#soft sunlight [ queue ]

[oathofpromises]

Just like a sunflower blossoming in the midst of darkness, you've had my heart since the start. The one who beheld me in my entirety and never fled.

[skbeaumont]

Honey and Whisky | Joel x F!reader oneshot

Summary: You've been watching him for months, orbiting each other as you both try to deal with the demons you should have left behind when you arrived in Jackson. It's only when you see Joel with another woman that the tension between you finally grows into something palpable.

Tags/warnings: smut, explicit content, MDNI, resolved sexual tension, PIV, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, a little bit of angst but mostly filth, mentions of trauma but nothing explicit, Jackson!Joel, F!reader, reader is not explicitly described, no use of Y/N

Word count: 3.6k

You’ve been watching him for months.

His broad back ahead of you in the queue for work duties; the side of his face in the canteen, strong jaw casting shadows on the tanned expanse of his neck under his open-collared shirt; dark eyes passing over yours as you both line up for the cinema, his kid at his side. He never seems to pay you much attention – never seems to pay anyone much attention – but you’re sure you’ve seen a hint of recognition in his expression each time you cross paths, a sort of unspoken “you again” that passes between you.

You never hold his gaze for long, never make conversation or attempt to get to know him, because you’re sure he’d brush you off. It's not that he’s unfriendly, exactly. He’s gruff and intimidating and more than a little rude sometimes, but he’s also eager to help anyone who needs it, chipping in with repair work and patrols without complaint. He never smiles or passes false niceties like most other folk do, preferring instead to offer terse, grumbled words of advice. He shows the Langstones how to properly repoint the grouting on the damaged side of their house, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the hot summer sun causing sweat to bead in the spaces between the curls on his forehead. He helps old Mrs Lopez with her hanging baskets, carefully raising them into position as she stands below and calls out instructions to him. When he stretches up to secure the last basket his shirt pulls up, revealing a strip of tanned skin and dark hair dipping beneath the band of his jeans.

So, yeah, you watch him. You watch him because he carries tension in his shoulders, unspoken fear in his eyes. There is something cold about him, something that suggests he’s trying hard to leave the man he was on the outside behind but hasn’t quite managed it. It’s a feeling that’s familiar to you, too. Five years on the road hardened you into something you don’t quite recognise in the mirror, the kind of person who flinches if someone gets too close, who can’t stand to have strangers approach from behind even on the safe streets of Jackson. It’s a deep-seated fear that has settled in your bones and seems unwilling to leave. Joel Miller is a man whose ghosts seem to mirror your own, and that makes him hard to look away from.

*****

By late March the snow has finally started to thaw and that’s enough to warrant a gathering in the Tipsy Bison. It’s unofficial, a quickly thrown together occasion that’s passed round by word of mouth that afternoon, but it still seems like everyone in the town is packed into the small tap room. There’s hardly room to navigate your way to the bar, elbows pressing into your sides, shoulders rubbing against your own. The early spring evening light is waning, soft dapples of sunlight casting pretty patterns on the table tops and worn leather seating.

He's at the bar. You don’t see him at first, too lost in your own thoughts, your head filled with the afternoon’s work, hands still sore from the handles of the buckets. But there he is, one elbow propped on the countertop, hip popped out, knee bent. He looks relaxed, for once. There’s an easy smile on his face, his lip curved up to meet the dimple of one cheek, and he’s talking to a blonde woman. Something like jealously flares up in your chest, hot and uninvited.

She’s pretty. Long, sleek hair tied up behind her neck, plump lips, a delicate, pointed nose. You know who she is, vaguely. Rose or Rosa or something, a woman who’s been in Jackson since the start, her eyes unplagued by visions of what you and Joel have both seen on the outside. She lives next door to Joel, a street away from you, though you can see her garden from your bedroom window. She and Joel are talking quietly, their voices lost in the hubbub of the bar, but you still see when she throws her head back and laughs, hand reaching out to clutch at Joel’s shirtsleeve, catching the bulk of his forearm with her slender fingers. His eyes trace the long expanse of her neck, pupils wide despite the bright light of the bar and you know he’s thinking about fucking her, thinking about how she’d look spread out underneath him in his bed, propped up against his pillows.

Then his eyes leave hers and catch yours, and there’s that familiar swoop in the pit of your stomach, that passing glance between you and Joel that always seems to linger. “You again,” it says, sending sparks between the twin points of your pupils, disrupting the reverie of Joel and Rose, pulling him suddenly and violently away from his fantasy.

You look away and hear him clear his throat, feel rather than see him shift where he's stood, imagine the frown that crosses his forehead as he continues to watch you. By the time you’ve got a drink from the bartender – a young guy who can only be a few years older than your sister, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four – Joel’s eyes have left your face and he’s chatting to Rose again, or at least letting her talk at him. Her voice is sweet, like honey and sugar and iced tea, and you almost don’t blame him for wanting to sleep with her, almost understand why he’d let himself be seduced by her niceties, her innocence.

Then you take the first sip of your whisky, feel the harsh, grating pull of it against your tongue, and think no. She’s honey and he’s whisky, and there’s no way you can stand here, in this crowded bar and let her have him when what he needs is the recognition of your own haunted eyes. So you throw back the rest of the bitter drink and slam the glass onto the bar. It startles Joel, despite the busyness and the loud chatter all around, but Rose doesn’t even flinch. Why would she? She doesn’t know that a slammed glass against warped wood sounds the same as the snap of a rifle, that the friction of the contact through your fist against the countertop makes you and Joel both think of the kickback a pistol will give if you don’t hold it square enough.

Rose giggles with something like nerves, all light and high-pitched, her hand smoothing the wood beneath her hand, but Joel’s looking at you again, pressing himself further into the bar top so that he can keep his gaze on your face when Rose leans forwards. And you let yourself turn to him, let the side of your mouth lift up into something like a smile.

Rose’s eyes flick anxiously from Joel’s face to yours. She thinks you’re about to have an argument, you realise, and that makes you smile for real, laughter almost bubbling up in your throat. There’s heat between you and him, and she’s caught between it, feeling the licking flames that in her innocence, her wholeness, she’s misinterpreting as conflict. But Joel’s pupils are blown wide where they hold yours, and he swallows, tongue dipping out from between his lips to wet them. He’s thinking about you, now. You, in his bed, pressed against his pillows, and while the image isn’t as clear as the one he had of Rose, it’s settling deep in his gut in a way that she hasn’t, sending hot coils of pleasure blossoming out to the tips of his fingers.

He’s a lost cause, he thinks. Damaged goods, probably, from the soles of his weary, blistered feet to the ends of his greying hair, but so are you. So it’s easy to push himself away from the bar without a word to Rose, easy to force himself through the throngs of writhing bodies, his broad shoulders turning this way and that to ease his path. It’s easy to pretend he isn’t aware of you following him, that he can’t feel the heat of your eyes on his narrow waist, watching every movement of his hips as you both leave the crowded bar, Rose forgotten behind you.

Outside, the cold is still enough to catch in your throat, but by the time you reach the alleyway that runs between the bar and the first row of houses Joel is crowding you against the wall, pressing himself to you like a man possessed. You let him, fist your hands in the thick expanse of his coat, trying to feel the solid mass of him beneath it. One large hand comes up to your jaw and he tips it to the side, presses his nose into the gap between the hollow of your throat and your jacket and inhales deeply, pulling the smell of whisky from your neck.

“Have me,” you say into the quiet of the alley, and he pulls his head back, looks at you hard, questioning.

“Have me,” you repeat, adding, “not her.”

“You jealous?” He asks, his voice gravelly. He lets his hand follow the curve of your neck into your hair, his calloused fingertips rough against your scalp.

“No,” you lie, “but she should be.”

He chuckles at this, a huffed breath of a laugh that in the cold sends a plume of hazy condensation into the narrow slice of air between the two of you.

“Okay.” He says then, his mouth curving into a grin that he presses against your own lips.

The kiss is rough, needy from the first point of contact. But then he opens up to you, groans into your mouth when you pull his tongue into the wet heat of yours. He brings his other hand up to cup your jaw, huge hand spanning the full length of your face. The air around you is still cold but there’s a fire somewhere deep in your belly, Joel’s chapped lips moving against yours, his broad body pressing you into the rough brick. You jolt against him when he shifts, a thick thigh moving to slide between your own legs. The friction then is delicious, tensing muscle pressing to the centre of you, slick pooling on rough denim. 

It’s a shock as he pulls himself away suddenly, cold air swooping in to replace the heat of his body.

“C’mon,” he says, “my place is closest.”

And then he’s striding away, not waiting for you to follow because he’s so confident you will, disappearing around the corner of the street. You stumble after him, legs weak.

The streets are empty, and that’s probably the only reason he wraps an arm around your waist when you catch up with him. He holds you to him, hard, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip like he’s trying to mark you. Your thighs bump together, his so much larger than yours, coiled strength wrapped up in corded muscle. The walk is only short, and neither of you speak, too set on reaching your destination.

Up the steps, his arm leaving your waist to rummage in the pocket of his jeans and pull out a key tied on a worn piece of string. The lights are all off – his kid is obviously out somewhere – but he pulls you inside without turning them on, the darkness of the evening now fully settled over the town.

Crowded against the front door, you fist your hands into his hair, relish the soft thickness of his curls, the way they glide through your fingertips, his mouth seeking yours out, lips barely skimming your own before pulling back, making you chase him.

“Didn’t think you were interested,” he says into the narrow gap between you, “always avoiding me, seems like.”

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” you tell him, pulling him to you by the nape of his neck, fitting your lips together so that your teeth clash, mouths colliding messily.

He groans into you, pulls away again, asks, “what do you want, pretty girl?”

The nickname shouldn’t make you grin against his lips, shouldn’t send a somersault of ecstasy through you, but it does. You’re not pretty, you know. You’re damaged and rough and so fucking needy. Needy for his hands and his mouth and his lips, that he leans down to press against the column of your throat,  teeth just grazing the skin there.

“Hmm?” he mutters against you, “tell me what you want.”

“You,” You tell him, nails scratching into the delicate skin just above his ears.

When he lifts you, hands gripping the meat of your thighs and pulling you up to rest against his chest you gasp, shifting your hands to link your fingers behind his neck. He carries you up the stairs like that. It’s a little uncoordinated and messy, his hip bumping the banister, your foot catching on the door frame, but then he drops you onto his bed and covers your body with his own, his hands seeking out the flesh of your breasts. He pushes the hem of your top up, kneads at the soft skin there with a practised hand, forefinger and thumb pinching your nipple in a way that has you arching up off the bed.

“This okay?” he asks, voice gravelly and rough, and you nod, but he tsks from between his teeth, “gonna need words, baby,” he says.

“Yes, Joel, please,”

He pushes your jumper the rest of the way up and off, does the same to your t-shirt so that you’re half-naked and writhing under his hands. The sudden hot heat of his mouth over your peaked nipple makes you hiss out a breath, and he chuckles from somewhere deep in his chest, using his teeth to bite down against your skin. Then his hands are pulling at the button of your worn jeans, dragging them and your underwear down off your thighs. He lets them fall onto the rug-covered floor of his bedroom and then his fingers are moving to where you’re wet and needy for him.

The pleasure of his fingers sliding against you is overwhelming and all-consuming, so much so that you hardly notice the way he’s grinding his hips against you, pressing his covered cock into your thigh, chasing friction. You feel him twitch against you as he presses two fingers into the tight heat of you, lips settling at your pulse point, teeth grazing the delicate skin there. It’s enough to tip you over the edge and you come hard, stars blossoming across your vision, limbs shaking with the exertion of it.

“Look so good like this, baby,” Joel says into the side of your neck, “spread out against my sheets like a fucking angel.”

He pulls his fingers from you, drags them up through your folds and then into the heat of his mouth, groaning around them as he sucks your juices from his own skin. Something snaps in you and suddenly you’re pushing him off you, onto his back, straddling his denim-clad thighs and tugging at the buttons of his shirt. The fastenings open easily, buttons worn and shiny with age, revealing a broad chest and softer stomach, a light trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his dark jeans, the scene illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlight outside the window.

