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hellvst · 2 days ago

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OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; quinn is playing + canucks won yesterday against la? we are soo back! i kinda forgot to give simon a face claim...oops! but, i did have an idea or picture him to look similar to kevin fiala or roman josi, i just can't find a face claim for him. it's up to your imagination as well! happy reading <3

CHAPTER TWO

SYDNEY

My alarm went off multiple times within the past fifteen minutes, and kept hitting the snooze button each time it did. So much for wanting to wake up early this morning.

I fluttered my eyes open, adjusting to the natural light through the window.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull ache in my right leg. It wasn’t a sharp pain–more like a persistent stiffness, reminding me that no matter how much progress I made, and lots of physiotherapy sessions, I wouldn’t always feel one hundred percent.

There was no point in dwelling on it. I had a busy day ahead, and self-pity wasn’t on the agenda. Not today.

I ungracefully got out of bed–did some stretches, single-leg squats, and hopped on one foot.

Nothing some movement wouldn’t fix.

The discomfort usually disappeared once I got my body moving. Truly odd, but if it got me through the day, I was not going to complain.

I moved through my morning routine with muscle memory. A quick shower, skin care, matching black compression set, an oversized hoodie thrown on without much thought, and tied my hair into a ponytail.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the coffee machine was already doing its magic. As I waited, I flipped the TV on in the living room out of habit as I did every morning.

The post-game analysis was still running from last night’s Canucks-Oilers’ game. I wasn’t surprised that this was the first thing that popped up on the screen, considering it’s been a while since my hometown, Vancouver, had made a playoff appearance. It was a huge deal for the city.

I caught a whiff of the last few minutes after getting home late from the studio–just in time to witness the whole debacle unfold.

My brother, Simon, and his teammate.

The miscommunication. The puck hitting the post. The loss.

A blown play that cost them a ticket to conference finals.

Now, every analyst, reporter, or fan was commenting and dissecting it.

“This was a complete breakdown,” one of the reporters began. “Simon Gray and Quinn Hughes were on totally different pages the entire game. You can’t have your best forward and your top defensemen out of sync in the most important moments–”

I turned the TV off and took a sip of my coffee, already knowing how that played out. My stomach was tightening at the sight of Simon after the buzzer went off.

Before the game, I sent him a short and simple ‘good luck!’, and haven’t heard from him since. Fair enough, given the outcome of the game.

Simon was going to be miserable for days, maybe weeks, more likely the entire summer. My brother was going to be impossible to deal with after that. And if history has taught itself, he was going to blame others for his mistakes. He always did.

I looked at the time, almost choking on my coffee, “Shit.”

I was running late for my first private session of the day, and Phoebe–one of my regular clients–was going to get there before me. Again.

If someone had asked me years ago what I saw myself doing, being a Pilates instructor wouldn’t even make the list. But life has a way of throwing you in places you’d never expect.

It started after the incident, I don’t talk about it much–there was nothing left to say. It happened. It definitely changed things. And for a very long time, I felt lost in my own body, like going through motions without purpose.

Doctors and my physiotherapist gave me exercises, stretches, and a never-ending list of things to “try”. Nothing clicked. Nothing felt right.

Until, I stepped into my first Pilates class. I remembered feeling a bit skeptical at first, convinced it was another trendy workout–the one all the girls tried out. It was the first time in a long time I felt connected to myself again.

I kept going. I got better. And then I got really good. Good enough that one day, the owner of the studio I’d been training at, pulled me aside and asked if I ever thought about teaching.

I laughed at the time, but the idea lingered that it stuck. And here I was: an instructor at Lumé Wellness–the top studio branch in Vancouver–fully booked for the summer, doing what I love.

The studio wasn’t that far from my apartment, twenty minutes tops without traffic which most days I was thankful for.

By the time I made it to the studio, sure enough, Phoebe was already inside one of the private rooms, stretching on the mat.

She raised an eyebrow at me as I put my bag down. “Would it kill you to be on time for once?” Phoebe teased, pulling her dark curls into a bun.

I rolled my eyes and started stretching beside her. “It’s five minutes.”

She shrugged and wiggled her brows, “Five minutes that I spent wondering if you were late because a guy kept you up last night.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned with a smile. “Don’t start this again, Phoebe.”

All she did was grin, absolutely delighted at the sight of my suffering. Phoebe was in her late forties, a social butterfly with too much energy for the morning slot, and too much curiosity for her own good.

Plus the fact she was newly single and thriving in the chaos of her impending divorce, loved to poke at my non-existing dating life. She was a sucker for drama, and if my love life–or lack thereof–could provide her entertainment, she’d without a doubt take it.

“Oh come on, humor me, Syd. There has to be someone,” she said, settling onto the reformer. “You’re giving off the ‘I’m seeing someone new’ glow.”

I scoffed at her. “That ‘glow’ you’re referring to is just the new overhead lighting.”

She snorted then sighed dramatically as I adjusted her stance, “You know, you should really make time for some fun.”

“I have fun.” I argued.

“Pilates and binge-watching The Office at home doesn’t count.”

She got me there.

We continued on with our session. Usually with Phoebe, time flies so fast when all she did was rant about her life–pestering me about mine–but she eventually let it go once we began the harder exercises.

I barely got a moment to breathe before moving on to my bigger group session. To my luck, this group was breeze to get through as they followed my exercises on the reformer with ease. Not to mention, the music blasting through the speakers in the studio allowed them to get into that rhythm which was helpful as well.

Just when the last song ended, the group of ladies’ chests heaved, the room was filled with breaths of exhaustion, and a few went straight for their water bottles.

“Alright, ladies! Great work today! Hope to see you in our next class.”

They all left one by one, saying ‘bye’ on their way out, until I was the only one left.

Two or three classes to teach in the mornings usually had me working around lunch.

And by then, I was starving.

My routine was pretty much the same, there was not a lot to do with an hour break. But, most days consisted of grabbing a quick meal at the nearest bistro or cafe with my closest friend. As I was about to pick up my things off the floor, my phone in my pocket buzzed.

Speak of the devil herself.

“Hey, Diane,” I answered, tucking my phone in between my ear and shoulder as I packed.

“Are we still on for lunch? I’m already at the café.”

I heard the faint lively sounds of the city of Vancouver in the background. “Yeah, I’m about to leave the studio and make my way–”

“Sydney?”

Right as I was trying to make a beeline to the doors, I turned to see Grace–the owner of the studio–peeking out her office door. My stomach dropped.

“One sec, Di.” I lowered my phone, ending the call. “Everything alright, Grace?”

“Can you step into my office for a minute?”

Fuck. This cannot be good.

I followed her inside. It was a rare sight to see any of the studio employees in Grace’s office, she usually came to talk to me after my classes, never the other way around.

She never gave off vibes that ever intimidated me. I have never seen her upset with anyone, unless they truly pushed her buttons. The word ‘nervous’ wasn’t enough to express how I was feeling right then and there.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to the empty chair across from her. I gave her a smile, but beneath that was a wave of anxiety washing over me.

I tried to figure out what I might have done wrong. Did someone complain? Did I mix up the schedules or bookings? Did Phoebe finally rat me out for showing up late most of the time? The idea of me getting fired was not on my list of things today.

Grace sat behind her desk, clasping her hands together. “I have some news for you.”

Oh God. This is it. I was getting fired.

“I know your lunch break just started, so I’ll just get straight to it.” Grace had always been forward when she spoke. “There’s an opportunity with the Vancouver Canucks. Their management reached out about a summer cross-training program. They wanted us to coordinate it.”

I blinked at her, “And…?”

“And I told them you’d do it.”

As if my eyes couldn’t get any wider than it was. I stared at her in complete and utter disbelief, waiting for some sort of punchline. “You’re joking.”

Grace smiled, “Nope.”

I would have never imagined she’d say those words. This might be worse than getting fired.

There had been a few occasions when I had worked with soccer clubs, and a few college football players for cross-training. But, I had never done a session with the professional leagues such as the NHL. This was way different.

“Grace, I’m flattered but–” I thought about my words carefully, “I have a full schedule this summer and–”

“I am aware of your busy schedule,” she said, waving a hand. “I already adjusted your schedule accordingly to accommodate for this.”

Of course she did..

I opened my mouth, then closed it. This conversation was already headed towards the direction I dreaded. “There are other instructors here that I think are more qualified–who have worked in this studio for much longer that are more deserving for this job.”

Grace raised a brow at me, “Do you think I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you were more than qualified?”

Shit. I had that coming. I basically dug that hole myself.

I stayed silent for my own good, Grace knew she was right and she sighed.

“They want you,” she said simply.

“What? Why?”

I answered a bit too quickly, unknowingly raising my voice an octave or two. I shift in my chair, clearing my throat having just panicked in front of my boss.

“Well, given that you have a good background on hockey, I thought you were perfect for the position. Not to mention that their head coach, Rick Tocchet, had also referred to you. And if it helps, it’s not the entire team you will train with. Just two of their players.” Her lips twitched as she leaned in her seat. “One of them being your brother.”

My stomach twisted. I should have seen this from a mile away. Why didn’t I make that connection instantly right when she said ‘Vancouver Canucks’?

After all, my older brother Simon was one of the top forwards for the team.

Although, he may be my family and I would do anything for him–I wouldn’t train him or anyone on his team for that matter. Hockey was Simon’s thing, and I had my own so we stayed out of each other’s lane. And we like to keep it that way.

Plus, I wasn’t all that into men that played hockey. They weren’t my go-to type. But, I would be lying to myself if I didn't think there were some head-turners, but nothing too crazy of the sort. I have never dated a hockey guy.

I blinked, tapping out of my short trance. My brain was processing the fact that I was going to spend all summer with my brother and his teammate.

Which led me to another question for Grace.

“So, if I’m training my brother–” I said, dragging out the last word. “–who is the other?”

She took a moment before she replied, “Quinn Hughes.”

That brought me to a full stop. What?

My eyes were nothing but bloodshot, “Quinn Hughes?” There was absolutely no hiding my distraught expression, even if I tried my hardest to contain it. “That’s asking for the impossible, Grace. It would take a miracle for those two to work together.”

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling.

Simon hated Quinn Hughes. I have spent the last few years listening to him ranting about how Quinn came in a year after he was drafted and ‘ruined’ everything–climbing the ranks, breaking franchise records as a defensemen, and taking the spotlight.

I never truly understood the obsession. Simon had never acted this way growing up, especially towards another teammate. Now, he’s spent years resenting Quinn, blaming him for everything that has gone wrong in his career. I have asked multiple times specifically why he hated him so much, all I got was some half-assed answer.

And I’ve never met the guy, but from what I’ve seen, he seems alright.

“Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other,” Grace continued. “I told Rick Tocchet you’d do it. And of course, you will be paid. More importantly, the Canucks’ are willing to invest in our studio. We’re growing and this would help fund more studios to expand, Sydney.”

Wow. It would be a great deal for Lumé Wellness now that I think about it. After adding the brand new Pilates reformers and more intensive sessions, our class attendances shot through the roof. The space in our studio was limited and we were growing in numbers as waitlists were piling up.

What kind of Pilates instructor would I be if I didn’t want that for the studio?

I exhaled a sigh, “What about the media? They will be a problem–”

“We will handle it,” Grace cut me off. “After what happened last night, there’s no doubt that the press will track two of their star players’ moves throughout the summer. That’s why Rick, the Canuck’s team, and I will ensure that we will keep the training sessions on the down-low to prevent the media from talking.”

That reassured me to an extent, but I was still skeptical. This was a bad idea.

It was easy to figure out why this arrangement was set in the first place. Those two, especially my brother, needed to stop acting like children and start acting like grown adults. Play like real professional hockey players.

After the loss last night, it was only a matter of time when their team did something about it. I was surprised that it took them long enough. A few years ago, I wondered why they hadn't forced them to be stranded on an island together. Maybe surviving off an island together surely would have allowed them to work together at least.

The look in Grace’s eyes were telling me that there was no way out of this. Even if I came up with more excuses or tried to find a replacement, her (and apparently Rick Tocchet) mind was already made up.

I leaned back in my chair, my head was spinning in constant circles. “Is there any way for me to get out of this?”

“No.”

Damn. A complete shut down.

“Of course not,” I mumbled.

She gave me a knowing look, “Everything will be fine, that I can assure you, Sydney. Sessions will begin in two weeks.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed. Great.

I nodded my head as Grace dismissed me out of her office, gave her a small wave. I stepped out of the studio, took a deep breath trying to process what just happened in the last few minutes. I still couldn’t believe it.

My phone went off. Four missed calls and numerous text messages from Diane.

I called her back, and the second she picked up, she was already yelling. “Where the hell are you?”

A dull throb in my temple ached. “I got held up, I’ll be there in ten.”

“What happened?”

I sighed and began walking down the sidewalk. “You’re never going to believe me if I told you.”

The café was already packed by the time I got there, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.

I spotted Diane almost immediately, she sat by the window, with a half-eaten bagel and small bits of crumbs on the table. She glanced up just as I approached her and instantly raised a brow.

“You’re late,” she said, pointing at me with her bagel in hand. “Again.”

“Sorry, I got held up.” I told her as I dropped into the chair across from her.

She playfully scoffed and held up her now empty cup, “Enough that I already finished one latte.” She smirked before setting it down. “Alright, spill. What was so important that you hung up on me and left me hanging here?”

“Grace.”

Diane’s eyes widened at that. She knew how rare it was for me–or anyone in the studio– to get caught up in Grace’s hair to get sent to her office. There were only good things I have told Diane about my boss over the years. Like the time she gave all the studio employees a gift certificate to the infamous spa in the north side of the city. It was generous of her, but it was quite expensive.

I took a deep breath before explaining to my friend of my new summer plans. Having to say it all out loud made me realize how real this was. It was going to happen and I wasn’t just dreaming in that office.

“Wait. I’m sorry, what?” Diane nearly choked on her coffee.

“Yep,” I popped the ‘p’, and nodded at her. “You heard me.”

For a split second, there was silence.

Her face lit up accompanied with a squeal. Oh no. Here we go.

Diane’s expression was something between shock and excitement, “Syd, are you serious? That’s freaking nuts!” Unaware of her volume, she earned the glances of other customers in the café. We were both quick to give them apologetic nods. She leaned closer across the table, her voice quieter this time, “That’s huge, Syd!”

I scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

Diane grinned, “Are you kidding? You get to train professional athletes. NHL players. Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?”

She was right. It’s not everyday that you get to work with athletes in the big leagues. Anyone in the studio could have easily taken this job and taken the news a lot more lightly and professionally than I did. But no, oddly enough I didn’t have any other choice or say in the decision.

I shook my head at her, slumping into my seat. “It’s not that simple.”

Diane tilted her head as if I grew another pair of eyes, “What’s not simple about that? You get to train with your brother and I don’t think that’s all too difficult, right? Shouldn’t it be easier since he is your brother?”

As much as I loved my brother, we liked keeping our lives separate from each other. He had his career, and I had mine. Not saying that I wasn’t proud of him or embarrassed that my brother was one of the hockey stars in the league. I was very proud that he achieved his dreams, why wouldn’t I be? I just liked supporting him from the sidelines.

“Me and Simon are close but–” I paused, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my finger. “We don’t mix our careers or get involved in each other’s business. Now, I’m being thrown right into it and it just…complicates things.”

Diane watched me carefully, “Is that really a bad thing?”

I hesitated before answering her. “I’ve never really been a part of his hockey world, this was totally unexpected. Hell, I don’t even know if he knows about it. He hasn’t texted me since yesterday before the game.”

“Okay, so you’re only training your brother. Big deal. It’s not like you’re training with the whole team.” She waved a hand, acting like that was the only issue I was dealing with.

I shot her a look, I accidentally left out a big piece of information while explaining to her.

“And Quinn Hughes,” I added flatly.

Diane’s jaw dropped to the floor, “Wait–Quinn Hughes? As in, the captain of the team and the best defensemen in the league ‘Quinn Hughes’?”

As far as hockey goes for Diane, she had no interest in the sport, unless there was eye-candy on the team. When it came down to the NHL, the only names she was familiar with were the ‘good-looking’ guys, my brother, and Quinn Hughes.

I nodded, then took a quick sip of my coffee, “Apparently, my job is to make sure they don’t kill each other during the summer.”

“Wow. That’s definitely…something.”

“Exactly.” I crossed my arms. “I barely know Quinn. But, Simon? He’s been going off about the guy for years. And now I’m supposed to train them. Together? That’s a shitshow waiting to happen.”

Diane shrugged her shoulders, looking at me thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity.”

My brow raised at that, “To do what? Watch my brother have a meltdown? Yeah, no thanks.”

“But–”

I groaned, “Diane.”

She was teasing, and she never fails to get away with it. “I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. You’ll be challenged. You’ll make new connections. And–” She paused. “Who knows, this might just be the most interesting thing going for you right now since the accident–nevermind, sorry.”

Ouch. That stung.

But, Diane was right. As much as I’d like to think that my life was perfect and everything was going the right places, deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Ever since I got hurt and went through months of recovering, the course of direction my life was heading towards took a hard turn.

Now, I have ended up here. But, I wasn’t not grateful as things could have been worse, very worse. Over the years, I had to learn how to go with the flow and accept it.

I knew she didn’t mean to say that with bad intentions. Diane always wanted what was best for me, and I was glad that she felt that way since I would do the same with her. She was my longest friend for as long as I could remember.

She gave me an apologetic smile, “If anything, maybe your brother can introduce you to his teammates or–”

I playfully shook my head, then stood up with my empty cup in my hands. “I’m getting more coffee.”

She laughed, “Fine. But, I am not done talking about this.”

I gave her a look over my shoulder before heading over to the front counter. The café was even busier now, and I had to squeeze past a few people waiting for their orders. I handed my cup to the barista, tapping my fingers against the counter as I waited.

Diane’s words lingered in my head. Maybe this was a big opportunity, Maybe I was overreacting. But there was still that anxious feeling in my stomach, my subconscious telling me that I was not ready for this.

The barista handed me the the refilled cup, and I turned back towards our table–

Only to be met with a sudden, solid force.

The next thing I knew, the warmth of hot coffee spilled down the front of my hoodie. I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat seared against my skin right through the fabric. “Fuck!”

The impact rattled me, as I staggered back, barely managing to keep hold of the cup and maintaining my balance. I looked down at the damage, dark brown stains spread across the pale gray fabric.

I clenched my jaw. Just perfect.

“Shit, I–”

I glanced up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my fucking mind and–

I froze. No, it can’t be.

Quinn fucking Hughes.

Stood right in front of me, low and behold, looked just as surprised as I did.

Up close, he was taller than I expected–maybe I was just short– lean but solid, his broad shoulders filling out his fitted black hoodie effortlessly. His dark hair was slightly tousled under his hat; damp at the ends like he’d just finished practice or a workout, and completely blended with the crowd of people as if he wasn’t one of the biggest NHL players in the league.

I blinked, my brain lagging for a second. I’ve seen him on TV, many times before, in clips that Simon had angrily sent me after a few bad games, but seeing him up close was different. Very different.

He had his own unique attractiveness, I won’t lie. He had the light scruffy stubble around his jaw–sharp jawline, and piercing greenish blue eyes that made him look intense, but there was a softness in the way that he blinked at me, momentarily thrown off.

What was he doing here of all places?

He didn’t seem to realize that I wasn’t saying anything and ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I, uh–” He hesitated, looking vaguely horrified at the sight of my hoodie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down despite the feeling of coffee soaking into my hoodie. “Yeah, no kidding.”

He pulled a handful of napkins from the counter and offered them to me, “Here.”

“Thanks.” I took them from his grasp and attempted to clean the stain, knowing it wouldn’t do much but tried anyway.

“I can buy you another one,” Quinn offered, nodding towards the counter. “Or, at least a new hoodie?

I shook my head, frustrated that the napkins were making my hoodie worse. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Oh shit. My eyes widened as soon as the words slipped from my mouth.

That caught him off guard, and so had I.

Quinn’s expression lit up and brows furrowed instantly at that, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “So, you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do.” I said in a tone indicating that it wasn’t a good thing.

He studied me for a moment. Probably thinking that I was a hockey fan or whatnot.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” He paused, scrambling to rephrase what his intentions were behind that question. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.”

He sounded pretty genuine and his intentions were nothing but pure, hopefully.

I gave him a look, “I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” I looked down at the mess. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours.”

As I was about to turn my back on him, his fingers found the material of my sleeve, and swiftly pulled me back. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?”

He only nodded, which amused me.

“I think I can survive without your help, but thanks.”

Quinn’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but thought the better of it before I turned around.

I felt his eyes linger on me as soon as I made my way back to Diane. She watched the whole thing and she looked like she was about to lose her damn mind once I sat down.

I glanced over my shoulder back to where Quinn stood. I was so lost in that interaction that I hadn’t noticed two other of his Canuck buddies were standing behind him. I watched them laughing–most likely teasing him–about what they witnessed. Great, that was just great.

“What the actual fuck just happened, Syd?”

I wish I knew.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #vancouver canucks #nhl #nhl imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #qh43

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ilium-ilia · 3 days ago

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In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Two: cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers

tw: alcohol, intoxication

It’s always sweltering in this damn restaurant.

Countless patrons pack themselves tightly into booths and tables throughout the building. Their hands palm at sparkling tabletops as their wine glasses stay full and their food comes out hot, steam wafting behind plates like the smoke plume of a train. You’re unsure how they can smile through the heat that radiates off of their bodies as they stuff their mouths full and chuckle with friends. Suffocating, you wipe the sweat from your brow. It clings to every inch of your body, soaking you as if you’re a drowned cat.

Despite your discomfort, you perform your job to the best of your ability. Weaving between tables, you lead guests to their seats before racing back to the kitchen to package to-go orders, and you’ve only gotten yelled at once tonight by the waitstaff for incorrectly seating a family of five.

(And the fight that ensued from Bianca—or, Bee—defending you was only mildly uncomfortable. You still feel the gaze of every patron staring at you as if you’re some poor creature to be doted on.)

Really, tonight is no different from any other night that you work. Things are always semi-chaotic at a restaurant as successful as Sapori—a controlled chaos, as Bruce would remind you—but your pay as hostess is manageable. And they usually turn a blind eye when your hours start to brush close to the fifty mark within a week. You’re glad Bruce pays you under the table for that time. It’s not entirely legal—making money without reporting it to the government—but it helps you when you desperately need it.

A blind eye—it’s always better this way when you don’t have someone trying to look out for you.

Except, someone is always looking out for you, which is why you shouldn’t be surprised to find Aelin strutting through the entrance with an obnoxious foam pirate hat on her head. It’s poorly made, and the Jolly Roger design is beginning to peel. Your first instinct is to grab one of the menus and hide your face, but she’s much too perceptive for you to slip away without consequence. You manage to hide away most of your grimace with a smile as she approaches your counter.

“Ahoy, matey!” she exclaims, though she uses only half of the enthusiasm you know she can muster.

“I don’t think Jack Sparrow ever said that throughout any of the movies,” you deadpan.

“Captain Jack Sparrow, mind,” Aelin corrects as she points to her hat. Made for a child, it sits too small on her head and knocked slightly to the side.

“Right, of course.”

“I thought you would’ve remembered that better after you oh so ceremoniously dubbed me Sparrow yourself, after him,” she eggs.

“Row,” you correct, “and it was well deserved.” Playfully, Aelin sticks her tongue out at you while she fiddles with the foam hat on her head. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to pick you up,” she responds as if you should already know the answer.

Just as you open your mouth to question her further, the answer smacks you. Halloween. No wonder why she’s wearing that stupid hat. It all comes back to you—the car ride, your promise to attend the party at Terminus with her; everything. You had agreed to it, and then promptly forgotten about it, which is why you’re nearing hour eleven of your eight hour shift. Had you remembered about your previous promises, you would have gone home a long time ago to recharge before spending the remainder of your exhausting night in a packed nightclub during a holiday.

“You’re off soon, aren’t you?” Aelin asks as your silence starts to stretch.

“Uhm, yeah,” you answer as your eyes flicker to the clock on your left. Five to ten. “Just… give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.”

In reality, no amount of preparation can ever truly ready you for any sort of intense social outing, and you dread arriving at the club the entire ride there. As you sit in the passenger’s seat of her car, you find the palms of your hand slick with sweat. No matter how many times you try to wipe it off on your pants, it only seems to be immediately replaced with more perspiration. You’ve been to Terminus a few other times before this, all by request of Aelin, and still it’s not enough to become comfortably familiar. Everything is always too loud, too much, too close.

But this is Aelin—you’d do anything for her.

So when you find yourself in the private parking lot outside of the building, you try your best not to complain. It stands several stories tall, a hulking baronial beast that looks like an old storage building turned partyhouse. Foggy windows allow you to catch a glimpse of the sanguine lights flashing within, and you swear you see the panes shake with the beat of the music that bleeds through the stone.

A deep throb begins to gnaw at the soles of your feet and you feel a tension headache bloom by your temples as Aelin leads you to the VIP entrance. The outside area is well maintained with clean stone and well illuminated lights. There are several signs that state overall rules and regulations drilled into walls on either side of the entrance. Still, it’s not enough to hide the half-smoked butts of cigarettes and spilled liquor. In an attempt to quell your nerves, you suck in a deep breath of the cool night air as you remind yourself it can’t get much worse than this.

Except it does—because it always does.

You almost don’t recognize the large figure that stands outside of the entrance, but once those dark eyes land on you and you feel that pang rip through your stomach, you know it can’t be anyone other than Simon Riley. His gaze meanders back and forth between you and Aelin. Soft, inquisitive even. He lingers on you for a beat too long as if questioning your appearance like he can’t comprehend why you’re here in a place like this. As if he knows you don’t belong here.

“Evenin’ ladies,” he casually greets.

Even if you hadn’t recognized him visually—which would have been an odd feat, considering the sheer size of him—his voice would have been more than enough to jog your memory. You can still feel the way his breath tickled your ear the other night while playing pool. His timbre holds a delicious baritone that you swear can haunt your dreams.

“Stuck on guard duty tonight, Riley?” Aelin teases.

“Somethin’ like that,” Simon humors.

“Shame. Well, Chip and I—” she continues as she tosses an arm around your shoulder to bring you close, “—are going to get wasted.”

A slight smirk pulls at Simon’s lips. “That so?” he asks playfully. He says it as if he’s tempted to challenge her, but he steps to the side after a beat while gesturing to the open door behind him. “Cheers.”

There isn’t any time to mutter a thanks before Aelin’s pressing onward, dragging you along with her.

Walking into Terminus is what you imagine walking into hell feels like. Aptly named, thick air threatens to singe your hair, and you feel your diaphragm screaming as it attempts to suck a breath into your lungs. Countless patrons dance beneath florid lights, and it seems as if Aelin isn’t the only festive one tonight. Many of them wear masks, cheap costumes, or unabashed lingerie. The cheering from the dance floor forces your eardrums to pulse as if you’re listening to the screams of the damned. You swallow as you paw at your left ear—it aches already.

Aelin yells something at you that isn’t strong enough to cut through the chatting of the crowd. Grimacing, you shake your head. Pointing her finger upwards, you’re vaguely able to read her lips.

Up top. More room.

Though the VIP section is usually reserved for smaller groups of people, the second floor is just as suffocating as the bottom. There is slight reprieve to be found in the fresher air and more restricted population, but not much. Aelin makes a beeline to the first bartop she sees, leaving you no choice but to follow along behind her. The bartender glistens beneath purple-toned lights that dance off her body glitter in a hypnotizing way like she’s a fairy lost in some concrete prison. Mirrors line the ceiling above her, so when you look up you’re really looking back down at yourself. Wide eyes, clammy skin, and an aura of exhaustion reflects back at you perfectly.

Once your drinks are filled, Aelin leads you to a private table in the far corner of the floor. It skirts close to the railing of an overhanging balcony that overlooks the dance floor below. Somehow it’s quieter. The speakers are positioned to blast their music toward the bottom floor rather than right in your face, giving you room to breathe through the discordance of the club. Swallowing, you toy with the rim of your cup, running the pad of your finger along the edge while trying to fight off the fatigue that yanks at your legs.

“Well?” Aelin speaks up expectantly. She poses the word as if she had given you a question to answer, but it’s the first thing that’s been said between the two of you since you took your seats. “How have you been? How have you really been? We weren’t really able to talk the other night with all the other distractions, but I’ve been missing you.”

“Oh. Well, you know…” you start only for the words to die in your throat.

It’s never easy answering a question like this—not without lying. How are you supposed to twist your life into something interesting when you’re anything but? All you’ve done for the last few months—no, years—is work. Work, pick up extra shifts, and sleep with whatever free time you manage to scrounge up. Every pence you earn goes towards bills. You’re nothing but a cog in a machine.

No, the only things worth telling Aelin are the things you can’t speak. You’re not sure your tongue would know how to form the words, but it’s not like this is anything new. You’ve gotten used to dodging the invasive questions. You’ve gotten good at lying. Sometimes you can almost convince yourself that you’re just a very imaginative storyteller rather than the rotten deceiver you truly are.

Almost.

“Fine. I’ve been fine. Just… working, mostly,” you excuse.

“Oh, come on,” Aelin groans. She takes a quick sip of her drink—rum, as she had made sure to point out earlier—before overdramatically leaning back in her chair. Her hat slides to the side of her head, and she fixes it with a huff. “You always say that. It really is just work with you, huh? No redecorating the apartment again or getting excited over new cutlery? No getting out to talk to people?”

Scoffing, your fingers tap against the table. “I think we both know that getting out is more your thing than mine. As is the excitement over cutlery,” you tease.

“It could be your thing too if you didn’t ditch me half the time I invite you somewhere,” Aelin counters. As if tasting her own venom, she sighs as she leans forward, face softening like wet porcelain. “I meant what I said the other night. You are worrying me. More than just a little.”

In order to give yourself some time to think, you raise your cup to your lips. Face contorting into a grimace, your vodka cranberry seems to be nine parts vodka and one part juice, and the brash alcohol tastes worse than cough medicine on your tongue.

“What’s there to worry about?” you ask while trying to hide your cough.

Raising an eyebrow, Aelin tosses a few strands of her hair back over her shoulder. “What isn’t there to worry about? I mean, you’re working yourself half to death, I feel like I hardly get to see you anymore—hell, I don’t even think you’ve ever managed to score a boyfriend!”

“I think I’m doing just fine without a partner,” you interject.

“My point is,” she continues, “I just… I’m… terrified you’re still trying to punish yourself.”

It’s difficult to believe that a place so full of life can fall so silent. Everything fades to black, leaving you with just a sharp ringing bell and an underwater fuzziness. Normal, the doctors had said. Typical for someone who went through what you did. Absolutely plaguing. There’s nothing you can say in response. Her words stun you because—unlike usual—she sees right through you. Like you’re nothing but the cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers.

Putting you out of your misery, she continues talking so that you don’t have to.

“Look, I… I know we’re not really family. It’s not my place to say stuff like this, but it’s… fuck.” Aelin cuts herself off with a slight shake of her head as a nervous chuckle expels past her lips. “I know I never got the chance to know you before… everything. But I look at the way you were back when you lived with John and I, and I look at you now and… it’s, I dunno. And I know that you’ve always been a little quiet, and you like your alone time but this just feels different, you know? Like you’re… pulling away from everyone. I just don’t want you to blame yourself for surviving.”

It must be the alcohol. Surely. Aelin never talks about the accident, and neither do you. A silent rule settled between the two of you one day where you just stopped talking about it. You’d utter nothing about it when the anniversary came around, or when the events plague your sleep. You tell yourself that you’re quiet about it for her sake but really—you don’t talk about it because you’re certain the contrition will choke you on its way out of your throat.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Aelin continues softly. “For surviving it.”

You swallow.

“I know.”

She raises an eyebrow at you incredulously, forcing you to quickly give her a smile before she can chastise you for your sloppy deception.

“I don’t think I’ll ever not feel guilty about it, Row,” you continue, a bit more truthfully. “It’s something that just… stays with you. I know it’s not my fault, and I’m not trying to self-sabotage or anything but it’s- like- just, some days are harder than others.”

A bittersweet smile crosses her face as she nods. “Yeah I… I get that. Just remember that you’re not alone, okay? You’ll always have me and John. No matter what.”

An awkward silence falls after you mutter a rigid thanks, yet everything continues to pulse around you. The music that vibrates the very molecules in the air, the patrons who jump and dance below you like a heaving pile of flesh; it all continues.

The only thing that changes is the stale scent in the air.

“Wow, what a way to ruin the fun,” Aelin chuckles. She shakes her head as if she’s physically removing the bad thoughts from her brain as she shakes her cup. “No more sappy talk for the night, I promise. I’m just about empty. Wanna come with me for a refill?”

Just like Aelin had promised earlier that night, she spends the rest of the evening getting wasted, and it doesn’t take her long to get there. In a matter of hours her speech begins to blend into the mess of noise around you with fits of giggles and heavy slurring. Each step she takes is unsteady. She can hardly hold herself upright as she drags you to a pool table for what she swears will be a quick game. Her inebriation becomes so concerning that you forget all about your discomfort of being trapped in this club. You’re more focused on making sure Aelin doesn’t fall over.

You consider it a blessing in disguise that you now have something else to focus on other than the prying eyes around you. Aelin seems completely immune to any outside forces as she sloppily leans over the pool table with her stick in hand. Each time she attempts to line up a shot, her hands seem to sway away from the cue as if its weight is suddenly too heavy to carry. This game has gone on for what you swear has been for the last hour; half in part due to you missing your shots, and half in part due to Aelin not being able to stay quiet long enough to focus on hitting anything properly.

