’t strike him till now exactly how attractive she was.

“You like what you see shadowsinger?” Her grin is feline and lethal, voice dripping with honey, “I told you I was your type.”

He doesn’t respond, simply continues to look her over. There’s a fire in her eyes that has his shadows whirling around him and when her head angles in that predator way, he’s almost willing to be the prey.

House wasn’t a good discriptor of the giant building that sits before her. Manor maybe, but Azriel had called it the River House. Rhys and Feyre’s personal residence that Feyre had apparently designed herself. The garden in the back had been where she’d fallen into this world, she’d been to frantic to really appreciate her surroundings. It was absolutely beautiful.

Azriel led her through the front door and the interior was just as magnificent as the outside, intricate and elegant, yet it still felt warm and lived in. A multitude of paintings lined the walls as they walked to the dining room. From their conversation earlier, she assumed they were done by Feyre herself. The High Lady had mentioned her art studio, she had a class this afternoon that she would be teaching. Y/n had leaned towards musical arts, but she always loved going to galleries with her aunt Lysandra. According to Rhys, there was a section of Velaris called the rainbow, the artist quarter of the city. She assumed she’d flown through it today with Azriel, the place had been alive, filled with music that she couldn’t help but be drawn to.

As they moved down the hall she could hear the sounds of the Inner Court, as they called themselves, growing closer and closer. Their laughter reminded her of home, of dinners with the cadre and her uncles visiting from Adarlan, or even Nesryn and Sartaq all the way from the southern continent. They were never quiet affairs, always full of laughter and teasing, usually from Fenrys and Dorian on the later.

The last dinner like that had been little over a month ago. She’d dressed up in a gown this exact color. Her aunt Elide had helped her do her makeup, she’d practically had to hold her down in her chair so she could finish, to excited to sit still. It was her favorite nights of the year, these dinners, seeing her family come together all in one place. Sometimes they’d even convince Manon to join them, never aunt Manon, though she’d gotten away with that once when she was a child. It was always magical seeing her and Dorian dance around each other as if they weren’t desperate for the other.

She would sit there and watch her family, watch the way everyone loved each other. How her parents would stare into each others eyes and grin like someone had told a joke. How her uncle Aedion would dance with her aunt Lysandra to music only the two of them could hear. How uncle Chaol and aunt Yrene would bicker together with smiles still on their lips, to the utter annoyance of her cousin, Josefin. She watched them all, and hoped one day she would have someone who would love her just as fiercely

“Where’d you go, princess?”

Her mind drifts back from that far away place across the stars, finding Azriel’s gaze on her. Stoic as always, but she could see the bit of concern behind those whiskey eyes. It warms something in her, just barely, just enough for her to give him a small but genuine smile.

“Home,” she says quietly, “I was home.”

“So you’re telling me, a demi fae is one of your strongest warriors,” Cassian says, throwing quotes around the words, “and the guys power is death, just pure death? And he’s how tall exactly?”

Y/n laughs, “My uncle Lorcan has described it to me as death, I’m not sure what that means exactly, it was a gift from the old God of Death, Hellas. It looks like Azriel’s shadows, though they’re not sentient little creatures more like whips of shadow that he controls. I don’t know how tall he is exactly but he’s taller then you, he’s taller than all three of you males, actually. You should see the height difference between him and Elide.”

Azriel couldn’t help the small grin on his lips as his brother continues to pester Y/n over the apparently giant uncle of hers. It’d started with him asking about her father, and then the rest of his cadre. She’d told them all about the mighty warriors. Fenrys, who she could only describe as very very pretty, he could shift into a giant white wolf, and winnow, though not quite as much as those here could. Lorcan, the giant shadow wielder, who’s name is apparently Lord Lorcan Lochan, to everyone’s utter amusement. And a mysterious figure named Vaughan, who she admits wasn’t around a lot when she grew up, usually away in Wendlyn, he could shift into a massive osprey.

“There’s no way, he’d have to be like seven feet tall,” Cassian argues, mouth opening to ask yet another question.

Nesta elbows him in the side, “I want to hear more about the shapeshifter.”