He's big; you can see the contour of him against the denim, a solid, thick line that twitches against your palm when you press it into him. You pop the button on his jeans, unsurprised to find he’s not wearing underwear. The jeans join yours on the floor and his cock bobs before you against his stomach, head dark and shiny in the low light, a bead of precum that you kitten lick from him. The movement has Joel bucking his hips, a deep groan rumbling through his chest. When you take him into your mouth he threads his hands into your hair and grips, not pushing you down but just holding you there, grounding himself with his fingers against your scalp. You work your tongue over him, using your hand to cover the part of him that you can’t fit into your mouth and he moans and curses above you.

“Fuck, darlin’, m’not gonna last if you keep going,” he tells you, voice cracking with the effort of it, and you pull away regretfully, moving yourself up to straddle his thighs.

Joel’s hands find your hips and drag you up, up, up so that the head of his cock catches against your clit, slick pooling on his belly as you rock against him. It’s messy and filthy and goddamn incredible, the solid ridge of him pulling against you just right, pleasure building up and up and up so that your thighs tense around him and you’re coming again, Joel’s fingertips digging hard into the flesh of your hips, pain dulled by the pleasure of it.

As you come down he takes the opportunity to roll you both over, slotting himself between your thighs and pressing the blunt head of his cock to your entrance, not pushing in yet, just holding you there, pinned beneath him, dark eyes seeking yours in the relative darkness.

“Please, Joel,” you keen, fingernails scratching a path down the broad expanse of his back.

The kiss he gives you then is soft, almost gentle, but you chase his lips, drag the bottom one between your teeth and bite down hard. He growls as he sinks himself into you, a choked-out moan painting hot air across your cheeks. You’re both lost then, gripping onto each other as heat and pleasure lick a steady flame through you.

The only sounds in the dimly lit room are the hot pant of Joel’s breath and your own breathy sighs. His silhouette is like a marble statue above you, holding himself still on two propped elbows, hard-set jaw working with the effort of keeping himself from thrusting into you carelessly.

“Fuck- Joel, please, fuck me,” you say into the stillness and he dips his head, buries his neck in the space between your shoulder and jaw, rough stubble licking at the skin there.

“Okay, baby,” He whispers, and then he pulls himself out and surges forward again, stretching you around his cock, reaching deeper this time than before.

He sets a punishing pace, one fist gripping the hair at the base of your neck, the other holding himself up so that he can watch where you’re joined. You think about Rose then, wonder if he’d have fucked her like this, fast and hard and needily – no, he wouldn’t have, you decide. This is something that only you and he have a need for, something dark and unrepentant and all-consuming. There’s nothing else in the universe in this moment but Joel’s thick, strong body above yours and the delicious stretch of his cock inside you.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, darlin’,” he tells you, “wanna pin you down and keep you here forever.”

He adjusts the angle, shifts his hips so that his cock hits the spongy spot inside you that sends pleasure shooting up your spine and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.

“Bet you’d let me, too, wouldn’t you?” Joel says, voice hard, hips dragging as he slows his thrusts to press his pelvis against yours, “Let me do whatever the fuck I wanted with you and you’d thank me for it, huh?”

“Yes, God, yes,” Your voice sounds pathetic even to your own ears, high-pitched and breathless.

Joel chuckles darkly, wraps a broad hand around the base of your neck and holds it there, not squeezing but just keeping you in place.

It’s warm in the small bedroom and you watch sweat bead in the creases of Joel’s neck, on the tips of his curls where they rest on the side of his face and forehead. His eyebrows are furrowed, face contorted with pleasure and concentration and when he flicks his eyes up to catch yours there’s that familiar electricity between you. “You,” it says, “it’s always you.” It’s enough to tip you both over the edge. You come hard, cunt clenching and fluttered around Joel’s cock and he lets out a rumbling groan as his hips stutter, his rhythm lost. He slams his hips to yours one last time and then you feel him twitching inside you, painting you with ropes of come. He curses through it, little half-choked mutters of Jesus Christ baby, fuckin’ tight, perfect cunt and then he collapses against you, his sweat-slicked chest hot against yours, both of your gasping in desperate breaths. Joel rolls off of you but pulls you tight to him, arm wrapped possessively around you waist, hand firm on the tender flesh of your hip.

In the aftermath, the orange glow of the streetlight looks like fire against Joel’s white bedsheets. The flames of it lick up the breadth of his chest to his collarbone and you think of a different fire, the one that burned down the last haven you found, over five years ago. You think of the death and destruction of that night, squeezing your eyes tight shut to try to block it out. When you open them Joel’s looking at you, dark eyes holding yours, but his expression is a little distant. The crease between his eyebrows is deepened by the way he’s frowning and you’re sure he’s thinking of his own fire-struck night, his mind perhaps decades away. The sex-sweet haze is already slipping away, but he’s a firm presence beside you and when you take a shaky breath, trying to slow your hammering heart, his arm around you tightens reassuringly.  

Maybe the ghosts can be kept at bay for a while, at least.

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 3) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

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

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 21.3𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩-𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘴 & 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨

note: this chapter is literally insane but 😗 nothing like a bit of forced proximity 🤭

when you emerged from your room, it was already mid-morning. you had pulled your hair back and up from your face, ringlets of loose curls framing your head like a halo. you dressed in the best attire you could fish out of the armoire—a petal pink skirt with furls of embellishments like honey, and a pale beige blouse with tendrils of pastel blue carnations stitched into its chest and up the high collar, gathering tight at your shoulders and pooling into a loose sleeve then the tight cuff of your wrist.

the garments were delicate—as delicate as you felt you were, broken in and soft. from the makeup tray on a shelf in the armoire, you very lightly pressed just a tinge of french rogue powder to your lips and cheeks to smother the swollen puffiness of your face. taking a bit of dark eyeshadow on your pinkie, you smudged it meticulously across your eyelid, hoping you looked positively radiant on this awful, gloomy day, despite the strong sun shining through the windows of your room.

when you passed the porter, marching into the compartment littered with los vaqueros, one-four-one, and much to your chagrin, Ghost, you barely spared the porter a glance. he looked so much smaller, meager, in the sunlight, a chubby pudge to his face and teeth that slightly protruded over his bottom lip. 

still, you bowed your head with a graciousness as he just rudely stared into your face, his hands clenched into clammy fists by his sides.

when you stepped into the compartment, there was a diminishing of noise that coalesced into a steady silence. you ignored them all, sliding onto an abandoned couch where breakfast tea and coffee was laid out. you served yourself a cup, politely curling your legs to the side as you looked out the window.

it was the same scenery as the night before—a stretching half-desert with sparse vegetation and weedy trees, cast in a yellow glare from the sunlight.

Kate slid into the plush chair adjacent to you, the sight of another woman at her shoulder making you jump. she had a mahogany rich tone to her skin, intricate black coils braided tight to her head and trailing down the back of her neck. the almond curve of her eyes and full lips gleamed. 

your mouth parted quite rudely. she was absolutely radiant.

laxing back in her chair, she sat across from you with an easy-going look. she wore loose buckskin trousers with a fringe and a jacket of cowhide, a bandolier slung across her chest. she tipped her hat to you and you sorely missed your stetson at that moment.

“mornin’,” Kate said with a light slap on your knee, which you deemed mildly inappropriate, but at this point, you couldn’t bother to comment.

as if on queue, you eyed Ghost pad over to sit by the woman. he was rock still, face imperceptible and stoic behind the mask, though you noted the twitch of his hand on his holster. another one if his telling habits.

you sipped at your cup. “good morning, Kate.” 

pointedly ignoring Ghost, you gave a polite smile to the woman across from you, offering a hand. “pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“please. call me Maria.” she had the same soothing rhythmical accent as Alejandro and Rudolfo, her voice a smooth, grating honey.

your brows rose. before you could stop yourself, you remarked—

“i had no idea there were women in los vaqueros.”

Kate snorted, and you immediately felt your face flush. if Kate was in one-four-one, or led it alongside John, practically, it shouldn’t have been shocking that there were female gunslingers in los vaqueros.

stupid, you chided to yourself, not missing the way Ghost cocked his head at you curiously.

but Maria just smiled, reaching out to brush her knuckles over Kate’s shoulder, and Kate's fingers inched over to touch her knee in reply. “she’s funny,” she said, tone denoting something of approval.

Ghost cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“we need to talk.”

not to you, you hoped with a bitterness, and found relief when he leaned instead towards the other two women.

Kate’s eyes narrowed.

“you didn’t tell her?” her tone was lashing and it startled you.

suspicious, you turned your gaze to take in Ghost fully. he was staring dead at Kate, unmoving and wordless, till he shifted, knees spreading wider as he settled back. she sighed, long and tired.

“when we get back to san francisco,” she said with a cocked brow, “you’ll be goin’ back to your folks.”

your blood slowed to a thick, icy stop. “what?”

she just shook her head. “we weren’t plannin’ on it but it’s best for you, missy. we won’t be able to protect you much once we’re in the city. there’ll be a full-blown out war. Turner isn’t hellbent on finding you.”

she clasped your knee. “he’s hellbent on killing us.”

you startled when you felt a hand on your shoulder. looking back, Soap was leaning over you, arm no longer in a sling and clasping at your shoulder with a solemn look.

“sorry, bonnie lass,” he said bitterly. “we should’ve never taken ye in the first place.” then his face brightened. “but yer gonna see yer family soon, even if we’ll miss ya.”

behind him, Gaz stood with crossed arms, face pinched with an ever stoic look. you expected that he would be happy about this as the most diametrically opposed to your presence out of all the members of one-four-one, but the despaired scrunch of his brow betrayed him.

your voice cracked. “who decided this?”

the whole room shifted with discomfort, and Kate’s eyes slid to Ghost. you bit back a scream, refusing to even look in his direction. 

his voice was a deep timbre in your head—those were the terms of our agreement.

i own you. body and soul.

if you did go back to your daddy and mama—when you did, Turner would be there, old and wrinkled up like a prune, his stale breath a sigh against your face during long, long nights.

Ghost knew that if he gave you back to your mama and daddy, you would be handed over to Turner instantaneously. and still, he’d rather win the battle over your body against Turner. for revenge.

it seemed that he had no use for you now that his revenge ploy was over with.

John was standing at Maria’s shoulder now, leaning his body weight against the back of Kate’s chair. he looked at you somberly, mouth an etched line beneath the scruff of his beard.

“you saved my life with that bloody good sharpshootin’, sweetheart.” his eyes twinkled. “how can i ever repay you?”

you’d hardly thought John guiding you through your first murder was considered saving his life but you’d take all that you could get.

your mind turning back to Turner, the rushing torrent of blinding rage that consumed you was scary. you hated him with your whole being. you wanted to hate everyone with your whole being. you wanted to hate everyone in the room for doing this to you—their vengeful kidnapping ploy had turned you into a sinful outlaw just like them. but you just couldn’t.

“do me a favor.” you looked from each member of one-four-one, eyes passing over Ghost with a blind haze. “make sure you kill that Turner fucker slow and painful.”

that way you may never have to be owned by him.

Maria laughed aloud. “i like the way you talk, chica,” she said with a malicious glint to her grin, as one-four-one nodded in agreement with your words.

the rest of the morning was a slow haze. los vaqueros conjoined with one-four-one in the lounge compartment just before a brunch. you stuck with Kate and Maria the entire time, sorely avoiding Ghost and the other members of one-four-one, taking slow bites you could barely hold down.

an all-consuming grief pinched at your stomach. you would’ve gladly avoided the rest of them for the next day of travel on the train if Gaz didn’t barricade your way out the dining car. most of the men had filtered out, only a few stray los vaqueros lingering out of ear-shot.

Gaz crossed his arms in the doorway, looking down at you with a hooded face.

you cocked your brow. “yes?”

Gaz’s dislike for you had been obvious since day one. since the first moment you heard him speak, he had protested your stay at their base, which didn’t surprise you, but still left you feeling irked in an immature way.

he jerked his head to the hallway. “would you walk with me, ma’am?”

it didn’t sound like a question. turning on his heel sharply, you trailed after him bitterly. even with the pinched displeasure in his tone, he was still as polite as ever. biting down back your tongue, you wondered if the rest of one-four-one thought the same of your mama’s polite manner ingrained in you.

you followed him through several train compartments, a thick uneasiness settling on you from his silent and broad form in front of you, blocking half your sight, but relieved that porter was nowhere to be found. 

as you passed through another lounging car, the sparse spread of people across the plush interior eyed you curiously. one man peered above his newspaper at you, monocles glinting, and mouth skewing into a hard line, eyes shadowed.

you stepped to Gaz a bit closer.

when you reached the end of the first class compartments, he slid open the door that breached between the travel trains and a rusty red boxcar. the steel railway grinding against steel wheels was a louder rhythmic clatter than before.

for a brief moment, you were staggering through the rush of air on the gangway between compartments before Gaz offered you a forearm politely without even a glance. grasping it tightly, his strength was stabilizing, and he pulled you over the gangway and into the safety of the boxcar, your hair whipping in the wind.

several crates littered the space. you had a sneaking suspicion that the both of you weren’t supposed to be there.