“Stop kicking the table,” she groans.

“I’m not kicking anything,” you assure.

“Why’s it vibrating?”

“That would be the music.”

“The music?” she repeats.

“Yeah. You know… the bass?”

Nodding like she’s understood what you’ve said, Aelin makes her shot only to royally flub it, sending the cue ball ricocheting across the far side, nearly pocketing one of your balls instead of hers. You chuckle as she straightens herself up. Surprisingly pleased with herself, she adjusts the crooked pirate hat on her head as she grins at you.

“Too bad Riley isn’t here to give us some pointers,” she teases.

There’s something familiar in the tone of her voice that sends a jolt shooting throughout your spine. That familiar, yet confusing heat courses through your veins as you think back to dinner at Aelin’s house. Suddenly, you’re back in that garage. You feel everything; the felt of the pool table against the palm of your hand, Simon’s fingers brushing against yours, his voice rattling your ruined eardrum for all it’s worth…

“He seems busy with work,” you excuse.

“Yeah?” she taunts. Her grin slowly melts into something hazier at your comment. It’s not quite malicious, yet there’s something oddly devious about it. Like she knows something you don’t. “Shame. You two seemed awfully comfy the other night.”

You open your mouth to respond just for it to snap back shut. Of course she brings that up. Aelin can be worse than a mother teasing her school aged children about silly crushes, and you’re mortified that she’s doing this in her drunken stupor. Really, there was nothing special at all about what happened that night. Except for maybe the fact that it was the first time in quite some time that a man touched you and it didn’t make your skin crawl.

“You’re reading too much into it,” you excuse while waving your hand. “He was just being helpful.”

“You know, you should just date him,” Aelin says as if you had never spoken in the first place.

For a moment, all you can do is stand there and blink. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being serious,” she slurs. “He’s a good guy, really. Quiet, too. Sure you gathered that from the other night. Bit of a smart arse sometimes, but I think you two get on well. He’s like… roughened. Girls like that, yeah? That’s sexy.”

“Row, I don’t think-”

“And you need someone to look out for you at home, too. Those apartments? Those ones you got for dirt fucking cheap? They’re falling apart at the seams. I wanna kidnap you sometimes and just, like, bring you home. You’re gonna get robbed one of these days.”

“Really, it’s-”

“Besides… he seems to be having a much better time following me around now that you’re here,” she huffs. “He never seems this interested when it’s just me.”

You freeze. There’s nothing but shards of ice in your veins. Your mouth grows sere as you attempt to shake the frost off your shoulders—you’re in too much disbelief to attempt to look around the area for him. Simon—following you? How could you have missed such a thing when he towers over nearly every head in the building?

“What?” Aelin teases, nodding her head to the area behind you. “You mean you haven’t noticed your little shadow?”

It’s only then that you brave a glance over your shoulder. Your throat grows tight at the sight of him. He sits at a small gossip table in a chair that’s dwarfed by his size; you’re surprised the wood hasn’t given way beneath him. Long legs stretch out to the side so they’re not awkwardly bent, and he slouches against the back of the chair as if to make himself appear smaller. Luckily, his attention seems to be absorbed by his phone. The screen casts a dull glow on his face, vaguely illuminating the rosy scars that faintly line the bridge of his nose and the corner of his lip.

You don’t think you could’ve handled it if you had looked back at him just to see him already staring.

“John likes to send him as a guard dog whenever I come here. Things got a little crazy one time and now he’s gone all scorched earth thinking I’m gonna get assaulted or something,” Aelin explains flippantly. It seems as if she’s given up on your game of pool as her hands playfully bat the balls around like she’s a cat with a roll of yarn. “I promise he’s not being a weirdo. Not on purpose, anyway.”

Things only start to get worse. Her teasing, her insisting that you try to talk to Simon, her drinking—they only increase. Aelin’s words and insinuations make your mind spin more than the small sips of alcohol you’ve allowed in your system. You stare at her with her glazed eyes and frizzy blonde hair, and your stomach twists like you’ve been stuck with a knife.

Your only saving grace is John Price. He crawls out of some room a little past one in the morning in an attempt to wrangle his wife in. It’s impossible to talk any sense into her, it seems. Hands on her hips, John tries to prevent her from swaying too much as she giggles. You awkwardly watch from the sidelines as she pulls at his shirt in an attempt to kiss him—you’re jealous at her ability to ignore the crowd around her. Always confident, she acts as if she owns the place.

In a way—you suppose—she does.

“Wanna get some fresh air?”

You don’t realize Simon’s even approached you until his fingertips rest on the pool table in front of you. Blinking, you follow the line of his arm. The wideness of his hand sits like a riverbed for the veins that dance beneath the thin skin. It ends abruptly at the long sleeved shirt he somehow manages to wear despite the stuffy air in the club, and still you continue up along his thick shoulders until you meet his dark eyes.

Pulling at your left ear, you grimace when the pressure changes. “Huh?” you ask while you twist your right ear toward him to hear better.

“Some fresh air? Wanna head outside on the terrace?” he asks before chuckling. “Thought we could give the lovebirds over here some alone time.”

Blinking, you quickly glance back at John and Aelin before answering. They’re still standing there in each other’s arms, swaying and talking to one another. Aelin’s smile is bright as she looks up at him, and John can’t help but grin at her crooked pirate hat.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Outside sounds nice.”

Simon brings you to the back of the VIP section where a door littered with heavy sharpie graffiti leads you to a terrace. The noise level instantly changes the moment the door shuts behind you. Plenty of patrons mingle about in the cool, fresh air, but their chatter is nothing but a whisper compared to the rush of the music trapped inside. Cold autumn air chills your feverish skin as he guides you beneath a canopy of lights.

At the end of the terrace lies a thick, metal railing. The cold iron bites through your palm as you grip it and look down at the alleyway below. Just on the other side of the railing, where the ledge juts out against the building, there are pots of flowers. They’re small, waifish little things, but their attar cuts through the dull night air all the same.

“You smoke?” Simon asks as he shoves a hand into the pocket of his jeans.

He’s on your left again. Sighing, you watch him carefully take out a pack of cigarettes where he beats the bottom of the carton against the palm of his hand. Shaking your head, you turn around so that your back is against the railing, putting Simon on your right side.

“No,” you say bluntly.

“Good,” he hums. “Don’t start.”

It doesn’t take long for him to light the thing and start puffing away. The scent of it cuts through the air, smothering the redolence of the flowers behind you, but you don’t mind. Each time he exhales, he makes sure to turn his head away, blowing the smoke well out of your way.

“So, Mrs. Price is a pirate. What’re you dressed as?” he asks.

Chuckling, you stare down at your work uniform. It’s nothing special. Just a plain black dress shirt with the pants to match. There’s a small stain of ranch that haunts the hem of your shirt, but you try not to bring any attention to it as you cross your arms.

“Oh, uh, a Sapori hostess,” you answer humorously. “Didn’t really have time to change before getting dragged out here.”

“Sapori,” Simon hums. “Heard that place is pretty fancy.”

“It’s up there, yeah,” you concur.

“They pay well?”

“Thirteen fifty.”

“Not great.”

You shrug. “It’s enough.”

A sharp breath cuts through the air as Simon inhales another long drag from his cigarette. The embers at the end dance to life in a bright orange before going cold when he exhales. You feel your head go light as a feather as you watch the smoke swirl and dissipate in the air.

“What about you?” you ask. “I know you work for John, but like… you know…”

“Security mostly. Makin’ sure people don’t get too rowdy. And whatever odd job he assigns,” he answers. “Usually end up workin’ nights. Same as you, I reckon.”

“Yeah, though I’m usually off around midnight most nights,” you chuckle, then sigh. “I’d be in bed by now if it wasn’t for Row.”

“Row?” Simon repeats.

“Oh, uhm, Aelin.”

“What’d she do to earn a nickname like that?”

Your teeth dig into your lip as you smile. “I could tell you, but I think I’d have to kill you afterwards.”

“Ah, one of those stories,” Simon chuckles. There’s a short pause in the conversation as he finishes off the rest of his cigarette before tossing it to the cement at his feet. He stomps out the embers with the sole of his work boots. “Alright, what about your name then, Chip?”

A sharp, awkward scoff escapes your lips as you stare at your feet. Reliving the story of your nickname is something you haven’t had to do in a long while, and it feels wrong saying it. Like you need to keep every little thing about yourself hidden, lest someone see how truly pathetic you are.

“You promise not to make fun of me?” you question.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he says facetiously as he leans his elbows on the railing.

“A while back, Aelin’s grandma invited us over for tea. The cup she gave me was broken on the rim. Like, a perfect slice just missing from it. I was too… I dunno. Nervous, I guess? I couldn’t bring myself to ask for another cup, so I drank out of the broken one the entire time. When Aelin realized, she just laughed at me. Said it was like that little teacup. You know, from Beauty and the Beast? Chip? She’s called me that ever since.”

A quiet chuckle rattles through Simon’s chest as he turns to face you. It’s deep. Canorous. Without the cigarette between his fingers to distract him, he’s able to give you his undivided attention. His gaze ignites your intestines. Burns your offals until they feel too warm within your skin. You swallow as he blinks at you.

“Cute,” he murmurs.

“Riley!”

Both you and Simon turn at the calling of his name, and it doesn’t take long for either of you to find the source. John marches across the terrace with Aelin stumbling behind him. She’s somehow managed to lose her hat since you last saw her, though she doesn’t seem too heartbroken about it as she throws her arms around you the moment you’re within her reach.

“You vanished,” she slurs, spiced rum heavy on her breath.

“I was only gone for a few minutes,” you chuckle.

“Too long.”

“Riley,” John repeats again, quieter this time. “Would you take the girls home for me? Don’t want them trying to head home when she’s this… well… Just take her car, since I’m sure you took your bike here, yeah?”

He hands off a set of keys to Simon, who shakes them around a bit like he enjoys the sound of the jingle. “I’ll take good care of ‘em.”

Getting Aelin into the car is a difficult task. Swaying worse than a drunken sailor, she nearly sends you tumbling into the back seat after her as she plops her entire body weight while tugging on your arm. Eventually you both are able to settle just in time to watch Simon struggle to get into the driver’s seat. The poor man proves himself to be significantly taller than Aelin, and he somehow manages to bash the side of his head on the roof of the car with a grunt. After some quiet cursing from him—and plenty of merciless giggles from Aelin—he moves the seat back far enough so that he’s not completely scrunched over.

The moment he ensures both you and Aelin are buckled in the back seat, he takes off through London.

“This is what you get for being so tall,” she teases. “I mean, really. There’s no reason for anyone to be this tall. What did your mum feed you as a kid?”

“You know, your husband is only a bit shorter than me,” Simon retorts. His eyes find yours in the review mirror for a split moment before his attention is back on the road.

“Yeah, but John puts his inches somewhere a bit more important than height,” Aelin teases, low enough for only you to hear.

Aelin manages to sober up some by the time Simon pulls into the driveway, but only slightly. Rum still taints her breath as she gives you a tight hug and thanks you for coming with her tonight, and she’s unsteady on her feet as she climbs out of the car. Simon keeps his hands up like he’s watching a toddler who can collapse at any moment. Once she’s set, she turns around to look at you where she points a finger in warning.

“Stay,” she orders as if speaking to a dog.

Confused, you glance awkwardly at Simon. “Uh… aye aye, captain.”

After your confirmation, Aelin slams the door shut behind her before allowing Simon to lead her inside the house. It takes her three failed attempts to get the keys into the lock, each punctuated by an array of colorful words. The entryway is shrouded in a thick numbra that disperses when she flicks the lights on, and she confidently struts toward the living room.

“Simon,” she says, motioning for him to follow her inside.

Dumbfounded, he listens. Aelin makes it all the way to the living room where she slowly lowers herself onto the sofa with a huff. “Yeah?”

“I want you to keep an eye on Chip for me,” she hums.

Simon stiffly crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course.”

“No,” Aelin whines, “I don’t just mean tonight. Like, after tonight. Keep tabs on her, or something. You’re good at that stuff, aren’t you?”

Confused, Simon quickly glances over his shoulder as if he expects to find you standing in the entryway. “Is she in trouble?” he asks.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Leaning her head back, Aelin rubs at her eyes as if she can remove the drunken haze that clogs her vision. “It’s difficult to tell with her. She’s really good at keeping things hidden, but I just know something’s wrong. I’d just feel a lot better if you helped keep an eye on her. Especially in that fucking apartment. Simon, I swear, I’m surprised that place hasn’t collapsed yet.”

“So, you just want me to be her friend?” Simon confirms.

“Well obviously don’t be a fucking creep about it, but yes. I suppose,” Aelin nods. “And don’t tell her about this, either. And obviously not about… anything else. You know. The business and everything. I know John is strict about that but you really can’t share that with Chip. She just… needs someone in her corner.”

Nodding, Simon mulls over her request. There are certain things that are expected out of organized syndicates—protection is one of them. When you own the streets, there’s a duty required of that mafia to serve the people who live within the community. He’s lost track of how many heads he’s knocked together in the pursuit of making sure people know the rules. Watching over you would be no different. After all, there’s really only one thing Simon Riley is good at:

Fighting.

“Consider it done.”

The drive to your apartment is quiet. There’s nothing but the sputtering hum of the engine and the cracks in the road to fill the silence between you and Simon. Every now and then you mutter directions for him to take, but otherwise you’re thankful that he doesn’t spark up any real conversation. With it nearing two in the morning, you doubt you’ll be able to say anything coherent anyway. Instead, he turns up the radio and lets whatever station Aelin last had it on fill the dead air between you two.

The next thing you know, the car is parked in front of your apartment complex, and Simon is opening the door for you with his hand outstretched. Blinking the weary fatigue from your eyes, you take his hand and allow him to help you out of your seat. He’s so incredibly gentle despite the fact you’re certain he could crush your fingers with a simple squeeze. He shuts the door behind you as you pat your pockets down for your keys.

“Thank you so much for the ride, Simon,” you say once you have them in hand.

“No problem,” he replies with a nod. Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheeks as you wait for him to leave, except he doesn’t. It’s not until he glances at the ancient building behind you that you realize he intends to walk you to your door. “Which floor do you live on?”

Each step that stretches between you and the third floor is grueling in a cruel way. If the lift was fixed, you would have taken it but it’s been out of order for the last two months, no thanks to your less than helpful landlord. Your feet are screaming by the time you make it to your door, and you feel the earth begin to tilt. Your keys slide into the lock with ease, and it takes nothing more thana simple turn of the knob for the door to swing open and reveal your studio apartment.

It’s nothing special. Peeling wallpaper adorns the walls like crunchy autumn leaves, and its yellow tint is brought out by the lone lamp that sits on the nightstand next to your bed. Messy sheets adorn your mattress where it sits shoved into the corner of the room closest to a lone window, and there’s a single door slightly ajar on the far side of the room revealing a claustrophobic bathroom. The entire apartment is small enough to be a coffin, but the rent is cheap enough to not leave you bankrupt every month.

Ready to dismiss Simon for the night so you can get some well deserved sleep, you turn to face him only to see his attention has been consumed by your door. Everything in this building is near ancient, but your front door and window are probably the worst. Chipped paint and rusting brass plague the hinges, but he seems more intrigued in the plating on the frame.

“Find something interesting?” you ask stiffly.

“More concernin’ than anythin’ else,” he mutters. Thick fingers brush against the old metal plating where he scrapes at the screws holding it in place. “How long ago were these replaced?”

You shrug. “I have no idea.”

“I’ll get you new hardware,” he hums, straightening himself up. “Someone could sneeze on the damn thing and it would fall over.”

A million excuses flood your mind on why he doesn’t need to do that, and you’re certain they would’ve left your mouth if you weren’t so exhausted. Instead of trying to deny his offer, you yawn as your heavy eyes glance towards your bed.

“Get some rest, yeah?” Simon prompts as he places his hand on the doorknob.

You turn to face him with a quiet smile, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss for words. The ivory light of the hallway casts a dark shadow on his face, but it’s not enough to smother the soft concern in his eyes.

“I will. Goodnight, Simon,” you say as a gruff vocal fry seeps into your words.

Despite his size—tall enough to nearly brush his head against the doorframe and almost just as wide—you don’t feel any fear as you witness him. There’s nothing insidious about him, especially not with the small smile that manages to tug at his lips as he shuts the door.

“Sweet dreams, love.”

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aboutcustardcreams · 2 days ago

Text

Time. I want more time.

Summary: Rio finds you, or rather you find her. But things don't go as planned. They simply can't. And when together with Nicky and Agatha, you make her an offer, one so tempting, so impossible to refuse, it makes Rio forget why she should. So she takes it. Just for now, just for this moment, Rio -not Lady Death- allows herself the thing she’s denied for so long. Time.

a/n: I’m so, so sorry it’s been so long! As I mentioned before, I was busy studying for a public competition, which I finally took a couple of days ago. On top of that, I came down with the flu, which slowed me down a lot. But I’m feeling much better now, so here I am!

I hope there aren’t too many typos or mistakes—I didn’t reread but I'll do it latr today (let’s be honest, it is very on brand for me at this point). Anyway, I hope you like it! ❤️

previous chapter

They gave her a job, a very specific one, that clashed with every fiber of her cosmic being. Only then did Rio realize why mortals loathed and resented her so much, why each and every time she showed up to collect a soul, all she saw was fear and despair swimming in the eyes of those whose life had sadly come to an end.

Lady Death always found a way to justify herself, until now. She persuaded herself into believing that those who feared her were just… ignorant to the real purpose of her visit. She was meant to be welcomed as a friend and not dreaded as an enemy. And some did see her that way, as a release, a quiet mercy. But most didn’t. Most couldn’t. And now, she could see why.

Rio couldn’t help but wonder, what kind of balance was she trying to achieve by condemning you to years of torment. What good was to the world if she made sure you suffered for having used your power to save your child? She searched for the meaning of it, but this time she failed to see it.

The Fates had been outraged, that was the truth. The punishment she was meant to inflict to you had nothing to do with what was fair and what wasn’t.

She sighed deeply, as she leaned against a tree. Was it better to warn you or to do it, from night to day? Should she speak to Agatha? Should she show up at all, or complete the task hidden in the shadow?

She brought her hands to her face and then rubbed at it, out of sheer petulance. She inhaled and exhaled shakingly. Silent tears welled up in her eyes then slid down her cheeks like a raging river, the moment her eyelids fell shut.

Rio couldn’t do this to you, without granting an explanation. She couldn’t distort Agatha and Nicky’s life by acting behind their back and yours.

Then she heard it, a voice, one she had been allowed to listen to, from the fragile veil between the two realms. She froze before crunching down behind the tree she laid on to stay put. Quickly she wiped her eyes, before tugging her hood over her face. Silence was one of her crafts. Death could come unexpectedly, like a hurricane as well as softly and subtly like the faintest whisper of wind. And now, despite the tragic drumming of her heart, she was the latter. She had to be.

“I’m so full, mama,” she heard Nicky say, with a sigh, though by the tone of his voice, she caught how satisfied he actually was.

A smile tugged at her lips, small, yet sincere.

“I can see that,” Agatha mused, her blue eyes flickered from him to you, “your stomachs are like bottomless pits.”

Your head lolled to the side, kinda dreamy. “But the lamb stock was so good, Ags.” Agatha rolled her eyes at that. She wasn’t there to deny that, her point was another. “I know that, but you had three refills, my love. Three–” she repeated, playfully elbowing at you.

You stuck your tongue out at her in response.

Rio watched the interaction unfold, struggling to keep her soft side at bay. She tried to see you as another task to complete, and as soon as she did that, she cursed herself because you simply were not. To separate her love for you from the things she had to do against you was impossible.

Before meeting you and Agatha, her job was relatively easier– if not completely, it was at least partially bearable. Without emotional ties, her tasks were just that: assignments to be completed, objectives to be met. But you weren’t one, and you could never be.

“I had four!” Nicky squealed, catching her attention once again. You turned towards the boy, and so did Agatha, whose eyebrows shot up. “My, my, four you say–?!” Playfully, you draped an arm around his middle, pulled him snug against your side. His back bumped into you and before he could react your fingers found his tummy, wiggling silly. “I wonder how all that food fits in this tum-tum of yours, lil champ!”

His reaction was immediate. Laughter burst from Nicky as he squirmed and squealed, his small hands pushing at yours but to no avail. Agatha watched with a fond smile, her eyes glimmered to the sound of her son’s giggles mingled with yours.

“I’m a grown up now, mama–” he protested between laughs. “I can eat more than both of you, if I want to!”

“Oh-ho, hear that, Ags?” You leaned in, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to the top of his head before finally setting him free. She hummed, a playful sound slipping past her lips. “We’ve got a tween on our hands–”

Nicky braced his hands on his knees and bent forward to collect his breath. But the glimmer in his eyes gave it away– he was happy, perhaps the happiest he has ever been.

He could have it all now: a long life ahead, his mothers by his side and no more battles to fight. Rio’s hands turned into fists, her nails dug in so hard she ripped at her skin, but she felt no pain. The only ache– the most painful and persistent inhabited inside her chest. Nothing could top the feeling of her heart turning darker little by little.

Agatha grimaced, brows furrowing in feign disappointment. “Well, it’s a shame really–” she rummaged through her nosebag, quickly catching the boy’s attention. And yours. His eyes locked onto her hands the moment she pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. She peeled it back, revealing two soft oat cakes, still warm, their golden surface glistening under a thick glaze of wildflower honey. They looked delicious. Nicky felt his own mouth water at the scent they emanated. “I was going to give you these later today as a snack, but since you’re a big man now, perhaps you’d rather donate them to younger children?””

His brows furrowed, his mouth parted ajar, ready to protest, but you were faster.

“Or–” you rolled your tongue, drawing closer, eyes on them. “I could eat those.”

Agatha should have known. “You’re worse than him,” she mused, keeping the oat cakes at a fair distance, giving you an innocent push.

An impish grin tugged at your lips, before you giggled, “you do call me baby girl, don’t you?”

Agatha snorted out a chuckle as she glanced at you. Her eyes spoke louder than any words. “This is not the appropriate context…”

You played dumb, “is it?”

Nicky, completely ignoring your staring contest, decided to interfere. “If mama can eat those, so can I,” he reasoned defiantly.

Oh yes, your boy was sharp.

“His logic is airtight,” you admitted with a nod.

A toothy grin played out on his face, one of victory.

“Fine, fine,” Agatha snorted in defeat. “Both of you can have it. But later– unless you want a serious stomachache now.” She put the treats back in her nosebag, silently enjoying the way your lips turned into a slight pout, matching Nicky’s. It took all her willpower not to pounce on you two and pepper your faces with sloppy kisses.

“We can wait, right kid?”

Nicky nodded promptly, muttering a soft ‘I guess’, before resuming his walk, trotting ahead and busying himself searching for pieces of wood.

You and Agatha remained a few steps behind him. It was peaceful. It was everything you always wanted.

You were looking for a spot to settle down for the night, but in the meantime, something caught your attention. There, on the forest floor, nestled against the green of the leaves, were clusters of red berries. Their deep crimson skin gleamed, looking so smooth, plump and perfect, you couldn’t help but feel intrigued. Something about them felt off, though. You crouched down, fingers grazing the soft, delicate surface of one berry. You squeezed one between your fingers and then leaned in, inhaling it softly. There was something faintly bitter underneath its apparent sweetness– like decay. It made you wince.

“Are there any good?” Agatha asked, lowering herself to crouch beside you.

Her hand brushed a strand of hair from your face behind your ear and when she did she caught the way your nose scrunched up.

“I’m afraid not, unless you’re eager to lose your sense of taste,” you hummed, discarding the berry and wiping your fingers on a large green leaf lying there.

Agatha chuckled softly, with a shake of her head. “Pass.”

“Thought so,” you grinned, pulling yourself up.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

You met her gaze, the subtle shift in her tone inevitably caught your attention. “That not everything is as it seems?”

“Yes,” she began, leaning in just a fraction closer, so that her warm breath crashed against your cheek, tickling your skin and making your stomach flutter. “But also that something so good looking, juicy and rich like those barriers can also be potentially… lethal.”

You couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle at that, your head dipping with amusement. You got the feeling it wasn’t just the berries she was talking about. Nicky, a few steps ahead, was too engrossed in his own task to notice the conversation going on between you and Agatha, his back turned as he collected wood and pines.

“Are you calling me lethal, Ags?” You said, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in.

Unable to resist, she pulled you by your hips, her eyes bore into yours and you saw a flicker of arousal swim within them. There was hunger there, barely restrained. One you understood very well, because it was similar to yours.

She hummed, her hands squeezed your hips, fingers kneading slow, deliberate circles. Each stroke of hers sent a shiver running up your spine and goosebumps to rise over your arms. Her breath ghosted over your lips, so close it made your skin tingle. “No, not lethal.” She shook her head.

You swept your tongue over your mouth, and her eyes followed there helplessly. She wanted to claim you, pull you close and devour you right then and there, but the sun was too high in the sky. And then there was Nicky… “But easy to fall for, yes.”

You bowed your head, a quiet chuckle slipping past your lips. One Agatha found herself going mad. When your eyes bore into hers again, only a second passed before you kissed her. Agatha exhaled, her mouth parting instinctively as her eyes fluttered shut. Yours did, too. A soft hum vibrated in your throat when she deepened the kiss, drinking you in like the succubus she was. Your hands cradled her face, fingers threading into her hair as you tilted your head, surrendering to her. Her tongue crashed against yours, teasing, chasing, until she caught the very tip between her teeth, giving the lightest, most maddening nip.

You couldn’t help the faint little chuckle that slipped past your lips, one she promptly reciprocated. “You’re being unfair now,” you whined, before laying your forehead against hers. “I– we can’t do this now.”

A flicker of amusement danced in her gaze, as she inhaled deeply in your scent, “I know, but perhaps when the night falls–” her breath was hot on your skin.

You nodded way too quickly. “I’d like that,” your voice came out hoarse, “please,” you added eagerly.

Agatha smiled against your lips, her fingers still tapping at your hips. “Such a good baby girl for me,” she closed the distance between you one more time to give you a gentle peck on your lips. She used that pet name on purpose, knowing the things it did to you, especially in such intimate contexts.

“Ags–” you whined, but before you could say anything else, a sound came to your ears. It felt like a crunch in the grass that interrupted, gladly or less so, it depends on how you see it– the moment between you and Agatha. You three turned, but not at the same time. Nicky had noticed a slight movement coming from a point in the distance, a glimpse of a green cloak, one vaguely familiar to him.

Before you and Agatha could tell him to wait, he trotted in that direction.

Rio could have disappeared. With a snap of her fingers, she could have. She should have. But what was the point? She was never a coward and she clearly wouldn’t start now. For once, in centuries, Lady Death felt like she needed the contact– a physical one. Looking at her family in the eye, and enjoying a glimpse of normality she always wished for herself. So she stayed.

She came out of her hiding spot, and took her hoodie off, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

You and Agatha froze, eyes widening but for different reasons.

Nicky’s face lit up as he ran to her. “Rio! It’s you!”

With a chuckle, she caught him in her arms, and buried her face into his hair, while he nuzzled underneath her chin, “my dear– It’s so good to see you.”

For a moment, time itself seemed to hesitate. It was as if Death and the very essence of Life had met halfway. It felt so right. Rio and Nicky there, together. Your eyes watered, a single tear slipped down your cheek but you wiped at it before it could wet your chin.

Beside you, Agatha tensed up, her magic flickering at her fingertips. One wrong word, one bad movement and you knew she would have snapped. Her magic stilled when you reached out and curled your fingers around hers. She looked at you, brows furrowing, a plea in her eyes. She was conflicted, you knew that. Honestly, who better than you could, after everything you went through?

“Don’t– she’s not here to hurt him,” you reassured her, voice soft and kind.

“Moms!” Nicky called out, as Lady Death pulled him down, ever so gently. His hand in hers as he dragged her towards you and Agatha. “It’s her! She’s the woman I told you about! I found her!”

He looked so happy, your heart swelled. When he let go of her hand, he ran to you and pulled at your clothes, barely containing himself.

Rio didn’t say anything, she waited for you and Agatha to do so first.

“Rio,” saying her name felt like finally taking a breath after being underwater for ages.

She turned, hazel eyes bore into yours with such a raw intensity, you felt the need to get even closer. She looked at Agatha too, with the same love and… what you thought being regret. Guilt gnawed at you as you did, memories of your last encounter came back to you like a hurricane. You had treated her unfairly, let yourself be fuelled by harshness– so deeply foreign to your person and pushed her away.

“I’m sorry for-”

“I need to apologize for–”

Realizing you had talked at the same time, a soft laugh slipped past your lips. She smiled, instead, eyes flickering towards Agatha, catching the moment she started nibbling the inside of her cheek. You caught a gentle blush coloring Rio’s cheeks, when she turned to you once again and your expression softened even more.

“You first,” Rio muttered softly.

You rubbed at Nicky’s back, still clung to your side before speaking, “I shouldn’t have said those things,” you started, your voice barely above a murmur. “And I’m sorry I’ve been cruel to you. I regret pushing you away… it was selfish– you were as scared as Agatha and I were and–” you swallowed a lump in your throat getting bigger and bigger.

Rio’s face fell, her brows furrowing. “No, no, shhh, it’s okay–” She was quick to cut the distance between you. “

Nicky looked up at you, a pout forming on his face, recognizing you were this close to crying. “Mama–?”

You inhaled a deep shaky breath. Your eyes flickered to him, “it’s okay, my love,” you smiled, softly but sincerely. “I’m just– emotional. I’m okay.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, because you indeed were. However, there was more to it: things you weren’t ready to confess to your son.

The sight of your lip quivering, only caused Rio’s heart to feel heavier. Agatha wasn’t doing much better, but she resisted, she had to. With one hand atop Nicky’s shoulder, she kept the other in yours, thumb gently tickling your palm as a way to reassure you.

“I never blamed you for a second. Not you, Agatha…” A bitter smile ghosted her lips as she shrugged. “What other choice did you have?” she murmured.

It was your turn to furrow your eyebrows.

“You had no choice either–” you croaked out.

“Yeah, I s’pose.” Rio pursed her lips, trying to offer a smile, but it wavered, tilting into something closer to a grimace. “It’s okay now. No hard feelings,” her attempt at teasing worked quite well, because you chuckled. Weak, quiet, but real. And for a moment, the world seemed to slow. The ache remained, but it was softer now, dulled just enough to breathe.

Agatha scoffed. She knew the pull Rio had on you, knew it because she felt it too. But unlike you, she couldn’t let herself be swayed. She needed more time, proof that it was safe to let the guard down now. No catches. No hidden prices to pay. She wanted to ask, she wanted Rio to be straightforward about her intentions, but sadly that was not the right moment, not with Nicky listening to the conversation.

When Rio reached out a hand towards Agatha, she whimpered without meaning to. The image of the four of you gathered so closely– closer than ever before, was a lot even for her. She hated how she loved it. She hated how much it terrified her: to be shown something she wasn’t sure she could keep for herself, for Nicky and for you. She swallowed, blue eyes boring into hazel ones, searching, digging deep, trying to find clues, anything, pleading even.

"I know this is hard for you– I see you trying, and I appreciate it. Truly." Rio said, her voice thick with emotion. You smiled at Agatha, it was encouraging, lovingly. "What you’ve done here—” Rio’s eyes flickered to Nicky, then. Her hand grazed at his cheek. “It’s nothing short of a miracle. And I couldn’t be prouder."

Agatha could have answered with one of her usual bitter remarks, but decided against it.

Instead, she shot you a teasing look and said, “she did all the work, but insists on giving me the credit, too.”

An amused scoff slipped past your lips, as you rolled your eyes. “We talked about this, Ags–”

“No kidding,” her remark caused Rio to barely stifle a chuckle.

“Wait–” Nicky, his brows furrowed, mind racing, found himself bubbling with a very important question, his mouth parted, before he finally asked, “so, you do know each other?”

A watery chuckle slipped past your lips, as you nodded. Agatha’s smile grew and so did Rio’s. Of course he would have noticed by now, considering you and Rio were talking as if there was a history and indeed there was one. There was no point in lying on that part now, wasn’t there?

“Yeah–” you confirmed, with your hand resting atop his shoulder. “Guess we know the same Rio after all–”

“What were the odds, huh?” Agatha added, her gruff voice taking on a note of fondness.

“There aren’t many like me,” Death teased lightly.

Agatha folded her arms to her chest, “thank the stars for that–”

You shot her a playful elbow, despite knowing full well there was no real bite behind her remark. And Rio– she, too, knew better than to take offense. Agatha and you noticed the way she tried to hide her amusement, by pressing her tongue against her cheek. A thing of hers.

Nicky grinned. In his perspective, this coincidence only made things easier for you to get along. “My moms and I were looking for you.”

Lady Death frowned at his words. “Oh?” Her tone held a note of surprise, though she stopped herself from asking why. She had a feeling you’d give her the answer soon enough.

Nicky glanced up at you, as if searching for the right words. His wish was simple: he wanted Rio to be with you all. And while you knew it wasn’t that easy, that it couldn’t fully happen, not when Rio’s duty was unlike any other, you still hoped to find a compromise.

And as for Agatha– she wasn’t sure what scared her more. The fact that Rio might actually stay, or the possibility of another betrayal coming from her. Because unlike you, she didn’t forget. She wasn’t even sure you did, to be honest. Perhaps you simply pushed the thought aside because you were desperate for some peace and quiet. Some normalcy in your life. And quite frankly, how could she blame you for wishing such a simple thing?

Rio had mentioned a price to pay that night. So if you wanted to let your guard down, then fine, she would have to be the one with a clear head, ready to have your back. To fight, if necessary.