“Lysandra,” Y/n supplies the name with a warm smile, “Her favorite form is a snow leopard, lethal creatures, but the softest fur you’d ever felt in your life. When I was a child she’d let me cuddle up next to her by the fire to take naps.”

“You’d mentioned a sea battle earlier,” Mor chimes in, “what was the creature she shifted into.”

Y/n’s eyes light up, “One of my favorite stories, I would beg to hear it again and again. It’s called a sea dragon, the companions of the Mycenians of old Terrasen. When they were banished from their home centuries ago the sea dragons all died out and it became legend that once the dragons returned, so would the Mycenians.”

Azriel watches her, enraptured by her stories. It had been like that the whole night. She’d been stolen away by Feyre as soon as they’d arrived, more and more questions being thrown at her throughout dinner. He’d taken a seat across from her next to Cassian, who had by far asked her the most. But she met each one with a story, that look in her eye from out in the hall hidden but not gone. She’d seemed lost, far far away, and so sad. He’d almost turned around and brought them back to the house of wind just so she could keep looking for a way home, just to erase that look. But when she’d smiled at him, all he could do was stare.

“During the war my mother had traveled to Skulls bay.” She talked with her hands, Azriel noticed. “One of the missing Mycenians was there, she’d figured it out a long time before that when she was still an assassin, when she’d wrecked the whole port to free hundreds of slaves. Captain Rolfe, the pirate lord, was not happy to learn the assassin who’d ruined his island was actually the long lost Queen of Terrasen. He refused to send aid, so my mother did what she does best, she schemed. Her and my aunt devised the plan to bring the sea dragon back. The battle didn’t go quite as planned, the valg had sea wyverns, vicious and powerful. But that sea dragon form, huge and magnificent was stronger, smarter. She used them against the valg forces, sending those beasts straight into the hulls of their own ships. My mother tells me that she could barely keep up with Lysandra’s speed, if you blinked she was gone. It was close, she was badly wounded, but she won.”

“Wow,” Elain breathes, eyes sparkling, “That’s amazing.”

“My uncle Aedion tells it better,” Y/n shrugs, smiling at the memory, “He always told me that it was then that he decided he could not live without her. When he saw her bleeding on that beach still in that huge form, half wild from the fight, he wasn’t afraid of her even though she looked ready to bite his head off.”

Cassian laughs, hooking an arm over the back of Nesta’s chair, “I know the feeling.”

Nesta looked half tempted to bite him right then to prove his point. Cassian simply grins at his mate, that telltale look in his eyes that would usually have the pair leaving early at any moment.

Azriel rolls his eyes at the pair, looking towards the female across from him. To find Y/n already looking right back. She’s got that overly sweet smile on her painted lips that she knows gets under his skin. He gets the sense that she enjoys it, the way he glares at her, it’s like a game. See how much she could push before he finally pushed back.

Rhys leans forward, that knowing grin on his lips again, “How fast can you fly in that hawk form? You said you went easy on poor Az earlier.”

She laughs and somehow he doesn’t care that it’s at his expense, “Very very fast, I can shift the air under my wings to go even faster. I could make it to the house of wind in less than a minute if I wished.”

“Impressive,” Azriel says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh don’t be a sore loser, Az,” she taunts.

It’s the first time she’s called him that, he quite enjoys the sounds of it, “Is it really losing if your competitions got a boost?”

“Only using what’s in my arsenal,” she shrugs nonchalantly, taking a sip of her wine.

Azriel’s eyes zero in on the motion, appreciating the way her lips rest on the edge of the glass. He was right, that color stained.

Careful brother, Rhys whispers in his mind, Or I really will send Cassian to babysit you.

He glares at the high lord, I do not need a sitter.

That’s what Cassian said, Rhys shrugs, Now look at him.

And it’s like a timer goes off on his patience, Cassian stands from his chair, taking his mate’s hand in his own.

“Well I think it’s time for us to go,” Cassian declares, he’d lasted longer than Azriel thought he would.

Nesta turns her eye on Y/n, “We train at the house of wind every morning, 8 am sharp, be there.”

Y/n grins, baring those sharp canines, and Azriel has the good sense to be wary of letting those two near each other in a sparring ring.

Tag List- Anyone in white could not be tagged. Let me know if I got your tag wrong!!