Gaz drew the larger door of the boxcar open with a screeching, rumbling tug and dragged a crate an arms length from the edge. he took a seat on the floor, boot dangling just over the gravel tracks that passed below.

“ma’am?” he offered the place on the crate beside you with a gesture and you complied, taking a seat without much question, because there really was nothing else to do on this train.

this train ride bringing you right to your doom, you thought with a grimace.

in the long silence, you overlooked the landscape—there was a sharp dip from the railway into green plains, dotted with purplish vegetation that the sun spilled over with yellow delight

leaning forward to peer at the side of his face, you watched his dark eyes dart over the curve of the passing scenery.

“how did you know about this place?”

the swell of his throat bobbed. his voice sounded tight and airy. nervous. “i wander when i can’t sleep at night.”

you were no stranger to that. you thought back to your first night in the leather crafts shop, the itching anxiety to get out driving you to rummage through the kitchen where Ghost found you. 

pushing the memory from your mind, you tried not to let the apprehension drip into your voice.

“what’s this about, Gaz?”

he shrugged. “just wanted to enjoy the scenery of the land, ma’am.”

your brown quirked. “right. what is this really about?”

he sighed, shifting, his mouth in a sheepish, muddled twist.

“i’m not really sure how I’m supposed to say this ma’am—” your brown quirked again.

you put a hand to his shoulder lightly. “Gaz, for the love of everything good, please stop calling me ma’am.” he glanced at you from his peripheral. “you’re older than me.”

he leaned out of your touch. “right. sorry, miss.”

you bit back your tongue. even though you had just chided at him about his overly zealous formalities, you funnily felt as though you were talking to a nervous little boy with the way he fumbled with the seam of his jeans.

“Gaz, what is this about?” your voice was softened now, trying to coax him out of whatever hole he was digging himself into.

his voice was barely above a grumbling whisper. “Ghost came to me last night.”

you paused, jaw going numb.

sighing, you rubbed a hand over your forehead, smoothing back your hair with unease. “Gaz whatever he told you—”

his voice was soft with awe. “he asked me to marry you.”

the breath stopped dead in your throat, the world spinning at an angle. “what?”

he just nodded slowly, looking as shocked as you felt, his eyes glazed over and wide.

“i know this ain’t the proper way to propose, and when we’re off this train and over with this war, i’ll do it properly i swear, but—”

you held your temple, clutching at the wall of the boxcar. shakily, you pulled yourself to your feet. “stop Gaz. just stop.”

you backed away from the edge and he scrambled up to follow you.

“no, please, just listen—”

“no, you listen.” 

you knew it wasn’t fair to be angry at him. you knew it wasn’t fair, especially with the way he looked so crestfallen, brows pinched and shoulders slumped. 

“if i’m going to be married,” you said with a huff, indignant, “it’ll be on my terms and my terms only.”

he reached a tentative hand out to you, and you let him pick up your palm and press it to his chest.

“i was thirteen when i enlisted for the war.” 

you weren’t looking at him before but you were looking at him now.

he spoke fast and low. “i was an orphan. i didn’t look my age. no one wanted me in london, and the older boys in my orphanage were volunteering for the war. when i signed up, they snuck me in, pulled some strings with the army doctors.” his voice fell to a dead whisper. “i didn’t know what i was getting into.”

you felt stupid when tears welled up in your eyes. he looked so young, so broken in that moment. you wiped at your eyes quickly.

“oh Gaz—”

he let you pull him into a quick, indulgent hug. it was inappropriate and the way his arms hung loosely at his sides felt awkward, but you were grateful he let you do it anyway.

“i owe Ghost my life. i owe him everything. he took care of Soap and i when we were kids. John and Kate too, but they were preoccupied most of the time. Ghost—” he choked with emotion, “Simon was always there.”

it felt almost impossible to imagine a Ghost ten years younger in the militia, around the age you were now, keeping two gangly teens tucked closely to his side on a battlefield, maskless and freer without the malevolent reputation he bore. he wasn’t yet the gunslinging devilish outlaw you knew now. but the image only curled at the edges and soured in your mouth.

you didn’t want to hear this about Ghost.

“you don’t even like me,” you said, blunt, tilting your head up into Gaz’s face. he just looked down at you with an imperceptible face that you couldn’t even begin to pick apart.

then, he sighed, dropping your hand and stepping away.

“maybe not,” he said, voice soft, “but i’d like to try.”

you tried to digest that. “for yourself or for Ghost?”

the empty look he gave you was everything you needed to know. a dead silence followed before it was interrupted.

the boxcar’s far door—from where you had entered—was yanked open, and a member of los vaqueros stepped through.

the front of his jacket was tipped in an oozing red, and he clutched at the spot, shouting out something that you couldn’t understand before the unmistakable vibration of a gun was exploding forth in the air, echoing in the boxcar.

you screamed when his eyes went dark, a thick stream of blood flooding his mustache as he crashed to the floor with a deadly stiffness.

behind him, in the entrance of the doorway, was a man, his revolver raised high. he wore monocles and a twisted expression. you recognized him—the man reading the paper. and his revolver was aimed directly at you. 

Gaz moved fast. much faster than you, as he drew your body behind him, drawing his revolver. before he could even flick his thumb over the safety, a body clad in black whipped forward and reached around the monocled-man’s neck to grip at the collar of an expensive dress shirt. something glinted in the air and it drew over the man’s throat in a quick motion, a red mask gleaming by his cheek.

the monocled-man dropped by the fallen vaqueros.

Ghost straightened to his full height. you watched his eyes dart over Gaz quick—checking for injuries with pinched eyes. you had never noticed him do it before, and you jolted when his hardened gaze snapped to yours.

“we’ve been double-crossed—”

there was a loud, shattering racket from behind him and you saw glimpses of several bodies spill out into the gangway in a tangled fervor. you saw glimpses of Kate’s blonde hair struggling against a man with a disheveled cap and a fashionable black jacket. for a moment you caught his dark eyes, all-encompassing and evil.

the pullman porter.

Gaz rushed forward, revolver raised high, but Ghost only pushed back, driving you through the boxcar and yanking the door open to the next one, revealing another gangway with air spilling over it in dangerous whooshes.

you didn’t have time to think or to feel an ounce of fear, Gaz’s boots hot on your heels and Ghost behind him as they pushed you forward through to the next compartment.

you heard Ghost’s voice in a grit, tight with frustration. “i’m out of ammo,” he explained and Gaz didn’t slow for a second, spurring you further and further forward.

there was a ruminating clamor from behind you. something primal in you roared to life, fear coiling tight and real in your stomach. someone was chasing Ghost, Gaz and you. something primal in you told you it was the pullman porter hunting for you.

heaving the next boxcar’s door with a grit of your teeth, sweat pooled at your back. when you swung out onto the little platform, gripping the railing for purchase, panic rose in you at the sight of railway stretching on and fishing between rolling, green land.

you had reached the end of the train.

that didn’t stop Ghost. he pulled Gaz towards the ladder on the sheer outer wall of the last boxcar.

“up.” you had never seen him so panicked. “go up!”

Gaz immediately complied, spidering up the ladder and out of sight onto the roof of the moving train. when Ghost turned to you, you thought you may puke.

he must’ve seen the blaring alarm in your face because he hoisted you by the waist, yanking you towards the ladder easily. he steadied the trembles of your body with two gloved hands on your waist.

“one step at a time, princess.” there was a ferocity in his eyes. “i’ll catch you if you fall.”

a rush of something gold poured through you, and you steeled yourself, clambering up the rusty ladder rungs one at a time. the wind lashed at your clothes, threatening to steal you out into the open air, but Ghost’s hand was pushing you flush to the ladder against your back. when your boot slipped at the top rung, Ghost hissed, lurching forward, an iron grip at your waist.

at the top of the train, the world felt like it was moving too fast to comprehend. up ahead, a mountain loomed, casting a dark shadow over the train as the sun dipped behind its peak.

“don’t stop,” he commanded, and you scrambled forward, low to the train.

looking over your shoulder, you saw the porter’s head slide over the edge of the boxcar, pulling himself up onto the roof with an eerie ease. he was moving fast, almost full speed.

a revolver glinted in his hand.

Ghost shouted in frustration, hoisting you up by your arm and propelling you into a dead sprint over the train.

one slip, you realized, glancing over the edge of the roof, would send you toppling into the chasmic valley below.

the mountain ahead was approaching rapidly.

Gaz was a few bounds ahead of you, and he turned sharply to shoot at the porter just over your shoulder.

with a yelp, Ghost tugged you down and you flattened against the train. your eyes strained against the noon light and the mountain ahead split into a cave—not a cave, a tunnel.

“Gaz!” you choked out.

he dropped to the train roof with a clumsiness that sent his revolver skidding across the roof and off the edge. the train speared forward into the tunnel, shrouded your vision in a darkness that felt deafening.

Ghost’s hand was inching up your back.

“crawl forward,” he demanded, and you complied, creeping over the cold steel of the roof.

a blinding light ahead advanced, the end of the tunnel in sight.

there was a loud, ricocheting gunshot against the walls of the tunnel, a hot spark of friction against steel flickering in the darkness.

you screamed, Ghost’s hand on the collar of your blouse, as a glaring light enveloped you.

blinking rapidly against the sunlight, eyes burning, you scrambled to your feet with the help of Ghost’s strength.

when your eyes cleared, snapping into a focus, a panic flurried in you at the sight of the end of the train nearing.

you wanted to slow but Ghost kept pushing you forward wordlessly to the end of the train cars.

“where will we go?” you shouted against the violent wind.

a sob almost escaped you when he didn’t respond. Gaz stopped short at the edge of the last compartment, just before the train engine, jacket ruffling wildly in the wind. the look he gave you over his shoulder was one of pure dread.

you jolted when he straightened, barreling past you and Ghost right at the porter hot on your heels.

“Gaz!” Ghost shouted, his low baritone pitched and strained, hand lashing out to pull him back by his jacket but narrowly missing. you turned on your heel in horror.

the porter reeled back in surprise as Gaz tackled him full force to the floor of the train roof. they almost skittered off the edge if it wasn’t for Ghost lunging forward and gripping Gaz by the back of his jacket collar and hoisting him from the edge.

it may have been the weight of their two bodies combined, the rush of the wind, or the clumsiness in Ghost’s blundering, adrenaline drive that caught him off guard for just a moment that the porter took advantage of. he slammed the butt of his revolver into the side of Gaz’s face, and the boy’s entire body fell limp over the porter. 

he scrambled out from under Gaz’s body in a flash, and the scream that tore through your throat was carnal when he seized Ghost’s collar and sprung forward, pushing him right over the edge of the train roof.

Ghost fell with a sickening whoosh, and the speed of the train was already zipping away from his body crumpled against the ground, splayed unnaturally near the train tracks.

you scrambled back on hands and knees, not even sure when you collapsed, Ghost’s body already just a black dot in the distance.

the porter turned to you, the revolver still tight between his knuckles. his eyes were wild.

“who are you?” you screamed over the wind. his face was an ashy dark tone, looking extremely sickly and pale.

“i’m sorry,” he wailed, and you jolted further backwards when tears spilled from his eyes. your palm edged along the brim of the train roof, yelping when your hand almost slipped.

“he said he’d kill me and my family if i didn’t do it.” more tears spilled down his face. “i don’t want to kill anyone.”

his face was twisted up, whole body shaking as he raised the revolver. “but i can’t let my daughter die.”

there was a pop of a safety, and the darkness of his eyes swirling. an imperceptible feeling came crashing down on you—one you couldn’t even begin to describe, an endless downward whirl of dread, acceptance, dread, acceptance.

you thought of Ghost’s body sprawled out by the train tracks in the distance and closed your eyes.

acceptance.

the sound of a strangled cry startled you awake, and the sight of Kate’s arm clasped tight around his neck in his bind sent a whirling electricity down your spine. her blonde hair was wild, eyes even wilder, and she bared her teeth at you in a menacing look.