When you spoke, Rio’s heart clenched in a way that almost hurt.

“We were hoping you’d… tag along,” you murmured, so softly you weren’t even sure she heard.

But Rio did. And it stole the breath from her lungs. Not that it could kill her– but it almost felt like it. She looked at Agatha for further confirmation, only to find her nodding at your words.

“I know you’re busy,” you continued, hesitating, your fingers curling slightly at your sides, as a way to cope with your own jitters. Because yes– there was the possibility that your request would be denied. That your hope would burn out as easily as it came to light. “I know your job is part of who you are, but—” You turned, searching for Agatha’s eyes and your heart pounded even faster when she looked at you in a way that made you feel seen and protected. “But you’re also needed here,” you pressed on, your voice steadier now. “With us. You’re not just your job, Rio. And I hope you know… you’re so much more.”

Rio didn’t say a word, she couldn’t trust her own voice yet. She had shown up with a purpose, one certainly less flattering than yours. She curled her fingers into fists, and inhaled. She almost thought the Fates did this to her, manipulated yours and Agatha’s mind into asking her such a thing. And quite frankly it wouldn’t surprise her if that was true. Only to make her suffer more. Only to make her task even more impossible to be carried out.

“I–” she hesitated. She wanted this. She really did.

Nicky tugged at her cloak, with adorable impatience. “Please–” he half whined. “There’s no need to hide. No need to meet in secret anymore. We can be your family–” The way he said that, with such simplicity, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, affected you three at the same time and with the same force.

You, Agatha, Rio and Nicky. A family. A real family.

You reached out, cupped her cheek and stroked her skin ever so gently. “What do you say? Want to give it a try?”

She leaned in, lips a few millimeters from your face, eyes staring at your lips. She loved your hope. And she would absolutely hate it to be the one taking it from you.

To her surprise, Agatha drew closer, too. Gently, almost absentmindedly, she reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Rio’s ear. And for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to truly look at her, not as the witch, and even less as Lady Death. But as the woman beneath it all, who never truly stopped, not even once to be hers and yours.

“Make it right,” she added, and before you and Rio could ask her what she meant by that, she continued, “for us and for you. Just– for the love of the gods, make the right choice,” she finished, her voice barely above a whisper held a pinch of urgency.

Rio let out a quiet scoff, her smile touched with something almost amused—almost, but not quite. The right choice, she said. She had made choices before, choices that defied fate itself. And if she had to do it again—if it meant giving you all something, even if just for a little while—then to hell with it. Her hands were still tied, but she could live with that a little longer.

Her gaze flickered to Nicky, something unreadable passing through her eyes. She knew– Hell, she knew this choice would break her. But it wasn’t just about her. It never was. You all needed this.

So she made up her mind, by offering you the same thing she once did.

“I’d very much like that.”

Time. She could only offer time.

“That means–?” Agatha began, head lolling to the side, suspicion warring with hope in her eyes.

“That I’ll stay.” She confirmed, her voice trembling as tears welled, faster than she could blink them away. “If you all will have me.”

You smiled. Nicky cheered. Agatha swallowed hard, then nodded. The answer to that couldn’t be clearer.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #wlw #rio vidal #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #rio vidal x reader #agathario x reader #agatha x rio x reader #nicholas scratch

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atypical-artisan · 23 hours ago

Text

A MEGA REVIEW OF EGG

This is my mega review of all the current chapters of @tonitheloftwing's 'Egg' as a (Late) birthday gift for him! Also including a mock up of a fic cover image for him too!

Review will be by chapter and include my initial thoughts and re-read thoughts separated by a line.

If you're to lazy to read the in-depth review:

Egg is good. It's very realistic and balances it's darker themes with wonderful warmth and charm. The character chemistry is excellent and the main focus, Bianca, is such a sweet woman trying her best. Give Mac ur love and go read it on AO3!!!

Chapter 1:

Initial thoughts: Good setup! Warm, inviting, it really feels like a mother’s love when reading. A little surprised by the ‘house on fire’ metaphor near the end but it’s a small bump. It’s a pleasantly short into that introduces us to Bianca's warmth well and starts the story off on a high note.

As said in the first read through/review: This chapter exudes a warm atmosphere. It’s clear that Bianca is a loving mother, putting Mac before herself always, doing everything she could to make him happy, paying attention to his interests, playing with him without being cruel, letting him go off on his own without being clingy, etc. It’s a good start for the whole premise of the fic!! It tells a lot about her character in this stage of her life and is a good contrast w later scenes. On the surface it may seem a little slow but upon reread it’s really excellent in how it references aspects of future stories and sets up her character. So bravo work!!

Chapter 2:

Initial thoughts: Genuinely pretty funny Chapter! It still retains the “warm memory’ aspect of the previous chapters while adding airs of sweetness and humor with Mac’s finding of a cat. It feels pretty realistic for a young child! On top of that the introduction of Mac’s biological father is interesting, especially with how him and Bianca almost immediately fight, distracting them both from Mac to a dangerous degree, and how he comes late to clocking out of work. His approach to parenting feels distant and lax, while Bianca is realistic and trying to keep Mac in order.

This chapter is greater than I remember. I really appreciate that u chose to keep Mac as Mac for the most part cause it’s a hell of a lot easier to read like this. Mac's attachment to his dad at this time is really clear but it’s also painfully clear how little his dad cares for Mac and Bianca's time and how little he regards the safety of Mac. While Bea is stretching herself thin w him, worried sick and terrified when their two year old runs off. Mac's dad just laughs, takes a photo let’s the baby keep the damn thing without regard for the landlord. He wouldn’t survive a day parenting alone. And it’s clear to me Mac likes him so much cause he spoils him in a way and teaches him bad behavior. A darkness within but still keeping warmth.

Chapter 3:

Initial thoughts: Interesting chapter! A lot darker and colder than the last two from the get-go it’s really great! It’s a bit of a sudden shift but the aspect of dealing with the emotions feels really well done and well paced. It’s clear both Mac and Bianca are seriously struggling but trying to get by and it feels pretty realistic. There are some moments, like the one in the car where Mac is explaining his emotions- that feels older than what a 5 year old should be capable of expressing and took me out of the story a bit but it’s still really well written. Maybe if that one aspect was cut up into a smaller monologue it would have worked better for me. The broken glass was a really hard hit and the little hints you give to Mac's autism are really cool!! I also like the element of strict gendering kids do here its a nice setup to future trans aspects of the story. Overall a good, darker chapter!

Though upon reread this chapter is less jarring, it’s still heavy hitting and a hard shift in tone from previous chapters. Some of Mac’s words feel really adult here but, Bea implying he’s mimicking his father makes it make more sense. The part where Bea is broken up about the wine glass is really powerful- even if someone hurt us we can still miss them and want to preserve our happy memories of them and it can be horrible if we can’t. Honestly this scene suck to me so much that I got an inkling of autism in Bea from it. Egg is a menace- breaking Bea's heart like that even tho he gets wet food. Plus painful chapter title damn. And Mac parroting how he’s been raised by her is a sweet touch, it feels realistic.

Chapter 4:

Initial thoughts: Interesting choice to make his deadname something ppl frequently hc as his name! Oooh very dark aspect of her suspecting Mac’s autism symptoms are from learning abusive behaviors form his dad. Hmm and Bianca being resistant to therapy and the idea he’s autistic? No bueno. Also Interesting is her pushing herself so hard when she does have extra support. She’s like a lot of parents- without a life outside of her kid. Kim seems like a good friend and Bianca is really resistant from moving away from Mac or focusing on other ppl outside of the small circle. OH DAMN YIKES ON MAC THO. Poor boy having such a bad breakdown over everything. Really interesting how his dysphoria is manifesting. On the surface it seems like he might be anxious about the sexism of other kids but we as readers know there’s something more going on. Good chapter! Less dark than the previous but not as warm! It’s a good blend of darkness and light!

Rereading this chapter hit hard tbh. Mac's anger and gender distress at the end was just as hard to read as the first time and Bea's attempts to hide her financial troubles, brush off her friends suggestions, and overall clinging to mac are still really clear aspects of her personality. Mac and Bianca's writing feel really realistic to p much everything mentioned here. Like u mentioned the first time, I like how the gender thing could’ve been interpreted as anxious girl afraid of bullies because ppl dislike how they're not femme enough or are just sexist in that time and not something like Mac is trans. Seeing Bianca be hesitant to admit that something is different abt him is also cool as is her hesitance to seek ppl outside of her kid.

Chapter 5:

Initial thoughts: Really interesting how tense Bianca is about everything. That really seems to be a staple of her personality when Mac is young compared to when he was a baby and when he’s older. And ooh yay Doc!! I can already see Bianca is noticing a lot about him! Him and Bianca have a smooth chemistry already, warm and inviting! Doc is really charming and his banter with Bianca is really natural!! And LOL even in the middle of a dream scenario Bianca is still nervous af abt mac. Ngl the whole kids convo feels a little rushed for a first meeting BUT it actually works p well considering Bianca's entire personality here. And hey once again Doc being Prince charming! There really is a warmth brought back in this chapter from the previous two, it’s a nice change of pace and the ramp form anxiety to warmth is nice. LOL I also love the pen hunting thing you got- very cute. Ngl I really love Doc's enthusiasm here, it’s so sweet and good to read for Bianca. And DAMN Bianca, back at it again with the anxiety. I love how she affirms herself tho, really great. Still just delicious banter between her and doc. Even when they get on edge it’s not bad and it’s still so smooth! "Her name sounded so beautiful on his lips” <- YUM LINE.

Another great chapter to reread. It does a great job at really stretching Bea's character out to be on full display. She’s incredibly high strung, focused on Mac, yet when Doc comes into the picture a more forward and flirty side comes out of her. And Doc is incredibly sweet and pleasant- a prince charming for real. It makes sense for both of them to be a little shy and awkward but the date is really smooth and it feels really good to read. I’m surprised by how long Bea and Frank were together from at least 20 to 35 holy shit. No wonder she’s so wrecked about him it was at least 15 years- her entire young adult life- down the drain. Doc and her getting together at the end feels rewarding and it’s nice to see Bea come out of her shell to chill.

Chapter 6/Stiff Peaks:

Initial thoughts: DAMN already we got a “fuck me please”- really hot stuff. Holy crap I regret not reading this earlier. Not only does it keep up such great banter and warmth between them but it feels so real and sexy! And Doc's insistence on clear consent is so cute too. And God Bianca at the end of her rope is so funny. You really do know how to make sex so fun! The pet names are such a nice touch and both Doc and Bianca feel so mature and real here. And Jesus dude your descriptions are absolutely delicious. Just so sweet and charming and good. And even the little break between just amazing!! I REALLY regret not reading this earlier! God just hot hot hot. Amazing everywhere. there were like 2 lines formatted a little wrong but I barely noticed lmao.

This chapter is incredibly sexy and I love it. It masters one thing that a lot of smut fics, and really horny fiction, easily fails at and that’s the art of desire. Bea and Doc really really desire each other and you can read it in every line. It holds the whole piece together so well. That on top of their already good chemistry and easy banter makes the porn feel very natural and mature yet still vulnerable and real. That is a real skill to have in terms of writing smut. And I really love how you weren’t scared to make it awkward in a few places, you weren’t scared to have them tease each other. It feels so great that even when you did describe a lot of action it felt incredibly sexy and still in the mood. I definitely appreciate how patient Doc is during it all.

Chapter 7:

Initial thoughts: GOD ok, dude how do you write Doc as such a prince charming? He’s so attentive and sweet and open, Ugh he’s perfect. Esp his eagerness to look after Mac is just so cuteeeee. And God poor Mac still being broken up abt his dad n Doc promising to be better- he’s just the best! A marshmallow fluff ass relationship. Okay Mac being observant enough to sense a boyfriend is CUTE and so is the following stuff with Bianca reassuring him and getting ready. Doc is cute af again being so sweet. Doc is so good with little Mac augh!!!! Mac is such an excited little darling- I love how Doc keeps engaging him sm. Mac returns to being well written as a child! He feels so much like a 6 year old it’s cute af. And again the mood is warm and charming! I really love Mac's attachment to doc- it’s a bit quick, but makes sense with the story you’re telling. Love how willing and open Doc is, always trying to be on Mac's level! His earnestness about wanting to make Bianca happy is just fantastic. And the last few paragraphs of Bianca observing the two of them is so good, esp that last line “I want him to be with me as long as hell have me” is so GREAT

Another reread chapter with a ton of warmth. They all feel real and in their correct ages. Doc really has his prince charming thing going at full power like damn he’s so charming Mac immediately wanted him to be his new dad. I was expecting Mac to hate him at first but i like that he doesn’t and can tell not only how great Doc is but can be read to think of him as a way to fill the void his bio dad left. Bea is the patron saint of eternally tired mother’s, this woman is absolutely run ragged and she definitely needs the help, it’s honestly cute how Mac doesn’t understand but also sad. And Doc being so emotionally open and vulnerable with Bea and with Mac, it’s wonderful to see. Last line blew me off my feet obviously.

Chapter 8:

Initial thoughts: Aight, good on doc for helping the ever anxious Bianca!! And yay mac starts boxing!! RAHH DOC AND BIANCA BEING A MUSHY GUSHY COUPLE!! LOL the Yankees joke dhfbfjdj. Ur really funny lmao. I love the little convo Doc and Bianca have about Mac growing up, us so sweet and charming how much Doc loves her and wants to be in their lives. And damn Doc being anxious? LOVE. It’s so sweet how Bianca wants to help him too augh!!! And their banter is as smooth and fun as ever- you’re so great at writing good chemistry! And OOOF Doc being such a sweet, caring, attentive partner scared he’s gonna fuck things up? Goddamn, love it tho!!! Banter and convos are a+++++ you’re so good at them dude. I really like how Docs relationship w Bull has affected his mental state a lot!! It feels realistic, as does the dialog! It feels a bit like they’ve been to therapy but not enough to be super distracting, it also feels very mature! Also the “bald bull mention” with the emoji fucking SENT ME.

I really love how this chapter mirrors the last one in terms of story- chapter 7 involves Bea's fear of sharing what’s troubling her in a current problem and finding a reassurance w Doc and now Doc is getting reassurance from her for a past problem. It’s really nice to hear a bit of Bea's backstory here, the story about the bats was charming! Doc's moments of vulnerability are really great here too and his anxieties here make a ton of sense considering who he was dating. Bea being able to be the prince charming for Doc is really great! It’s brings a nice balance in their relationship that i was starting to feel lacking in the previous chapters. And, omg, the last paragraphs are so cute- them discussing their future together just ❤️

Chapter 9:

Initial thoughts: UH OH BIANCA'S SICK. My instant thought was pregnart but I know that’s not gonna be it lol. I find the perspective shift and interesting choice! Is it pulling from Doc's memories now? Oh hey Mac's in therapy! That’s really great! Oh no! My heart is fucking broken dear god! At least Doc is fantastic at comforting poor Mac oml. You’re really good at writing angst too. The whole bit about Mac feeling responsible for his dad leaving him and Bianca is so sad yet so real and sweet AUGH. Doc really is best dad fr. Its so nice to see him be so open and straightforward w his affection. Also Mac asking Doc to marry his mom LMAO. Little surprised almost 2 years have passed already tbh. But I’m happy it’s not making big time jumps either! It feels a bit like a slow burn and it’s nice!

This is such a sweet chapter tbh. I love how Mac feels really safe to be vulnerable here and Doc focuses so much on loving Mac and showing him a safe person rather than giving to his base emotions. It’s so damn mature!! Mac is still incredibly well written and has great chemistry as he does with Bea. Mac's worries are so heavy and it’s great to hear he’s been to therapy for it, it’s even greater to see Doc handle it with grace and reassure Mac that he’s a safe person. Now Bea being sick… well on my first read i didn’t expect it to go where it did but it’s a very obvious tell lmfao. I was unsure of the pov switch at first but now I’m really into it. It gives us a great opportunity to see Mac and Doc alone! I’m curious if we’re ever gonna see Mac's pov.

Chapter 10:

Initial thoughts: Oooh alright, very intriguing intro here! Considering pregnart is a very scary thing! Poor Bianca!!! She’s already very anxious she does NOT need this too. Kim is such a good friend- poor Bianca breaking down and her being a saint. OH DAMN SHE REALLY ARE PREGNART HUH. And DAMN you did a good job on Doc's reaction- charming and great as ever!! Augh Mac's stupid bio dad- I hope he explodes. Once more ADORING the banter between Bianca and Doc it’s just so good!! They’re so in love it makes my heart ache. And GOD THE LAST LINE. How are you so great at ending chapters? All this good stuff has me TERRIFIED for the future my God. Mac doesn’t have a siblings so… what’s gonna happen good lord it’s a scary thought. Excited for the dread tho!!

WHOO BOY BIG CHAPTER. First off, I really like the pregnancy reveal and how anxious it makes Bea- she SHOULD be anxious cause this is a very rare scenario!! But even more I love how we know that he relationship w Frank and fear of him makes her scared if a lot of things, even though doc is so nice to her. It’s very realistic!! Doc's reaction is so damn sweet, nothing could be more perfect. Kim is an angel of a friend as well and it’s really great to see Bea have so much support. Mac being a little unbearable and Bea holding back her frustration is honestly cool to see!! What’s also cool is the hint that “Bea thought mac was a boy”- v clever. Now… as happy as I am for the new parents… I’m deeply worried. Bro u keep hinting that they’re gonna break up and this younger siblings WASN'T in the potluck (no comment in your own words) and frankly this has had me SO STRESSED. Bea hinting that her pregnancy was traumatic is not looking good. It’s genuinely had me worried! I’ve been thinking abt it non stop since I first finished the fic!! Do NOT break my heart bro.

(Editing Charlie: I read the tags, ik u will and forgive u)

Overall thoughts:

Egg is a really great story so far and the character chemistry and development is interesting af. I'm SO excited to see where it all goes and can't wait for the next update. Pls read it.

#little mac #punch out oc #doc louis #punch out #punch out wii #not my fic #aA chatter #Happy late birth mac!! :D #no refs we die like men #apologies for the lack of shading- i forgor

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yatagarasuhonyaku · 3 days ago

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The Raven of the Empty Coffin: Chapter 4 "Yukiya" Part 2 (The End)

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation japanese-english of the original novel. The events of this novel follow after what's already covered by the anime. For an easier understanding, I recommend first reading the few scenes of previous books I've already translated.

Blog version

For the Index, you can find it HERE

Previously: Yukiya (Part 1)

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Chapter 3: Yukiya (Part 2)

Barely four and a half hours had passed since Natsuka received news of the Monkeys’ assault. At the time, he had been supervising the investigation of the wells, away from Wakamiya. When he heard the report, there was just one thought—‘the time has come’.

They had set a number of countermeasures beforehand—all accounting for a different hypothetical set of circumstances— just in case they found the Monkeys’ infiltration route. These had all been shared with the Imperial Court, so as long as they handled the crisis with a clear head, they should be able to avoid the worst.

Although Natsuka rushed to the place of the incident, by the time he got there, there were already guards posted at the entrance to the tunnel and they had established headquarters for the counter-efforts in a plaza not too far from there. It was in a tent, which had been used for a field training exercise until a few hours ago. Many officials had already gathered there after receiving the report, and were busy discussing the course of action going forward.

Wakamiya and his group, who had arrived earlier than him, stood just beside them—and with them was Yukiya, standing right in front of his Lord. For some reason, they were glaring at each other.

“How is the situation?”

“The Imperial Court is acting according to the procedure we set in advance.” It was Akeru who answered Natsuka’s question.

Natsuka took a look at his surroundings—the court officials were all arguing with each other as they drew up their plan on how to proceed. It was their established goal to figure out the most effective way to block off the invasion route’s entrance while it was still under the watch of armed soldiers.

“However, something has happened. Something we didn't consider at all when first planning out those countermeasures……”

“What is it?”

“We found this right by the suspected access route.” Wakamiya—his eyes still stubbornly glued on Yukiya—offered something to Natsuka without even looking at him.

Natsuka couldn’t believe his eyes. “What the—!? The Monkeys left a letter?”

“That Oozaru(1) four years ago knew how to speak the Word of Within(2). There’s nothing strange about them also knowing how to write,” Wakamiya said with a sardonic smile. He then glanced at Natsuka. “It’s even politely addressed ‘to the Golden Raven’. As for the sender, it says ‘from Kozaru’.”

Natsuka opened the folded letter and checked its contents.

‘I wish for meeting with the Golden Raven.If the young Golden Raven comes, the Crow will be returned for sure.I won’t eat Crow.I won’t harm the Golden Raven.’ As hard as the letter’s penmanship was to read, the gist of the message was clear. “Unbelievable. Are they asking you to come meet them……?”

“So they kidnapped that trainee to use him as a hostage, huh? To force the Golden Raven to attend the meeting,” Rokon murmured with amusement from behind a consternated Natsuka.

“Your Highness, this is a trap. There’s no doubt about it,” Yukiya, shooting daggers with his eyes, said to his Lord. “While we don’t know what their goal is, from everything we can tell, this Monkey pulled this trick because it knows the True Golden Raven’s weaknesses. If we do as they ask, what will happen is painfully obvious.”

A True Golden Raven possessed power beyond any simple Yatagarasu, yet it came with a set of painful restrictions. Even if a Yatagarasu were to hurt him, for example, he would be unable to retaliate and take that life. That he was incapable of making any rational choices whenever hostages were involved was just the truth of the matter—and the kind of situation those serving Wakamiya feared the most.

“Are you suggesting we abandon the same junior you treasured so much?”

“I’m not about to put you and the entirety of Yamauchi in danger for one person, even if that person is Haruma. First of all, we should prioritize sealing the passage.” Although both of them were keeping their composure on the surface, the atmosphere around them chilled one to the bone. The surrounding officials’ bustle was quaint in comparison.

“Do you even have an alternative, really? You’ll just get yourself killed if you obey their demands thoughtlessly and it turns out to be a trap,” Rokon added as if poking fun at the entire situation. “If we’re rational about it, giving up on the kidnapped trainee is the only option.”

“...... I think so too. You really shouldn’t go,” Natsuka too agreed with the others.

In answer, Wakamiya gave them a firm nod. “I see. I fully understand what you mean—but,” he said, “I’m going anyway.”

A development that surprised nobody. Wakamiya being who he was, they all knew what would be his answer.

Then, with a look at the letter in Natsuka's hands, Wakamiya dispassionately added, “The sender says they want to speak with me and—it bothers me how much it insists on saying they won’t harm me or eat any Yatagarasu.”

Natsuka heaved a sigh. “What are you saying!? Are you really planning to blindly trust someone who’s trying to set a trap for you?”

“Whether it’s a trap or not, we won’t know until we actually get there. More importantly, the specific phrasing in that letter doesn’t strike me as something anyone would use if they knew that taking a hostage would force my hand.” Natsuka looked at him with suspicion and, in turn, Wakamiya slightly smiled. “Don’t you see it? There’s nothing in this letter about what they’ll do if I don’t go.”

Wakamiya would have been left with no choice but to go after them—caution thrown to the wind—if they had simply written ‘Haruma is dead if you don’t come’. And yet, the writer of the letter only expressed its desire to meet the Golden Raven and wrote about how, if Wakamiya went to meet it, the ‘Crow’ would be returned to them.

What was this Monkey even thinking when writing the letter?

“They had this letter already prepared, so we can assume they came here planning to take a hostage from the start, but, although the other trainees were injured, none of them were killed. I’m not saying we should lower our guards, but…… There’s something. I feel there’s something different from the previous Oozaru.”

“—Are you suggesting it’s genuinely a completely different individual from before? We can’t have multiple Monkeys speaking the Word of Within!” Natsuka yelled in an unnaturally high pitch.

Wakamiya, however, was fully serious. “That’s how it feels to me. So I want to talk with this ‘Kozaru’ at least once and judge from there.”

And Wakamiya wouldn’t budge from that.

“I can’t accept that,” Yukiya said with a stifled voice, his head slowly shaking in denial. “This is a problem that concerns Your Highness’ life. It’s perfectly possible the Monkeys wrote it that way precisely to lure you to their den.”

“If the situation feels too off, we can always accept defeat and run away. If it’s you all, I’m sure you’ll be more than skilled enough to secure an escape route.” Wakamiya spoke in a decisive manner, as if to keep the still unconvinced Yukiya in check. “We shouldn’t be giving up from the get-go when there’s still a possibility.”

“But—!” Yukiya’s expression twisted beyond recognition for a second, yet Wakamiya paid it no mind whatsoever.

“I’m not asking for your opinion. This is an order. Stop talking and come with me on this mission. Understood?” Having said that, Wakamiya left the tent altogether. A troubled-looking Sumio followed right after.

“Hey! Wait, Nazukihiko!”

Natsuka panicked and went after him as well. There, he saw his little brother as he turned towards the tent and spoke with a hint of a wry smile on his lips.

“...... He’s truly quite the troublesome one as well.”

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Yukiya remained in the tent. Shigemaru, who had been watching over the scene in silence until then, gently patted his shoulder. “...... Good for you, Yukiya.”

He didn’t answer.

It seemed they both had figured him out.

In the middle of his preparations to enter the cave, the memories of the earlier conversation kept playing back in his mind. He bit his lips.

Abandoning Haruma, if Yukiya was honest with himself, was the very last thing he had wanted to suggest. It was just like Wakamiya said—as long as a chance remained, he wished for nothing but to try to help the boy somehow. Yukiya had been the one desperate to plead, to insist on not forsaking Haruma.

But such words couldn’t ever come out of his mouth.

Wakamiya had seen right through him, however. That last order was nothing but his consideration towards him made manifest. As grateful as he felt inside, it all made him acutely aware of his own responsibility for putting Wakamiya through this kind of danger.

——He was going to bring Wakamiya back to Yamauchi even if it cost him his life.

That said, now that the situation had taken on such a turn, Yukiya had to make sure to bring Haruma home as well.

“At times like this, he won't listen to me no matter what.”

Natsuka knew Wakamiya's personality very well, so once he had fully prepared himself mentally, he went on to do his best to support the upcoming expedition.

He took it upon himself to gather everything required to enter the hole and to handle all the long and painful negotiations with the Imperial Court. They could never publicly admit to the fact that Wakamiya himself was going into the cave, so the effort required to slow down the Court's hurried attempts to seal the cave down was, if Yukiya had to guess, probably quite substantial.

Besides Sumio, three others were to become Wakamiya's accompanying bodyguards—Yukiya, Chihaya, and Shigemaru.

“We must keep our numbers down, or we’ll struggle moving in such a tight space. That limits us to a select number of elite forces and, at present, you are the most skilled among the few trustworthy men we have.”

Natsuka gave them an order as well—the sort that only he could give them. “If it comes down to it, move according to your own criteria. You must protect His Highness Wakamiya at all costs, even if that means ignoring his orders. Understood?”

In no way could they object to that.

Even after Yukiya and the others’ preparations were over, they had to face a number of problems before accessing the cave. They were likely to end up crossing the Barrier surrounding Yamauchi, after all. While, in such cases, burning incense had been determined the best way to avoid getting lost, they couldn't really expect the smell to reach far in this particular occasion because of the running water.

Akeru was the one to come up with a solution. “How about we put some Yellow Twin in the torches?”

“The Western specialty perfume?”

“That one, yes. The strong smell should be able to travel even there.” Although it was hard to tell how much distance it would actually cover, it was still better than nothing.

Besides that, the running water also made the Monkeys’ infiltration route almost impossible to block off entirely. To solve that, they chose to sharpen bamboo to build an abatis-like barrier, obstructing the way until Wakamiya's return. In case of an emergency, Rokon wasn’t to separate from Natsuka’s side.

“We'll have our best troops waiting around the hole with as many arrows as they can carry. If the Monkeys appear here, we'll have to assume you won't be coming back and have no choice but to close the cave,” Rokon, who was also put in charge of commanding said forces, explained to them.

Wakamiya nodded, no resistance offered. “That's fine with me. If the worst comes to worst, brother, I'll be leaving it all to you.”

“Don't say that! Live and come back to us,” Natsuka hissed back.

“Please, be safe.” Akeru too sent them off, his worry plain on his face.

Finally, their group managed to enter the tunnel. As part of their preparations, they had brought with them the biggest waterproof fatuous fire lamp(3) they could find. They dropped a huge candy inside and, with a light noise, the bluish-white sparkling dust inside grew into a fist-sized ball of fire.

As a test, they tried to hold it up towards the cave's depths—its light reached up to the point where the current meandered out of sight.

That done, everyone hung smaller portable fatuous fire lamps on their necks. The big lamp was left in Chihaya’s hands, who took the lead with Yukiya right behind him. Wakamiya followed them, sticking to the middle of the group. Sumio stood after him, with Shigemaru taking the rear. Being the last in line, Shigemaru was entrusted with a spool of resilient jorougumo(4) silk thread. After tying one of the ends to a rock near the entrance to not get lost, he held onto the spool itself as they advanced.

They then crossed the abatis—its bamboo sticks with tips as sharp as spears—holding onto the rock walls on both their sides so that the current didn't drag them away.

“...... Let's go,” Wakamiya ordered. With that, the group stepped into the dark water.

They proceeded to go up the underground stream. While expected, the current proved to be quite swift. The water itself was cold and, polished by its flow, the bedrock was smooth and easy to slip off of. The walls’ rocky surface had barely any bumps, possibly because it too had been underwater once, which made finding purchase difficult.

Their group advanced slowly and deliberately, careful to not slip, but Chihaya's outstanding physical capabilities still came in handy in his role as the lead. He would tumble but never fall even at particularly difficult spots, where it was either hard to walk or easy to trip. Everyone else quietly followed after him, careful to take whatever path forward Chihaya had found.

The light of the torches at the entrance vanished as they followed the winding current, but the fatuous fire lamps’ flames fortunately proved to be enough of a light source. They advanced steadily like that for a while until, just as they passed through a slightly sloped spot, the waterway changed entirely.

“Woah,” even Yukiya let out an inadvertent gasp.

All of a sudden, the narrow pathway they had been walking through opened up. Its rocky surface was now speckled with giant, thick rocks that rose up from within the water. While the current at their feet went on, there were stones sprouting like bamboo shoots on top of whatever rock surface rose above the water level. Icicle-looking stones hung closely packed together from the ceiling too.

Shigemaru at the rear let out a shriek. “Yikes, we'll all be skewers if those fall on us.”

As they all took in the now illuminated space's odd appearance, Yukiya remembered something while observing those icicle-like stones. Actually, he had seen those before.

“There were rocks like these in the tunnels of the Undercity. Not nearly as many, but—”

“They’re stalactites. I heard about them in the Outside,” Wakamiya explained calmly. He was the only one among them with experience beyond Yamauchi's boundaries thanks to his time studying abroad. “The rocks’ source can be found in the water dripping from them. It takes quite a long time for any stalactites to get this big, apparently. I doubt they'll break that easily, but be careful.”

They all nodded and once again followed the flow of the water. Then, Chihaya stopped.

“...... The current has divided.”

“What!?”

Chihaya held his lamp forwards. He was right—the underground stream separated at that point into three branches. Yukiya was about to ask Wakamiya how to proceed, as they had no way to know which one was the right path to follow, when Chihaya's yelling stopped him.

“Wait a second!” Just as he said that, Chihaya jumped out of the water and ran as if bouncing over the slippery, rocky surface.

“Chihaya!? Did you find something?” Yukiya asked, following right after him in a panic. However, Chihaya didn't get to answer before Yukiya noticed the same thing.

“That's Haruma's strap!”

There was a piece of pure white fabric resting on one of those bamboo shoot rocks, and now that he paid attention to it, it stuck out, completely out of place. Upon further examination, they came to discover that it wasn’t simply wrapped around, but properly tied down. It didn't simply fall by accident—someone had left there. Intentionally.

“Do you think Haruma waited for an opening to do this?” Shigemaru pondered.

“I don't think so,” Sumio answered. “They went through the trouble to invite the Golden Raven. The Monkeys probably left it here as a waymark for us.”

Yukiya silently glared upstream.

“Let's move forward. The Monkeys and Haruma must be in this direction,” Wakamiya said.

Everyone nodded in answer. Once again, they all started to walk in the indicated direction—progressing, however, from that point onwards proved a struggle. The water, which had been up to their knees until then, got deeper and deeper the more they advanced. To make matters even worse, the instances of the stones hanging from above and the ones growing from below connecting to form pillars became more and more frequent.

And then, there were the stones hanging so low they almost reached the water’s surface, leaving them with no choice but to dive into the water to pass through some areas.

While their bodies were chilled to the bone, they didn't hesitate in their way forwards even once. Whenever the path got particularly rough, there was always something peculiar confirming they were going in the correct direction.

The needle-sharp tips of the hanging rocks, all broken off.

“Remnants from the Monkey’s pass through here, most likely.”

“It must have hit its head, then.”

“—Or it broke them outright to make it easier to pass through.”

They moved on, waddling in the water for a while until Sumio found something on the bedrock, where clay had piled up. “Here, footprints.”

The water was quite clear, so it was easy to see the traces of the Monkey’s passing as long as they held up their fatuous fire lamps over it. Just as they observed them, Yukiya realized something disturbing—there was only one person’s worth of footprints there.

To make matters worse, the water level at that point went up to Yukiya’s chest and Haruma wasn't what one would call big. In his case, it may well have gone up to his head instead.

“...... Let's hurry,” Sumio said.

Nobody answered.

Finally, they reached a spot with terraced puddles—looking somewhat like small springs—stretching out in the distance. The sight was strikingly similar to that of the ridges on rice fields, all connected by stairs as often seen in the countryside.