@inloveallthetime , @microwaveallthedemons , @nayaniasworld , @thecraziestcrayon , @fightmedraco , @blackgirlmagicforever , @nikt-wazny-y , @fangirlloza010 @fussel9913

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Mysterious Culprit

A very short fluffy story, I promise.

A Mysterious Culprit

SFW

“Tell me. Where is he?” König snarled as he leaned in close to his captive.

“I’m not telling you anything,” the poor victim sniffed and turned away defiantly.

“Do not hide for him, girl,” König sneered, “it will make things worse for both of you.”

She shivered, but held strong against the giant man before her.

“We didn’t do anything! This is just a big mistake” the captive whined as she struggled against his hold on her.

“Oh it's a mistake alright,” König rolled his eyes before locking eyes on his prey.

“Let me go!”

“I will when you tell me why the kitchen floor is covered in flour and chocolate milk.”

König’s daughter looked up into her father’s eyes, blue matching blue for a painstakingly long moment before she huffed and turned her head away.

“I didn’t do it,” she snipped.

“I didn’t think so,” König nodded along, “there were no stools.”

“So you know it wasn’t me,” Holly relaxed in her father’s hold.

“Of course,” König reassured her gently, “I know it was your brothers. I saw their footprints in the flour.”

“I told them they should’ve covered their tracks,” Holly mused, squeaking when she realized what she said.

“So you were helping them?” König’s eyes sharpened, “kleine Rotznase!”

“I just told them to clean it! I didn’t try to make the cookies!”

“So you were making cookies, ja?” König chuckled darkly, “and you thought you were going to try and sneak this by me?”

Holly winced, but she stood strong under her father’s withering glare.

“Kinda?” she shrugged helplessly.

König sighed and let his daughter go. He ruffled her hair softly as he muttered a curse under his breath before turning back to the war zone that had made its way into the kitchen. Holly scurried away as fast as she could, most likely warning her brothers, the little snitch. König listened to her feet pitter-patter up the stairs before predictably hurrying over to her brothers’ rooms. He’d need to deal with her later.

He sighed and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen when you came up to him.

“What happened here?” you asked as you took in the utter state of your kitchen.

“Apparently die Kinder wanted to make some cookies,” König grumbled bitterly.

“Couldn’t they have waited until I got home?” you sighed as you put the groceries on the only clean spot on the counter.

König walked up behind you and hung his body over you, making you stumble a bit under the sudden weight.

“You’re so heavy,” you huffed, “have you been to the gym lately?”

König huffed , "That's why I'm heavy."

Thankfully, he relented with a tender kiss to your cheek and dragged himself off of you to give you some space to relax and take in just what you’d stumbled into. You let yourself rest back in his arms with a hum.

“So, should we get to cleaning?” you asked tiredly.

“Nein,” König growled, “they will clean it.”

“Have you figured out the culprit?” you looked up at your husband.

“Somewhat,” König spat, “they’re colluding against me. Me! Their father!”

“You’re also the one who’s trying to deal out a punishment,” you pointed out.

König grumbled as he pulled away to get a better look at the mayhem your children had let loose upon the kitchen. Wordlessly, he threw up his hands before looking back at you.

“How’d they even get the time to do this?” you asked.

“I was reading a story to the baby,” König explained.

You nodded and walked up beside him, taking care to avoid stepping on a puddle of milk.

“I love you,” you muttered, “but no more.”

“No more?” König asked.

“No more kids,” you laughed dryly, “Anna is the last.”

König looked between you and the kitchen, then crossed his arms over his chest. He snorted, and agreed, “No more.”

Story Masterlist

[bunnysnuff]

Stiff.

Pairing: Elphaba Thropp x reader, Galinda Upland x reader (platonic), Elphaba Thropp x Galinda Upland (platonic).

Trigger warning: a little sad ig

Request.

Note: I re wrote this scene to make it shorter :) and because I couldn’t remember the scene.. sooooo🤍

The Emerald City was everything Glinda had described—a shimmering jewel at the heart of Oz. Green glass towers spiraled into the sky, lights cast emerald reflections across the streets, and music seemed to float through the air like magic. But you couldn’t enjoy the spectacle. Something about the city felt cold and hollow, as though it were trying too hard to distract from its darker truths.