“for god’s sake, get your useless behind off the ground and help me!”

those familiar words screamed in the back room of the leather crafts shop had you scrambling to life, getting on your hands and knees and launching forward to wrestle the porter for his revolver.

he twisted back, and for a sick moment, you worried Kate would go reeling off the edge too as she dangerously neared it, but she released the porter, using his moment of unbalance as an advantage.

she slammed her hands into his chest and he slid, crashing to the train roof floor, gun clattering to the floor as she fell on top of him. 

you dove for the gun, hand just almost closing around the handle of the thing before the porter twisted over with a surprising strength, dislodging Kate from his body, and pulled it from your grasp.

he gripped it tight, leveling it right to your face, finger on the trigger.

the noise that tore through Kate’s throat was guttural. “no!”

she launched towards you, two strong hands on your arms and pushed you hard. harder than you thought she could, and you tumbled backwards, spirling without direction into free air, and thudding to the forest floor.

something cracked and a numbing pain spread like wildfire from somewhere—your shoulder, body, mind. you couldn’t discern the source of pain, the metrical chug of the train roaring in your ear as it continued on without you.

you woke with a start, breath hitched up in your throat. tears stained your cheeks.

you didn’t remember crying. your whole face felt numb. in fact, your whole body felt numb, save for the throbbing, searing ache in your shoulder. along the joint, there was a numbness at your fingertips and an unpleasant tingling that ran up and down your arm.

groaning, you strained, trying and failing with great effort to move. you tried again and felt a lace of panic when your stiff body wouldn’t move.

is this what it feels like to die?

desperately trying to move when your body wouldn’t budge?

that sent a burst of sparkling energy through you, and you managed to twist your good shoulder, fingertips digging into the ground to push yourself up. your muscles strained with effort, shaking, but they failed with a spasm, and your head fell back into the dirt.

your temples throbbed.

looking up, you noted the darkening dusk of the day. it had been just noon when you were on the train—how long had you been laying there?

there was a cool blue tinge to the air, the moon cresting over a cloudless sky. an unmistakable shiver went through you. the temperature was dropping by the second.

you had felt the same at home. the desert air lacked a single drop of humidity to maintain the sweltering heat of the day at night, and it was the same here in this california forest, though less pronounced. the result was a plummeting temperature.

the thought of home gave you comfort as you lay there in the dirt.

then, you heard a crunching nearby. of feet. boots, perhaps, and you craned your neck back.

a large, black form loomed in the distance. you wanted to be scared, wanted to be panicking in the moment, but a muffled layer of silence was laid over you like a blanket, a ringing in your ears.

at that moment, you just wanted to sleep.

eyes half-lidded, a masked face slid into your blurry vision overhead. his arms coiled around you, very, very gently lifting you from the ground.

“Ghost,” you gasped, a sharp stabbing in your shoulder that contended with the darkness that threatened to pull you into a slumber.

he just shushed you, the sway of his body rocking with each of his steps along the railroad track.

you didn’t have enough energy to say a thing, forehead throbbing, feeling like there was an invisible band contracting around your head with every movement.

“you’re freezin’,” he said in your ear, but it resonated somewhere very distant.

he curled you closer into his chest and that made you jolt back to life from the sharp sensation racing across your shoulder, biting down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood. 

your vision went hazy for a long moment, ears ringing with a muffled dizziness. the pressure in your head warped when you were being lowered down, to what you assumed, might’ve been the forest floor, leaning you back against something solid and hard and cold.

you gasped when you felt his bare fingertips skimming across the skin of your shoulder beneath your blouse.

he just tutted, muttering something in your ear. you tried to hone on it, but it was so distant and muffled and hazy.

then, he was turning your head from side to side and pressing a cool hand to your forehead. you winced when his hands came back to your shoulder, rubbing over it, one hand to the front and the other cradling your shoulder blade.

he twisted your shoulder with a sickening pop, and you were violently dragged back to your senses.

you bit back a loud scream, keeling over at the waist, everything pouring into your mind at once. the rushing and chitters of the forest, the prickly, dry pine needles beneath your legs, the icy rock at your back, and the acute shadows the moon was casting through the holes of the canopy.

it was too overwhelming. groaning, you screwed your eyes shut and slid down the rock to press your ear to it, your good arm to the other ear.

Ghost’s voice was still too loud through the makeshift covers. “dislocated shoulder,” was all he said, hand tapping against your knee lightly.

his hand stopped tapping. “you hit your head hard as well.”

he reached behind your head and pressed his fingers across your scalp. when he found a sensitive, swollen spot, you squirmed away.

“s’just bruised. no blood.”

you felt like there was blood pouring from your ears.

he pulled you toward him and carefully drew your hand from your ear, replacing it with his gloved ones.

“better?”

there was a pleasant, cool muffle over your ears—pleasant enough to open your eyes.

two earthy brown eyes stared back overshadowed by a strong blonde brow and pale skin—

you yelped, scrambling back onto the rock.

Ghost’s outer masked layer of red was vacant from his face, leaving behind the black fabric beneath it. torn rough, he pulled up the remains of it to reveal the skin of his neck, jaw, and lips.

it left little to imagine. the fabric sat on a high, curved bridge of his nose, and the deep-set of his dark eyes made them appear larger than you believed with the red shell of his mask—owlish almost. and then there were the handsome, strong brows furrowing at you.

he just blinked before inching forward in a crouch, covering your ears with his hands again.

your voice was swollen raw, sounding entirely unlike your own. “your mask…”

he was half-maskless.

“it broke,” he offered with a shrug and a very blank look.

Ghost was half-maskless.

his leather palm sneaked around your ankle.

“how’s your ankle?”

“fine.” you were lying. you couldn’t feel anything save for the painful pulse in your shoulder that throbbed in time with your head.

he nodded but the twitch of his lips made it look as though he wasn’t convinced. peeling back his trench coat, you watched as he easily tore through the sleeve of his dress shirt from his arm.

your breath hitched as he slid forward to wrap it around your shoulder.

“what are you doing?”

“returnin’ the favor.” 

you thought back to two nights ago, when you had clutched at the bullet wound in his stomach, ripping off your own sleeve to desperately stave off the red deluge rushing from it.

he had wanted you to leave him for dead that night.

you stared up into his profile, captivated by the plains and curves of it, a slithering heat running circles in your chest.

when he was finished with the bind, wrapping it around your bicep, up over your shoulder, and tugging it tight with a loop around your breast, he had sat back on his haunches, watching you with quiet eyes.

you watched the pink of his lips twitch, his hands curled into fists at his knees. there was a menacing cold circulating through you, and the softness of his eyes, his face, his lips radiated a warmth—

there were a thousand things running through your mind—

instead, you croaked, “what happened on the train?”

he sighed, turning his gaze from you to the dark forest. “we convened with los vaqueros in yuma before boardin’ the train Kate arranged. the owner of the railway company owed us a debt and we—” he cringed, “—we thought we could trust ‘em. turns out, Turner’s men were on the train with us the whole bloody damn time.”

you swallowed hard, feeling even colder. shivering, you drew your good arm around your body. “the porter?”

he nodded. “a fight broke out after brunch. thought it was just some stupid squabble but they drew guns and hell broke loose.”

he pitched forward, hand coming down to loosely clutch at your knee. “i couldn’t find you.”

you pulled back from his touch and his brows pinched together before falling impossibly blank.

“what were you doing with Gaz?”

you gave him a sidelong glance, fighting back the pout that spilled onto your face. “he proposed to me.”

Ghost stiffened, falling back to his haunches. you cocked your head, watching the stoney look on his face.

“and what did you say?”

you scoffed. “none of your business.”

that’s what you wanted to believe, but it seemed that Ghost had one foot in your business at all times, and you didn’t know if you liked it or not.

the absolute image of indifference in his face had a low, simmering anger crawl up your back.

“he doesn’t even like me,” you hissed, remembering the way Gaz would lean away from your touch in the boxcar, stepping back when he felt too close.

you lamented deeply, wondering, why would he want you to marry Gaz?

Ghost’s voice was even. too even. “he’ll marry you if i ask. he feels like he owes a large debt to me.”

your breath hitched, a hot, tight feeling choking your throat. “do you always exert yourself over others like that?”

his voice turned icy, eyes narrowed. “like what?”

you almost snarled. “you’re using Gaz to your advantage—”

“you don’t know Gaz,” he snapped, before adding in a low timbre, “or me.”

his words shouldn’t have hurt you as much as they did because you knew that he was right. you almost knew nothing about the man in front of you. he was an imperceptible enigma you’d only met five days ago, and yet you felt as though you knew him better than anyone in the world, all his tell-tale habits, the facade of his stoicism, the warmth beneath…

it was nothing like the cold, sour feeling curling in the air between you and Ghost right now.

with a humph, you clambered to your feet, an angry immaturity brewing above the grief that pinched at your nerves. he didn’t move from his position on the floor, eyes hard and staring.

you hiked up your skirt ungraciously and began to move in a random direction in the forest.

“what are you doing?” he called from behind you. there was a satisfaction hearing the annoyance lashing in his tone.

“i’m sorry, sir, but i don’t know you,” you gritted back loudly, not even looking over your shoulder. “i don’t talk to strangers.”

the forest was tipped deep into the night now, a murky dark surrounding you. it was hard to make out the stretching, slithering forms of the underbrush that swayed in the breeze. but you were too angry to feel scared.

after a long bout of silence, and several more bounds of your indignant act, your anger waned into worry.

what if Ghost did leave you in this forest? he was giving you up to Turner as soon as you reached san francisco—because you were useless to him now. so what was stopping him from just leaving you to the darkness of the woods?

to the coyotes?

you shivered, and allowed yourself a glance over your shoulder. you shrieked with a jolt at the sight of him looming just a couple steps behind you, looking impossibly large in the stretched shadows of the forest, and moving with an eerie silence.

he huffed. “what? did i scare you, princess?”

you whipped your head back in front of you, hiking up your skirt higher to step over a log. “sorry. i don’t know you.”

“so stubborn,” he mumbled, and you shrieked again when he wrapped an arm around your waist to hoist you over the log with ease. you swatted him away.

“i can do it myself,” you griped, turning sharp on your heel in another direction. he just sighed, trailing after you, steps noisy against the twigs and pine needles underfoot. 

when he knocked his boot against a tree, you could tell the noise was purposeful—making sure not to scare you. it didn’t quell your anger any less.

“do you even know where you’re going?”

that was a stupid question. no, you didn’t.

“yes,” you said instead.

he made a noise between a grumble and groan. “i didn't mean for Gaz to propose so soon.”

that made you stop dead in your tracks.

“i wanted…” he trailed off. you didn’t want to look at him for fear that he may see the tears welling in your eyes. there was nothing but the rustling woosh of leaves streaming through the canopy.

you jolted when you felt the tip of his nose press into the back of your head, voice impossibly deep. “he’s younger. he’s polite. he doesn’t care about purity.”

you heard him swallow. “he’s a good man to marry.”

you screwed your eyes shut, feeling a bothersome wetness come down your cheeks. “that’s not your decision to make.”

his voice was gruff, raw. “i know.”

sighing out, you turned to him slowly, finding a morose and withdrawn scowl twisting his face. he swiped a thumb over your tears.

“how would i have even married him anyway?” you asked in a low tone, surprised by the ice of it. “you would’ve handed me over to Turner the second we landed in san francisco.”

speaking it aloud yourself made the reality of it so much more crushing than hearing Kate say it that morning.

“to keep you safe,” Ghost hissed, eyes flashing with a clenched jaw. after your train escapade, you recognized the expression as something bordering on panic.

“safe?” you scoffed, “with Turner?”

he just shook his head. “Turner’s men outnumber us. with your parents, you’d at least be protected—”

you lurched forward, grabbing the collar of his dress shirt, shoulder aching in protest.

“with Turner!” you articulated, voice rung through with frustration. “i would be his mistress. he could… we would…”

the suggested words went unsaid and Ghost’s flashed—this time with something dark and imperceptible.