They climbed their way through it, after which they once again faced a branching path. However, much like the time before, a torn white strap had been left there as a landmark. After taking the path given to them once more, they reached at last a more-or-less wide opening. Although they were inside a cave, the place felt more like the sandy bank of a river.

They held the lights up, searching for the way forwards, when they all heard Chihaya gulp and hiss. There, blended in with a strangely shaped rock, was a hunched, human-shaped figure.

“You bastard……!”

Yukiya almost threw himself at whatever that was, but Shigemaru managed to stop him in time, catching him by the arm. “Calm down, Yukiya. Leave this to His Highness Wakamiya, or did you forget why we came all the way here?”

He had lost his cool completely, Yukiya realized with a start—it was quite uncharacteristic of him. He stepped back with regained composure. Meanwhile, the human-shaped figure had hidden behind the rock out of shock at Yukiya's outburst, but, after waiting for a while, it finally took a fearful peek from its hiding spot again.

“The Crows’ chief…… Are you the Golden Raven?” it said with a low, hoarse voice.

——Those were Words of Within. No doubt about it.

“Yes, I'm the Golden Raven,” Wakamiya, warily and slowly, introduced himself. The moment he did so, it came out from behind the rock.

“Read the letter, right? I'm Kozaru. I won't harm you. I wanted to meet you, to talk with you,” the figure—a terribly tiny old man—started to passionately talk to him.

He appeared whitish under the fatuous fire lamps’ orange light. He wore a kimono resembling priestly cleansing robes(5), made of a glossy dark gray material. His white hair ran sparse and his face was entirely covered in wrinkles. Although he was in human form, even in such a shape he resembled a monkey.

“I came here just as promised. First, I'll have you return Haruma to us.”

“The boy?”

Yukiya's entire body went rigid as Wakamiya went for the subject right away. For some reason, the old man looked about to cry as he replied, “The boy is alright. Has no wounds.”

“Really?”

“Really. Will return home now. Come with me.” The old man was about to set off when he caught sight of the item in Shigemaru’s hand. He shook his head. “No good. From here, there are Monkeys who eat Crows and humans. Those who eat don't know this path. If they see that, they'll learn about it.”

The old man seemed to mean the jorougumo silk thread spool that Shigemaru had brought with him as a guide on their way back. Having more or less figured out what the man intended to say, Shigemaru held the spool up. “So, in short—there are man-eating Monkeys from here onwards, but they don't know this path exists. So you're telling me we're at risk of them discovering it if they happened to find this thread?”

“Yes! The man-eating Monkeys would.”

The way he spoke, it truly seemed to imply the old man was different. Wakamiya tilted his head. “...... You aren't one of those man-eating Monkeys, then?”

“I'm not. I won't harm you,” the old man answered in an oddly slow and measured manner. That done, he defenselessly turned his back to them, walking away full of restless energy.

Wakamiya gave Yukiya a careful signal with his eyes while avoiding the Monkey’s notice. Yukiya gave him a firm nod back. He had realized it the second he heard the old man's voice—it was just as Wakamiya had predicted. The Monkey who assaulted Yamauchi all those years ago, the one they talked with in the dried up well, and this one were different people.

Because of that, they decided to do as instructed for the time being and, after they hid the thread spool under a rock, they followed the old man. They left the water behind, going into a dry cave without a word when the Monkey unexpectedly turned around.

“From here. Silence. Silence, got it?”

After saying that, the old man led them into a hole behind a nearby rock. It was well hidden—had they not been told about it, they wouldn't have ever found it themselves.

What awaited them at the other side wasn't a natural cave, like the one up to that point. The path had been clearly modified and remade by people's hands. It looked to be a corridor.

As Yukiya came to that conclusion, a younger man, much bulkier and better built than the Monkey accompanying them, appeared in front of them. Was that one of those man-eating Monkeys? They all took out their weapons. However, the young Monkey raised both his arms, showing his empty hands, with the deepest of scowls.

“This one is fine, so silence,” the old man said in a panic but, even with his assurance, they were incapable of relaxing. “He doesn't know the Crows’ words. He’ll keep see… look? View(6)……?”

As much as the old man tried to explain himself, his words failed him. He had his head cocked in confusion when Yukiya inadvertently came to his aid. “Do you perhaps mean ‘watch’?”

“That is! Watch. He'll keep watch. It's fine. It's here, hurry,” the old man said as he trotted away through the corridor and the group ran after him, their hands still on their weapons as they advanced. The young man, however, stayed right there, watching them go with his hands still up.

It didn't take them long to reach their destination.

“We arrived. Here.” The old man pointed at a place covered densely in withered vines.

At first, Yukiya couldn't quite make sense of his words. What did he mean by ‘here’? However, once he gave the place a better look, he found that behind the vines hid what seemed to be a broken double door.

While the surrounding walls were built out of carved bare rock, the gate was seemingly all wood with iron rivets. It was made to last, but someone had apparently smashed it with an axe at some point. To top it all off, withered wisteria vines came out from the open spot, entwined with one another.

Yukiya imagined there was some sort of room-like space on the other side but, with the wisterias in the way, it was impossible to see anything beyond them. He couldn’t even tell how they were supposed to go inside in the first place.

The old man, however, then went down on his knees and crawled through the vines, managing to cross to the other side of the broken door that way. They had come so far. To hesitate now of all moments would be incredibly stupid. Yukiya asked Shigemaru to keep watch out there just in case and followed after the old man, somehow forcing his way through the coiled vines.

Yukiya stood up the moment he was out of their grasp. Finally on the other side of the broken gate, he held his fatuous fire lamp up to illuminate the room he found himself in—the ceiling was much higher than he had ever expected it to be. Rather than a room, it would be better to call it a hall. One carved out in the rock itself.

It was about half as wide as the Monastery's great hall. The walls and floor were all covered in wisteria vines, yet he found someone lying down languidly at the center of the room, as if buried in the plants.

“Haruma!” Yukiya felt his heart tighten at the sight of his unmoving body. He dashed as fast as he could, checking his breathing the moment he got there.

“It's fine. He's just sleeping,” the Monkey said in a quiet voice.

He wasn’t lying. Haruma breathed and his heart was beating—Yukiya let out a big sigh of relief. That over, he turned around and nodded in the direction of Wakamiya and the others, who had followed after him, prompting yet another set of relieved sighs.

Now that he had the chance to take a better look, someone had changed Haruma into a dry white kimono. There was what seemed to be a bamboo bottle filled with water right beside his head accompanied by, from the looks of it, dango.

“This food. Don't tell me—” Sumio said, his voice strained.

“No!” the old man denied immediately. “It's made of fruit. No meat.”

Everyone's eyes focused on the Monkey, who explained himself in hushed tones, “If you eat human meat, body gets bigger. But you get stupid. Everyone, everyone got stupid.”

“So, you're telling us that eating human meat makes Monkeys grow larger, but it makes them dumber in exchange?”

“Yes!”

“So that's why you won't eat human meat……?” Sumio asked.

“I won't. Makes stupid,” the old man resolutely affirmed while looking at him. After that, Kozaru hesitantly bent himself forwards and, much to everyone's surprise, deeply bowed his head right on the spot. “...... I used the boy. Poor kid. It wasn't good. It was bad of me. My most heartfelt apologies.”

That last apology alone was unlike any of the old man's broken words up to that point. He sounded shockingly fluent for a second.

“How do you know the Words of Within?” Wakamiya asked him.

In turn, the Monkey lowered his head. “I learned. A long time ago. A long, long time ago.”

“Who taught you?”

Wakamiya’s question was met with the old man’s gaze on him—Kozaru didn’t move or talk at all. The moment he noticed Wakamiya’s questioning look, however, he slumped his shoulders in dejection. He didn’t answer.

Just as it had been promised to them, Haruma was safe and, at the present moment, Kozaru had given no signs of wanting to cause any harm to them either. What was even the old man's intention in bringing them here? It made less and less sense by the moment.

“...... My apologies for the question, but why did you do something like that?”

“It was necessary,” Kozaru answered the question instantly. “Truth is I wanted to meet you for a long time. But I couldn't meet you. There was a path before, but not now.”

“Did the Monkeys and the Crows interact before?”

“Yes!” Kozaru nodded incessantly at the dumbfounded Wakamiya. “We served Lord Yamagami together, led a proud and fruitful life,” the Monkey’s words turned fluent for a moment again before he let out a sigh. “The Monkeys who eat Crows. All are Monkeys who ate humans. They got a taste for it, went crazy. Before was different.”

Kozaru started to walk the very minute he said that, pushing away the vines intercepting his path. He went towards the wall opposite to the door they had all come through.

“This is the path,” Kozaru said as he patted something.

Examining it a bit better, it turned out to not be a wall covered in vines like they had thought, but yet another door. It was about two times larger than the broken one they had passed before. Its surface was rounded and it too was double winged, its construction reminiscent of the Imperial Court's Great Gate.

“This opens. Open it.” Kozaru requested, his earnest eyes fixed right on Wakamiya. “The Crows’ house is on the other side. Monkeys don't open it, but you open.”

——’The Monkeys can't open it, but you can. So, please, open it.’

“...... Was this your goal?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you want me to do this?”

“It's needed. Can't stay like this. Everyone will die. But we have time yet.” Wakamiya frowned at the ominous words, while Kozaru kept going impatiently, “Lord Yamagami will go bad. Crows, Monkeys, everyone will go bad. If this path opens, it'll be a bit better.”

“Wait a moment! What's the connection between this door and Lord Yamagami? Give us a better, proper explanation. I can't figure out what you're trying to tell me.”

“I too don't know much. But doing it is better than not doing it. Open it, quickly.”

“Wait, Your Highness!”

Yukiya stopped Wakamiya right as Kozaru was pressuring him to go through with it.

“What?”

Wakamiya turned around and Yukiya pointed to a certain spot close to the door they had come through. “Don't you find it familiar? The way these wisteria vines grow out.”

Yukiya had, in fact, been miffed by it from the very moment they had set foot in this place. It was easy to tell that the vines that extended over the whole place had, if one paid attention to it, multiple points of origin. Perhaps having realized what Yukiya was trying to tell him, Wakamiya started to check their surroundings.

Sumio approached one of those spots and, after examining it, raised his voice high, “It's an arrow! It's starting to rot away, but this old arrow here is where the wisterias are coming from.”

To mend the Tears on Yamauchi's Barrier using wisteria vines was one of Wakamiya's powers as a True Golden Raven—one employed with a bow made of green wood and arrows with heads of stone.

“...... This place is under the protection of someone's barrier.”

“So it seems. Someone with powers akin to yours, whoever it was, closed this door. There has to be a meaning to that, don't you think? Is it truly a good idea to break the barrier without first learning why it's here?” Yukiya warned him. “So, Kozaru or however you're called, could you tell us about who put up this barrier and why he did it?”

The tone of Yukiya's question was harsh. Kozaru, however, chose to remain in silence, giving him no answer. As that happened, Wakamiya had started to wander around, checking the hall out, when his gaze fell upon something right beside Kozaru, below the door itself. He froze completely.

“Is something wrong?” Sumio asked Wakamiya, approaching him. He followed Wakamiya's gaze with his—and made a harsh sound with his throat. Having noticed their odd behavior, Yukiya left Haruma under Chihaya's care and ran towards them as well. As soon as he got closer, Yukiya saw something there, hidden deep under the vines.

An old, dried out corpse.

It was there, sitting, leaning against the tightly closed door. It hadn't rotten, its skin instead desiccated and parched, barely adhering to the bones underneath anymore. It was impossible to tell the color of it anymore, but it was dressed in what seemed to be the robes typical of the Imperial Court. Its hand—quite literally only skin and bones—held a bow. Its hair was long and tied up.

Yukiya turned around, confirming the direction the corpse was facing—as he had expected, it was in a direct diagonal to all the arrows that acted as the source of the barrier.

“It seems that this person put up the barrier, huh? And then, right after doing so, he perished……” Now done with examining the dried out corpse, Yukiya turned around. The moment he did so, he was left speechless—there was clearly something wrong with Wakamiya. “Your Highness?”

A tottering Wakamiya approached the corpse, extending his hand to touch its face. “It's me.”

“Huh?”

“This corpse is me.”

Yukiya felt a chill down his back—it was all just as he had suspected. “... So this corpse is the previous True Golden Raven?”

“Are your memories back then!?” Sumio asked with astonishment.

Wakamiya didn't answer, his gaze instead hurriedly drifting through their surroundings. “No…… Well, yes. I died here. I had to protect my children, the Yatagarasu and—I was so desperate, so lost on it,” he murmured during the last part.

Wakamiya then opened his eyes wide. “This is bad.”

“What?”

“We must not be here. We must not open this door. Hurry, let's go back!”

“No! You must not run away!” Suddenly, Kozaru raised his voice in anger. Sumio quickly stepped in to keep the distance between him and Wakamiya, ensuring Kozaru couldn’t harm the latter in any form. Seeing that, Kozaru's face twisted in despair. “This is probably last. This is bad, no other chances. You ran away. Because of that, it all went bad. Are you running away again!?”

Although Kozaru had been the one to insist on being quiet when they first met, he was almost screaming at the end. Then, the sound of people running and Shigemaru's own yelling came from the other side of the vines. “That young Monkey from before has brought a lot of other Monkeys with him. They’re approaching as we speak!”

“Really!?”

“They are still far away, but we don't have much time.”

“Shit, so it was a trap after all!” Sumio clicked his tongue.

Yukiya, on the other hand, spoke in a calm manner, “Let's not panic. We still have the advantage as long as we manage to get to the point where we left the thread spool.”

Wakamiya glanced at him. “Will we be able to hold on until we get there?”

“It's not that far. With our current party, we can perfectly manage even with a frontal breakthrough.”

“But that means—” ‘You're leaving the unconscious Haruma out of your calculations, aren't you?’ Wakamiya was about to say the words, but he seemed to choose against it at the last moment. Still, they had always known this could turn out to be the case.

“Our duty is to bring Your Highness back to Yamauchi safe and sound. Leave Haruma's wellbeing to me.” Wakamiya looked back at him wordlessly. Yukiya nodded quietly. “I know the risks.”

“Your Highness. A decision, please,” Sumio rushed him.

However, before Wakamiya had a chance to utter a single word, Kozaru muttered, “The Monkeys coming here are many. Dumb Monkeys, strong Monkeys. Someone could die. But there's a way,” the old man proclaimed in a somewhat somber manner. “...... Open the gate. Run away through it.”

“Did you plan to have us assaulted by the other Monkeys from the start?” Wakamiya asked him in a low voice.

Kozaru gave them what looked like a wry smile. “I said it. I won't harm you. I don't want to harm you. You will return home. Everyone will be fine. So open the door.”

“There's no need to do that.” As he said that, Yukiya grabbed Kozaru by the arms and twisted them, pinning him to the ground. “Everything I said before was in the hypothetical case of combat, but we have you here with us. You can just be our hostage.”

That had always been the reason why Yukiya had followed the man so nonchalantly to such a place. He had seen the other man—the younger Monkey—salute Kozaru with his eyes when they crossed paths, while he was holding his arms up. They both had probably intended it to go unnoticed, but Yukiya clearly caught Kozaru giving the Monkey a magnanimous nod back.

Add to that the clothes the old man was wearing, and Yukiya was certain his position within his community was relatively high. It should make him more than valuable enough to act as a hostage. They may have succeeded in luring the Golden Raven to them, yes, but they had proven to still be quite stupid to Yukiya's eyes.

Within the vines his face was buried in, Kozaru let out a terribly dry laugh. “That won't do. Probably the Monkeys coming will kill me.”

“What—?”

“Monkeys who eat humans and Monkeys who don't. Different. I wanted to meet you, the Monkeys' chief didn’t want to meet. I—” Kozaru followed, his voice tinged with loneliness. “I betrayed our chief. He won't forgive me.”

——Was that a bluff?

Unable to determine it by himself, Yukiya turned his face towards his Lord. Wakamiya had his head tilted as he watched Kozaru's face intently.

“...... Yukiya, let him go.” Yukiya instantly released his grip on the Monkey, obeying orders. Kozaru sluggishly sat up but didn't stand, choosing instead to remain on the ground. “Listen. Have we ever met before?”

“You remember me?” Kozaru asked, raising his head in surprise.

Wakamiya, meanwhile, held his hand to his forehead as if in pain. “...... I don't know. I’m only sure that I once experienced something horrifying here and then I died—and yet, I wonder why. I can’t shake off the feeling that I knew you before.”

The moment he said that, understanding seemed to spark in Kozaru's dull eyes. “Trust me. I, you—no, Your Highness, I don't pretend to harm. I humbly plead with you. Please, return to this place!”

“They'll be here soon! And they even brought bows with them!” Shigemaru yelled to them as, his impatience winning over, he crossed over to their side of the vines as well.

“Everyone, get in position,” Sumio commanded. Instantly, Chihaya and Shigemaru both placed themselves in between Wakamiya and the entrance, their swords out.

The sound of the Monkeys’ shrill voices and their impressive footsteps reached them now. There was no time for hesitation. Faced with bows, they would be easy prey just standing around here. Whether they chose to open the door or to attempt a frontal breakthrough, they had to do so fast.

And yet, Yukiya couldn't tell which was the right option.

“Your Highness, the True Golden Raven,” Yukiya gathered his resolve and called out to his Lord. “This situation has now long surpassed what can be judged by logic alone. We'll follow whatever choice Your Highness makes. No matter how this ends, we won't resent you. Either way, be it all according to your wishes.”

The tension in the room was palpable. In the midst of it, Wakamiya looked at everyone one by one. Yukiya, the Monkey, his bodyguards standing around him and the unconscious Haruma.

Quietly, he made his choice.

“Let's open the door.”

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

The second his hand rested on the door, pain struck Wakamiya. It felt as if there was something there, something spreading like cobwebs all over his hand, getting absorbed within it. It was the late Golden Raven's strong will—his determination to not let the door ever open again.

What few memories Wakamiya had recovered were all warped. What had he feared so much? Why did he have to close this gate no matter what? He didn't get any of it. In such a state, the reason he chose to ‘open the door’—an idea that his late self had so loathed—was actually quite simple: in his current ignorance, only one thing was certain to him. Kozaru wasn’t trying to harm them.

——’How did I even dare to call myself a True Golden Raven when I'm like this’.

As he inwardly mocked himself over his own feelings on the matter, the kind he couldn't let anyone else know, Wakamiya clenched his fists. In so doing, he felt something invisible warp and twist. He held onto that with his hands and pulled with all his strength and, just like that, he could feel the imperceptible mesh on the door tearing off.

A moment later, the vines covering the door that he had been touching started to sprout new leaves. They had all been withered and dead, yet, all of a sudden, the bursting spirit of spring took over them, the breath of life moving from one to the next.

New vines started to spread over the room at an impressive speed. Young green leaves were born and from there spilled flower clusters, filled to the brim with purple buds.

“Open!”

The second Wakamiya commanded it so, the buds bloomed instantly and the sweet aroma of nectar filled the entire place. The green leaves rustled for a short moment and the revived vines glided, spontaneously moving away from the door—as if every single one of them was a living creature capable of understanding Wakamiya's commands.

The Monkeys, who had apparently just arrived in front of the broken door, let out gasps of surprise at the sight. Wakamiya turned around. Life had apparently returned to all the vines in the room and, perhaps having taken on Wakamiya’s will, the wisterias closer to the entrance had grown far thicker and more numerous, blocking off the Monkeys’ way.

“Impressive work.” Shigemaru and Chihaya, who hadn't seen the True Golden Raven's powers at work before, were left in shock, but Yukiya modestly praised him. Yet Wakamiya, who felt no pride for the job, turned once again towards Kozaru. He stood petrified among the purple flowers.

“If we return now, you said you'll be killed, right?” Kozaru looked at Wakamiya in a daze. “Come with us.”

Upon hearing that, Kozaru's eyes went so wide they looked about to fall off. “Come…?”

“There’s too much we don’t understand. What happened in the past. What took place here. Please, share everything you know with us.”

Kozaru’s lips trembled. He looked about to cry. He stood up with a stagger and then, the moment he tried to answer—someone tore the wisterias covering the broken door off with sheer strength. It opened a small gap and, from it, a flash of reflected light appeared.

“Your Highness!” Sumio and Yukiya both jumped forwards straight away, but the released arrow wasn't aiming at Wakamiya. It went directly towards Kozaru, piercing his back.

Confused, Kozaru’s gaze drifted towards both the arrow sticking out of his chest and Wakamiya. Then, he chuckled. “Farewell.”

——They couldn’t hold on any longer.

The Monkeys’ angry yells resounded through the entire room, the green vines blocking the entrance falling to the ground one after the other. The people armed with bows were now visible at the other side, aiming at them through the hole. The next moment, a rain of arrows fell on them. The Yatagarasu were left with no alternative but retreat.

Wakamiya touched the door. It had no doorknob, and yet it opened as soon as he did so.　They all slid to the other side, dragging with them the corpse of the past True Golden Raven, which had collapsed backwards the moment the wood’s support vanished.

Yukiya too sprinted there with Haruma on his back. Once they confirmed everyone had gone through the door, Shigemaru and Chihaya closed each one of the doors. That over, Wakamiya locked the gate—the sound of the commotion on its other side died off completely when he did so.

——For a while, the only noise around was their desperate gasps for air. Nobody there could bring himself to talk.

“...... Are we back in Yamauchi?” Shigemaru finally asked hesitantly.

Sumio answered as he wiped off his sweat, “Yes… so it seems…”

A round hall and stone coffins. Water which poured from the latter. From afar, they heard the stunned shouts of the group of priests who had found them there. Sumio put on a mirthless attempt at a grin as he informed the rest about the place they found themselves in.

“We’re in the Forbidden Gate.”

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

“How rare. A small Monkey(7). Did you just arrive here?” the man asked, his voice tinged with cheerful mirth. “I guess you don’t know our words yet. Do you want a snack? We’ve got sweets.”

He probably offered it simply out of a whim, but that didn’t change the fact that the man had been kind to him. It made him realize they weren’t all bad people like the others in his community said.

He was so pretty and nice—ah, he didn’t want to hate this man.

——That’s why he had wanted to do whatever was within his power.

Then, something cut off that nostalgic dream.

As Kozaru came back to himself, the aroma of wisteria flowers and his own blood overtook his nose. He didn’t feel any pain, but a hopeless cold overtaking him instead. Someone was peering right at him. It was the man he had ended up betraying in the end, despite how much it had crushed his heart to do so—his precious chief.

“You truly went and acted all on your own, huh? It’s a tad too early for that, you know.” The world got darker by the moment, yet the man’s voice reached Kozaru clearly. “But, well. With this, now we won’t have to break the door open by brute force. Let me say my thanks for that. It may be nice to have the Gate open properly when the time comes.”

Kozaru squeezed some words out of his throat. The sound of blood spurting out of his mouth accompanied his attempt to speak. “I plead with you, stop. Our kin have all lost their minds to stupidity because of all the human eating. At this rate, it won’t only be the Yatagarasu but us too who will—”

“And? What’s the problem? We’re doing it fully aware of the consequences, remember?”

“Please, reconsider. By all means, I earnestly plead with you—”

Kozaru wasn’t sure how many of his words actually managed to come out of his mouth. Regardless, at least from the sound of it, it wasn’t like his adored chief had the intention to pay his words any mind whatsoever.

“Ah, I’m so looking forward to it. Raven of Gold, just wait a little more. Just a little more, and I’ll go to welcome you back myself.” Kozaru heard the chief talk to himself with great anticipation, farther and farther away.

“I earnestly plead—”

He was so, so cold.

His consciousness gave out, once and for all.

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

The Imperial Court fell into chaos the moment they learned that the Monkeys were hiding—out of all places—in the depths within the Central Mountain, on the other side of the Forbidden Gate. It was locked off, but there was no guarantee that such a thing could entirely block any attempts at invasion. From there on, Guards were posted there around the clock just in case the Monkeys came, the security around it greatly tightened with the new addition of a number of soldiers.

There was no way the government could stay in a Court that the Monkeys could attack at any given moment, so its functions were hence determined to be moved away from the Central Mountain. Those affluent enough fought each other to run away ahead of everyone else, requesting new abodes in the countryside.

In the middle of such mayhem, a ceremony took place at the Forbidden Gate.

A white, impressive courtly robe embroidered in gold. A crown made of gold and jewels. The dried up corpse wearing them was in such a poor state that the luxurious outfit made it all look almost comical instead of tragic.

Alas, nobody was there to see it.

Such a burial would have been originally held for the entire country, yet the only noblemen in attendance were Wakamiya and Natsuka. Not even the Acting Golden Raven, the Empress or the Four Houses’ Heads were present—the Forbidden Gate’s surroundings were oddly quiet.

As the priests solemnly prayed(8) to Yamagami, they placed the corpse in the place it belonged with their own hands—the empty coffin finally welcoming its owner.

——Just like that, Naritsuhiko, the previous True Golden Raven, returned to Yamauchi after a long hundred years. The very instant his coffin was raised beside the Forbidden Gate, water started to pour from within it.

As soon as Yukiya had confirmed that this burial ceremony one hundred years in the making had finished, he took a glance at his Lord’s face—his sullen look remained unchanged. From the way Wakamiya wordlessly shook his head, Yukiya could tell the state of his memories remained more or less unchanged.

“Naritsuhiko tried to let Land Sovereign Eiju—Kageki(9) escape.” Wakamiya muttered to Yukiya. With the ceremony over, they had headed back to Sunrise Palace. “He knew that simply locking the Gate wouldn’t be enough. He didn’t believe himself capable of protecting the Yatagarasu from some sort of menace out there, so he opened a way for Kageki alone to go back and stayed there in order to seal the Forbidden Gate…… But,” Wakamiya’s eyes wandered with uncertainty, “I still can’t remember the most critical part—why things first got like that.”

After saying that, Wakamiya covered his face with his hands. For him, having recovered just a tiny amount of his memories of the past seemed to be a much more tormenting experience than remembering nothing at all.

It frustrated Yukiya to be unable to help him with it, but he wasn’t the only powerless one. In fact, nobody was capable of aiding Wakamiya in this. “I wonder if the danger across the Forbidden Gate was the Monkeys, by any chance?”

“...... I don’t know.”

For the late Golden Raven to be so afraid—what could he have been running from?

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

A tepid breeze carried the petals of the nearby peach trees, making them dance in the grey sky. Among the dark clouds, bluish white light appeared from time to time, followed by the falling of a thunderous roar powerful enough to make the earth tremble. Spring thunders.

There was no rain, but the weather was so bad it was even laughable. Yukiya remembered how clear the day he first arrived at the Monastery had been as he intently watched the sky through the lattice window.

The Unbending Reed Monastery’s Graduation Ceremony took place right after the burial ceremony for the previous True Golden Raven did—albeit it turned out to be a much smaller deal than originally planned.

The event was in the Monastery’s great hall.

Wakamiya, Natsuka and the Director stood at the front with Rokon, Sumio and Akeru right behind them. The Instructors in charge of the graduates, like Seiken and Kashin, were in line with all the others. The trainees too were in formation—their numbers slightly smaller than they had been just a little while earlier.

After the Monkey incident, a high number of trainees from noble origins had abandoned the Monastery. They were the kind likely to disappear from its halls one way or the other, but to see them all leave in one go like that still gave Yukiya something to think about.

First in line among the Seeds was a recovered Haruma, his back fully straightened as he waited. He had woken up, safe and sound, just a while after their group had returned to Yamauchi—that said, at the time, Haruma had a hard time believing everything that had happened while he was soundly asleep.

“I mean, all I know is what happened up until that first encounter with that Monkey. I turned my back to it as I tried to run away and then I remember feeling something hit my head, but aside from that……” Being soaked aside, they ultimately didn’t find any wounds on Haruma besides a bump on the head.

Knowing now that Haruma had remained unconscious the entire time, Yukiya could guess that the Monkey had carried him all the way to that hall. It at least explained the lack of footsteps on the bottom of the water. He had come to suspect that the kidnapper had actually been that younger Monkey on watch duty.

However young and strong the man had been, to carry someone without accidentally inflicting any injury on him whatsoever, all by himself, through a path so difficult that walking alone was a struggle, with all those stalactites hanging from the ceiling—Yukiya could only imagine how much care that had required of him.

But it wasn’t only that. Yukiya recalled they had changed the sleeping Haruma’s clothes and prepared him food. What had been the plan of the Monkeys who had sought to contact them? It made less and less sense the more he thought about it.

The ceremony proceeded in silence, irrespective of Yukiya’s inner turmoil. Out of the twenty four trainees who took part in the entrance ceremony the year Yukiya joined, in the end, barely eight had managed to make it safely to graduation.

One by one, the graduating trainees returned their ornamented blades to the Director. Wakamiya then exchanged places with him and granted an actual tachi to each of them. Their names were called from the worst score to the best.

“Third place. Shigemaru of Shimaki.” Upon hearing that, Shigemaru stepped forwards in a dignified manner to receive his tachi from Wakamiya. “I’ve heard you possess both skill with a sword and a virtuous character. It’s my wish to protect all Yatagarasu with you, who prides himself on protecting what’s important with no conceit about power. Shall I count on you?”

“Gladly so.”

“Then, from this moment onwards, you are part of the Yamauchi Guard. I entrust to you the protection of Sunrise Palace. Salute!”

“As you wish!” Graciously accepting the tachi, Shigemaru returned as the next person was called forwards—Chihaya.

“Second place, Chihaya of Hae.” Chihaya approached Wakamiya quietly, slightly bowing at him. “I’ve heard you excel in all manners of combat and your skill has no equal. It’s my wish to protect all Yatagarasu with you, who possesses a heart that won’t yield to tyranny and cares about the weak. Shall I count on you?”

“Gladly so.”

“Then, from this moment onwards, you are part of the Yamauchi Guard. I entrust to you my own protection. Salute!”

“As you wish!” Chihaya took the tachi, his expression unflinching, and returned to the line. It was finally time for the last man to be called forwards.

“First place, Yukiya of Taruhi.”

The second Yukiya’s name was called, Haruma took a big audible breath. Yukiya glanced at his junior—obviously much more moved by his graduation than Yukiya himself—as he walked to stand in front of the man he had chosen(10) as his Lord a long, long time ago.

“I’ve heard your martial arts are beyond reproach and your skills in archery too are of particular note. More important, however, is your unparalleled talent as a tactician, the kind our country hasn’t ever seen before—I see no bigger fortune than to have you with us in this era. It’s my wish for you to aid all Yataragasu in any ways I cannot. Shall I count on you?”

“Gladly so.”

“Then, from this moment onwards, you are part of the Yamauchi Guard. I entrust to you my own protection—and the role of Tactical Counselor for the Guard.” Yukiya bowed his head in answer to Wakamiya’s dispassionate words. “Salute!”

Yukiya took the tachi obediently—used as he was to the ornamented blade, it felt profoundly heavier.

A roll of thunder, like the skies’ roars, resounded as Wakamiya stood at the great hall’s seat of honor.

“A storm is coming.” Wakamiya declared quietly as he looked at the line of newly appointed members of the Yamauchi Guard. “The day we trade blows with the Monkeys will come soon. The Imperial Court won’t be able to remain as it is now, and change unavoidably awaits all of Yamauchi. But,” Wakamiya lifted his voice, clear and high. Not even an inkling of his own private agonies leaking through. “I swear to protect all Yatagarasu in Yamauchi, including you all, for as long as I’m the Golden Raven. We’ll withstand whatever storm comes our way. That’s why, gentlemen, I ask you to allow me to dedicate my life to this duty.”

All the eyes in the hall were focused on him. Wakamiya subconsciously smiled. “I trust all of you. I’ll be in your hands.”

There was a new gentleness to Wakamiya’s voice—unlike anything before—as he said those words.

Then, with a motion they had repeated more than they could ever remember during the last three years, the new Yamauchi Guards saluted, offering their Third Leg to their Lord.

Year Twelve of the Gentle Raven, the Third Month of the Lunar Calendar.

The year after the Yatagarasu suffered the second Monkey invasion, all of the Imperial Court’s operations were fully moved to a detached palace, the Above Clouds Palace. Although much chaos ensued during the early periods of the move, it was believed to have taken a reasonable time for the Imperial Court to resume functions.

However, using this opportunity, the Crown Prince Nazukihiko performed large-scale reforms at the Court. The heart of the operations was a group of young geniuses hailing from the Unbending Reed Monastery—a collective that included esteemed sons of the Western and Northern Houses. As a result, the Crown Prince gained the support of two of the Four Houses and succeeded in establishing a government with him at the center.

Right after the new government started operating, however, an unprecedented great earthquake would come to shake all of Yamauchi.

The Raven of the Empty Coffin: The End

Next: On Never Bending

—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---

1: Oozaru (大猿) is what they called the Monkey at the dried-up well during Golden Raven. It simply means “big monkey”. It will remain untranslated as it’s used in practice as a name.

2: As alluded to here, the language spoken in Yamauchi is referred to as 御内詞 (Miuchikotoba) by the Yatagarasu. The “Mi” is essentially a prefix showing respect to the “uchi” which is the uchi from Yamauchi and means “inside”, and finally the “kotoba” isn’t using the usual kanji (言葉) but 詞, which also means words but it’s used more in the context of poetry or music lyrics. Words of Within is my take on the idea, as it mostly respects the spirit of the original while being understandable.