You glanced at Elphaba, walking beside you, her shoulders stiff and her brow furrowed. Her eyes scanned the crowds, and you could see the distrust etched into her features. She hadn’t said much since your group had entered the city, but you could feel the weight of her apprehension.

On the other side of you, Glinda hummed happily, practically bouncing with excitement. “Isn’t it marvelous?” she gushed, gesturing at a sparkling shop window. “Oh, look! That dress would be perfect for me!”

Elphaba shot her a withering look. “We’re not here to shop, Glinda.”

“Oh, don’t be so dour,” Glinda said with a wave of her hand. “We’re in the Emerald City! Even you have to admit it’s amazing.”

Elphaba scoffed but didn’t respond. You took her hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, her stern expression softened. She didn’t pull away.

The three of you finally reached the Wizard’s palace, its gleaming green gates towering above. You tried to ignore the uneasy knot forming in your stomach as the guards ushered you inside.

The Wizard greeted you with charm and grandeur, his booming voice filling the chamber. For a moment, even you felt a flicker of awe. But Elphaba was unmoved. She stood tall, her chin high, as she presented her case—pleading for change, for justice, for truth.

But then the truth he revealed shattered everything.

The Wizard’s supposed magic was nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Worse, he had been complicit in the suffering Elphaba had hoped to stop. When he tried to convince her to join him—to use her power to maintain his control—she snapped.

“You think I would help you manipulate and oppress people?” Elphaba’s voice cracked with fury. “You’re a fraud. A coward!”

“Now, now, my dear,” the Wizard said, his tone dangerously smooth. “There’s no need to be rash. Together, we could accomplish great things. Think of the power you’d wield.”

“I don’t want your power!” she shouted. Her magic surged, making the air in the room crackle. “I want freedom. For all of us.”

The guards stepped forward, but Elphaba turned, grabbing your arm. “We’re leaving.”

“Wait!” Glinda cried. She looked back at the Wizard, her face conflicted. “Maybe… maybe we could change things. From the inside.”

Elphaba froze, her expression hardening. “You can’t change a system designed to crush people, Glinda. You can only burn it down.”

Glinda’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she shook her head. “I just don’t think I can do this. I’m sorry.”

Elphaba let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you can’t. You never could.” She turned away, pulling you toward the door. “Come on. I’m not staying where I’m not wanted.”

You glanced back at Glinda, your heart aching for her indecision. “I’m sorry, Glinda,” you whispered. “But she’s right. I’m going with her.”

The two of you ran through the labyrinth of streets, dodging guards and slipping into shadows. The city’s beauty seemed twisted now, its green glow sinister and oppressive. Elphaba didn’t speak, her grip on your hand tight as she led you through dark alleys and hidden paths.

Finally, you stopped in a deserted courtyard, far from the Wizard’s palace. Elphaba leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. Her hands trembled as she pushed her hair back, her jaw set in anger and despair.

You stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Elphaba…”

She flinched at your touch but didn’t pull away. “You didn’t have to come with me,” she said, her voice low and raw. “You could’ve stayed with Glinda. She’s the one everyone loves. The one who belongs in this perfect little city.”

“I didn’t want to stay with her,” you replied. “I wanted to stay with you.”

Elphaba turned to you, her piercing green eyes searching yours. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would you risk everything for me?”

“Because I believe in you,” you said, your voice steady. “Because you’re brave and brilliant, and you’re willing to fight for what’s right, even when it’s hard. You’re not alone in this, Elphaba. I won’t let you be.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, as if trying to find the lie in your words. Then, slowly, her expression crumbled. “You’re the only one who hasn’t turned your back on me,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “I don’t know why I deserve that.”

“You don’t have to deserve it,” you said, reaching for her hand. “I’m here because I care about you. Because I—”

The words caught in your throat, but you didn’t need to finish. Elphaba’s fingers curled around yours, her touch hesitant but steady.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Tears shone in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. “I don’t know if I can do this. But I’ll try. If you’re with me.”

“Always,” you promised.

In the silence that followed, the weight of the world seemed a little lighter. Together, you stepped into the night, ready to face whatever came next.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.