“i would kill him before it even got to that,” he said, mouth drawn into a hard life, deadly serious as he grasped your hands on his collar.

“and then what? after the war is over, i leave my parents again and Gaz sweeps me off my feet?” you pressed, trying and failing over and over to pick apart the expression on Ghost’s face.

your anger deflated, words falling flat and soft. “where would you go? back to southern california?”

he just stared at you, and you felt your heart drop. “Ghost? where would you go?”

he looked away from you, fixing on a distant point, and pried your hands from his collar. “i don’t plan on making it that far.”

oh. you gazed at the vacancy of his eyes, the clench of his jaw. he wasn’t planning on making it out the war alive.

your skin felt hot all over, and you lurched forward to jab a finger in his chest and make him look at you. 

“to hell with that.”

but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “it doesn’t matter now. you won’t be going anywhere near Turner.”

now, he pinned you down with a hard look, and you reeled back a bit. “what?”

“the porter,” he chewed out, brow furrowing, “he was trying to kill you.”

your mind whirled. that’s right—you remembered what he said, tears in his eyes when he cornered you at the end of the train.

he said he’d kill me and my family if i didn’t do it.

he had obviously been Turner. you swallowed, remembering the next slew of his words.

but i can’t let my daughter die.

he, a pullman porter with an inadequate paycheck, had risked everything, including his life, for his daughter. you couldn’t say the same for your own father.

you held your forehead, feeling the throbbing pulse of it through your fingertips. “why would Turner want to kill me?”

desperately, you trained every fiber of your mind to run through the notion, coming up with absolutely nothing in the end. you balked. that almost never happened.

Ghost’s thoughtful silence seemed to mirror yours.

but he just huffed, brushing a knuckle to your cheek briefly. “you’re a smart girl. i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

rolling your eyes, you pushed his hand away, a tugging ire in your stomach. “so what now?”

he turned on his heel, giving you a lax look over his shoulder. “we walk to san francisco.”

it turned out that Ghost was a lot more hurt than he made you believe. you had walked a mile through the dark, led by his broad shadowed form and, with the practiced strike of a match, a torch he coaxed to life until you returned to the divide in the forest where the railway drove a split through the plains.

its pathway was ignited with moonlight, and you walked in silence, nothing but crunching gravel underfoot, till you reached a freshwater lake embedded in a softly swaying field that lingered a couple hundred feet from the railway.

Ghost had stripped the bushes of gooseberries and currants along the way, giving you a brief grumbling explanation—we used to eat ‘em during the spanish-american war.

you could imagine Soap and Gaz popping them in their mouths as gawky teenage boys, laughing along the way and a quiet, stoic Simon in their tow. 

you ate them slowly, watching Ghost set up a fire with an ease to the task but with strange shuffling movements whenever he turned. you cocked your head. he wouldn’t twist his body.

“Ghost,” you called, and he didn’t even look at you. “why are you moving like that?”

in your stupor through the forest, or maybe the low lighting of the night, you hadn’t noticed it before. using another one of the matches stowed in the breast pocket of his trench coat, he bent down and blew on the small flame, blooming it to life over a nest of tinder. when it crackled and popped, and he added bigger branches to the fire, you moved closer, shivering in the dark, and spread the collected berries over an unsoiled rock.

your jaw clenched. “Ghost.”

he ignored you again, instead stepping back from the fire and turning so all you saw was the shadow of his back as he discarded his trench coat. then unbuttoning his vest and shirt, he shucked them off, tossing them to the ground by his other clothes. you gasped at the mottled, purple swell of his bare back.

from the bottom of his shoulder blades to his lower back, he was covered in bruises.

“is it bad?”  he looked over his shoulder at you. you couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

your mouth fell open and then closed. “yes. very.”

then he turned, and the fire illuminated yellow and green bruises littered across his ribs and the angry red, puckered stiches across his lower abdomen. your stomach dropped. they looked worse than the last you had seen them—on the bed in the train.

he brushed a knuckle over his ribs and winced. “i think they’re broken.”

you looked up at him with a pinched expression and he raised his brows, mouth twitching with a huff. you hated that he looked amused.

“worried about me?”

you turned to the fire again. “no.”

there was more rustling from behind you and an unmistakable clink of a belt. you screwed your eyes shut and willed yourself not to look back. there was a thud against the grass by your hand, and you looked down to see his boots discarded by the fire. you saw his foot just behind it and a bare calf that turned and padded down the slope to the small lake.

you wanted to scream. “what are you doing?”

he called out, “care for a swim, princess?”

you narrowed your eyes. no, you didn’t.

“it’s improper for men and women to bathe together.”

you just barely looked over your shoulder, watching him in your peripheral. his naked back shone in the moonlight, a white glow cast over the bruises and scars of his back before it slowly descended into the water. he reclined against some rocks, arms spread wide and head lolled back.

“lots of things between men and women are improper to you, princess.”

a strangled noise of frustration left your throat. “what if your stitches get infected?”

he shrugged. at this point, a sliver of the darkness in you hoped they did get infected for not heeding your warning.

standing to your full height, you turned to him, looking over the expanse of the lake, and then the darkness of his lazy eyes trained on you.

you watched him swallow, blonde lashes illuminated by the firelight, he spoke considerably softer, “you looked lovely this morning.”

that morning, when you had dolled yourself up, a pretty, airy skirt and flowery blouse and makeup and all, telling yourself that you wanted to look like the sun after such an awful night. maybe it was for yourself, or maybe it was for Ghost. the latter you would never admit.

but now, you realized, more than anything, the act was for your own bout of revenge. to watch Ghost’s face twist at the sight of you—someone he couldn’t have.

you, who would never let him have you again.

at that thought, you gave him a pretty smile like you were bashful, and the way his eyes widened in surprise was a crush of satisfaction.

but you kept up the act, intent on playing with him. if Ghost had taken so much from you for revenge, you didn’t see why you couldn’t do the same. the idea had a twinge of displeasure curling under your skin. but thinking back to last night had you angry all over again.

“i’m still angry at you,” you said instead, crossing your arms and turning like you were mad. in all technicality you were. 

very.

his voice was low. “you’ve got something on your face.”

what?

“what?” you voiced, head whipping to him.

he cocked his head. “your hair too…” he squinted like he was trying to see you better. “it’s a mess.”

you scoffed. this was not going according to your plans.

“well i’m sorry i don’t look my best after falling off a train—”

“and your clothes too.” his dark eyes raked over your body. “all ruined.”

you looked down at the state of your clothes, torn in places and stained in others. the hem of your skirt was a very discolored smear of brown.

“looks like you’ll have to take them off,” he said with a casual shrug.

your jaw dropped open. “you…”

you searched for the words you couldn’t find. “you’re awful.”

with a nod he said, “just as bad as the devil.”

narrowing your eyes, you gave him a sidelong look. was this another one of his revenge ploys? another way to get you undressed and take another sliver of your innocence?

he shifted on the rocks, arms spread along the wide berth of the bank, and beneath the water you saw his knees tip wide. he cocked his head at you.

an invitation.

of which you could easily say no to, if you liked, but just as much as he tried to trick you, the devil wasn't foolproof. you could weasel your way into one of those cracks and trick him instead if you wanted to. and in that moment, you decided you did.

with the calmest look you could muster, you took off the makeshift sling of your shoulder, and unclipped the back of your blouse, sliding it from your torso with ease and letting it fall to the ground. between the laxness of your face, you glanced at Ghost who, you noticed with disappointment, looked absolutely undisturbed until your gaze trailed down his exposed arm and to the clutch of his hand in a tight fist.

suppressing a smirk, you dropped your holster, then the delicate pink skirt and moved to unlace the back of your corset. you undid it as fast as your aching shoulder could let you, watching the way the warm glow of the fire danced in his black eyes.

the corset fell to the ground, and his head was perked up now, eyes going impossibly dark, as you pulled down the last of your undergarments—completely bare in the moonlight.

but his eyes never left yours, didn’t even look down to your body, as you stepped carefully forward over the pebbled lake bank, heart thundering in your throat. you kept your hands in fists to keep yourself from covering your body, shivering when a gust danced over the field.

as you sank into the water, you were surprised to find it not so unbearably cold, avoiding Ghost’s gaze entirely as you neared him, close enough so that you could feel his foot brush against your calf under the water.

he looked up with hooded eyes, chin close to his chest, breath shallow and wanting—

but you waded right past him to a spot on the rocks a good distance away. you were close enough to see his eyes narrow in your peripheral. 

“what are you planning, princess?”

you shot him a glare. “i’m still mad at you.”

he cocked his head. “are you trying to tease me?”

you sucked in a breath entirely by accident, and you knew it was the most telling answer in the way he shifted over the rocks with an infuriating smirk.

feeling bitter, you asked with a sourness, “are you still trying to bed me for revenge?”

he went completely still at that and you turned your head away from him, looking over the field into the forest. in the distance, those mountains loomed on the horizon, looking like a large void that spearheaded the sky. you tipped your head back, clutching onto yourself, and looked up to the stars that splattered like bright, white paint over the sky.

like the white paint you had splattered over the pale blue wallpaper of your room when you were child, and your mama had lost half of her mind at the sight.

that thought only soured your mood more. there were tears in your eyes now.

biting back a string of unholy curses, you tucked your head away, really hoping Ghost wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he was when there was a moving rush of water as he stood

you could hear him near you, till he was standing over your crumpled form, his hand brushing along your neck.

“can i?”

you should’ve said no. absolutely not.

your plans to fool the devil had gone absolutely wrong. you glanced up at him, the softness of his face, his big hand moving to brush over your injured shoulder. 

you should say no.

with your curt nod, he sank down into the water beside you, and pulled you flush against the warmth of his body, and you just melted into him, your arms curled against his chest, shoulder aching in reply.

you pressed your forehead to his shoulder, embarrassed when wet, warm tears slid from your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and jaw to his skin.

“your ribs…” you sniffled, trying not to lean so hard against his torso when he was practically crushing you to him. but he only wound around you tighter, pressing some of your hair to his face.

your heart ached at the familiar gesture.

“so you are worried about me then?” his eyes glinted but the sullen look on his face quelled any humor in them.

you closed your eyes, basking in the warmth. “i’m always worried about you.”

when there was a long silence, you felt him tap your nose lightly.

“what are you thinking about in that pretty head of yours?”

your mind flashed with more images of your mama. “my mama.”

he hummed, digging his nose in your hair. “tell me.”

you sucked in your lower lip between your teeth, draping yourself over him with an ease. “my mama used to get so mad at me all the time.”

you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “i used to paint on the walls in my bedroom when my nanny wasn’t there and my mama was busy. it drove her crazy.”

“yeah?” he smoothed his thumb over your cheek, and you opened your eyes, finding yourself cradled in his arms and the tip of his nose inches from yours, dark gaze lapping over you in warm waves.

you wanted to drown in them.

“you have pretty eyes,” you told him, feeling your eyelids droop. “kind of angelic.”

he huffed a laugh. “i thought i was the devil?”

“you only want me to think that,” you said dreamily, losing a whole reign of control over your tongue, “satan was an angel once too.”

he pressed his lips to your ear.

“so what’ll it be? devil or angel?”

“s’up to you,” you whispered, clutching at the wet planes of his muscled chest, “are you going to use me for revenge?”

“no,” he said immediately, though his voice was calm. “not again.”

you weren’t exactly sure if that made it any better. 

you could hear his bated breath—the way it was shallow, and sharp. he turned his head away from yours. you caught a glimpse of his blonde lashes curling from the shadow of his black mask.

“what are you hiding from me?”

it was a question you knew he wouldn’t answer as he helped you up from the cold water, wrapping an arm around your bare waist and leading you back to the fire. he just stretched out, completely bare, over a big flat rock embedded in the bank, and orange glow over his skin, and pulled you down to nestle into his side, letting the waves of heat emanating from the fire settle over the both of you like a heavy blanket.

his hand came down in featherlight touches over the curves of your body, trailing up the back of your thighs, to your back, to your neck where he pressed his lips. then his fingertips spidered across your wounded shoulder.

his voice sounded fragile. “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

even you? you wanted to ask, tracing the pleasing curves of his face with your gaze.

you brushed your knuckle along the strength of his jaw, the curve of his nose, his lips…

he just peered at you with dark eyes, blinking gently, pressing the most gentle kiss to the corner of your lips that had you falling into another slumber.