3: Fatuous Fire Lamps refer to the type of lamp Yukiya uses when going into the cave during Golden Raven. In short, they use 鬼火 (Fatuous Fire), which within the story’s lore consume sugar to light up instead and don’t risk burning your house if left unchecked or broken. This makes lamps using Fatuous Fires desirable and expensive—they’re a common sight in nobles’ houses and in places where the risk of a fire would be too great like libraries and archives.

4: Jorougumo (女郎蜘蛛) refers to both a type of youkai and a spider species. The youkai is known for appearing near to sources of water, where she ties the legs of her victims with her silk and drags them down to drown them. The Jorougumo takes the appearance of a beautiful woman during the day, but returns to her giant spider form during the night. Within Yamauchi, Jorougumo silk is treated as a luxury item for its high resilience with a lot of clothes for nobles being partly made of it—including the outfit Masuho no Susuki lends to Yukiya when he goes to the Undercity and ends up going into the cave.

5: It refers to a Joue (浄衣), an outfit employed during religious ceremonies, particularly those requiring a purification. They’re mostly white and with no pattern whatsoever.

6: In Japanese, “to keep watch” is said 見張る (Miharu), or 見張り (Mihari) when used as a noun. Here, Kozaru is trying a variety of verbs starting with 見 (Mi-): Mitoru (見取る), Mikiru (見切る) because he can’t remember the correct term. 見 as a kanji means “to see”.

7: Kozaru (小猿) means “small/little monkey”. It may have seemed quite the odd name/pseudonym for an old man, but there’s a reason for it.

8: These are specifically Shinto prayers, but Yamauchi has no understanding of ‘Shinto’ as a concept due to its isolation from wider Japan so it was impossible to include it here in an organic manner.

9: The late Land Sovereign’s name is 景樹, which can be read both as Eiju and Kageki. It’s implied here that he decided to change the reading to Eiju when he became Land Sovereign, but his name was originally Kageki—which is hence the name Naritsuhiko was familiar with and the name our Nazukihiko now remembers him by in consequence. The kanji for his name mean Scenery and Trees/To Establish respectively.

10: The verb used here is quite interesting. Yukiya’s narration uses 定める, which effectively means what I translated: To choose, to decide, to ordain. What’s notable to me (because Abe Chisato doesn’t use this verb often) is the word hidden within 定める—Sadame (定め). One of Sadame’s meanings is that of predestination or fate, albeit it often has a connotation of tragedy.

#Translation: The Raven of the Empty Coffin #yatagarasu #yatagarasu series #the raven does not choose its master #karasu wa aruji wo erabanai

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selenophany · 4 months ago

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Chapter 27 , Aeon Reforged

#mygifs ;#mygifs ; pgr #pgr #punishing gray raven #gaming #watanabe #watanabe pgr #pgr watanabe #watanabe epitaph #sadly a skip patch for me #music is so perfect though #had sm fun editing this #if i find a way to i will do it for previous chapters as well

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sketchtastrophee · 25 days ago

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old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the employees under his supervision. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

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soaps-mohawk · 1 year ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 7 : Sweet Strawberry

Summary: You're not a soldier, you're just an omega. You shouldn't have to remind them of that, yet you find yourself needing to. Price makes it up to you in the best way possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, fluff, suggestive content, terrible flirting

A/N: Not entirely happy with it but it's done and I can move on from this one. I struggled so much with this chapter omg. Also, I just wanted to make it clear that I am not from the UK, I've never been to the UK, I'm simply going off of prior knowledge and what Google can tell me. So, if there's any inaccuracies, I am so sorry.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You’re expecting the knock when it comes. You’d been standing in front of your door for almost five minutes, and you get it open almost before he’s finished, hand still raised. He gives no sign that betrays his surprise, if he feels any at all, instead he simply looks you over before turning on his heel and marching towards the door.

You close your door behind you, slipping down the hallway after him. It’s raining again, though you had prepared for that, flipping the hood of your jacket up as you hurry after Ghost. He threatens to disappear in the darkness of morning, slipping between the street lamps like a specter. It’s not often you get to see the true danger in them, the threats that they pose, the things that make them good at their job. You can imagine how many on his opposing side have been caught unawares by the way he seems to flow with the darkness around him.

You are significantly less graceful and quiet, feet slapping the wet pavement as you speed walk to keep up with the giant alpha. You can almost imagine the look on his face as you plod along behind him. If your lives depended on your silence at this moment, well, it wouldn’t entirely have been your fault. If he didn’t walk so fucking fast...

He’s at least courteous enough to hold the door open for you, though perhaps that was simply something that was deeply ingrained in him. Manners that become unconscious practice, even when you despise the person you’re with. He leads you down the hall towards the practice room again, unlocking it and flipping on the lights. He empties his pockets and removes his shoes and sweatshirt, before moving to one of the punching bags.

You can already predict what your lesson today will entail. Your knuckles have almost completely healed since your little fit a week ago. You quickly strip off your jacket and toe off your wet shoes, moving to join him without having to be told.

“Do you know how to wrap your hands?” He asks, holding out two rolls of hand wraps.

“No.” You shake your head. It’s not entirely true. They had shown you once while you were with the CIA, but that had been weeks ago and you’re sure you’ve forgotten the right way to do it. Even if you tried, he’d likely sigh and do it himself anyway.

He lets out a breath, pocketing one of the wraps before grabbing your right wrist. His hands are just as rough as you remember them being the day you punched Corporal Allen, calluses dragging against your skin as he meticulously wraps the fabric around your fingers. You watch him, trying to memorize how to do it in hopes that maybe, eventually, you’ll surprise him and manage it yourself.

He finishes your hands quickly before wrapping his own. You flex your hands, trying to get used to the feeling of the wraps. They’re not too tight, shockingly. You had half expected him to choke your fingers until they’re purple just because. But, you also know Price will be looking for any mark or sign of injury as soon as he sees you at breakfast. The thought of him laying into Ghost for even a bruise as your stomach twisting, and not in a bad way.

“Make a fist.” Ghost says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you.

You stare at his bulging muscles for a second too long, quickly curling your fingers as your face warms.

He takes hold of your hand, inspecting your fist. “Not bad.”

“I did grow up with brothers.” You murmur.

“Did they ever hit you?” He asks as he turns you to face the boxing bag.

“Only playfully.” You say, missing the subtle edge to his voice. “Dad would have caved their heads in if they ever tried.”

You can’t see the way he’s staring at you as he stands slightly behind you, but you can feel his gaze as it lingers for just a second longer than you expected it to. You’re not sure if maybe he doesn’t believe you, or maybe he knows there’s more to the story. You’ve hardly spoken about your family since your arrival, but they seemed to accept the fact that they haven’t been your family for years now as a valid reason.

“Get into your fighting stance.” He finally says, moving around you as you take the stance you had perfected last training session. “Good.” He says, looking you over. “Now throw a punch at the bag.”

You squeeze your fists, imagining Corporal Allen’s face on the bag before you throw a punch, barely managing to move the bag.

“Punches like that are what will get you hurt.” Ghost says, extending your arm. “You can throw your weight, which is good. That’s why you were able to throw Allen off his feet. You’re asking for a broken arm, though. Keep your arm flat and facing downwards through the entire punch. Aim with the knuckles and twist your lower body for support.”

He throws a punch at the bag, the sound of his fist hitting it loud, and you watch the bag swing back and forth violently. He could probably punch through you if he wanted to. Your pitiful punch wouldn’t even stun him.

He stops the bag from swinging, having you throw repeated punches at it. He fixes your form and technique as you go, teaching you different kinds of punches. Your arms quickly get tired, and you know you’re going to be sore again. Maybe you should take up some weight lifting or something. You could ask Soap to help you.

You go until your arms feel like they're going to fall off, your shoulders burning. “I can't anymore.” You whine, breathing heavily from the exertion of throwing punches for 30 minutes.

“You have to learn to push through the pain.” He says, looming over you. “You think in a fight, everyone will just stop because your arms are tired? Or you're a little sore?”

He has a point.

You take half a step back as he invades your space, leaning down close to you. “If they're out for blood, they won't even stop even as you're bleeding out in front of them.” His eyes are dark, biting into you, speaking volumes of his knowledge and experience. You wonder how many times he's been in that situation, how many times he's had to fight quite literally for his life. He steps away from you, moving towards the center of the mat. “Come on. I'll teach you some combinations.”

You don't want to follow him. You want to curl up in a corner and nap for the next four hours. You don't doubt he'll find a way to force you, though, so you move to the center of the mat with a sigh.

He teaches you different combinations, working through them over and over. You're sloppy, mixing up which punch is which, which move means what. It only gets worse as you get more and more tired, but Ghost is relentless.

Finally after almost an hour and a half of training, he calls it. Your legs are shaking and you can barely lift your arms to unravel the wraps from around your hands. You sink onto the floor, laying out flat on the padding as you try to catch your breath.

“Come on.” Ghost says, lacing up his shoes. “You'll have time to shower before breakfast if we get back now.”

“Wait. Just gimme a minute.” You breathe, not even sure you have the willpower to get up from the floor, much less the muscle power.

He lets out a sigh before approaching you, bending down to slip his hands under your arms. “On your feet, soldier.”

He lifts you easily, far too easily. Your legs shake, nearly giving out as you're forced onto them. You pout, ignoring the ache in your bones as you're forced upright.

“‘M not a soldier.” You murmur.

“In here with me, you are. You want to learn to fight, you get treated just like everyone else I've taught.” He says, glowering down at you. “Now get your shoes on and let's go.”

Your brows pull into a frown, but you do as he says, slipping your shoes back on and your jacket. You had hoped perhaps he would have a little mercy, given your status and inexperience, but it seems you're not even being awarded that. You know part of it is his revenge for you invading his protective circle around Soap, for kissing Soap in front of him.

The frown doesn't leave your face as you follow him back to the barracks, having to almost run to keep up with him.

“You look tired.”

“I am. I had training with Ghost again this morning.”

“How is that going?”

“It's hard.” You admit, sinking back in your chair. “He's hard on me. He sees me as a soldier, not an omega.”

“Have you brought this up to him?” Dr. Keller asks, crossing her feet as she relaxes on the couch across from you.

You nod. “Yeah. He said I have to push through it, because if I wind up in a real fight, they won't go easy on me.”

“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong about that. But, that’s still no excuse.” Dr. Keller tilts her head at you. “You could bring it up to Captain Price. He is your pack alpha, and he’s also Lieutenant Riley’s. I don’t doubt he’d bring it up to him on your behalf.”

He would, but you don’t really want to stir the pot in that way. The last thing you need to do is become a tattle-tail. It’s quiet between you for a few moments, Dr. Keller shuffling her papers as you mark a clear end to that conversation.

“How did you do on your assignment? I see you’re wearing a different sweatshirt this morning.” She says, eyeing you.

You’re wearing Price’s sweatshirt, the one he gifted you. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, his scent still clinging to the fabric. Your face warms as she stares at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, but...I didn’t ask for this one. Price gave it to me after I told him about where my other one came from. I uh...I kissed Soap. And Gaz.”

“Oh?” Her brows raise, and she writes something down on the paper. Your face warms even more as you watch her pen move with every letter. You can only imagine what she’s putting down. “Is that something you wanted? I know we talked briefly about it last time.” She says.

You nod. “Yes. I did want it. I...I also...kneeled...with Price...Did a couple times actually...”

Dr. Keller’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes shining as she looks at you. “You did? That’s huge! That’s an incredible development! Did you initiate, or did he?”

“I did.” You say bashfully, sinking back further into the chair. “Both times.”

Dr. Keller smiles at you, looking almost proud. “This is a big step in the right direction. How did it go? Were you able to relax?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was nice. He was...gentle. He did it right.”

“Good. How did you do coming down from it? I know it can be intense and difficult for some omegas.” She asks.

You shrug. “Fine. I felt it a bit the morning after, but it wasn’t too bad. I fell asleep on him both times.”

“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Did you stay with him?”

You shake your head. “No, Gaz took me to my room both times.”

“Good. That’s good practice, for when your heat comes. Shows how much trust they have in each other.”

You hadn’t really thought of that. There was a lot of trust involved in omega’s heats. Omegas have to trust their alphas to take care of them while they’re blind with insatiable need, but both alpha and omega have to trust a beta to keep them alive. Your heat will trigger Price’s rut and make him lose control for a while, and it will be up to Gaz to keep you both fed and hydrated. He’ll be the one to help you both afterwards as well.

“Have you started nesting yet?” Dr. Keller asks.

You shake your head. “No. Don’t feel any drive to either.”

Dr. Keller hums as she writes something down. “Well, it has only been two weeks. Though, perhaps if you can manage to ask for some things to make your space more comfortable, that might help ease you into it.”

You chew on your lip, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You know she’s right. Until you’re comfortable and feel safe enough, you won’t feel the drive to nest. You’ll need to nest before your heat arrives. Otherwise, it’ll cause issues for both you and Price.

“When...when should I be worried?” You ask.

“Hmm...” Dr. Keller looks at her calendar. “If you’re not feeling any sort of drive to nest by our next appointment, then I’d say we may need to consider using some exercises to help jump start it.”

“Exercises?” You ask warily.

“All easy things.” She reassures you. “Things like scent introductions, tactile explorations, and some bonding exercises might be helpful as well.” She writes something down on a sticky note. “I’ll explain everything in detail and you’ll get to choose whether you want to do any of it or not. No one’s going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?”

Tears prick your eyes at her words, and you furiously blink them back. It’s a little late for that kind of sentiment. Your presence here alone was thanks to a long line of people forcing you to do things you’re not comfortable with. It was easy to get lost in the excitement and the emotions of bonding with a pack, easy to forget that you would never have chosen this place had you ever been given the option to choose.

You would have gone far from the military, far from this kind of life. It’s your duty to bond with an alpha, but what if you don’t want to? What if it’s all a front, and as soon as you’re claimed the curtains rise and suddenly everything is different? What if Price isn’t as kind as you’ve come to believe him? Just one squeeze too tightly around the back of your neck while you’re kneeling and everything would change.

How easily he could take everything from you.

“You want to talk about what’s going on in your head right now?” Dr. Keller asks, breaking the silence between you two.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been staring off into space, lost in your thoughts. Of course she knows something’s changed. She’s spent years learning the ins and outs of omegas and all the secrets you can only imagine. She’s probably just as in tune with subtle changes as the four well trained soldiers that make up your new pack. Maybe even more in tune with them.

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on the floor.

“Remember nothing shared in this room leaves this room. It’ll always only be between us.” She says softly.

You’re panicking. You can feel the pressure rising within you. You’re like a grenade and someone is about to pull the pin. You’re afraid you’ll spill everything to her, afraid you’ll let out things you’ve successfully kept buried for years and years. Things you’ve left behind, things you’ve had to move on from. Things you can’t afford to let out now.

“I’d like to be done now.” You silently curse the way your voice shakes.

Dr. Keller’s brows pull into a frown but she nods. “Okay.” She slips her papers into her notebook before standing. “Let me grab my keys.”

You stand as she moves to her desk, grabbing her keys from the drawer. She leads you from her office, thankfully staying quiet as you walk through the rain towards the barracks. You’re still panicking, the turmoil inside you probably projecting the sour scent across the entire courtyard but you don’t care. You can’t.

“Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m usually in my office.” Dr. Keller says as she drops you off at the door.

You feel guilty as you hurry to your room, shoes squeaking on the tile. You feel bad for cutting the appointment off early, you feel bad for feeling the way you do. Later you’ll be grateful for Dr. Keller respecting your boundaries and not pushing, for following through with her promise and letting you be in control of the appointment.

Right now you don’t care. Right now you can’t care. You’re too lost in your turmoil, the bitter scent of your distress seeping out from under the locked door.

“...can ye talk tae me, hen? Let me know yer alright?”

The soft voice coming through the closed door pulls you out from your burrow under the thin blanket. You blink blearily at your phone, trying to see the time. It’s just a little past the normal time you go to lunch with them. How long have they been knocking on the door?

“Come on, lass.” Soap’s voice comes through the door again. “I dinnae want tae have tae kick in the door.”

You force yourself out from under the blanket, pocketing your phone before quickly moving to your door. You throw it open, Soap’s eyes immediately scanning you as you rub tiredly at your eyes. You don’t doubt he’d kick in your door if he felt he had to.

“Sorry,” You yawn. “I was asleep.”

His eyebrows raise as he stares down at you. “Ye were asleep? Ye weren’t kidding about bein’ a heavy sleeper.” He leads you from the barracks, crossing the courtyard towards the mess.

“One time, when I was about two or three, my dad took us to some demonstration on base.” You say as you begin walking to the mess with him. “I fell asleep about halfway through and slept through a howitzer going off.”

Soap lets out a laugh so loud it echoes in the courtyard. “Ye slept through a howitzer?”

You nod. “Yup. My dad never let me live it down. I heard it all the time. ‘You’ll have to try hard to wake her, she slept through a howitzer once.’”

Soap chuckles, leading you into the mess. “Ye are a deep sleeper.”

You shrug. “I did say so. My phone will wake me up though. Alarms, calls.”

“I’ll keep tha’ in mind.” He says as he guides you through the line, making your tray for you.

You sit between Price and Gaz as usual, feeling a bit on edge still despite your nap after your appointment. You hadn’t gotten to sleep for very long, not nearly long enough to clear your head completely. You know they can tell, Gaz slowly shifting closer and closer to you, Price’s gaze flickering to you out of the corner of his eye every so often. Even Ghost’s eyes pass over you every so often as they sweep across the mess.

You wonder if he feels responsible.

You hope he does.

Soap walks you back to the barracks after lunch and you spend the afternoon burrowed under your blanket again. You’re exhausted and sore after a long morning of training and your appointment. You wish you could sink back into sleep, let the emotions pass without you having to feel them, but you’re too awake now. Too aware of them as they prickle in the back of your mind.

Dinner passes without incident, but you can’t ignore the feelings still stirring within you. You feel agitated and on edge, not even pacing your room helping you. You let out a breath before you put your slippers on, slipping out of your door. You make your way down the hallway, turning right instead of left like you would if you were heading for the rec room. The door is cracked open and you pause just before you reach it, suddenly feeling nervous. You shouldn’t really. There was no reason to be nervous, yet you can’t help the urge in the back of your mind to turn tail and race back down the hallway to the safety of your room.

“You can come in, unless you’d prefer standing in the hallway all evening.” A voice calls from inside the office.

Your face warms a bit at getting caught, but he could probably hear you coming down the hallway. He could probably smell you too.

You push open the door, slipping inside before closing it behind you. Price stares at you from his desk as you stand there, shifting nervously on your feet. You feel agitated, on edge still. You’re worked up, and you don’t quite know why.

“Everything alright?” Price asks, likely picking up on your nervous energy.

Yes. You want to say, but then you’d have to come up with a reason as to why you sought him out, why you feel so worked up. You could just kneel for him. It’s what you should do, let yourself be eased into a peaceful state of mind. Let him take care of you.

“I don’t know.”

The words are hardly more than a whisper, your voice trembling just as much as you are. Your chest feels tight, your breaths becoming shallow. You're not sure when he got up, when he even moved. His scent wraps around you, warmth encompassing your being as your face is pushed against his chest.

“I need you to breathe for me.” Price says, pressing your ear against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart, the air flowing in and out of his lungs.

You close your eyes, trying to match your breaths to his. It's hard, your body fighting your attempt to regulate it. You close your eyes, focusing on the soft fabric of Price's shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his hand on your head as he keeps you pinned against his chest. It's not constricting or suffocating. It's grounding, keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to as he holds you there, letting you calm down. You begin to slowly relax, your arms wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head.

“I don’t know.” You whisper, still clinging to his shirt. “I’m just...I feel off. Ghost was being hard on me this morning and then I got upset during my appointment and I’ve just felt on edge all day and I can’t relax because I can’t get comfortable!”

Price tightens his grip around you just slightly. “What do you mean?”

You huff out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed so the tears don’t escape as the words leave you in a flood before you can stop them. “The blankets aren’t soft enough and the pillows are too thin and it’s too dark and I’m tired of smelling like bland soap!”

Price hums quietly, squeezing you gently as a tear slides down your cheek. “Then we should do something to fix that.”

“But I shouldn’t need it!” You cry, trying to push away from him, but he keeps you tight against his chest. “I’m supposed to be a good omega and adapt and learn to be comfortable where I am.”

“That might be what you were taught,” He says, letting you push away from his chest, but he wraps his hands around your arms, keeping you in front of him. “But things don’t have to be that way. We should have taken care of something like this sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it. You shouldn’t have had to ask for it.”

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I...what?”

“We all have our own little comforts that we keep. Soap sleeps with a stuffed bear. Don’t tell him I told you that.”

A small smile tugs at your lips at the mental image of Soap snuggling up with a teddy bear.

“You deserve some comfort too.” He says, squeezing your arms.

“But, it’s not...regulation.” You say.

“Doesn’t have to be.” He says. “You’re not a soldier. Even then, the only ones going in there are us. The only thing I can’t approve of is painting the walls. Unfortunately the prison grey has to stay.”

You can’t help but laugh, wiping the tear from your cheek. “I suppose that’s alright. Just...as long as it’s not as dark and maybe a soft blanket or something. That’s really all I need.”

He hums, staring down at you. You can’t quite figure out the look on his face, something shining in his eyes. “We’ll get it figured out.” He says, squeezing your arms again.

“Get some shoes on. We’re going on a trip.”

You look up from your book, staring at Price as he stands in the rec room. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed as he stares down at you on the couch. You mark your place in your book, pushing yourself up to sit. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and unlike last week they had the day off, which means you do as well.

“Are you going to make me hike through the woods for two hours again, sir?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand.

“No. We’re going into town.” He says.

You blink at him. You haven’t been off base since you arrived, and you figured you probably wouldn’t be getting that opportunity any time soon. “Can I ask why, sir?”

“We’ve got some shopping to do.” He says simply, turning and leaving the rec room.

You stand there shocked for a moment before you’re following after him, slipping into your room to put comfortable shoes on and grab your phone and a jacket. You don’t even have a wallet to carry around to make yourself feel better.

Price is waiting by the door for you, a car parked outside. You’re slow to approach him, suddenly feeling a mix of emotions. He’s doing this for you. He’d really taken your conversation last night to heart and now he’s going to go spend money on you that he doesn’t need to.

“What’s that look for sweetheart?” He asks, standing in front of the door.

“You don’t have to do this.” You say, staring up at him. He seems so tall like this, so...imposing.

“Course I do.” He says, his gaze softening just slightly. “Should have done it sooner. You deserve to be comfortable too.” He says, turning to open the door.

You follow him out, climbing into the car when he opens the door for you. He gets in the driver’s seat, the car rumbling to life. He drives to the front gate, passing off two ID cards to the guards. He passes one to you when the guard hands them back, the gate in front of you opening.

“That’s your ID card. Gets you on and off base.” He explains as he drives away from the gate. “I doubt you’ll be leaving on your own, but just in case.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say, slipping the card under your phone case for the time being.

He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “You can call me John, if you'd like. You don't need to be formal when we're in private.”

“Yes, sir.” You make a face, biting your lip at your automatic response. “Sorry. Old habits.”

“From the institute?” He asks.

You shake your head. “My dad, actually. He was a firm believer in respecting authority figures. All ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ by the time we were old enough to know the difference.”

“Sounds like my father.” He says, staring out at the road ahead. “Old grizzled military man.”

“Do you still have contact with him?” You ask curiously. You don’t know much of anything about their families, their backgrounds.

“Not really. Beyond holidays, neither of us really make an effort to talk to the other. After mum passed, there wasn’t much to talk about.” He says.

“She was the glue.” You say, watching the trees pass by the car.

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “As betas usually are.”

“Do you have any siblings?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. You know next to nothing about them, while they likely know your entire life story.

“No,” He shakes his head. “Just me. You have a lot of siblings.”

You nod. “Seven at the time I left for the institute. Could be more now.”

“They never tried to keep contact with you?” He asks.

“Nope.” You turn to look out the window. “The institute didn’t really encourage it either, because we were being prepared to join new packs. That’s hard to do when you still have bonds with your old ones. I think they might have forcibly ended some. I know there were some omegas that tried to keep contact, but it became less and less until eventually it just stopped.”

Price’s hands tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Silence settles in the car as he drives, farmlands passing until the houses start getting closer and closer together. You stare at the buildings as he drives through town, a blend of historical and modern.

“It’s beautiful here.” You say, watching people and cars pass by.

“I suppose so.” He says, glancing at you. “I grew up in this area.”

You turn to look at him. “You did? I didn’t know that. Then again, I don’t know much about any of you.”

“You can ask us, you know.” He says. “We don’t have to be that secretive with you. At least not about ourselves.”

He pulls into a parking lot, opening your door for you and helping you out of the car. You slip your hand into his, holding it as you cross the parking lot. You stare up at the store. ASDA. You’ve never heard of it before, though you suppose the stores would be different here too.

Price drops your hand to grab a cart, the store bustling with people. You hang onto the edge of the cart, staying close to Price’s side. “We’re here for you.” He says, guiding you through the aisles. “Get whatever you want.”

He’s led you to the homegoods section, your eyes widening at the entire aisle of blankets and bedding in front of you. You try to take it all in, but you feel a bit overwhelmed. There’s so many choices, so many options.

“Pick out as many as you want. Don’t worry about the price.” He says, before you can protest. “We get paid decently, but don’t have many chances to use it. Let me do this for you.”

You stare up into his eyes, the sincerity in them, before you nod, turning back to the wall of blankets before you. You study them, running your hand along them to find the softest ones, doing as he says and ignoring the price tags. You settle on a couple soft ones, grabbing a throw blanket as well that you can pack around to the rec room if you want to. He takes you to the pillow aisle, and you settle on a pair of fluffy pillows, as well as a couple decorative ones as well.

“Here.” He slips a big plush strawberry into your arms before you leave the aisle, your cheeks warming as you look at it. “Makes me think of you.”

You preen at his words, holding onto the strawberry as you make for the lamps and nightlights, settling on a cat shaped one that will sit on your desk and changes colors. You pick up a few other items before heading for the toiletries, finally setting the strawberry in the cart as you zero in on the soaps and body washes. You smell all the strawberry scented ones, trying to find the perfect one.

“Why strawberry?” Price asks as you put a strawberries and cream scented body wash in the cart.

“Compliments my scent.” You explain as he leads you to the shampoo and conditioner. “We had a scent specialist come to the institute one time as an activity. We all figured out what our scents smell like and what notes compliment them the best.”

An arm wraps around your waist before you can look at the shampoo, pulling you back against a broad chest. Price’s nose presses into your neck and he inhales deeply. He lets out a content hum, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. “I think you’re right.”

Your face burns hot as he presses a gentle kiss against the side of your neck before releasing you. You stand there for a moment, trying to calm the heat rushing through your body and focus on the shampoo. You hear him chuckle as you shuffle forward, your face still burning as you smell the shampoo bottles.

You settle on one, holding onto Price’s arm as you continue around the store, picking up a few other items and a couple for himself as well before heading to the checkout.

You hold on to Price’s arm as you leave the store, sticking close to him as he loads the bags into the trunk. You can feel the slight tension in his body, the way his eyes scan the parking lot every few seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to relax, especially out in public. How fast his mind has to be running, how alert he is to everyone and everything. A threat could come out of nowhere, could come from anyone.

It must be exhausting.

“Hungry, sweetheart?” He asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

“Always.” You answer, leaning on the center console.

He smiles. “What are you in the mood for?”

You blink at him. Most of the restaurants you know probably don’t exist in England. “Fish and chips?” You offer, pulling up the one British food you’re confident in naming.

“Fish and chips it is.” He says, turning on the car.

“I have yet to have real fish and chips.” You say, settling into the passenger seat.

“Well, I know the perfect place.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot.

You don’t have to go far before he’s parking on the street and helping you out of the car. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you down the street to a fish and chips shop.

It's too early for the dinner rush, the shop mostly empty and quiet. Price orders for you before guiding you to a table, and you let him sit facing the door and front window. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They seem so relaxed on base, though you suppose that's the place they feel the most comfortable. You can't even imagine the kinds of things they've seen, the horrors they've been subjected to.

You don't want to think about the things they've done.

Your eyes snap downwards as Price's hand slides across the table, closing around yours. You don't want to think about the things he's done with those hands. The lives he's taken, the people he's tortured. Will he ever turn those hands on you?

They've given you no reason to fear them yet. They've all been kind, polite. Even Ghost hasn't truly given you a reason to fear him, despite his obvious disapproval and hard exterior.

You know nothing about them.

You've known them for just over two weeks. You can't possibly have any understanding of who they are, how they express their emotions. What if they get upset? What happens when they get angry? What if you anger them?

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Any of it.” Price says, drawing you from your worried thoughts. “I know you were taught to expect this, perhaps not this exact situation, but something like this. Being sent off to some strange alpha to join their pack, bonding with complete strangers. None of us were expecting this either. It’s been an adjustment in a lot of ways, but I want you to know that we’ll take care of you. You need anything, you tell us. You want anything, we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll keep you safe.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I promise you that.”

You want to believe him. You really do. They haven’t given you any reason to not believe it.

It’s only been two weeks.

You continue to talk with him as you eat, making light conversation, getting to know him a bit more. Despite the trickling uncertainty in the back of your mind, it feels good. It feels like a date, something you had dreamed of before you presented, something you had imagined happening when you finally got old enough to start looking for potential mates and packs.

Of course, back then, you had thought you’d be an alpha.

It had been expected of you.

Price has his arm wrapped around you as you walk back to the car, his hand on your hip. It’s possessive almost, and it makes your stomach flutter. Price is the only one you haven’t kissed yet, well, besides Ghost, but you’re certain you’d wind up through a wall if you even thought of trying. It’s almost ironic that Price would be the last, considering he’s going to be the one claiming you, the one you spend your heat with.

You stare out the window as the buildings fade into farmlands again. The sun is setting, painting the world in oranges and reds. You still feel a bit warm from Price’s possessive hold on you, his teasing in the store. You can still feel the tickle of his beard on your skin, his lips pressing against your neck.

You jump when rough fingers trail down your arm, pulling it from where it had been resting in your lap.

“You were right.” Price says as he lifts your hand to his face, pressing his nose against your wrist and inhaling for a moment. “Strawberries are the strongest note in your scent.” He lowers your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “What’s got you all worked up over there.”

You stare at him, your face getting warm again. Of course he can smell it. You can smell the muskiness beginning to form around the edges of his scent. Desire. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” You say, moving his hand into your lap. “You're the only one that hasn't...well, besides Ghost.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sound disappointed.”

You untangle your fingers with his, letting his hand rest on your thigh. “What if I am?”

His fingers flex against your leg, the muskiness of his scent strengthening. “Then maybe we should fix that.”

The cocktail of scents in the car is intoxicating, and you feel bad for the poor beta soldier at the gate when Price rolls down the window to hand off your IDs.

Price is out of the car as soon as it's parked, moving around to your side to open the door. He pins you against the side of the car as soon as you're out, caging you in with his arms.

You stare up at him, head swimming with the musk laced in his scent. You can see his eyes shining in the light next to the door of the barracks. He looks like a hungry wolf, the back of your neck prickling with excitement.

He leans down, breath fanning your face as he gets closer and closer to you. You press yourself against him, hands gripping his shoulders as he presses his lips to yours. His lips are surprisingly soft, his beard tickling your face. He growls quietly against your lips, pushing you harder against the side of the car.

You let out a quiet sound in response, hands gripping his jacket. His hands slide from the car to your sides, sliding down to grip your hips. You can feel the muscle hidden beneath his jacket and shirt, the strength that he possesses. He may not be purebred like Ghost, but he’s still every inch an alpha.

You let out another quiet sound as he pulls away, pressing a caste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Bloody hell, now I know what those boys were on about.” He breathes, leaning his forehead against yours.

“They were talking about me?” You ask, pulling back slightly.

“Only good things.” Price grins, leaning down to kiss you again. “Sweet as sugar.” He breathes, kissing you again. “And just as addicting.” He pulls away from you, his hands resting on your waist. “We should get your stuff inside so you can get it all set up. Want me to fetch one of the boys to help?”

You bite your lip. “Or you could just do it.”

He stares down at you, something flashing across his face but you can’t quite make it out in the low light. “You’re sure?” His voice is quiet, taking on that soft tone it often does when he speaks to you.

“You’ll have to eventually.” You shrug. “Might as well start now.”

He leans down, kissing you again before pulling away, opening up the trunk. He grabs most of the bags, only leaving the pillows for you to grab before he leads the way into the barracks. You open your door, stepping in first before he follows. You dump your pillows on the bed, and he sets the rest of the bags on your desk.

“Blankets in the wash.” You say, digging them out of the bags, pulling the tags off.

“I’ll take them.” He says, fishing out his stuff from the bags before taking the blankets from you.

You switch out your pillows for the softer ones, organizing the decorative ones just the way you want. You squish the strawberry to your chest again, a smile forming on your face before you flop back onto the bed, sinking into the soft pillows. It’s almost perfect, you think.

“Comfortable?” Price’s voice rumbles in the doorway, a smile on his face as he stares at you.

“Much better.” You say, sitting up and placing the strawberry in its place.

The two of you finish taking everything out of the bags, decorating the rest of your room. The posters on the walls, and the nightlight on your desk. It feels far more homey already, and you know you’re going to sleep well tonight once the blankets are out of the wash.

“Thank you.” You say, looking up at Price. “This really means a lot.”

“All in a day’s work, love.” He says, pulling you into his arms again.

You lean against his chest, resting your head over his heart, listening to it beat steadily against your ear.

You wake up suddenly, yet you’re not quite sure why. There’s no one in your room, your new nightlight easily showing you that. Your mouth is dry, but there’s a line of wetness down your chin. You reach across your nightstand, your phone illuminating the time.

Just past one a.m.

You smack your lips, feeling thirsty after the excitement of the day. You’d forgotten to grab water when you left the rec room and you huff out a sigh. You don’t want to get up, but now that you’re aware you’re thirsty, there’s no stopping those thoughts.

You don’t even bother with slippers as you pad to the door, opening it up. You leave it cracked as you sleepily shuffle towards the rec room, the barracks almost dead quiet this late. You grab a bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the top before drinking a few gulps. It’s cold and tastes divine, soothing the dryness of your mouth. You screw the top back on, closing the fridge before heading back towards your room.

You turn the corner, still half asleep, nearly yelping as you slam into a chest. You stumble back a couple steps, staring up at the covered face looming over you. You gulp, holding the bottle to your chest.

“S-Sorry.” You stutter.

“You’re out of bed.” He says quietly, voice rumbling in the silence.

“Thirsty.” It’s all you can manage as you hold up the bottle.

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes flickering all over your face. His chest is heaving, almost as if he had been running before you ran into him. His hands are closed into fists at his sides, knuckles almost white with how tense he is. You think for a moment he might be mad, but you can’t catch any whiff of ozone in the air. Your nose prickles at the scent, but it’s not anger.

Your tired brain can’t make sense of it, yearning to sink back into the softness of your bed again. You slowly shuffle around him, taking cautious steps, waiting for him to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. He simply watches you go, standing there in the hallway as you slip back into your room, not moving until he hears the click of your lock slipping into place.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #poly 141 #task force 141 x reader #omegaverse #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega dynamics

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feral4daryl · 1 year ago

Note

need a part 2 of sweet scent with pervy daryl trying to explain it to you but you couldn't get it cuz you'd never done anything like it so he says he's gonna show you how good it feels and has to muffle your screams so no one in the house hears you as his cock practically splits your tiny cunt in half and he uses his thumb to rub ur clit to try and make u relax.........

I'm crazy but I'm free

masterlist and other infos || MDNI

sweet scent pt2.

perv!daryl x innocent!fem!reader

summary: after getting caught sniffing your panties by you, daryl persuades you into giving your precious virginity away to him while your dad's just in the next room.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl's is in late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18 [or older, it's up to you]), 18+ smut, praising, dubcon? (reader lacks enthusiastic consent at first and daryl has to do some convincing), panty gagging, p-in-v, blowjobs, cunnilingus, masturbation, manipulation, petnames, daddy kink, orgasm denial, mentions of dumbification, mentions of degradation.

word count: 6.2k

a/n: the following content contains some extreme fetishes and kinks that some readers might find disturbing, so if you're not comfortable with any of those, please do not proceed. click here to read part 1.

[...] His movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. He sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. He opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

Then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

You. Standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

"U-uncle Daryl?"

---

Shit.

You definitely weren't what Daryl expected to see when he opened his eyes, the remains of his freshly busted nut all over his hand and his cock out, fully on display. For a good 5 seconds, he just freezed, completely unsure of what to do. But then, it hit him. He freaked out.

His eyes got as big as they possibly could and he immediately pulled his cock in his pants back again, clumsily trying to regain his composure, taking a little longer than usual due to his nervousness. Meanwhile, you just stood there with an unreadable expression. You didn't look exactly shocked, or angry, or anything like it. You looked strangely curious, with your head slightly tilted to the side.

Daryl shook his hand to get rid of some of his essence that was still sticking to it and then rubbed it on the side of his pants, on the hip area. Still not capable of looking you in the eyes, he quickly glanced at your frame and finally broke the awkward silence.

“Y/N? W-What'r'ya doin' here?” Stuttering was very unusual for Daryl, considering that although he was a man of very few words, he was always very direct and precise with them. Maybe playing it cool as if you hadn't just caught him in the act was the way out of that unpleasant situation.

“Well...” You let out a small chuckle and took a step closer to him. “This is my room.” His awkward smile immediately faded away.

“Oh, uh... I was jus’...” He looked around the room, searching for anything to use as an excuse for being there. But before he could start, you interrupted him.

“I didn't leave with the others, daddy told me to stay here to take care of you. He's in his room.” Your sweet girly voice had a way of calming Daryl, making him a bit more relaxed despite the current scenario and the shame he was feeling. But at the same time, just hearing you enunciate that one little word 'daddy' had him taking a deep breath to control his urges and not have another erection right there and then. You said that so innocently, because, well, it was in fact innocent since you referred to your actual father Hershel, but still, Daryl's twisted mind made it sound suggestive in his head.

“Take care'a me?” He pondered. Daryl wondered why your reaction was so calm considering what you had just witnessed. Maybe you didn't see much.

“You know, somebody's gotta change your bandage.” You smiled and pointed to his head that still had the bandage around it. “Actually, can you step to the side a bit? So I can...” You gestured to the dressing table behind him. He didn't say anything and just did as you said, moving to the side a little so you could approach the piece of furniture. In that moment, Daryl was the definition of what they call a standoffish.

“I was expecting to find you in your bed, resting. As you should, uncle Daryl.” Your voice carried a hint of playfulness along with a sincere worry. But the way you called him uncle for the second time that day gave him mixed sensations. He wasn't sure if he was aroused or weirded out by it. Or both.

You extended your hand, meaning to pull the drawer open to collect the items needed to change his bandage, which included the gauze, antiseptic wipes, medical tapes, sterile dressing and other kinds of medical stuff your dad had taught you how to handle, but you had to stop your hand midway when you noticed a white slimy thing dripping down the furnishing.

He followed your eyes, noticing how stared at the liquid. The farmer's sweet young daughter had just noticed the results of Daryl's arousal while it coated the dressing table. His mind started rushing with apprehension, you could tell your dad and everyone else how much of a perverted old man Daryl actually was, and he could be kicked out of the group, being left alone in the woods to fend for himself. It's not that he wasn't capable to make it on his own, but his family was important to him, he didn't wanna lose them over that type of thing that could change the way they looked at him forever.

“What's this?” You bended your knees a little, leaning forward and squinting your eyes to take a better look at the unknown substance. Now, you had completely forgotten the reason why you came into that room that was changing his bandage. Daryl lifted one of his eyebrows out of confusion. Did you really not know what that was? If that was the case, it kind of made sense.

Of course. Living on a farm far from the city, you had a close-knit relationship with your family in a way that they were pretty much all the people you would interact with. You had never had boyfriends, or kissed, or anything remotely romantic like that due to your dad's overprotectiveness, after all, you were his youngest daughter. All you knew about the existence of sexual stuff had been taught by him, when he mainly warned you about the terrible consequences of that type of action and that you had to stay innocent.

You didn't really know what he meant by all that, since he was very vague in his descriptions about sex. Hershel just used to say that there were certain areas on your body that you should never let a boy get near and you knew better than to disobey your father's orders, being aware that he always knew what was best for you. Not even your own hands had ever darted down your body to meet those spots more than once or twice before quickly pulling away. You wanted to remain innocent, whatever that meant.

But Daryl was the observant type, and he quickly caught up that you knew nothing about that type of thing. He knew you had always lived in that farm, away from the perverted hands of boys your age (or older like him) so connecting the dots wasn't tricky at all.

Oh, the things he could show you. That thought alone brought a somewhat creepy smirk to Daryl's face as he stared into the wall, contemplating the opportunity he had in hands to finally have his way with you. He knew he still had to be careful though.

“Daryl?” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. You turned your head to look at him before turning your entire body to face him. Your gaze was curious.

“This?” He motioned with his chin towards the dripping substance on the piece of furniture, looking out of place. “Ya don'... know wha' it is?” He double checked, wanting to make sure you were actually unfamiliar erotic nature of what you saw him doing.

“Well, I saw where it came from.” You revealed, not sounding accusing at all, just simply stating a fact.

“...How long 've ya been watchin' me?” He asked with an almost audible gulp. Though he was considerably excited about teaching you all that new stuff, he was still unsure if he should or not. It'd been so long since his last sexual interaction with someone else that he could barely remember it. And doing it with the daughter of the man that gave him a roof to put over his head in times like these? That was risky.

“A while.” You stated. Now, Daryl could notice how you started staring at his crotch area with a renewed sense of interest. That meant you had definitely seen his dick despite his efforts to hide it when he first got caught just moments ago. He wondered if you knew what it was or its purpose.

You stepped even closer to him and he couldn't help but step back slightly. “I've never seen somebody pee like that. Are you... Sick?” You raise an eyebrow. “The bathroom's just in the next room, you know...” Your worried tone was awfully adorable to Daryl. And well, he was indeed sick, but not in the way you meant it. Nonetheless, the amusing way you mistook his semen for urine made him share a light chuckle.

“Nah, tha's... Tha's not piss.” He bluntly let out. You walked across your room and over to your bed, sitting on its edge. Daryl followed you until he was standing in front of you. He crossed his arms.

“How so?” You tilted your head to the side with a sincere curiosity displayed on your face. You had seen the way he rubbed that one thing of his that you weren't sure how it worked until that slimy liquid started oozing out of it, deeply stimulating your curiosity.

“Ya sure ya wanna know?” His tone sounded more dark and his voice turned hoarser, however, that didn't seem to faze you. You nodded frantically. “Aigh', i'll show ya.” Once again, a smirk creeped onto his face. Your eyes were all sparkly as you attentively listened to him. “Sometimes people touch themselves ta feel good, ya know?” You shrugged, not really sure of what he was talking about.

As he spoke, he took light and slow steps towards you, like a predator preparing to hunt its prey, until his knees was almost touching yours. “Ya ever touched yerself, darlin'?” Despite the raspiness in his voice, it was now rather calm, with a surge of some sweetness to it.

“Like how?” You asked.

“Like here...” He extended his hand with a gentle movement, his finger tracing a path from the valley between your breasts down to your bellybutton. The slightly ticklish sensation made you flinch a little. Then, his finger continued making its way down to your lower belly, stopping inches above your clothed pussy. “'N here...”

Your breath hissed, and you started remembering how your dad told you those parts were sacred and shouldn't be touched by anyone, no matter who. The uncertainty was obvious in your face as you discreetly pushed his hand away. “Uncle Daryl...”

“Ya can call me jus' Daryl, sweetheart. 'M yer friend, remember?” He tried his best to sound convincing.

“Yes, Daryl...” You corrected yourself with an awkward chuckle. “I... I think I shouldn't.” You avert your gaze from his.

“Why not? Dontcha wanna know wha' it's like?” He leaned in a little closer, resting his hands on your thighs. You made a motion to try to push him away again, but he insisted on his touch. “Don' be scared, doll. 'M not gunna hurt ya. Quite the opposite.” He smirked while practically whispering the last part, making sure to sound extra coaxing.

You weren't really sure what you were afraid of, exactly. You just knew that you wanted to make your father happy and proud of you, since he'd always been so caring towards you and your family. In the end, you just wanted daddy's approval.

“I'm... I'm not sure. I don't know, it doesn't feel right.” You confessed, your voice filled with worry. Daryl knew how to be intimidating when he wanted to.

“'S okay, doll.” He spoke the way one would speak to a puppy. And giving you no time to protest, he used one of his hands to tug at the hem of your white tank top and pulled it up in one go, revealing your bare tits to him. He bit his lips, noticing you weren't wearing a bra. As quick as he did so, you felt so ashamed of your sudden nudity that you lifted your arms up to try to cover yourself up from his hungry eyes. “D-Daryl...”

“Shhhh...” He shushed you against your ear, making shivers run down your spine. Although you were uncertain, the way he spoke to you made certain parts of your body warm up, an unusual sensation for you. “Ya got such pretty tits... Ya shouldn't hide 'em away from me.” As he said that, he gently grabbed one of your breasts, giving it the slightest squeeze not to startle you. You couldn't help but let out a small squeak at the unfamiliar sensation. Weirdly enough, it felt good in a way you had never felt before.

“Ya like tha'?” He whispered. “It's nice, but... Daddy wouldn't like that. I just wanna make daddy happy.” You just wanted to be a good girl. Perhaps, you could find a different way of doing that.

“Yeah?” He muttered practically to himself as he got an idea. “Well, I can be yer daddy for today. Like tha', ya could make yer daddy happy in a way. Yer jus' gotta lemme lead ya, aigh'?” He didn't feel guilty in the slightest for making you engage in one of his twisted fetishes while you were barely aware of it.

“H-huh?" You were uncertain about the reason behind his suggestion.

“Ya can pretend 'm yer daddy.” He continued playing her mind. You weren't really sure if you liked the idea to depict him as your old man, but you tried to convince yourself to play along.

“But... What will he think of me when he finds out?” You fidgeted with your fingers. Meanwhile his grip on your breast continued to intimidate you.

“He don' have ta know. C'mon, dontcha wanna make daddy happy?” He conveyed in a hush against your ear, his thumb now grazing your sensitive nipple, making you feel that one funny sensation again. You couldn't help but lean into his touch.

You closed your eyes, darting your tongue out to lick your lips. The nervousness in you due to the newness of it all made your lips dry. The way Daryl was making you feel was curious, and you just wanted more of it. He took your silence as a confirmation.

“Good girl.” He cooed before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, very gently sucking on it. The feeling made you arch your back instantly.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

You just wanted to be a good girl. And if following Daryl's lead was a way to do it, you were all in for it. Your senses awakened as a cascade of unfamiliar yet electrifying sensations coursed through you, a dance of pleasure that tingled on your skin. In that moment, a subtle warmth enveloped you, as if you had discovered a secret realm of bliss previously unknown.

You reached for his head, the feeling of your delicate fingernails scratching against his scalp and pulling him closer sent tingling sensations all over his body. Instinctively, you slightly opened your legs at the pleasure and that drew a smirk onto Daryl's face.

“Eager fer daddy, huh?” The way he referred to himself like that made a faint blush spread across your cheeks, although you couldn't wrap your head around the reason why. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

“I need ya to trust me, 'kay?” He said as he pulled your shorts down and then tossed them aside, revealing your white cotton panties. Once again, you felt to urge to hide, not knowing how to deal with someone else seeing you naked for the first time. But before your legs could involuntarily close, his big hands groped your thighs, keeping them spread apart. “'S okay, sunshine.” He practically manhandled you, gently but firmly pushing your body downward so you rested you back on the mattress.

The new position made you feel strangely vulnerable, but it wasn't exactly a bad feeling. Your doe eyes had a mix of unsureness and curiosity as they meet his. Sensing the mixed sensations within you, Daryl leaned in to place a small peck on your plush lips, aiming to make you more comfortable. The feeling of his rough lips against your soft ones so suddenly almost made you flinch, but they felt rather inviting. As he pulled back, a confident smirk could be seen displayed on his face.

The archer's rugged fingers traveled their way down your body once again until they found the soft fabric of your panties, making your breath hiss. He brushed his index and middle fingers against your clothed pussy lips. Just with that, the dampness was so obvious that a small wet spot could be seen on the cotton fabric right where your slit would be. He dragged his fingers across it until they reached your clit.

“This lil spot righ' here...” He kept his hand there. “...is magical." For now, he just added a small pressure, testing the waters and watching close to your reaction, but that was enough to draw a whimper from you, the unknown sensation making you grasp his forearm. It indeed felt magical. You bit your lips and though you couldn't see it, Daryl shared a satisfied smile at the way he was able to get you all hot and bothered with just a simple touch.

Your legs squirmed a bit and he took that as a good sign, so he continued. Now, he started slowly rubbing your clit in circular motions over the fabric of your panties. Your back arched again, and you accidentally let out a dangerously loud moan.

“Nuh-uh.” He brought his other index finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be quiet. “Ya gotta be quiet, ya hear me?” His tone was mostly reprimanding, which strangely excited you. You nodded, enjoying the authority he guided you with through those new sensations. You had touched yourself there before, but never like that. The sensation always felt somewhat wrong, but with Daryl, it was totally different.

You were still kind of upset at yourself for disobeying your dad, but the way Daryl worked his fingers so skillfully had you seeing stars. You never thought you'd be handing out your innocence for some old redneck you met just a while ago, but there you were, completely given to him.

In the beginning, Daryl used to always kind of avoid you, despite your attempts of trying to get to know at least a little bit about the mysterious archer. He knew that deep down, those desires towards you were always there, since the very first time he saw you. At first, he tried to brush them off, but now, all he wanted was to be the one to feel your tight virgin cunt for the first time.

In a swift motion, his big hands tugged at the hem of your underwear. “Up.” He ordered, gesturing for you to lift your hips so he could pull them down. You didn't argue at all and promptly did as he said, reveling in the control he had over you. It was like he dominated your weak mind. “Good girl.” He cooed once again. Oh, if only he knew what that did to your little inexperienced pussy.

After tossing the piece of fabric aside, he reached for you knees, gently spreading them apart. The sight of your glistening bare cunt had his mind rushing through all the things he could do to it. He wondered if he would be able to hold himself back and be gentle or if he would end up losing control. After all, he hadn't done anything like that in such a long time that his whole body was aching for it. He stared at it in an almost scary way, you'd never seen his eyes so hungry.

If his cock hadn't awaken until that moment, now it was hard as a fucking rock. He had to really fight the urges to pull it out his pants and dick you down right there and then, but he knew he had to take it easy on you at least for now and get you nice and ready for him, even though you were already visibly dripping wet.

“Is this all fer me?” His tone was almost mocking. You weren't sure what he meant by that, not fully understanding the concept of natural lubrication, but you just nodded with your eyes closed. Something about being in that position felt so right, so freeing that it had you wondering why you never did that before, and why you were so afraid of trying it in the first place.

Daryl's hands sensually traced their way down your body, exploring your every contour until they reached the back of your thighs, pushing them back until your wet cunt was all over his face. He tried his best to control himself, but his own arousal was practically taking over his mind, so he buried his face on it like a starving man. As soon as his wet tongue made contact with your sensitive little clit and he lapped at your abundant juices, you immediately gasped, gaining a look of disapproval from Daryl.

“I warned ya.” That was all he mumbled before taking your panties he had just took off you and sticking them into your mouth almost aggressively. You could taste yourself on the white fabric, and although it felt strange, it turned you on even more. Now, your little sounds were muffled by the piece of clothing as he resumed eating you out, flicking his tongue on hour clit and burying it between your folds. You never thought a feeling like that could actually exist as you experienced that overwhelming rush of pleasure, a novel sensation coursing through you sending shivers down your spine as a delightful warmth enveloped your entire being. You tried your best to hold back your sounds since your dad was home and could hear you if you slipped, but Daryl's skilled tongue and lips made it an extremely difficult task, even with your panties stuck in your mouth.

He continued working your clit with his mouth, and maybe a little sooner than it should, a tingling sensation forming in your lower belly caught your attention. Daryl noticed the obvious shift in your demeanor and took the panties out of your mouth so you could speak. “D-daddy...” You experimented the honorific he had previously suggested. “I-I feel funny.” You whimpered, squirming a bit harder than before as it started feeling as if you were gonna burst at any moment. Daryl smirked against your skin and gave your pussy a last peck before pulling away, making you whine in disapproval. It had only been seconds but you immediately missed the sensation. You craved it.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” He said. Not yet what, you wondered. But you still wanted to be good for him, so you nodded as the good girl you were. You couldn't think of anything you wouldn't do for him in that moment, considering how desperate you were to feel that pleasure again.

Your curious eyes followed his hands as they reached to unbuckled his own belt, setting it aside. He undid his pants and pulled them down just enough to reveal his boxer briefs to you. There. There was the place where you saw that sticky white thing shooting out from. Now, the excitement in you was unbearable as you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch his movements closely. Your eyes visibly lighted up and that didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.

“Yer gunna love this, lil' girl.” He bit his lips. Something was very obviously bulging in his boxers, which you found odd since it didn't seem to look so obvious when it was in his pants even though now it looked so big. Either way, you were completely drawn to it. You glued your eyes to his crotch while he pulled his underwear down.

You had heard about it, but you had never actually seen one of those before. In the aftermath of the apocalypse, his pubic hair had grown wild and untamed, a reflection of the makeshift survival and the absence of the once routine grooming practices. Not that he used to care a lot about that kind of thing before the outbreak. In a way, you thought it looked charming, suiting his rugged looks and personality.

You could feel your mouth starting to water at the sight of his cock standing tall and proud in front of you. Since the archer had touched his mouth to your cunt, you wondered if you could do the same to him in that same area on his body. As if he could smell your thoughts, he brought a hand to your head, gently pulling you closer to his crotch while he held it by the base.

“Ya wanna have a taste?” He slyly suggested and chuckled at your frantic nodding. Leaning closer to it, you felt the musky and raw scent that emanated from it, which made you even more drawn to the possibilities that ran through your mind. But at the same time, you didn't know what to do or how to handle it.

Bringing his hand to his mouth, he collected some saliva from it and rubbed the wetness on the tip of his cock to lubricate it. “Gimme yer hand.” He reached out his hand, and instantly you complied, allowing him to direct it towards his cock. He enveloped your hand around it, keeping his atop yours, slowly starting to move it up and down. It felt warm and hard against your soft fingers, and the way he threw his head back and quietly groaned made your stomach churn with butterflies. “Fuck baby, tha' feels good.” He had to whisper due to the dangerous presence of your dad in the house threatening to put your little playtime to an end.

You smiled proudly at yourself. You liked the way he sounded and you wished to draw more of those grunts from his lips. And Daryl, being just as eager as you, removed your hand from his length, holding it by the base. His other hand found its way to the back of your head, his touch almost feeling impatient as he pulled you closer to his cock. “Open yer mouth.” He didn't have to tell you twice. Therefore, he guided his swollen tip to your awaiting tongue, smearing his salty pre-cum all over it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back any compromising sounds.

Your lips instinctively closed around his tip, trying to mimic the way he sucked on your clit, aiming to make him feel as good as he previously did to you. The act not only gave him pleasure, but it also brought you a deep sense of satisfaction, making you hum against his sensitive skin. The vibrations from your vocal chords sent a chill through his body and he couldn't hold back this time, the warm sensation of your mouth being so tempting and promising that he pushed his hips forward a bit too much, causing it to hit the back of your throat and you to gag on it.

He immediately retracted his body, removing his cock from the velvety confines of your mouth. Your eyes got a little watery but you smiled either way. “Sorry, princess.” He said with a hint of awkwardness in his voice.

“It's fine, I liked it.” You confess, looking up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, sitting at the edge of the bed while he stood in front of you. Your innocent expression contrasting with the dirty nature of your encounter made him impossibly hornier, and he didn't feel like waiting any longer. “Fuck” He almost whined. Eagerness to feel you wrapping around him filled his body, so he grabbed you by the arms, not too rough so he wouldn't hurt you, and put on your feet against the pink wall of your room.

He brought a hand to your head, pressing it against the wall. You gasped a little at his roughness but soon you felt him brushing the tip of his cock on your slicky slit and clit. “'S gunna feel good, I promise.” He mumbled against your ear, making your body hair stand on end. The sensation had you biting your lips to try and not make any sounds, but your efforts were proven useless as you felt the pressure of his tip carefully going in your cunt, causing a burning sensation and you accidentally let out a loud cry.

Daryl's hand went immediately to your mouth, forcefully pressing his palm against your lips to muffle your sounds, your dad shouldn't hear Daryl using his sweet daughter in his own home after all. “Shhh, shhh.” He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head for a moment. You wrapped around him so tight even though he only had his tip in yet that he couldn't restrain himself from pushing his hips forward a little more, intensifying the burning sensation while he stretched your virgin cunt out.

“'S okay, ya can take it.” In that moment, you were confused at why he was making you feel so good just a moment ago, and now he's ripping your little pussy apart. But even though it hurt, it was somewhat pleasant to feel so full in such a new way, so you stuck your ass towards him, inviting him in. While still keeping his hand pressed on your mouth, he brought his other one to your hips, gripping them a little too tight.

Without warnings, he buried his entire length in you in one swift motion, filling you up to the brim and worsening the burning to a whole new level. The only thing that kept you from letting out a scream at the sudden invasion was his hand muffling your pathetic sounds and the fact that you'd be in deep trouble if your dad found out about that, but even so, Daryl couldn't help but quietly grunt at the intense sensation. He didn't know he missed fucking a warm cunt so badly until he was completely inhumed inside you. “Good girl. Yer being so good fer daddy.” He praised you. His words had an immediate effect on you, making your pussy even wetter, if that was even possible.

You didn't even care if it hurt or not anymore, so you just stood there, caught in the paradox of sensation — a mix of pain and pleasure etched across your face. The twinge felt like a sweet ache, and yet, an irresistible allure pulled her deeper into the experience, as if the discomfort held a hidden charm that she couldn't resist exploring.

Despite the pain, you found herself oddly drawn to the sensation, craving more as if the discomfort carried an inexplicable appeal that kept you coming back for another taste. So you slightly wiggled your ass against Daryl's body, moving his cock a little inside you. The feeling of being stretched out had you desperate for more.

Daryl's warm breath hit your ear as he let out a light-hearted laugh at your reaction, sending delicious goosebumps all over your body. His hips started going back and forth to meet yours in a sensual dance. He tried to be gentle at first, but your virgin cunt was just so wet and warm that he couldn't help it but succumb to his primal desires. “Jus' like tha', princess. Take this fat cock.” He whispered loud enough so only you could hear, making you weak in the knees.

His calloused hand let go of your hips to find your clit, starting to rub it with just the right pressure to make you squirm under his touch. The mixed sensations of intense pleasure and pain confusing your brain, making you melt like putty in his hands. Overwhelming waves of pleasure surged through you, leaving your head blissfully empty as if every thought had been swept away by the sheer intensity of the sensation, which was exactly what Daryl wanted, to turn you into a brainless little fucktoy for him.

If a few months ago somebody told you that you'd be letting some perverted older man take advantage of you in your own room, you would've laughed right in their face. Giving your innocence away to anybody used to feel like such a distant reality, and now there you were, pressed against the wall by Daryl's sweaty body while he mercilessly pounded your no longer virgin cunt, making you experience the most pleasurable pain you could ever feel.

As he continued bucking his hips like a desperate animal, you drooled against his hand, your brain now reduced to putty due to the overpowering sensation that dominated your every sense. “Nngh...” Your muffled moans stirred an even deeper desire within Daryl, turning him as primal as one could be. Your body language made it obvious that you were close to your orgasm, and this time, he didn't plan to deny you of it.

But you had never experienced something like that. You didn't know pleasure could get so extreme that could made you burst, so as the sensation built and grew stronger, it also made you unsure about where it was taking you, and you tried to fight the feeling. Daryl's skilled fingers working your clit only threw you even closer to the edge and you felt like your legs could fail at any moment.

Noticing the shift in your demeanor, he muttered against your ear. “Jus' let it go, baby. Trust me, don' hold it.” His tone was strangely sweet considering what you were both up to, but his encouraging words relaxed you a little, and as he intensified the rubbing on your clit, you knew you wouldn't be able to hold it in not even if you wanted to, whatever it was.

Then, it hit you. An entirely unfamiliar and intense sensation washed over you, catching you off guard. It felt like uncharted emotional and physical territory, leaving you completely stunned, wide-eyed, and grappling with the unexpected intensity of the experience, something that almost made you mad at your dad from convincing you of staying away from it for so long.

Daryl had to intensify the pressure of his hand against your lips, but even so, he wasn't able to muffle your cries completely as your body convulsed and you were sure you lost consciousness for a few seconds. “Good girl, cum for me.” You didn't know what that word meant, but considering the situation, you understood that it probably had something to do with the new type of pleasure you just experienced.

As the orgasmic sensation slowly faded away, it was replaced with an even more overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. You squirmed even harder and you swore you could cry if he continued using your cunt like that, not giving you any breaks to catch your breath. You'd been turned into a whimpering and drooling mess, a total slut for his cock. You wanted him to have his way with you and you knew that if he wanted to, you'd let him fuck you all day without arguing.

The intense clenching of your tight pussy around his length initiated his own orgasm, and now it was his turn to experience the compelling feeling of being right on the edge of pleasure. “Fuck, turn 'round." He desperately voiced, but he didn't even waited for you before decisively grasping your shoulders, swiftly turning you to face him. As he did so, he removed his cock from inside you and stroked it hard and fast for a few seconds with just enough pressure to make himself burst.

Your mesmerized eyes watched as the pleasure took over his body. And now, it all made sense as he started shooting his load aiming right on your bare pussy, just as he was doing earlier today when you first caught him in your room. The warm sticky substance coated your cunt and it was so much that it felt like it would never end, leaving you astonished. You couldn't help but smile at the sight before you.

You two stared into each other's eyes while desperately trying to catch your breaths, sharing a small chuckle and satisfied smiles. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead and now, you knew who to come up to when you feel that funny feeling in your lower belly again. You knew Daryl had what it took to take care of your needs.

Without saying anything else, he pulled his briefs and pants back up again, adjusting his clothes. Then, he reached for his pocket, pulling out those panties he had stolen earlier and putting them on you again, leaving his load smeary and sticking to your skin. “Leave it there.” He hoarsely voiced, ordering you to walk around with his cum inside your clothes while no one else knew of it except the both of you.

“And these...” He walked over to your bed and bended his knees a little so he could reach for the white cotton panties he had tossed aside right before railing you and put them in his pocket.

“...'M gunna keep these fer later.”

a/n: omg guys the first part of sweet scent got over 1.1k notes and that's like??? insane??? tysm for all ur support, that's crazy. it was so much fun to write both parts and i'm so thankful if you read it this far!! i hope y'all have a great and happy holidays xx

taglist: @imagininghim , @murdadixon , @epilepsywarrior8787 , @darklydixon

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v1x3n · 7 months ago

Text

TORTURE ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - angst - torture, cutting, 'betrayal', forced intoxication, passing out, threats.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

You could see in his eyes he didn't want to believe it but you could also see the hatred in his eyes, the betrayal and the anger.

He stood away from you, watching as ghost, who you had known as Simon, stood in front of you, a knife draped along your tear stained cheeks. Arms tugging at the ropes that held you up against a metal pipe centered in the room, your legs tied to the cold metal, the rope strangling your flesh, your skin around the rope glowing white as the blood slowly but surely stops flowing down to your ankles and arms. “Please” you sob, tears brimming your eyes, once again whilst his knife left your cheek. “I - it's not me!”

They don't reply as your cries fill out the room when ghost pushes the blade of the knife against your cheek, a slit quickly appearing. Crimson blood drops from the wound, the deep wound stings. You hiss at the sharp pain as Price's eyes lock onto yours, his eyes filled with a rage you had never seen before.his expression remains stoic but you could tell - deep down - he was hurt. Hurt you had ‘done’ this, hurt he trusted you, hurt he saw the person he cared for dearly betrayed him like that. Like a sly fucking fox.

John took a step closer towards you and Simon, his boots echoing loudly in the silent yet sob filled room, your breath caught as the knife swung down to your lower abdomen. You flinch at price getting as close as he can, face to face with you. You could feel his hot breath on you - and what does he do? He fucking smirks, seeing his cruel grin right in your face brings you with such fury. “It's not fucking me!” you scream into his ear, eyes welding with tears once more, tears that dare to fall down.

Simon's face was stiff as he slices into you, a deep cut straight into your lower abdomen, the pain makes you shout out in pain, “stop!” the tears drop from your face, trailing down you and splashing onto the floor. “Give me one fucking reason why i shouldnt slit your throat right now.” Price coldly states, his dead eyes staring into yours - no sympathy found in his gorgeous blue eyes. The cut plastered onto your cheek stings as your salty tears pours into it. The burn hurts and causes you to scream out once more, ghost rolls his eyes - a sight you had saw after giving him a stupid fucking joke but now it was used to mock. To tell you that he doesnt fucking care about your pain anymore, he doesnt care about the cuts , the wounds and the burns he caused you. He doesn't care about you being tied here, bare and for everyone to see for weeks. He doesn't care less about the way you cry - knowing he, no, both of them, had helped you time over time to stop you and to comfort you whilst times you sobbed in front of them.

Why didn't they help now?

Breathing seems to get harder as the blade presses deeper into you, ghost had told you about his tactics before - this is why you weren't scared of what was coming. Because you knew. He would wear the person down, inch by inch, by constant harm and fear. Nothing too much but eventually killing them - if they dont give him what he wanted in the end, but you could see deep down he wouldnt fucking kill you - well you hoped.

They both watch as tears pour from your tear ducts, your chest rises and falls faster than the tears drooping down your body. "I said give me a good reason. Do it now." Price grunts out, his gaze unwavering.

“i- its not me!” you manage to choke and scream out, your lungs burning as a painful cry escapes you. All ghost and price do is chuckle, “why the fuck Would we believe you?” ghost puts the knife down against the cold, bloody floor. Your body stings as you cry out once more, “Id n-never! I swear!” their coldness sends chills down your spine, how could the people who you once called family be this cruel ? this mean ? this fucking heartless ?

“Why would i betray you when i fucking love you, john!” you blurt out, water rolling from your eyes at how this is how you had to confess. Price almost flinches at your words, you could feel his breath hitch slightly. But you were so fucking stupid if you even thought for a second that he would believe you. Ghost snorts at your words whilst your captain's eyes soften for a moment.

The masked man's cold gaze flicked between you and price, his expression revealing nothing - you wouldn't be surprised. “P-please john, i love y-you” you sob out, eyes welding with large sparks of tears. The man you are pouring your heart out too scoffs at you, “do you think we are that fucking stupid?” he spits out. Your head stings as Simon yanks your hair back harshly so you could look him in the eyes, “shut up” Simon's grip onto your hair strings as he speaks the first words he has said since he brought you in this trauma filled room.

“Tell me the truth, do not fucking lie to us.”