Ghost watched your eyes flutter close, waiting till your breath went deep and even, before he even tried to pry himself away from you.

it was hard to not stay. the inviting warmth of your body warmed his cold heart.

he watched the swell of your chest rise and fall, brushing a hand over the softness of your abdomen. the fire light danced across your peaceful face, the plushness of your parted lips, your hair…

god he loved your hair.

but he pulled away, carefully shifting you in a comfortable position over the rock, where you curled up in his absence. he sat up, wincing from the slide and crunch of his ribs beneath his skin, the sore thrum of the bruises up his back, and listened to make sure the lull of your breath was still even and calm.

then, he tore off his mask and balled it up in his fist.

what the hell was he doing?

he inched further away from you, putting a marginal difference between your bare body and his. but you shivered and something inside him jolted with a stupid, muddled flurry.

quickly, he reached for his trench coat near the fire and laid it over you, feeling a full, fuzzy feeling when you stopped shaking. it was strange. he couldn’t put a single word to the feeling but he knew it was something foreign, something dangerous…

something he couldn’t afford.

but your soft voice was always running circles in his head, and it echoed back out to him.

are you going to use me for revenge?

he sighed out long and hard, tapping his balled up first to his forehead. more of your voices clambered into his weak mind.

do you always exert yourself over others like that?

liar.

i hate you.

liar, liar, liar.

liar, liar, liar, liar—

and you were right. you were almost always right with that brilliant mind of yours, he thought with a twinge of wonder.

Ghost was a liar. he was lying to you, and he was lying to himself most of all. and he knew it too.

“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”

his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”

why had he lied like that?

he watched the side of your peaceful, youthful profile. he allowed himself to reach over and wrap his trench coat around you snugger, content when you exhaled deep, and stroked slowly at your hair. you looked so young. too young.

why had he lied like that?

he knew why. but he didn’t want to admit to that either.

instead, he picked himself up, muffling a groan as his stiff body worked itself to move, and kicked his clothes into a pile over the dirt. then, he reached for your own and folded them neatly into a pile by the fire to warm them by the time you woke.

maybe, he thought to himself, trying to be a sliver of an honest man, if he told you that you were right and that he was a liar, you would forgive him. 

or maybe he would have to beg on his knees for your sweet forgiveness until the day he died.

he wouldn’t mind.

he jolted at his own thoughts, beating them down till they were a silent pulp in his mind.

he knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this war. that knowledge only soured the feeling unfurling in his chest, every thump of his dead heart aching with effort. 

Turner was gunning for him and only him at this point—he was the brand mark of one-four-one. the mask was a tell-tale sign of who he was. even if, in the beginning, it had only been to preserve his anonymity, it ended up becoming an infamous emblem that became an endlessly useful tool of intimidation wherever he went—for business or more violent affairs.

he took a knife sheathed in the outer pocket of his trench coat, making sure not to wake you, and pressed his mask to the rock, cutting out the lower torn portion of it so that it was only half the piece of fabric it was previously.

maybe when he had lied to you about his true intentions one night ago, even if he wasn’t thinking, he knew it’d be easier to break your heart if you hated him. 

because he knew if you didn’t hate him, you’d never leave his side, and he wouldn’t be able to protect you like he wanted to when Turner killed him, and you’d be left…where?

hopefully as Gaz’s bride, he thought morosely.

he couldn’t forget what you said last night—i would’ve been married.

even if he knew that was your own lie, if that was what you wanted, he would give that to you as best as a dead man could.

because the truth was—

you were precious. like porcelain glass. all those nights ago, when you first laid together, he was never planning on touching you. even when he first took you, he was never planning on touching you. least of all for revenge.

not even when he first saw your pretty eyes go wide at the sight of him walking into your daddy’s saloon, in that beautiful blue skirt of yours and the loose clutch of your blouse exposing an indecent amount of your dewy skin when you leaned down. not even when your hands trembled, body just shivering in his proximity. you told him you weren’t scared. he didn’t believe you until you gave him everything that first time.

now, he chided himself for taking anything at all. hated himself for it even. he wanted to be…

dead.

he ruffled at his matted hair, screwing his eyes shut before pulling back on the mask. everything in him quieted—the confusion, the thoughts, the circling endless regret having him bite at his own tail.

it wasn’t one-four-one’s plan to get you personally involved in their lives. when you showed up at the base, it was like you had single-handedly wedged the knife of your innocence into the bottled up lot of them, and pried the can wide open. John, Kate, and Soap adored you. and Ghost had seen the way Gaz looks at you.

or at least he thought that he had. maybe it was his own jealousy contorting his thoughts.

jealousy, he cringed, flipping the knife in his hands, why would he be jealous?

the rustling in the woods answered him, and he twisted around on his haunches, ignoring the stabbing pain blooming into his lungs, and watched something prowl out onto the far clearing of the field. a long snout furrowed deeply at him, and the coyote drew back its upper lip, fangs glinting in the moonlight with a growl.

Ghost only stared back, gripping at the knife tightly, leaning forward onto his fingertips to cover your sleeping form with his body, muscles bunched to spring forward at any moment.

the coyote only crept forward a bit more, lapping at the very edge of the water at the lake, before retreating backwards, ears flattened to its head as it disappeared into the shrouded darkness of the treeline. its tail was tucked in between its legs.

maybe even coyotes were afraid of the devil.

the next morning you woke, Ghost was up, dressed, and fiddling with a knife in his hands. he was perched on the rock beside you, staring off into the horizon and looking pensive which was… uncharacteristic of him.

the fire was put out, embers still burning as a trail of smoke wafted up into the thin morning light.

your stomach growled.

Ghost’s head turned down to look at you and he pushed back the hair from your face with just his glove fingertips. “hungry?”

you nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed, and shifted to sit up beneath his trench coat with a shiver. the rock beneath you still felt a tad warm from the fire last night, but it had cooled, leaving your bare backside feeling numb.

“here,” Ghost offered, shifting in that awkward movement of his to keep the pressure of his wounds, you noticed with a twinge in your heart. he gestured to an array of things spread out over the far rock by the far littered with the berries he collected last night, now coupled with pale looking tubers.

you rubbed at your eyes with a yawn. “you cooked last night?”

he nodded. “wild parsnips.”

they were peeled and cut carefully off the top. he gave you an expectant look, and you supposed he thought you would take them, but instead you shifted over the rock again, shivering with the breeze at your back.

“can i change?” you asked meekly, and he blinked.

“‘course.” he handed you the pile of your clothes folded neatly by the fire, and with a blush, you noticed they were warm.

had he done that on purpose?

“thank you,” you said, looking up at him with a smile, but he just looked away with an indifferent huff, poking at the parsnips with his knife.

he turned his back as you redressed in your ruined clothes, rebounded your shoulder in the sleeve of his dress shirt to the best of your ability, and joined him for breakfast. you split the berries and parsnips into groups—trying and failing to give him a larger portion to compensate for his muscled stature and severe wounds, but he pointedly refused without so much as a bat of his eye and a deep scowl, and when you pressed, he ignored you entirely.

when you both finished a portion of the food, he kicked over the fire and made sure the embers were doused, before you set off across the plains back in the direction of the railway. Ghost told you, from the last time he checked with the conductor, that the train was fifteen miles from san francisco.

you’d be walking the whole day, sure, but it was better than you could’ve hoped for. testing your shoulder with a swing, there was still a sharp ache to it, and you winced, ignoring the side glance Ghost gave you.

you were worried more for his wounds anyway.

about two hours into the trek, you could hear the rasp of his breath and the shallow nature of it. his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides.

“Ghost,” you called, “i think you should take a rest.”

you weren’t even surprised when he chose to ignore you. 

“Ghost,” you repeated, rephrasing your words in a careful deadpan, “i’m tired. i want to rest.”

at that, he stopped with a curt nod, and you both moved to sit in the grassy bank by the railway. he sat with a stiffness and slowly stretched back out over the incline of the slope, hands behind his head and eyes closed. you sat with your chin tucked between your knees beside him. you knew him too well to see that he was playing pretend.

“Simon.” he jolted at the word. “let me see your ribs.”

he opened his eyes and looked at you, lips in a stale line. “they’re fine, princess.”

you rolled your eyes, moving to do it yourself. he hissed with protest when you began to unbutton his vest and you shushed him with a harshness that had him falling silent. you undid his dress shirt next and pushed the fabric aside, gasping at the sight of them.

it was worse. much worse. the strange patches of yellow and green bruises stretched over his rubs had become darker, more pronounced, and a swollen, madly red purple. looking down to his bullet wound, you almost wanted to faint.

it was bright red—angry and puffy with a crust of yellow goop around it. you gasped again.

“Simon this looks—”

infected.

he just stared up at you. the absolute indifference on his face had you balling up your hand in a fist and smacking him lightly over the head with it.

he flinched, reeling away from you with a scowl. “what was that for?”

“your lack of desire for self-preservation irks me,” you shot back, and settled over his hips with your thighs in a bind around him. you could feel him stiffen beneath you.

“i told you it’d get infected if you swam in that lake water.”

very gently, you traced your hands up his torso, and with a twisting impulsiveness, you leaned down to kiss the swell of chest, pressing down into its brawn. then you kissed up his neck, his jaw, his cheek.

maybe each kiss would make him better like in those books you used to read as a child.

he huffed out, and you looked up to meet his half-lidded gaze, swirling and dark and tinged with a lazy hunger. “are you teasing me again?”

you blinked up at him, and he reached down to press a thumb to your lower lip.

“i’m distracting you. is it working?”

he smirked. “too well, ” he hummed, before sighing out, “you’re too good to me, lovely.”

you nodded. “i know.”

pitching forward, you gently pecked that silvery scar on his upper lip and he jolted, breath going more shallow than before. when you leaned back, watching his expression with a fit of anxiety rolling around in your stomach, you watched him lick over his upper lip like he was tasting you.

the jittery feeling in your stomach turned into something else entirely.

“quit bloody teasin’,” he chided, pulling you back down to him and pressing his nose to your ear, face smushed against your hair.

you bit back a snicker and rubbed at the back of his neck. typical Simon.

so easy to please, so easy to make him surrender. 

usually, an ill-tempered voice in you said, flashes of the coldness of his tone, face, body on your bed in the train seeping into your mind. 

remembering yourself, you pulled away and stood again. he watched you with an owlish blink—a look of confusion and question that you chose to ignore as he pushed off the ground to trail after you and back down the railway.

for the next couple of hours of aimless walking, nothing eventful happened, save for Ghost randomly brushing along the edge of the forest, poking around amongst the foliage. you shared few glances and even fewer words, but that didn’t make it uncomfortable. 

in fact, as you eyed the side of his handsome profile, black trench coat fluttering softly in the wind, you wanted this to last forever.

right now, you were just two people in the woods. no war. no gangs. no guns. no violence.

even if he had hurt you.

you stepped closer to him, catching the fabric on the back of his elbow, but he barely even glanced at you when your hand slid down his forearm and pushed shyly into his hand. he easily swallowed your hand in his, lacing your fingers together tightly and squeezing.

later, he pulled out a couple of leaves from the inner pocket of his trench coat and offered them to you. mint, he had explained, chewing on the herbage, it staves off hunger.

you would need it by the time noon came and your stomach was growling again. you both stopped by the tracks to finish the last of the berries and cooked parsnips, chewing more mint Ghost picked from the underbrush of the forest.

the glare of the sun had waned by the time you reached the afternoon, and the railway seemed to stretch on forever, sloping over hills, cutting through landscape, till the trek flattened and the woods drew even tighter to the railway, trees towering overhead.

finally, you reached a crossroads in the railway, where a paved road cleaved through the woods, and on the horizon, revealed a sprawling skyline of buildings—smoke billowing above it, and a strange sort of humming raucous drifting across the terrain.

the sound of it made you apprehensive, and you eyed the hazy gray film in the air. you had never seen such a large town—city, would be better perhaps. you stopped in the road.

Ghost’s shoulder brushed your own. “what’s wrong?”

you squirmed with discomfort in your spot. “what is that?”

he squinted at the horizon. “s’a city.”

just as you suspected. but it didn’t make you any less reproachful. “i’ve only seen them in picture books,” admitted, sniffing the air. “it stinks.”

he gave you a twisted smile. “you should see manchester. my father used to work in the factories.”

your eyes widened, and he just kept walking, leaving you scrambling to catch up. “your father?”

he nodded. “my father.”