You refuse to say anything, frozen as your sob at everything these fucking men, your family had done to you. The more and more pain they had put you in caused you, muted you even more. The first day was terrible, memories of that first night repeat in your mind when you're left alone, cold and shivering - unable to sleep due to the position you were put in, it aches you. They knew you hadnt fallen asleep either, your heart- wrenching screams echoed through the room, it wouldnt have mattered if you had kept them up either, they knew non of them could sleep a blink knowing the person they loved and cared about, the person they saw and worked aside every fucking day would betray them like that? The first night was terrifying but you thought that- you hoped that it was the end and they had came to their senses overnight and finally fucking thought about it, or found out who framed you?

Simon undid the ropes that hung you up when your mind spiraled with past thoughts, your knees hit the hard ground, you groan and put out your hands as you finally touch the floor, you haven't been this close to walking or even standing in what? Weeks? You don't know how long it has been. Your gaze shifts down to your hand, reliving the moment when Johnny has cut off some fingers, now left with 8 fingers that clench onto the floor that your blood and tears covered.

They both look down at you on the floor and step back , almost daring you to get up but you just couldn't. Price let out a sharp breath, running a filthy hand through his hair - his frustration and anger clear on his face. “If you talk-” john breathes through his nose, “if you tell us, it'll be much easier f’ you”

“i didnt fucking do it!” you scream out which results in a quick kick to the ribs by ghost. You grunt and he kicks you again. Wincing to each batter to the ribs, “you're making this worse on yourself, love.” John sneers, peering down at your harmed body, clearly on the verge of just giving up. They watched as you gasped for air, your mutilated hand reaching out for the ground in front of you - to try to crawl away but something, or someone stops you. John's firm foot stood onto your ankle, the odd position you fell too causing your ankle to twist, you sob a cry . his foot stamping down and twisting it further, with ghost stomping onto your ribs and price close to breaking your ankle it was too much, your cries grew and grew - your body shook from the pain.

They stand and watch as your cries grew stronger, your tears streaming down your face and your body twitching from the harsh pain. Simon grips onto your hair once more, pulling your scalp to make you look up at them, “open your fucking mouth” he spits.

Price pulls out a flask of some sort and jolts it to your lips, you weren't listening so he forces it through your dry lips, the metal clinking with your teeth, “he said open.” he said firmly. You try to pull back away from the potion of some sorts they had brewed. Ghost yanks your hair towards it and the flask enters your mouth, hair pulled further so you're facing up to the ceiling as the liquid enters your mouth, it burns.

“C'mon sweet’art, swallow it down” their wicked faces blur as you gag, the disgusting drink hitting the back of your throat and pouring down as ghost holds onto your nose, you gasp for air and the burning sensation makes its way through your throat. You gag at the potion, eyes meeting up with John, your old captain. “Tha’s a good girl, hm?” His words were kind and praise-filled but his tone was gruesome and harsh, his rough exterior plastered onto his face - he just simply didn't care about what he was doing to you, well, that's what you thought. You choke loudly, drips of saliva mixed with the fluid they had shoved into your mouth falls down your chin, they both stand back. Prepared for what's next, which was you spewing your guts out, completely emptying your stomach onto the ground, a small drop of blood hitting out with the vomit, your choking and gags fills out the room. Pure pain is how it felt. Your eyes sting with tears as you cough out the brew.

Due to your weak body, you feel your mind spinning and youre body succumbs to the intense torture, your eyes flicker and your body goes slack. Vision blurring as you pass into unconsciousness - falling into a darkness that brings a relief from the pain.

The two men stood around you notice your body go limp, exchanging a quick glance to one another and sighing. They weren't expecting you to pass out so quickly but it wasn't that much of a surprise. Your limp body almost panics them too, so ghost crouches down and places two gloved fingers to your neck, to the side of your windpipe. Checking if you were still alive. “Looks like she's done” price gruffly speaks after ghost nods, reassuring you were still alive. The masked man stands up and straightens himself back up. “Lets go” his voice low, staring down at your unconscious body and running a hand through his hair once more. They both exit, leaving you there, luckily for you they didn't tie you back up to the pipe. You were just left there - slumped on the floor.

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nerdygirlramblings · 2 months ago

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omegaverse 141

a/n part of this once again inspired by @dragonnarrative-writes and their comment on a previous chapter. also, if you have ideas for a title, that'd be great 😂

cw: a/b/o dynamics and typical omegaverse breeding (m! and f! omegas can get pregnant) mentioned

In the interim between your meeting with Captain Price and dinner with the task force you call your family pack. You know your moms and dad will give you their honest opinions, and right now you want that more than anything.

"Hey pretty girl," Dad says when he picks up the video call. "Everything okay? You usually don't call on a weekday unless we've planned it." For a moment you simply take in his smile and the way he's trying to reassure you.

You deflect. "How are you feeling, Dad?" He's carrying another litter, and after losing the last two, you know how important it is to everyone that this one is successful.

"Your moms have pretty much put me on bed rest," he says, rolling his eyes. "But you called us, honey, what's going on?"

You sigh. This is what you called them for. "Well, I wanted your opinion on something," you tell him.

"Just my opinion, or do you want the moms' too?"

You tell him you want everyone's opinion, so he moves through your childhood home to where your moms are, each room he passes drawing forth another bittersweet memory that has you missing him and your pack even more.

He finds your moms in your childhood bedroom, being transformed into a nursery, again. He sits on the rocking chair you remember, the one that floated between the three kids' bedrooms each time there was a new litter. Once your moms are standing behind Dad, you tell everyone about the offer to join Price's task force, and by extension his pack.

The more you tell them, the more your mind snags on how appealing being part of a pack is. But you can't help but be scared of the implications of that desire. Despite how Price laid things out, it's going to be hard enough to prove you're worthy of being on the 141, and if you become part of their pack, you'll never escape the talk about sleeping your way on the task force.

Your parents can tell your mind is somewhere else when you hear Mum insert your name into Bowie's "Space Oddity."

"Sorry, Mum. Wha' was i'?"

"I was just saying this - the task force, I mean - sounds like a great career opportunity. But I can't abide how much more danger this puts you in."

Mama adds, "Sounds like this alpha knew how to broach this. Didn't cock it up. And I agree with Mum, this is much more dangerous than what yer doing now. But sweetie, ya didn't see yerself when ya talked about what this would mean ta ya. And what doors it might open for other omegas like your brother."

You tear up. Both your moms see this for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it is. You notice no one's mentioned the other half of Price's offer. "Dad?" you prompt, "Wha' da you think?"

Dad watches you for a few minutes, smiling but sad: you can see it in his eyes. "I think you need to say yes, honey. Even if it scares us more, i's the right thing fer you." Your moms don't chime in; they don't need to. But you need want their thoughts on becoming a pack omega, Dad's in particular.

"And the other part?" you ask quietly, looking away.

"Honey, becoming pack omega fer yor moms was one of the hardest and easiest decisions I ever made. I love yer moms," you watch their faces through his declaration, both putting a comforting hand somewhere on him, "and they gave me all of you pups. If Price is as good an alpha as he is a Captain, if 'e's a guiding hand for his pack, then you couldn't have a better mate. In the end, trust your omega."

And that's the crux of the matter isn't it. Your omega has been scratching at your hind brain all afternoon because she wants to take Price up on both offers as soon as possible, but you need to be smart about optics and your career.

You tell your parents you love them and thank them for their honesty, promising to tell them what you decide before the ink dries. You end the call with a few minutes to spare before dinner and take that time to pull your emotions together.

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #omegaverse #omegaverse 141 #omegaverse tf 141 #a/b/o #a/b/o 141 #a/b/o tf 141 #john price #kyle garrick #johnny mactavish #simon riley #nerdygirl says

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andvys · 27 days ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven’t seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter two

⭐︎ can you see right through me?

Warnings: angst, misunderstandings, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, grumpy!steve, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5k+

Summary: You didn’t think that trying to get close to Steve would end up hurting your feelings — but you also didn’t expect to get a glimpse of who he once was, before the darkness of this world dimmed the light in his eyes.

Authors note: Buckle up for the next chapter y’all, it’s gonna be something. always a shoutout to @hellfire--cult who always takes her time to edit and write with me 🩷

⭐︎ series masterlist

⭐︎ prologue ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

On the first day of your official stay in Hawkins, Nancy took you to the greenhouse, you spent all day gardening, taking care of the crops, watering vegetables and fruit, picking the ripe ones and planting new seeds – it amazed you how well everything was growing, you didn’t think that it would be possible after seeing the effects this world had on nature but you suppose that miracles exist after all.

By the end of the day, your knees hurt, your hands felt sore and there was too much soil and dirt under your fingernails, not that you would ever complain, you haven’t felt as much happiness as you did when Steve told you that you were allowed to stay since… well, since your college acceptance letter and that is too long ago.

On your second you cooked french toast with leftover bread that Nancy had made the day before, using fresh eggs – you were surprised when you found out about the little stable with chickens behind the garden, you thought most animals had died. You made ratatouille for dinner, using the freshly picked vegetables from the greenhouse. Nancy and Eddie had complimented your cooking skills, though the reaction you were mostly looking forward to was Steve’s, he only hummed in approval and he got a second plate, you took that as a good sign.

Today, you haven’t been assigned to any tasks yet and you don’t exactly know what to do when you walk down the stairs to find the house empty, well, mostly empty. There are no signs of Eddie and Nancy, you don’t hear him humming, you don’t hear her walking around in the kitchen or somewhere else, the only one around is Steve. He is in the living room, standing in front of the window, holding a cup in one hand while the other is propped against his hip.

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, it must be his third cup, he already had one before breakfast, another during it. You wonder if he is just addicted to the bitterness of it – it certainly matches his attitude. Or if he is just tired and in need of something to keep him awake, you have a feeling that he doesn’t sleep much.

“Where’s everyone?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch, he heard you walking down the stairs, he felt your eyes on him.

“Eddie is working on the RV,” he grumbles, still not fond of the idea of leaving, nothing will change his mind, he is just waiting for his friends to drop it. “Nancy is with him.”

You nod even though he can’t see you. You look around, still holding onto the railing of the stairs. The house is spotless, clean, not a single grain of dust lying around. Eddie is cooking dinner tonight, so there isn’t anything for you to do around here.

Steve takes one last sip and then he puts the mug on the coffee table, not even glancing at you as he turns around and reaches for the gear he had left by the doorway. He puts the gun into his holster, secures the walkie into his belt and lastly he picks up his rifle before he starts making his way over to the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask, not hesitating to follow him.

“Patrol.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, shaking your head, “I thought you said it’s a two man job.”

He rolls his eyes and stops walking, turning around, he looks down at you, “Eddie and Nancy are busy–”

“I’m not,” you shrug, giving him a smug smile, knowing that he isn’t fond of your company. “I’m coming with you.”

“Can’t you find something else to do–”

“No, I cannot.” You interrupt him as you reach for the door knob and open it, “can’t let you break the rule and let you go out there by yourself, who knows what you might run into. I’m gonna keep an eye out for you, maybe you’ll get distracted with your shoelaces again!”

Steve huffs, clenching his jaw. His eyes move up and down your body, eying your belt, the knives tucked into it, the gun in your thigh holster – he has a hard time believing that any of those things have been used by your hands, you couldn’t even kill the man that had attacked you when you had the chance to – he heard your conversation with Eddie that night, heard what happened, what almost happened to you, you could have killed that man, you should have, but you didn’t.

People like you are not made for this world, it will get you sooner or later.

“Like you’d be able to do anything,” he murmurs under his breath as he steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him.

“What was that?” You turn around to face him.

“Nothing.”

Steve brushes past you, not glancing at you but motioning with his hand for you to follow him, “c’mon.” He makes big steps, fast ones too, forcing you to catch up with him when he is already past the gate and out on the road, walking down the empty street, he ignores the way your footsteps get louder as you hurry to get to his side.

“Jesus, slow down, cowboy.”

Steve scrunches his nose up, furrowing his eyebrows at the nickname you have just called him by.

“Cowboy?” He scoffs as he turns to look at you to see you nodding already, a small but smug smile on your lips, though you look right ahead and not at him. “Why, cowboy?”

“You’re so grumpy and brooding.”

He scoffs again, like you said something crazy, like you didn’t say the truth.

“Who says that cowboys are grumpy and brooding?”

You shrug, “there’s two types of cowboys, the flirty funny ones and the grumpy, brooding ones!”

Steve looks away from you, shaking his head a little. He can’t fight you, knowing you’re right about one thing, he is grumpy. He no longer is the guy he was before all of this, this world that has changed him, and not for the better. He was forced to kill the boy in him when he realized how much he was hurting someone he once loved dearly, he became better, he became a good guy but that guy got his heart broken – that was for the better, as much as it hurt at that time, it was for the better. He became better, he stopped caring about what other people thought of him, he found new friends, he found a best friend, his soulmate.

Robin.

Robin made his world a better place, she fixed his broken heart, she taught him what it was like to have a real friend, an actual best friend. She taught him that love didn’t always have to be romantic, that it could be platonic and that this love could be just as strong as any other.

They had so many plans for the future: leave Hawkins, live in a big city, get a place, figure out a future together.

But then this happened, the world got uglier than before, evil. Their plans got crushed and they were ripped apart. She changed and he did too, and now he can’t be with her whenever he wants, too many things are in the way.

This world had forced him to kill the person he was before all this, he was forced to kill himself a second time.

Steve looks back at you, you don’t seem fazed by this world at all. You’ve been attacked not too long ago and not even that has fazed you, he doesn’t know you, doesn’t know half of your story and all the things you have been through since the day the world had gone to shit but from what he heard, you have seen – encountered some ugly things out there and yet there is something about you, something pure, something… good, something he didn’t think was still out there but he can see it.

He can see it in your eyes, no ounce of hatred resides in them, only goodness, hope that should not even be a thing in this world. You are the complete opposite of him, you are bright, so bright that it almost blinds him, you are all smiles and giggles – and you are so goddamn talkative.

Thirty minutes into patrolling and he fears his ear might fall off from listening to you jumping from one topic to another. So far you have talked about all your favorite movies, bands and books, told him of a specific cowboy character that he reminds you of before saying how much he looks like Patrick Swayze or well, how much his hair looks like Patrick Swayze’s.

You are chattering away, not minding the huffs and sighs that keep falling from his mouth, a signal for you to just shut up. He begins to regret his decision to let you stay.

“I think I made a grave mistake.” He murmurs as he looks around the empty neighbourhood, looking out for any signs of monsters or sick ones.

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you ever shut up?”

To his surprise, you do shut up and for a moment the only thing heard are yours and his footsteps and the leaves rustling from the wind. With a heavy sigh, he turns to look at you. You are pressing your lips together, looking down at the asphalt. He turns away again in satisfaction, enjoying the silence… the silence that doesn’t last long.

“You called the monster demobat before, what does that mean?”

He restrains his eye roll, tries not to clench his jaw.

“Uh…” He pauses, he keeps forgetting that the world doesn’t call the monsters by the names the teens have given them. “Eddie is a fan of a game and he used a name from there to name them…” He cringes at himself.

“Oh!” You say in that voice, the one that pisses him off, the cheerful one. “What game?”

“Dungeons and Dragons.” He replies, hoping that answer is satisfying enough and you finally give him some peace.

“Do you play?”

Steve sighs, tightening his hold on the rifle in his hands. It was a mistake to let you come with him, he hates talking, hates answering questions, hates company.

“No.”

You furrow your eyebrows, tilting your head at him.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the patience to learn all of that,” he shrugs.

“Why?”

Steve takes a deep breath, he is getting irritated by all your questions but he still turns to you, scrunching his face up as he shrugs again, “I-I don’t know, I don’t wanna be a nerd like him?”

You raise your eyebrows, lips parting, your head is still tilted – you look like a fucking curious puppy, he has to look away. He almost sighs in relief when he sees the house at the end of the road.

“It’s a nerd game?”

He huffs loudly, glaring at nothing in particular, “seriously, can you keep quiet for more than two seconds!?” He snaps at you, forcing you to be quiet… for a moment.

He counts the seconds, one… two… You are quiet, it’s almost nice to enjoy the silence again, almost.

He hears you taking a deep breath.

“What was your job before the world ended? Cop?”

Three seconds. Three fucking seconds.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath and he finally stops walking, looking up at the sky, he places his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath before he turns to face you.

You halt in your tracks and turn to face him as well, taking in the sight of his deep frown, of the irritation in his hazel eyes and the annoyance that radiates right off him. You almost get nervous, almost.

“What the fuck,” he grumbles at you, “are you always this talkative?” He asks, stunned. He will be forced to get used to this.

“You don’t ask me anything, so I have to make conversation,” you shrug, pulling your hands up in front of you, “I haven’t had a good talk in months, I have pent up words.”

And you chose him out of… three people – that is… he doesn’t know what to think of this.

“Yeah, Eddie is the best choice for this, not me.”

The frown on your face says otherwise, your eyes move up and down before they stop at his face again, he doesn’t know what you are exactly looking at or searching for but he needs you to stop. He shifts and huffs again, tapping his fingers against the rifle that he holds on for dear life.

“But I want to talk to you.”

He blinks, staring at you like he didn’t understand what you just said, he tries not to look at anything but your eyes.

“Horrible decision.”

You break eye contact, looking away to take in the view around you, you sigh at his words and shrug before you continue walking, making him follow you this time.

“I don’t think so.” You pause and look back over your shoulder to see if he is following. “Don’t you have any questions for me?”

“Uh…”

He does.

But he won’t ask. He can’t. He just can’t, the less he knows the better.

He looks down awkwardly, clearing his throat, “how old are you?”

This time you scoff and shake your head at him, “seriously?”

“What?” He frowns, looking up to see you staring at him with a confused pout – jesus christ.

You sigh and roll your eyes, of course he asks the most boring question.

"Twenty-two."

His eyes widen and his lips part – this might be the first other expression you see on his face other than the constant frown. He stares like you have grown two heads.

“You’re a fucking year older than me!?”

Oh.

Oh…

You didn’t expect to be older than him either, though you aren’t as surprised as he is, he looks shocked even. He stops walking again, you do too.

“So… what about it…?” You ask quietly, lifting your shoulders.

Steve notices the unsure look on your face, the way your eyes move back and forth between his own and the ground, the way you cross your arms over your chest, like you are suddenly insecure.

He clears his throat, straightening up as he blinks himself out of his stupor.

“I… nothing. Nevermind.” He retorts, ready to drop that topic.

“No, tell me.”

For some reason, he can’t look at you when he opens his mouth again.

“You don’t act your age.”

“Oh?” Your voice is suddenly higher than before, hopeful, “do I act older?”

He pulls his brows together, not looking at you yet, finding the ground beneath him very interesting all the sudden.

“...Sure.”

You don’t reply this time, don’t say anything to it, don’t ask any more questions, you simply turn around after a beat of silence, you start walking again, giving him your back.

He counts the seconds, one… two… three. You give him the silence that he wanted this whole time. You don’t look at him either. He got what he wanted but when the awkwardness fills the space between you both, he suddenly feels a sliver of guilt rising up in him, he knows he must’ve hit a sore spot and he can’t help but kick himself for it.

A part of him wants to apologize, the other wants him to stay quiet – the stronger side wins though.

“I uh–”

Though you don’t give him the chance to keep going, you pick up your pace when you see Nancy on the porch, walking away from him quickly, not wanting to spend another second beside him.

He watches you basically flee from him, it makes him sigh and it makes him halt in his tracks. Frustration bubbling up inside of him, a voice in his head calling him ‘dumbass’. He sighs softly, brings his hand up to his head, he runs his fingers through it nervously.

He hit a sore spot, one that made you stop talking to him, one that prevented him from finding out more about you.

It’s for the better.

Yeah, he knows it’s for the better.

Eddie cooked dinner and Nancy set the table tonight, neither of them noticed the lack of attention you were giving to the man sitting across from you or how he kept looking at you, not with hatred or anger in his eyes but with guilt.

He hates that feeling, he hates feeling guilt or regret towards someone he barely knows, towards someone he does not want to let in. He knows that he hurt you with what he said, with how he reacted, he didn’t mean to, he couldn’t have known either – he didn’t react badly, he thought, and yet it shut you up and it made you stop looking at him.

It’s for the better. He kept telling that to himself, kept repeating it in his head, over and over again until he could no longer stand these words.

He notices that your plate is still filled with food, you only ate half of it. The whole time you sat there and pushed around the vegetables on your plate, you looked a little lost, your eyes were troubled, you looked far gone, like you weren’t at the table. Nancy and Eddie didn’t notice as they were busy talking about some news Dustin had shared from the radio station earlier.

“You’re gonna like Dustin,” Eddie says, nudging your shoulder.

Steve watches the way you blink, the way you plaster a smile on your face before you look at Eddie.

Nancy hums, nodding, “yeah, he was always my favorite out of my brother’s friends.”

You squint your eyes, like you are trying to remember something, “your brother is… Mike, right?”

“Yeah, hold on!” She gets up all the sudden, walking away from the table and out of the room, she comes back a moment later with a book in her hand – a photo album. She sits back down beside you and pushes away her empty plate before she slams the album on the table and opens it, flipping the pages, she furrows her eyebrows as she looks for a certain picture, “wait… there it is!”

She points at the picture of a group of four boys, dressed in Ghostbusters costumes. A smile instantly appears on your face and your eyes light up, “aw! They’re little Ghostbusters!”

Eddie chuckles at the picture, even Steve smiles but you don’t notice.

“That’s Mike,” she points at her brother, before she moves her finger to the boys next to him, “that’s Will and Lucas, and lastly that is Dustin!” She points at the curly haired boy.

“Adorable,” you smile, thinking of your own brother. “My brother loves Ghostbusters too, although he’s way older than they are.” You chuckle.

Steve’s eyes are back on you, he didn’t know you had a brother… but then again, he doesn’t know anything about you. It’s for the better.

“Well, that was a few years back, they’re not the tiny humans they used to be,” Nancy laughs sadly. She flips to the next page, “that’s them now – or well, that was them before the world went to shit, I’m sure Mike is even taller now and his hair is longer too.”

The picture shows them at a skatepark, Dustin is grinning into the camera, Mike’s arms are crossed, a grumpy look resting on his face, Will is smiling, Lucas is looking down at the girl leaning into his side.

“That’s Max,” Eddie points at the redhead, “she’s kinda scary.”

You giggle at the serious tone in his voice.

“I have to agree with that.” Steve snorts, earning a short glance from you. He pulls his sleeves up and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyes lock with his for a moment, though you quickly look back down.

There is another picture of Mike and Dustin, both of them wearing the same shirt – The Hellfire Club.

“What’s that?” You point at their matching shirts to which Eddie straightens up in his seat, already grinning.

Nancy and Steve groan at him, causing you to frown.

“I’m glad you asked, sweetheart.” He pauses, looking at Steve smugly.

“That was his nerdy game club that I told you about before,” he rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t tell me he had a club!”

“Shame on you, Harrington. It was the best thing to ever exist beside Corroded Coffin, of course.”

You know all about Eddie’s band already, he told you about it on your first night here, and showed you pictures of his sweetheart.

“I beg to differ–”

Nancy sighs loudly beside you, leaning back in her chair as she prepares herself for their banter.

“Dustin, my buddy, was very passionate about the club.” Eddie grins.

“Oh yeah, that little nerd you stole from me?” Steve retorts, squinting his eyes at the metalhead.

“I didn’t steal him, I’m just cooler than you, Harrington–”

“You– You literally play a boardgame, how is that cool? I was prom king!”

“Oh my god,” Nancy mumbles, shaking her head.

Her reaction tells you that she is used to this, and sick of it.

You though, you can’t help but be amused, looking back and forth between them.

“Cry me a river, Henderson thinks I’m better, in fact, all teens do.” Eddie shrugs and reaches for his beer.

“Except Lucas,” Steve smirks.

Eddie nearly chokes on his beer when he straightens up in his seat, “I apologized!”

Steve shrugs at him this time, taking a sip of the whiskey he poured himself earlier.

“What about you, sweets?” Eddie asks, turning to look at you, “what did you do in high school?”

Nancy turns to you, as well as Steve – and suddenly all eyes are on you and you can’t help but feel a little flustered beneath their gazes.

“I uh… I was prom queen…” You admit shyly, not looking at the hazel eyes that stare at you intensely.

Eddie’s eyes widen, “oh, we have royalty up in here, Wheeler.”

Nancy giggles at his reaction, more so at the look on your face. She’s not surprised, you’re beautiful and sweet.

“You were prom queen?”

Out of the three people around you, you least expected him to ask you anything, but just like before, the tone in his voice, his reaction leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You slowly look up at him.

“You sound surprised and I’m kinda offended. Am I that ugly?” you joke but he notices how your shoulders fall a little.

His cheeks heat up and he wants nothing more than to roll his eyes at Nancy’s and Eddie’s judging faces towards him. He shakes his head at you, “I– no, I didn’t mean that… I mean it’s not all about looks anyways.”

You purse your lips and furrow your eyebrows at his words, taking a deep breath, “...so I am ugly?”

Nancy huffs beside you, glaring daggers into Steve.

“I didn’t say that, I’m just saying that apart from looks… people vote for nice people,” he mumbles, shifting in his seat and under your gaze.

Nancy is back to pinching the bridge of her nose, begging him with her eyes to just shut up.

If only you looked to your right, you would have seen the stunned and comical look on Eddie’s face.

“So you’re saying I’m nice?” You tilt your head at Steve, growing a little satisfied with the way he is squirming around.

He sighs, clenching his jaw and turns away from you, “I’m done with this conversation.”

“...You were a fucking asshole in high school. You got prom king because Billy was a bigger asshole.”

“Were?” You blurt out, making him look back at you stunned.

Nancy hides her giggle with a cough, earning a glare from him.

“He redeemed himself at Scoops Ahoy,” Eddie smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Scoops Ahoy?”

Steve shakes his head at him, if looks could kill, Eddie would be lying on the floor, right now.

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods. “He was an ice cream man, and wore a sailor outfit too.”

“Wait, what?” You ask, stunned. You can’t even imagine that. “I refuse to picture him in a silly sailor outfit, I need proof or else I won’t believe it.”

“Too bad. Every picture of me in that outfit is burned.” Steve declares, looking very convinced until he sees the smirk on Nancy’s face.

He clears his throat before he leans closer to the table, “Nancy Wheeler… do you have a fucking picture–”

“No, I was just smiling,” she shrugs but pulls out two pictures from the album and hands them to you, giving him a smug smile.

“No way,” you mumble as you take a good look at them. There he is, the man you thought had a serious job before all of this actually worked at an ice cream shop, wearing a sailor outfit, in the first picture he even wears a silly hat as he serves ice cream to someone not part of the picture. His hair was much shorter back then, so different from the mullet he now has. His eyes are crinkled, his smile so big and bright, his cheeks slightly pink, unlike the pale color in them now. He looked so different, he looked happy, he looked like a different person.

You glance over at him to find him staring at you already, watching you. His hazel eyes are cold, the frown on his face so deep you are surprised there aren’t any lines on his skin yet, the light in his eyes has faded. There is nothing left of the guy he was before, at least at first glance.

You look back down and focus on the second picture, placing it on top of the other – it turns out to be a mistake because for some reason, your eyes like what they see, a little too much. With his hands behind his back, he stands against a brick wall, wearing the same sailor outfit, though this time without the hat, his hair styled yet messy, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. You don’t know what it is about that picture, perhaps it’s his broad shoulders, the blonde highlights in his hair, the tanned skin or the way the golden light shines on him but he looks handsome – it’s something you haven’t noticed before, you aren’t blind, he is a good looking man but you couldn’t really see it before, not this clearly at least. His rude and mean attitude made it impossible to see, you couldn’t look past it.

Your cheeks heat up a little, your ears do too, you sink deeper into your seat, hoping that none of them notice how flustered you feel.

But Eddie does, he notices the way your eyes are basically glued to that picture, Nancy notices as well – they both glance at each other, amused. And Steve, he notices too, of course he does… The Steve from back then would have loved it, the flustered look on your face.

As you hold the picture, you notice that the sides are frazzled, like a part is missing, like something or someone was cut out of both pictures. You look over them, taking a look at all the pictures lying around, of the teenagers, of other people you haven’t anything about yet, of Nancy’s family, of Eddie and Dustin and it only now dawns on you, that you stepped into something, that these people haven’t found each other in this world but in the one before – a tight circle, a family.

A family you don’t belong in, you intruded – and now even more than before, you understand why Steve didn’t want you here, it wasn’t only about him not trusting you, it was about you stepping into something he didn’t want you to be a part of.

This is his place of comfort that he didn’t want to share with a stranger.

You hand the picture back to Nancy and reach for the wine Eddie had poured for you earlier, you take a big sip.

Maybe you should have left when he told you to, maybe you should have done him a favor, you shouldn’t have broken into someone else’s home.

“Is your brother older or younger?”

It wasn’t Nancy’s voice, nor was it Eddie’s.

It’s Steve’s.

Not only do you look at him in surprise but also Nancy and Eddie. He ignores them though, keeping his eyes on you.

You blink, putting the wine glass back down, you lick your lips.

“Uh… he is older, he’s twenty four.”

“Is he with your parents?” Nancy asks.

You nod.

“Yeah, he was home from college when it all… started. That idiot broke his leg during lacrosse, I don’t know why he kept trying with it, he was never the most athletic,” you chuckle.

“Yeah, me neither. I always hated anything sport related,” Eddie says with wide eyes, earning a snort from Steve.

“You’d get along well, he’s a major nerd.”

��Are you calling me a nerd, sweetheart?” Eddie pretends to be offended.

“Uh,” you look him up and down, “yeah, major nerd just like my brother.”

He nudges your side with his elbow, chuckling at the look on your face.

Steve hides the smile on his face, looking down at his hands.

“I’m hoping to get home, see a big gate surrounding my house, and I bet that asshole has a semi-automatic somewhere and is pretending to be in a zombie movie or something,” you chuckle. “He always dragged dad and me to the theater and forced us to watch the goriest shit. I used to hate it, now I want it back more than anything.”

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, smiling at you. “Maybe you’ll do it again someday, maybe not at the theater but you could do movie nights with your family.”

And his smile slowly fades again, he doubts that you will see your family again, he doubts that you’ll find them how you want to. He thinks it’s wrong of Eddie to fuel your hope, he is doing more damage than anything else and it’s gonna hurt even more when you find your family dead.

There is no hope for anything or anyone in this world, it’s a foolish thing to have.

You shrug, a smile on your face as you get up from the table to rush upstairs. Everyone just sits there wide eyed, looking at each other, hearing how there’s some stumping and then, something falling, and then you are cursing. Two seconds later you are coming back downstairs with something in your hands.

“This is my family.” You put the polaroids on the table, the ones you took back to camp so you would not miss your family so much. “That’s my mom, my dad, and the idiot of my brother.”

They all grab a picture each. Eddie’s picture was of the four of you smiling while camping. Nancy’s was a picture of a family trip to the grand canyon, but Steve’s picture was something that made his heart shrink for some reason. The four of you were laughing, surrounding a christmas tree. You were younger, probably a teen, and it made him think of how now your personality made sense.

You were never shown anything but love. Something he never experienced from his own family. He was slightly jealous at your picture, and he knew you were the only one between the four of you that had a normal and loving family. Nancy’s parents didn’t seem to love one another, Eddie’s father was an abusive asshole that ended up in jail and his mother passed away, and then there was Steve. Even with the apocalypse happening, his parents didn’t even care to find him. Find out if he was dead or not.

His eyes moved upwards to find you looking at him, and he wondered why you had a frown on your face. It wasn’t a second later that he felt his eyes burning and you could see the glistening of tears forming. He can’t cry. It’s stupid to cry about his family now. It’s stupid to cry about something he knew all along. It’s stupid to cry over people that he knew never cared for him.

“Your brother looks like Eddie.” Nancy suddenly speaks, making him look at her as well as you and Eddie. The metalhead tilts his head as he grabs Nancy’s picture and–

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Sure, it was a picture of you four in the grand canyon, but it was your dad’s birthday, and your dad has a fear of pigs. Your brother had the greatest idea to put a pig's head over his head for the picture, and your dad was simply screaming bloody murder while you and your mom laughed.

“I mean, my brother doesn’t play that game you do, but he is a fan of star wars, and he read a lot of books! He liked one called The Hobbit?” Nancy and Steve groaned loudly at your words, which made you confused for just a few seconds and then you realized your mistake when Eddie was talking your ear off about why your brother was so cool, and the reason for that was because the plot for the hobbit was incredible.

And he explained it bit by bit and you didn’t know how to escape him. He was still talking about it like a kid on christmas as Nancy and Steve started washing the dishes, and you wanted to hit yourself for your big mouth. In all fairness, you didn’t know Eddie was gonna get as excited as he did.

“Anyways, what matters is, your brother is cool, so is Dustin and the other teens and Steve sucks.” At the sudden insult, Steve turns around with his hands covered in soap.

“What?” Eddie opened his mouth to probably repeat his words, only for Steve to shake his hands on his face, making the soap fly all around as well as water, and getting into Eddie’s mouth.

“GOD–” He screeched loudly as he got up from the table, rushing towards the sink to try to wash his tongue with the water while Nancy screamed at him to not waste it. Steve was smirking and all you could do was just stare at him. He was being playful. He was being more than the grumpy self he claimed to be with you. You started laughing loudly when Eddie insulted Steve with his tongue out, trying to not taste the soap anymore.