“and where is manchester?” you pressed, prying for more out of him, as you peered at the side of his face which was trained on the road ahead.

“england. s’where i grew up.”

you snuck your hand into his again. “did you have siblings?”

his grip stiffened around your hand. “an older brother. Tommy.”

your mouth opened and closed, watching the way his shoulders were tightened now. he obviously didn’t want to talk about either of them, you thought weakly, mourning, and instead changed the subject.

“what was it like in manchester?”

he glanced at you. “dreadful. i never want to go back again.”

“besides…” his thumb brushed against your palm. “i have everything i need in america.”

you nodded slowly, trying to chew that information, and desperately wanting more.

from behind, a growing assortment of noises approached you quickly, the clopping of hooves at your back, and Ghost drew an arm around you as he pulled you off the road. a horse and buggy bumbled down the road with a friendly looking coachman in the driver’s seat. 

he had a scraggly white beard and a fray of white hair strewn over his balding head, a big toothy grin, and a beet, splotchy redness to his entire face.

“hullo there!” he called, slowing his horses as he neared. Ghost’s arm went tighter around you.

“hello sir,” he said with a politeness you didn’t know he could have.

“s’a beamin’ day, is it not?” the man’s eyes mosied up and down your body but not in a rude way. you suddenly felt embarrassed by the state of your clothes and crossed your arms over your torso.

Ghost shook his head. “it’s been awful.”

“oh?” the man leaned in, apparently unperturbed by the mask covering half of Ghost’s face. “pray tell, what happened to you folk?”

“we were comin’ down the same path as you last night,” Ghost said, tipping his hat to the place down the road. “and a couple of coyotes came out of the woods.”

you stared at him. coyotes?

where did that come from?

“scared our horses half to death and they went ballistic. tipped over our buggy and everything and galloped off into the woods.”

the man gasped, spluttering. “heavens! how can i help you kind folk?”

Ghost paused like he was apprehensive. you cocked a brow at how easily the act came to him. “well, we were just trying to make our way to san francisco.”

“well i can do that, no problem!” the man said, scooting over his buggy to make more room. “i’m headin’ there right now to visit the ol’ missus.”

“Ghost,” you whispered, feeling a panic when he pushed you forward gently. “can we trust him?”

“unless you wanna walk another two miles, lovely,” he shot back, though not unkindly, as he dipped his head politely to the man in the buggy.

hesitating, you stepped forward towards the thing.

“this yer lovely missus?” he said with a friendly smile, and Ghost nodded.

“my lady.”

you wanted to smack him.

“howdy, ma’am,” the man said to you, offering a polite hand to shake. you stretched up to the buggy and took it with a tight-lipped smile.

“nice to meet you, sir,” you said, voice coming out weaker than you intended and he only grinned wider.

“well climb on in!”

you hesitated. it was only a two-person carriage, and Ghost might barely be able to squeeze into the space left that the other man left. looking back at Ghost over your shoulder, he just squeezed your waist softly, and slid around you to step up into the buggy himself.

rude, you thought with a huff, but only realized his intent once he was settled in the thing. he spread his arms as an invitation, one hand held out for you to climb into his lap.

his raised his brows at you. you looked from him to the beaming man beside him, something twinkling like knowing in his beady eyes, and you bit back a sigh, taking Ghost’s big hand and letting him pull you onto his lap.

you sat on one of his broad thighs, his chest flush to your back. he snaked an arm around your middle and kissed your cheek softly, hand still intertwined with yours.

you dug your nails into the glove of his palm in warning, withering in his arms, and wholly enjoyed it when he winced. 

the man beside you sighed out but it sounded happy. 

“oh, i remember the days when i just married my missus!” he said dreamily, hitching the horses with a snap of the reins.

Ghost chuckled in your ear, and you sent him a scowl over your shoulder when the other man wasn’t looking, but he only smiled wider, pulling the hair from your shoulder to kiss the back of your neck.

you stood on the edge of the street, bidding the kind stranger goodbye as he drew away from the sidewalk, hitching his horses down the wide san francisco avenue.

entering the city had been an enigma for you. it was even stranger now.

people littered the street. too many people. your mama had let you go to a bigger town now and then near your home with the girls from church, but never too far. she had said it was the role of your future husband to expose you to such harrowing conditions.

standing in the midst of one of the largest cities on the western coast, you could better understand what she meant. women and men sauntered down the road in tight-knight groups, business men in three-piece suits and bowler caps shot past you, and a slew of buggies blundered down the streets that Ghost guided you through.

some peered weirdly at the mask but most didn’t even care to notice at all—didn’t even look up from the point they were trained on getting to. 

in all honesty, you found their behavior quite rude as they passed you.

watching a woman in a pastel, flowing dress with pearls adorning her ears and neck, and silk gloves drawn to her elbows, she had her arm linked with a man with a well-trimmed mustache and pristine suit.

feeling strangely exposed, you inched closer to Ghost and linked your arm with his as well. you looked up at him with wide eyes, a whine building in your throat.

you were uncomfortable. very. very uncomfortable.

he huffed, taking your arm in his. “city life overwhelming you, princess?”

you nodded blearily, wincing when a man almost brushed against you through a tight pass on the sidewalk. you had never been flanked by so many people.

“what about Turner’s men? what if they recognize you?” you whispered out, curling closer to him, and he just shook his head. 

“they won’t without the mask.”

right. you had become so accustomed to the revealing nature of his black mask that you had completely forgotten about the broken, bloody skull layer of it.

you passed through more blocks, buildings scraping the sky so high that you felt dizzy and small. 

you craved to be out in the wide array of the demanding western landscape again. you wished you were still walking along that railroad, chewing mint leaves, and your hand in Ghost’s.

eventually, the skyscrapers dwindled into crumpled, shorter, dingy buildings and the avenues tightened into busy marketplaces. but it was different than you had ever seen before.

men wore linen suits—in grays and blacks with small hooped knots down the front—and bowlers caps. some women wore dark blouses with loose sleeves and low collars that gleamed in the evening’s light, curling with patterns of clouds and the fine leaves of bamboo, and flowing bright skirts over heeled shoes that looked binding.

Ghost watched your face closely, and you slowly turned in the spot. you had never seen a culture that wasn’t of your small western hometown before. “where are we?” you asked him, voice tinged in awe, and he put a hand to your lower back and led you down the busy market street.

“this is chinatown,” he said, and you just nodded slowly, trying and failing to digest it all.

“why are we here?” you pressed, and Ghost pushed you further towards a big brick building at the end of the road that dwarfed the dingy places beside it, a throng of people swarming in front of it.

“Turner’s men won’t come here,” he explained, seeming utterly casual. “they think the bubonic plague’s still lingering.”

you stiffened. “plague?”

he nodded. “it came through san francisco in 1900. it’s been gone for years but Turner doesn’t think so.”

“why not?”

he gave you a sidelong look but his voice was soft. “why do you think, lovely?”

feeling saddened, you gave him a meek look and he just smiled, brushing your cheek with his knuckles briefly. “smart girl.”

when you entered the building, there was a reception at the front and a large folding divider with intricate ink brushes over its surface shrouding the rest of the narrow establishment from view. the interior was extravagant—tipped in gold, marble, and lush patterns and a stark disparity to the image outside of it.

there was a tinge of something sweet in the air, a hazy smoke drifting through the place. you wrinkled your nose.

a man came from behind the folding divider in one of those linen, knot-button suits, hair shaved close to his head, with a big smile and a gold tooth. at the sight of it you went cold.

he spoke in a language you couldn’t understand—taking in its foreign inflections with a feeling of awe, and hearing the word Ghost between the slew of his words.

it startled you when Ghost spoke back in the same swinging rhythm. staring at the side of his blank face, he just ignored your burning gaze.

suddenly, the man turned to you with a slick smile, eyes crawling down for a long moment before crawling back up. the hair on the back of your neck bristled. 

“good evening, ma’am,” he greeted in a gentle accent, “how can i help you?”

Ghost braced against the desk, speaking low and fast in that language. the man’s eyes went dark, but that slick smile never left his lips. then, he grinned, gold tooth flashing, before he gestured with his arm to the intricate divider.

“please follow me.”

Ghost’s grip on your waist was tight as you followed the man behind the divide, walking down a dim, but equally decadent hallway. you jolted away from one of the doors—there was an intermittent bang and shout from inside of the room.

a splinter of fear cleaved your heart, and you shot a look at Ghost before he just urged you forward without so much as a glance. 

“here is your room,” the man offered generously, waving his arm to a wooden door with an intricate carving over the front.

you muffled a gasp at the sight of the girl standing beside it. she must’ve been only a few years older than you, with milky skin and long black hair that came down her slim frame like the brush of swirling ink. the crimson dress she wore wasn’t constricting at all, and exposed so much skin.

from the elbows to her wrists, her ankles, calves, and knees, you could see her bare skin. you averted your eyes immediately, fumbling with your hands, but her gaze was solely trained on Ghost.

he wholly ignored her as the man shooed her away with a rude gesture and fast words. her dark eyes flashed, sending Ghost a nasty look, and then you, before turning on her heel and marching down the hallway.

the man handed Ghost a key and you followed the broad, masked man into the room, quickly shutting the door behind you. the strange, elongated noises from the hallway was diminished now. sighing out with relief, your breath hitched when you noticed the intricacy of the room.

there was a low-lying bed strewn with pillows and rich draperies. the room was littered with different wooden furniture pieces with ornate carvings like geometric mazes in the chairs, wardrobe, canopy bed frame, and sunken table in the far corner of the room. you observed the rolls of paper hanging from the walls, the vases covered in gleaming blue brush strokes, and the dim lamp overhead with red tassels hanging down from its silver sheath.

Ghost sat at the edge of the bed with a crumbling sigh, kicking off his boots. your heart sunk, cringing at more of the gentler noises wafting through the door.

“where are we, Ghost?”

you had a sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t like it.

he cleared his throat, sending you the most apologetic you had ever seen on him. “a brothel.”

you spluttered. “a brothel?”

he had brought you, a good, christian woman, to a brothel?

you did a quick prayer, closing your eyes and clasping your hands together, murmuring under your breath. you could hear Ghost move from the bed and pad closer to you, impossibly silent. 

you ignored him, continuing to pray, as he wrapped his arms around you, impossibly warm and comforting, and tucked his chin into your neck.

“i’m sorry.”

you jolted. opening one eye to look at him, two of his own peered back at you.

you shut your eye, ignoring him and continued to pray in low murmurs. he pressed a kiss to your neck, another i’m sorry falling from his lips. and then another and another wherever he kissed across your neck, jaw, cheek.

you could get used to him saying that. 

it was his warm breath across your lips that startled you back to the present.

when you opened your eyes again, hands still clasped in a bind at your chest, he leaned forward, clothed forehead pressing against your own. 

“i’m sorry.”

a trickle of something muddled dripped down your spine. a new suspicion pricked up in you.

“about what?” you asked, working your jaw slowly.

he buried his forehead into your neck, speaking softly. “about lying to you.” 

your brow quirked.

“about the brothel?” you asked, feeling confused, and he stiffened against you before nodding slowly.

“mhmm.”

that muddled feeling was back again. was he lying about what he was lying about?

you snorted at the thought. that muddled feeling told you he was probably apologizing about a lot of things at the moment—what, exactly, you couldn’t discern. there was a lot to choose from.

“i’m still mad at you,” you said with a tenderness, brushing across the back of his neck with your fingertips.

he just nodded again with a hum.

a much darker furl of despair in your stomach said that this may be the last time he would say sorry to you.

you didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or tonight even, as the hazy dusk settled outside the carved windows. when would the war break out? where was one-four-one and los vaqueros? why had he brought you to chinatown? why a brothel?

when would he be leaving you again?

would he be dead in the next couple of days like he kept promising?

your silence must’ve been telling because he sighed out across your skin and untangled himself from your body and led you to the edge of the bed where you both sat.

your brows rose expectantly as he shifted over the bed and took off his hat, putting it down. you took it into your hands to have something to fumble with as his hand came to the length of your hair, playing with it in between his fingers.

when his silence was too long, you cocked your head. “tell me, Simon.”

it was more of a command than anything.

he rubbed a hand over his jaw with a curt nod, but he wouldn’t look at you. “i know the owner of this establishment. he owns a brothel chain in san francisco. for the night, we’ll be safest here.”

your hands paused, glancing up at him. “you do business in prostitution?”

the relief that bloomed when he shook his head came as a surprise. you released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“an enemy of Turner is a friend of mine,” he said decidedly. “so i learned mandarin.”

you changed the subject. “so what about one-four-one and los vaqueros? where are they?”