Steve shrugged as he wiped his hands away, turning to look at you doubling over in laughter and it made him feel less guilty for his actions of before. You weren’t immature. Your world was just always filled with love and affirmations, and you just wanted people to feel the same exact way you felt. It was a lost cause for him, but he felt good for making you laugh like this. It’s been a while since he made someone laugh.

It’s a good sound.

☀︎

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things angst #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #grumpy x sunshine #found family

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theetherealbloom · 1 month ago

Text

You Are In Love, True Love

Summary: A lasting love with Pedro Pascal.

Or… you and Pedro get engaged.

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Proposal, Engagement, Fireworks, Loud Sounds, Sparklers, PDA, Fruits, Instagram Posts and Comments,

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: WELL— um, hi! Happy New Year, my loves! I’d like to start off by saying thank you all so much for supporting me throughout this year, and to all the new followers and old ones, just know I appreciate literally each and every single one of you. Lastly, huge shoutout to @mrspascalsworld for coming up with this idea and to the 🌼!anon request.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift, You Are In Love (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift

�� Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST |

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY

You hummed softly under your breath, the tune indistinct but soothing as your hands folded the last of Pedro’s shirts. You carefully smoothed out the fabric, placing it into his suitcase with meticulous care. His cologne, a comforting blend of cedar and spice, lingered faintly in the air around you.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Pedro’s voice broke through the quiet, warm and tinged with amusement.

You turned, finding him leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed and an endearing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The sight of him made your heart skip a beat. Dressed in a soft cotton t-shirt and worn jeans, his hair slightly tousled, he looked effortlessly handsome.

“Someone has to make sure you look presentable for tonight,” you teased, holding up a crisp white shirt. “Can’t have you showing up to a New Year’s Eve party looking like you’ve been wrestling stray dogs.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, feigning offense as he stepped closer. “Is this just a clever way of saying I’m hopeless without you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “If the shoe fits…”

Pedro chuckled, his laughter low and rich as he reached for you. He didn’t touch you, not immediately. Instead, he watched you, his gaze softening in a way that made your chest tighten.

“What?” you asked, a little self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “Just… you. Like this. It’s perfect.”

“Oh, stop,” you said, rolling your eyes to mask the heat creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me while I’m trying to fold your underwear.”

He laughed, the sound filling the room like sunlight. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.” But even as he said it, his hands found your waist, pulling you gently toward him. “For now.”

You let yourself be drawn into his orbit, your arms instinctively looping around his neck. His touch was warm, grounding. “What’s gotten into you today?” you asked softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

“Nothing,” he said, though the slight tension in his voice betrayed him. His gaze dropped for a moment before meeting yours again, and he offered a small, crooked smile. “Just thinking about… everything. Projects, the future. It’s a lot.”

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly against his scruff. “You’re going to be amazing, Pedro. You always are.”

“You think so?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

You nodded firmly. “I know so. And you don’t have to do it alone, okay? I’m here. Always.” You held up your pinky. “Promise.”

Pedro’s lips twitched into a genuine smile as he linked his pinky with yours. “Promise.”

Then he kissed you, slow and deliberate, as if to seal the vow. The world outside seemed to blur, leaving only the two of you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I would do this every day if I could,” he murmured, his voice a soft confession.

“You can,” you replied, your hands sliding down to rest on his chest as you swayed gently to an imaginary tune. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Pedro’s grip tightened slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something unspoken in his eyes. But before you could ask, he leaned in to kiss you again, and whatever it was melted away into the warmth of his embrace.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — AFTERNOON

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer white curtains of the open-air restaurant at Hotel Esencia, casting a golden glow over everything it touched. The gentle hum of the ocean in the background, paired with the soft tinkling of glasses and plates, created a tranquil yet vibrant atmosphere. The restaurant’s lush greenery blended seamlessly with the warm tones of the terracotta floor and wooden furnishings.

You sat at a circular table with Pedro, Omar, Franklin, and Lauren, the sound of their laughter mixing with the gentle rustling of the palm trees outside. Pedro sat beside you, one arm draped casually over the back of your chair. His fingers occasionally brushed your shoulder in soft, fleeting touches as he engaged in a lively debate with Omar about the best way to cut a mango.

“I’m telling you,” Pedro said, gesturing emphatically with his free hand, “the best way is to slice it like a hedgehog and then flip it out.”

Omar snorted. “That’s beginner-level mango cutting. You gotta peel it and slice it thin, man. That’s the pro way.”

Lauren leaned in, sipping her drink. “Why are we even debating this? The hotel staff cut it perfectly for us. Just eat it!”

Pedro turned to you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “What do you think, cariño? Hedgehog or pro slices?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Honestly? I think you both just like the sound of your own voices.”

The table erupted into laughter, and Pedro, ever the showman, pretended to be deeply offended. “Traitor,” he teased, leaning closer to you.

As the conversation continued, Pedro reached for a small plate of fruit in the center of the table. He speared a slice of mango with a fork and held it out to you. “Here,” he said, his voice soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Taste this and tell me I’m right.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but leaned in, letting him feed you the fruit. The sweet, tangy flavor exploded on your tongue, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay,” you admitted, licking your lips. “That’s really good.”

Pedro’s face lit up with triumph. “See? Hedgehog for the win!”

“Does the mango really matter, or are you just using this as an excuse to feed her?” Franklin teased from across the table, his eyebrow raised in mock suspicion.

Pedro didn’t miss a beat. “A little of both,” he admitted, squeezing your hand under the table.

You felt your cheeks warm, and Lauren sighed dramatically. “You two are so gross. Like, cute-gross. But still gross.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, laughing as you leaned against Pedro’s shoulder. “We’re not that bad.”

“Yes, you are,” Omar interjected, pointing at you with his fork. “The way you two look at each other? It’s like a rom-com in real life. I’m waiting for the dramatic love confession during a thunderstorm any day now.”

Pedro chuckled, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “Sorry to disappoint, but I save my dramatic love confessions for sunny beaches and candlelit dinners.”

“Of course you do,” Franklin said dryly.

The banter continued as plates were passed around and stories were exchanged. At one point, Pedro leaned closer to you, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke softly. “You look beautiful today, by the way. I don’t think I’ve told you yet.”

You turned to him, your smile softening. “Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself, you know.”

His grin widened, and he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll take it.”

As the lunch wound down, Pedro took another piece of fruit and held it to your lips, his expression playful. “Last one?”

You bit into it, laughing as he exaggerated a swoon. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

“And you love it,” he replied confidently, his eyes sparkling.

Omar groaned. “Seriously, can someone separate these two before I die from secondhand sweetness?”

Lauren raised her glass. “Here’s to our disgustingly in-love friends. May their PDA always remind us how single we are.”

The table burst into laughter, and you felt Pedro’s hand tighten around yours, grounding you in the midst of the playful chaos.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice just for you. “I’ll make it even worse later.”

You nudged him gently with your elbow, unable to hide your grin. “I’m holding you to that.”

With the ocean breeze swirling around you and Pedro’s warmth beside you, the moment felt like a scene from one of your favorite romance novels—perfectly ordinary and yet entirely magical.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — EVENING

The New Year’s Eve party was in full swing by the time you and Pedro arrived. The beach was transformed into a luminous paradise. Fairy lights strung between swaying palm trees bathed everything in a warm, golden glow. Lanterns floated lazily in the night sky, their soft flickers mirrored on the rippling waves. The mingling sounds of music, laughter, and the gentle crash of the ocean created a magical atmosphere that felt otherworldly yet comforting.

Pedro walked beside you, his hand firmly gripping yours, a quiet, grounding presence amid the bustle of the party. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a wordless reassurance that seemed to say, I’m here, and I’m not letting go.

You greeted friends with smiles and exchanged well-wishes for the new year. Omar cracked jokes that had everyone in your group doubling over in laughter. Franklin and Lauren danced barefoot on the sand, spinning and twirling under the fairy lights. Pedro chuckled softly, pulling you closer to his side as you watched the others, your heart swelling at the sight of such joy.

At one point, Pedro leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I have a surprise for you.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Oh? What kind of surprise?”

He grinned, a hint of mischief lighting his eyes. “You’ll see. Come with me.”

With a quick goodbye to your friends, Pedro led you away from the crowd. You followed him down a narrow path lined with flickering candles in glass jars. The sound of the party faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the shore. Each step seemed to draw you further into an intimate bubble, a world that consisted only of you and Pedro.

When you rounded the corner, you stopped in your tracks. A secluded section of the beach had been transformed into something out of a dream. Strings of fairy lights hung between tall wooden poles, casting a warm, golden light over a blanket spread neatly on the sand. Soft, colorful pillows were arranged in inviting clusters, and a bottle of champagne rested in an ice bucket nearby. Candles flickered in the gentle breeze, their flames casting dancing shadows across the scene.

“Pedro,” you breathed, your voice catching. Your hand flew to your chest as you took it all in. “What is this?”

He turned to you, his expression softer, more serious than you’d ever seen. “Something I’ve been planning for a while now.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Pedro took both of your hands in his, his fingers warm and slightly trembling. His thumb stroked over your knuckles, grounding both of you in the moment.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “About everything we’ve been through. About how much you’ve changed my life. You’re my best friend, my partner, my everything. You’ve made me laugh on my worst days and held me together when I thought I’d fall apart. I can’t imagine a future without you in it.”

Your breath hitched, tears welling up in your eyes. He squeezed your hands, his gaze locked on yours.

“I want your midnights and late-night snack hunts,” he continued, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I want to slow dance in the kitchen with you, humming our favorite songs. I want every moment, big and small, because you make all of them better just by being there.”

Pedro dropped to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The sight stole the breath from your lungs.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion, his brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Will you let me spend the rest of my life loving you?”

You were nodding before he even finished speaking, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “Yes,” you choked out, your voice trembling with joy. “Of course, yes.”

The world seemed to hold its breath as Pedro slid the ring onto your finger. It was delicate and timeless, a gold band adorned with a diamond that shimmered under the fairy lights. You recognized it instantly as the one his mother had worn in old photographs. The significance of it made your heart swell.

Pedro stood and pulled you into his arms, spinning you around as laughter bubbled from your lips. Tears mingled with joy as you clung to him, your face buried in his neck.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his hair.

Cheers erupted behind you, startling you both. You turned to see Omar, Franklin, Lauren, and a handful of other friends holding sparklers, their faces alight with joy as they cheered and clapped. Phones were out, capturing the moment from every angle. The scene felt surreal, like something out of a fairy tale.

Pedro’s smile widened as he kissed you again, his lips soft and lingering against yours. When the fireworks began, you flinched at the loud bangs, your body instinctively tensing. Pedro’s arms tightened around you, his hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “Always.”

You pressed your face into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. When you looked up, his hand was already there to wipe away the stray tear trailing down your face.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, taking your hand. “I want to start this year with just us.”

You nodded, letting him lead you back to your suite. The walk felt like a dream, the buzz of the party and the distant sound of fireworks fading into the background. When you entered the room, the warmth of his hand never left yours.

Pedro closed the door gently behind you, his eyes soft but brimming with unspoken emotion. He stepped closer, his hands cradling your face as he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“You’re my everything,” he murmured before his lips met yours in a kiss that stole your breath. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating taste of him.

Clothes were shed in a trail leading to the bed, each piece falling away with whispered promises and quiet gasps. Pedro’s hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body as if committing them to memory. His lips followed, leaving a trail of fire along your skin that made you shiver.

He laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice low and reverent.

“Never,” you whispered, your hands threading through his hair to pull him back down to you.

The night stretched on, filled with love and passion. Pedro’s touch was both tender and consuming, every kiss and caress carrying the weight of his feelings. And as you lay tangled together afterward, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you knew this was the first of countless nights you’d spend like this.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Happy New Year,” you echoed, your voice soft and full of love.

With Pedro beside you, the future felt impossibly bright.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — MORNING

The sunlight streamed through the curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. You stirred awake, the warmth of Pedro’s arms wrapped securely around you. His chest rose and fell against your back, the soft rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a sense of pure peace.

“Good morning, fiancé,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “Good morning, fiancé.”

Pedro’s lips curved into a lazy grin as he brushed a kiss against your temple. “Fiancé. I like how that sounds. Doesn’t it sound so official? Like I’ve been upgraded.”

You laughed, rolling over to face him fully. “Oh, it’s an upgrade, all right. High maintenance, though. Hope you’re ready for that.”

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer. “Worth every bit of maintenance,” he said softly, his brown eyes locking onto yours with a gaze so full of love it made your heart ache.

After a few blissful moments of cuddling, you sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders. Pedro reached for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers brushing yours as you both instinctively checked your messages.

The notifications on his screen were wild—texts from friends, family, and coworkers all pouring in, congratulating him. You could already hear Franklin’s teasing voice in your head: “Finally! You pulled it off without tripping over yourself.”

Pedro chuckled at the chaos. “Looks like the engagement buzz has already started.”

You glanced at his phone over his shoulder, spotting a text from his sister. “Let me guess, your sister is already planning our wedding?”

“Not just her—my cousins have entered the group chat. They’re plotting from all angles.” He scrolled further, smirking as he turned his phone toward you. “Look at this: Lauren sent a voice note. Wanna bet it’s just her screaming?”

You both laughed as he played the message, and sure enough, Lauren’s excited squeals filled the room.

“I love them,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“And they love you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Speaking of love… I was thinking. Maybe it’s time I post something. You know, about us.”

You raised an eyebrow. Pedro was famously private when it came to his personal life. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He turned to you, his expression serious but full of warmth. “I want the whole world to know how lucky I am. I want to shout it from the rooftops—or, you know, post it on Instagram.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you nudged him playfully. “You’re such a romantic, Pascal.”

He grinned, already opening the app. “Only for you, amor.”

Pedro scrolled through the photos you’d taken during the trip, landing on one from last night. It was a candid shot that Franklin had snapped during the proposal. You were mid-laugh, tears of joy sparkling in your eyes, and Pedro was on one knee, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

“That one,” he said softly, showing you the picture. “It’s perfect.”

Your heart swelled. “It’s us.”

Pedro typed the caption, pausing dramatically as he turned the phone toward you. “‘Guess what 💍.’ Too much?”

You burst out laughing, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “It’s perfect. Post it before I change my mind and make you write a paragraph.”

He tapped the screen, and the post was live.

It didn’t take long for the post to gain traction. Within minutes, the comments flooded in, and Pedro couldn’t stop grinning as he scrolled through them, reading some aloud.

@ franklinlatt: FINALLY. My boy did it. I’m crying. Call me later or I’m disowning you.

@ laurenalexander: AHHHH!!! We need a wedding planning spreadsheet STAT.

@ omar.apollo: Pedro Pascal is officially off the market. RIP to all of us. Congrats, you two!!

Fans were equally unhinged:

@ pedropascalfan101: I AM SOBBING. LOOK AT THEM.

@ fiancégoals: Pedro, how does it feel to have found the literal love of your life? Asking for a friend.

@ pedropascalfanaccount: HOLY CRAP HE DID IT. DADDY IS OFF THE MARKET.

@ pedropascalforever: We love this for you but also… who do I cry to about this???

@ pedrostan: She’s GORGEOUS. Look at them. LOOK AT THEM. I’M SOBBING.

@ cocoullrich: About damn time, man! Congrats to you both!

@ pascalloml: Pedro Pascal is the blueprint of a man. Take notes, everyone.

@ hollywoodbuzz: Pedro Pascal announces engagement in the most adorable way ever. We’re not crying; YOU are.

Pedro chuckled, showing you the screen. “I think they’re happy for us.”

You leaned against him, scrolling through the comments. “Some of them are a little heartbroken, though.”

He kissed your cheek. “They’ll survive. I’ve already won the lottery with you, anyway.”

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — LATER THAT MORNING

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. After a decadent breakfast in bed—mimosas fizzing in crystal glasses, pancakes piled high and dripping with syrup—you and Pedro moved to the balcony. The ocean stretched endlessly before you, its gentle rhythm matching the easy calm between you.

Pedro leaned back in his chair, a slight breeze ruffling his tousled hair, his eyes fixed on you with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You were turning your engagement ring slowly between your fingers, the sunlight catching on the delicate details of the band.

“It was my mom’s, you know,” he said, his voice breaking the peaceful silence.

Your head shot up, surprise and awe softening your expression. “Pedro…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you’d trust me with something so meaningful.”

He reached across the small table, his hand enveloping yours, his thumb tracing slow, comforting circles over your skin. “It’s not just trust, amor. It’s love. Belonging. This ring belonged to her, and now it belongs to you. Because you’re my family now. You’re the person I want to build my life with—the one I want to pass this kind of love down through.”

The sincerity in his words undid you. Your eyes filled with tears, but you managed a shaky smile. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you? Were you saving all this charm for after the engagement?”

Pedro laughed, the sound warm and rich, leaning forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not the only one evolving here. I’m in full fiancé mode now—expect poetic declarations, grand gestures, and probably some embarrassing moments along the way.”

You giggled, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “I don’t think my heart can handle much more.”

He grinned, the dimple you loved so much making its appearance. “Then I guess I’m doing something right.”

For a moment, the world seemed to fade away—the waves, the breeze, the distant hum of life below. There was only Pedro and the quiet magic of being his.

Then, his phone buzzed on the table, pulling you both back to the present. Pedro glanced at the screen and groaned. “It’s Lux. She’s FaceTiming me. Should we answer, or let her stew a little longer?”

“Answer,” you said, laughing. “You know she won’t stop until you do.”

With a resigned smile, Pedro swiped to accept the call, holding the phone out so you were both in the frame. Lux’s face appeared, and her mock-outrage was immediate.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. And no heads-up? No exclusive family memo?”

Pedro smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Some things are worth keeping a surprise, hermana.”

Lux rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Well, surprise or not, I’m happy for you guys. You’re disgustingly perfect together, and I love it. But don’t think this gets you out of celebrating properly when you’re back.”

You leaned into the frame, grinning. “We’ll be ready for whatever chaos you’ve got planned.”

“Good. Oh, and don’t forget to call Dad, Pedro,” Lux added, her tone turning maternal.

Pedro groaned. “Yes, yes. I’ll call him right after this. Thanks for the reminder, coach.”

Lux laughed. “Love you both. Now go enjoy your engagement. And call Dad, or I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

As the call ended, Pedro set his phone down with a shake of his head. “That woman. It’s like she’s my manager and life coach rolled into one.”

You smiled, leaning your chin on your hand as you gazed at him. “She’s not wrong, though. You should call your dad before he finds out from the media.”

Pedro sighed dramatically but nodded. “You’re right, as usual. I’ll be back in a second.”

He disappeared inside to make the call, leaving you on the balcony with the soothing sound of the waves and the weight of the ring on your finger. You turned it slowly, marveling at the reality of it all.

When Pedro returned, his face was lit with joy. “He cried. Happy tears, don’t worry. And he’s already planning a trip to wherever we’re going next.”

You laughed. “Guess we’d better get ready for some family bonding.”

Pedro sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart swelling with love. “I feel the same way. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”

He leaned down to kiss you, soft and lingering, as if sealing a vow between you. The world felt bright and endless, full of promise. And for the first time, you were certain: you were exactly where you were meant to be.

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ilium-ilia · 6 days ago

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Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Two: love, and love well

tw: religious abuse, domestic violence, minor grief, minor man handling

When you arrive home, you lay the wine out on the table like an offering to Jesus Christ Himself.

A perfect trifecta, the florid liquid sloshes and slowly settles in their bottles as you wipe your sweaty palms on the front of your apron. Skin soaked in moonshine, the scent is so strong you almost feel tipsy off of the fumes alone. Luckily, your father has locked himself away in his office, rendering him too far away to smell the stench on you—likely hunched over his well-loved bible to take notes. Even now you can see the way that poor book falls apart at the seams with loose pages and a fractured spine.

(Is this why he rips you apart the way he does? Is this how he loves, and loves well? By ruining? Let all that you do be done in love. If your spine was just as crooked as his bible, would you find him attempting to mend you with glue?)

Instead of ruminating about your father’s strange expression of care, you take note of the light that bleeds on the floor. Honey gold, it livens up the wood floors your father forced you to scrub clean the previous weekend. Cleanliness is close to Godliness, and still he managed to track dirt in not even hours after you had finished. It’s of no consequence—you are grateful to be given so many opportunities to improve yourself in both skill and personhood.

Sighing, the setting sun reminds you that there is a meal to be cooked. Having been denied lunch in favor of running errands, your mouth waters at the sight of the ingredients alone. Beans, sourdough biscuits, brown gravy and sowbelly; the steam and flames leaves your cheeks toasty by the time they’re finished cooking.

You fix up two plates and gather the cutlery to set the table before taking a seat. There are three chairs that surround this small, square table, yet one has remained empty for longer that you’d care to admit. Sometimes, if you stare at the gaping void on your right for long enough, you can nearly feel the warmth your mother left behind. She lingers in odd places throughout the house—in the jar of sourdough starter she created that you still feed; in the lilies she planted along the deck that refuse to die no matter how many times your father yanks them from the earth; in the face of the full moon that winks at you through the window as the sun sets.

As soon as the clock strikes seven, the rusty hinges to your father’s office squeak open. Quiet, like scuttering field mice. His pace is languid as he wanders towards the table, foggy eyes piercing through you. Greeting him with a smile, you gesture to his place at the table where cooling food awaits him with puffs and swirls of steam.

“Supper’s ready, Daddy,” you say as if it wasn’t already obvious. “And I got the wine just like you wanted.”

He responds with nothing but a hum as he takes the seat next to you. His chair creaks and groans beneath his weight, crying out like a wounded animal begging for relief. Swallowing, you roll your lips together as you await his word.

“Say Grace, girl,” he orders.

Eagerly, you fold your hands and rest them above the table before bowing your head. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Father, we thank you for your many blessings. We thank you now for this meal. Please bless it. May it nourish and strengthen our bodies to your honor and glory. Amen.”

Your prayer flows from your mouth like blood from your wounded knuckles, and it’s enough for your father to be content with it. You wait for him to take the first bite before you dare to indulge in the meal you slaved over the hot stove for. A stitch of hunger ravages your stomach and it refuses to relinquish its hold on you until you’ve shoved a spoonful of beans into your mouth. Stomach tinged with avarice, it hardly allows you to taste the flavors on your tongue before demanding you swallow.

Dinner is a quiet affair, like usual. There is nothing for you to share with your father that he doesn’t already know—or something he could find the heart to care for—and he seems to speak to you only to order you around or share his displeasure about something. Usually, his silence means you’re doing well, so you bask in the cold nothingness.

Though, it usually doesn’t take long for him to shatter through the algid atmosphere with a sharp tongue.

“The change that Mr. Beckett gave you? Where is it?” he asks.

Nodding, you swallow the food in your mouth before placing your utensils on your plate to rest. “I’ve got it right here in my pocket,” you assure.

Yet, when you burden yourself with cloth against your aching wounds once more, your stomach drops when you can’t find the change you were given. Blinking, you dig deeper, and still there is nothing but the cotton of your apron. Soft, you’ve had this clothing item for years and it has never betrayed you before. Desperate, you stand to your feet to search, worried that you can’t feel the change in the swathes of fabric in your dress.

The only thing your fingertips brush against is a torn hole.

It’s big enough to fit your thumb through frayed seams—plenty large enough to lose the coins Mr. Beckett gave you. Your heart leaps into your throat where it threatens to choke you and you are brutally reminded of your time in the saloon. Those strange men, how anxious you were to flee that place, how your apron caught on the stool…

“Well?” your father questions impatiently.

“I-I’m sorry, Daddy. I don’t… I don’t have it,” you admit.

Though you’ve already admitted defeat, your hands continue to fruitlessly paw at your skirt. Was it left behind at the saloon? Could you go back now and see if Mr. Beckett cleaned it up? Or did you leave a trail of coins behind you during your walk home like breadcrumbs meant to lure children? Would you have to scrounge the earth on your hands and knees in order to make this right?

“You don’t have it?” he repeats incredulously.

“My apron tore, it must’ve fallen out of my pocket,” you explain with trembling hands. “I-I’m sure Mr. Beckett still has it. I’ll go back and look for it. I’m sorry, Daddy, I promise I didn’t mean to lose it.”

He is quiet. Silent for long enough that your heart begins to quiver in your chest like a hare burrowing beneath the earth to hide from vicious predators. You stand with a rigid spine as you wait for him to wipe his hands on the front of his trousers. When he finally looks at you, his eyes hold nothing but virulent desire.

“No one who practices deceit shall dwell in my house; no one who utters lies shall continue before my eyes,” he quotes. “Nothing but excuses and empty promises. Tell me, girl, why do you lie to me?”

“I’m not lying, I swear it,” you assure.

“Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord,” he quotes further.

“Daddy please, I’d never lie to you,” you beg. Tears begin to trespass along your cheeks, but you know better than to wipe them away. If you don’t acknowledge their existence, then maybe he won’t either.

“Not only are you a liar, but you are a thief,” your father claims as he rises from his seat. He moves around the table and you find your teeth biting into your tongue to prevent you from begging any further. “What punishment do you think is fit for a liar and a thief? Do they deserve mercy? Does a false witness go unpunished, girl? Or shall he who breathes out lies perish?”

You are given no time to contemplate his questions and rehearsed verses before the back of his hand bites into the apple of your cheek. He carries more strength than a preacher should—oftentimes you wonder if he carries the strength of God Himself when he punishes you. Your ears ring at the impact as your feet stumble from the force. A lip in the wooden floor catches your heel, and you cry out as you fall onto your rump. Lights dance in your vision like sun flares on a photograph as you stare up at your father. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was a halo of light around his head.

But you do know better. The only thing that ever illuminates your father is his anger.

He strikes you three more times on the same cheek. He’s kneeling next to you and yet still towers over you—always maintaining power and control. Pain blossoms along the side of your jaw and up into the mushy bits of your brain as you stifle your sobs. A migraine is bound to burrow into the thin layer of your skull soon, but for now the only thing that hurts worse than this throe is your repentance.

“Well,” he speaks when he’s finally determined that you’ve had enough. “Go then. If you say you’ve lost it, then go find it, and don’t you dare return until you do. Do I make myself clear, girl?”

Clutching the side of your face, you nod only for him to bark at you to speak. “Yes, Daddy. I understand.”

When the cool dusk air hits your skin, you do not find yourself heading into town. You do not chase the change that lurks in the thicket that lines the trail or in Mr. Beckett’s rowdy saloon. Instead, you follow the moonlit trail that your mother used to take you on when you were a child.

It looks different in the dying light of the sun—or perhaps you have your tears to thank for the distortion. Still, it’s a path you could follow even with your eyes plucked from your head, and you continue to stumble further and further away from home while you lament in your sorrows. Even the crickets join you in your babbling as they leap out of your way and dive into the bramble.

Something has broken in you today. Something that has been suffering from stress fractures and erosion for longer than it should have, and now it gushes. It ferments like wine and festers like a bad wound and for a moment you swear you hear the moon urging you to follow its guiding light. Your father always told you that if you ever got lost, all you needed to do was look for the steeple that towers close to God and you’d find your way back, yet now you find relief in looking over your shoulder to see it growing smaller in the distance. Even as the worn trail ends in a fit of weeds and fallen trees, you persevere along the chossy earth.

Your feet don’t stop moving until your toes catch on a clump of sagebrush at the top of a steep hill. You save yourself before you tumble to the ground and you use that opportunity to let yourself slowly sink into the dirt. It isn’t until you’re resting on your bum that your body is able to comprehend the amount of pain you’re in. The sting of your knuckles, the bruises that taint your knees, and the throb in your cheek—it all coalesces until it sears your skin just as bad as your obloquy does.

Despite it all, there is still beauty.

It flickers in the distance as your sleepy town begins to enjoy evening festivities with lit lanterns and warm windows. Perched high in the hills, you have a perfect view of the way wagon trails carve into the earth like a knife through fresh ham. A part of you swears you can hear someone playing the piano in Mr. Beckett’s saloon, but you shake that illusion as soon as your eyes land on the steeple of your father’s church once more.

You are still too close to home for comfort.

Once you manage to catch your breath, you stand back up on your aching feet and continue trekking through the foreign and unforgiving terrain. You are grateful for the milky moonlight that illuminates the space between tree trunks and bushes, though you still find spindly branches pulling at your dress.

You’re unsure of what you should do in a situation like this. Surely your father sits at home finishing the meal you prepared for him as he waits for you to return with the change he is owed. Yet, the thought of returning home while your wounds are still fresh makes your stomach twist with a terrible, mawkish longing.

Any craving for your mangled sense of home quickly evaporates at the scent of smoke.

It’s an active fire—still burning with freshly cut logs that sputter dark smoke. A skinny plume rises in the air where it weaves between stars and you find yourself utterly stricken with curiosity. The scent grows stronger as you meander. You’re not sure what you’re hoping to find. Here in the middle of the night, out on the fringes of your town—the environs of the wilderness—surely it would be nothing good.

(And never satisfied are the eyes of men.)

Marmalade light bleeds between branches as you catch sight of a small campfire stirring in the distance. Shadows warp your point of view, making your head spin and forcing you to brace against a tree as you squint to make sense of the shapes. You see horses. Several hands tall, they dip their heads low as they lazily graze on the sparse bits of grass at their feet. Their owners seem to also be enjoying food of their own as the scent of game wafts toward you on the bitter breeze.

Braving a few steps closer, you catch the tail end of a chuckle and what sounds like an insult. Then, you see it—an odd haircut bathed in amber. Cropped short on either side of his head, yet leaving a longer trail down the center, the style reminds you of a horse’s mane.

“You can piss right off with that type of talk.”

“Aye, but I’m taking all the firepower with me. Not unless you trust Simon with the dynamite.”

There’s a scoff. “Scary thought, that. Bad enough already trusting you with it.”

Their accents are strange—unfamiliar at the very least. They speak as if they’re fresh off of the boats that traversed across the Atlantic, which isn’t anything interesting. Plenty of people from all over the world flock to see the United States and stake a claim, yet travelers are rare around these parts. You’d expect accents like this to hang around Grand Hollow, not the tiny town of Penmosa on the fringes of nowhere.

Yet, there’s something especial about these figures. Marginally familiar like the way juniper bushes smell just like their berries taste, yet bitter enough to leave your lips puckering. You can’t discern if it’s because of the huff of the man on the right side of the fire, or the warm smile of the man on the left, but there is something haunting about their presence. You soak in the view of them and find nothing but a herald for something truculent.

It isn’t until you meet the sapphire blaze that glints from across the campfire that the familiarity crashes down on you. A low brim hat nearly smothers the flames in his gaze, but there’s no mistaking the man that seems to appear from thin air—these are the men Mr. Beckett warned you about. Recalcitrant outlaws who bring nothing but trouble. Your sweet bartender had told you that they were nothing but wild animals, and now here in the penumbra you are able to witness this for yourself.

(All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.)

The urge to flee hardly has the time to boil in your bones before a fat palmed hand clasps over your mouth to silence you. Your scream dies as a gasp in your throat while your fingers claw at a thick forearm, nails desperately attempting to peel into skin like it’s fresh bread and not pure iron. Squirming heels spade into the dirt in front of you, but the beast at your back moves the earth in order to drag you toward the fire and the pack of wolves that await you.

Mind whirling, you scream into tobacco tainted flesh as the beast huffs with effort to keep you contained. You find yourself suddenly yearning to see the steeple of the church once more, but that desire dissipates as you’re tossed on the ground where you land on your already injured knees with a yelp.

“Don’t like eavesdroppers,” the voice behind you growls.

Palms pressing into the earth, you twist around to gaze at the herculean man that stands above you. He’s just as tall—if not taller—than the horses hitched to the pine trees nearby, and his face is obscured with a dark bandana. Only his eyes are to be seen; not even the incandescence from the fire can thaw the frost he exudes.

“I-I wasn’t eavesdropping,” you stutter.

“No?” the masked man prods. “Just out in the middle of nowhere staring at our camp for fun then, huh?”

“No, no, I just- I was wandering was all. I promise, mister. I didn’t mean any harm, I swear it.” You’re stammering. Tripping over your words before they form. This beast pins you with his gaze and you’re stuck with the threat of his claws as the flames of the campfire lick at your back. The heat is almost enough to evaporate the tears on your cheeks.

“Bullshit,” he says, acidulous.

“Easy, Riley.”

A canorous voice rings behind you, calming the escalating situation though doing nothing to quell your quickening pulse. Eyes stuck on the brute before you, you are forced to listen as a pair of spurs jingle quietly in tune with the crackling of the fire. Languid. Creeping. The sound halts to your left and you finally muster the courage to look.

The boots are nice. Well kept, though worn. Classic cowboy boots with the pointed toes and strong heel meant for keeping steady in stirrups. For a moment you feel as if you’re kneeling in the church again with knuckles bared. These are your father’s boots pacing back and forth as he greedily determines your castigation for whatever transgression you’ve committed before him.

Then, the figure kneels, and you are brutally brought back into the present. The faded blue jeans, the thick belt, and the six shooter glinting in the amber light. This is him—the leader of the 141 Mr. Beckett told you about. There’s no mistaking his vivid azure gaze.

You are plagued with an odd callosity—if you truly had your wits about you, you’d be making a run for it. Now, you are no better than a fawn fainting at the sound of gunshots.

A perturbing smile flickers across his lips as he reaches up and removes his hat, revealing neatly kept dark hair beneath. His eyes don’t leave you, not even as he runs a hand over his locks to smooth out the bumps.

“We’ve got nothing to be worried about here, boys,” the man assures with a sonorous chuckle. He glances around at them where they shift and huff as if disappointed at the lack of fresh meat that should be splayed before them. Then, his eyes find you again where they narrow—almost taunting. “Nothing but a lost lamb, aren’t you?”

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