“we’ve got a base but it’s across the city,” he said, scratching at his neck, not revealing anything further. you didn’t really expect him to.

“when will you see them?” you asked, sullen.

what you really wanted to ask was: will he take you with him?

“tonight.” his hand dropped from your hair. “only rich politicians come through here. you’ll be safe. i promise.”

you closed your eyes. that was that.

you didn’t really know if you wanted to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“then, you and i will reconvene with them tomorrow. together,” he said, the pad of his thumb brushing over your closed eyelids.

you took a breath of relief. you could work with that.

“and the war?”

his eyes were dark, swirling. “i don’t know. i’d rather stop it before then.”

and still get the revenge one-four-one promised?

you cocked your head. “how?”

the corners of his lips twitched and your brows rose. “it’s a surprise, princess.”

you groaned, exasperated. “no more surprises, Simon.”

“will you allow an awful man to fix a date with you, lovely?”

you gave him a bitter look and his smile only grew. “what makes you think i want you to court me?”

he slowly slid off the bed and you watched in amazement as he kneeled in front of you, hands on your thighs.

“what do i need to do?” he asked softly, eyes wide and beseeching. 

you were in awe at the sight of him—on his knees in front of you, broad body bowed down. you looked over the plains of his masked face, and all that was revealed beneath it. his pale skin, littered with scars, and the silvery one on his upper lip, that blonde brow and tall nose, his telling dark eyes.

you blushed. “more than that.”

“how about this?” he offered, stretching up to kiss the tip of your nose.

“more than that.”

“this?” he kissed over your jaw, down your neck, lips warm and soft and wet when his tongue slid out, sucking at the flesh of it.

“more,” you whined, feeling hot all over when his hands expertly came to unclasp the back of your blouse.

it was perplexing in the way he could strip away your facade in mere seconds, melt the stubbornness from your shoulders, and evaporate any reign of control over your intent to be furious with him.

he had you completely bare in seconds and all your ruined clothes in a pile on the floor, pushing you back onto the soft bed, and then it was his turn. he stood up and undressed in front of you, and you watched with a greediness, that familiar dark, needy pulse between your thighs.

you pawed at that ache, feeling relentless, and his pupils blew wide, hands flying to get out of his clothes.

swallowing, you tried to not let the shame consume you when you dipped your hand beneath your thighs, and touched that spot for the first time. his hands fumbling with his belt stuttered to a stop.

experimentally, you dragged your fingertips against its wet softness, gasping when it came in contact with your clit. it was a little nub that swelled against your fingers, fluttering in time with the pulse of your heart in your throat.

you kept your eyes on Ghost, fighting the droop of them, when you started to circle around it like he had. a pleasure bloomed through you, and you gasped again. curious, you jerked your hand faster, and the intensity of it only spread, through your core, dipping into your stomach, and you thought you saw gold.

with a loud moan, you realized you never knew that you could make yourself feel so good.

you jolted when Ghost let out a guttural, low sound, and pitched forward, pressing his knuckles into the space beside your head, towering over you on the bed.

“you touchin’ yourself, pretty thing?”

you whined with a nod, his words only spurring you on.

when he reached down to grip your hand rubbing against your cunt, you hissed. “no.”

“no?” his brows shot up, eyes searching yours.

“no touching. just watch,” you commanded, deadly serious, arching into your own magical touch.

the sound that left his throat was in between a groan and a whimper, and it made your hips buck up, a whine tearing through you in response.

he sat back, hands twitching against his thighs, and a painful looking swell in his pants, you noticed, but you were perfectly content with the way you were touching yourself.

rolls of aching sweetness unfurled through you.

“are you teasing me, princess?” he asked, head tilted and voice incredibly deep, the swell of his chest fast and breathy.

“mhmm,” you whimpered, slowing your hand painfully so, then quickening again, gasping when a thick wave of pleasure poured over you and swept you into a distant haze. 

“s’your punishment—” you went even faster, “—for bein’ an asshole.”

he groaned at that, leaning down to kiss your bare ankle, and you hissed, pushing him back with your foot to his shoulder. the look he gave you was steeped in such an obvious display of desperation that you almost wanted to give in.

“let me do it,” he rasped, leaning forward to tower over you again, hands by your head, but still not touching.

“no.”

he leaned down to your ear. “please?”

you whined, bucking into your hand, feeling the edges of your vision fade and flutter. you were getting closer to that telltale, delicious, precipice—but frustratingly, it still felt so far away.

“no,” you whimpered, and you chased that edge desperately.

he licked over his lips. “struggling, pretty girl?”

you shook your head, whole body jolting when a new flare of intensity coursed through you. it was almost too much, and suddenly, you wanted to take your hand away.

you looked up to the man perched between your legs, his bare muscled torso gleaming in the dim light, and the sharpness of his jaw spurring you on.

he cooed, “you sure you don’t need my help, pretty thing?”

sniffling, you mewled, feeling defeated when you pulled your hand back, your sensitive clit twitching in response to the cold air that filled the absence where your hand had just been.

Ghost hummed, looking positively pleased at your surrender, and he tentatively brushed his fingertips over the softness of your inner thigh.

“may i?” his eyes were dark and malicious, and a shudder of something bordering on fear slithered down your spine as you squirmed against the blankets.

“please.”

he lurched forward, and you squeaked in surprise when one of his arms slid beneath your back, the other beneath your thigh, as he threw you further up the bed.

“shoulder?” he asked softly, though his hands were rough as he positioned you the way he liked, pressing the back of your thighs up so that almost touched your chest, legs lolling over his shoulders.

you could barely feel anything in your shoulder—all the blood had pooled to your cunt, pulsing with a wild, aching need.

“please, Simon,” you said instead, grabbing his shoulders and pushing them down to where you needed him.

but he was too strong. much stronger thank you, as he pinned your wrists to the bed. 

“answer me,” he said, voice thick and dark, and you whimpered.

“s’fine.”

“you sure?” he breathed over your cunt and you whimpered.

“y-yeah.”

he hummed. “we’re going to do something different today.”

that piqued your interest, pulling you from the muddled haze of your mind. he splayed a big hand over your stomach, pressing against it, the rough pad of his thumb reaching down to rub lazy circles over your clit. 

you melted back into the bed, a deluge of relief coursing through your veins. you think you could come just like this—Ghost leaning over you, sucking the skin of your neck, whispering low murmurs into your ear, and a circling pressure growing against your clit. you think you could mostly because it was Simon.

“Simon,” you whined, and his eyes snapped to yours, turning warm and buttery when he kissed your eyelids.

then, you felt something circling the entrance of your core.

a confused hum left your lips, and you looked down to see his other hand spreading his fingers down the slick of your entrance.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, sliding a hand over his.

“do you trust me?”

your breath hitched, looking up into his hooded eyes. you didn’t take a second to even think—

god, yes, you trusted him. you needed him.

“need you,” you whimpered, truthfully, and his eyes went even darker as he bent down to kiss your clit softly.

then, you watched him push a finger into you, swallowed up by your cunt inch-by-greedy-inch.

you gasped, arching at the new feeling of a stretch that felt… good.

“Simon?” you squeaked, and he just shushed you gently, kneading at your breast as he sucked on your clit, pinning you down as you squirmed.

then, he began working the finger inside you, rubbing against your gooey inner walls, and then he was pressing in a second finger, and that delicious stretch swept you away into a haze.

breathy moans were torn from your throat and you could do nothing to stop them when he curled his fingers, pressing even deeper and against something that had the sweetest feeling unfurl deep, deep, deep inside you.

“Simon!” you mewled, feeling your climax approaching quicker than ever as he fucked you open with his fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit, a sinful squelch harmonizing with the breathy tones of your voice.

your whole core convulsed, clenching, then—

he stopped.

your chest fell in rose in heavy pants, that delicious edge receding slowly. picking up your head up to look at him, your brow furrowed when you found him just staring back at you.

whining, you picked up your hips to press your swollen clit to his plush lips, but he just shifted back a bit so the tip of your nub barely brushed his lower lip.

he cocked his head with a malicious smirk.

“you’ve been teasin’ me for days, minx,” he said, eyes so empty and cold that you shivered. he slid a hand over the goosebumps of your thigh.

“at the lake. today by the railroad.”

he began pumping his fingers again, slowly, and you whined, trying your best to grind down on it so the tips of them would find that swollen place in you that felt heavenly, but he just pulled his hand back every time you pressed down.

his eyes darkened. “touchin’ yourself in front of me like i’m not allowed to do anything about it.”

“please,” you whimpered, and the smirk dropped from his face.

“you’re not allowed to come until i say so, pretty thing.”

a shockwave went straight through your tummy at the words, eyes blown wide with shock. you didn’t know why those words made your heart drum harder, the slickness between your thighs feeling unbearable with the way he just slowly fucked you with his fingers.

you wanted more. you wanted him deeper. something bigger.

his fingers brushed over your clit, and you jolted. “ready f’more?”

“mhmm. please, Simon.” your voice was a keen, and you whined louder when he completely pulled his hand away from you, feeling desperately empty, but he just grabbed your hips and flipped you with ease onto your stomach.

he pulled your hips up, one hand smoothing down your back so you were arched, arms braced against the soft pillows. it was a strange position, left you feeling awkward and exposed, but he pressed a soft kiss to your injured shoulder and you ignored the throb from the weight it bore.

then, he slid off the bed and you heard the clink of his belt, something dropping on the floor, before the bed dipped again, and then silence.

looking back at him, you blushed at the sight of him just shamelessly staring at you in the position.

“Simon!” you chided, curling out of the position before he gripped at your hip tightly with a sly smirk, pushing you back down into the arch with a low rumble of protest.

he crowded over the back of you, settling down over your body, and pressed you further into the bed, his warm chest flush to your back and knuckles pressed to the space next to your ears. you gasped when something warm, sticky, and hard brushed along your inner thigh.

he stroked a hand along your neck, words a throaty whisper in your ear. “comfortable, lovely?”

you felt him press himself against your soft slit, the thick head of it pressing against your clit. 

it felt hot, big, throbbing, and—

you gasped, a cracking dawn of realization washing over you.

“it goes…?” inside.

your whole body shook in anticipation, a strange muddle of fear and desperate want making your hips press further back into him.

he hummed, kissing your neck. 

“figure it out, pretty?”

“mhmm,” was all you could get out, wiggling yourself against him in impatience, and he just gripped your hips tightly.

“inside,” you retaliated, and he huffed in your ear, the curve of his smile pressed to your hair.

“needy girl. you don’t even know anything about this,” he chided, a hand coming down to rub at your clit, and you squirmed with relief.

“what do i need to know?” you squeaked, grinding against his fingers.

“it hurts.” your movements slowed, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“it hurts?” you looked back at him from over your shoulder, his eyes only inches from your own where his lips were against your shoulder.

his stopped moving. “mhmm.”

you reached down between your legs and gripped at his wrist, willing him to move again.

“i don’t care. i can take it.”

he smiled against your shoulder.

“im sure you can, but save it for your marriage.” his words were hushed, and you just frowned, a ball of frustration building in you, arching back into his touch.

“i don't want anybody but you.”

he went stock still, and you swallowed hard, feeling an edge of unease bubble up between your desire. you wished you could see his face but you didn’t dare look behind you.

his hand slid away from your core again, leaving you wanting and cold. but you took a breath of relief when he didn’t move away, only pressed his body down into you harder, the heady weight of him a pleasant pressure.

“i guess you’ll just have to wait till we’re married then.”

the breath was stolen from you, and you fought to whimper out, “no. now.”

“that’s improper, lovely,” he whispered, dark and throaty, hot tongue licking over your ear.

he slid his hips forward between your thighs, and you felt his hard length glide smoothly over your cunt, catching against your puffy clit, ripping a gasp out of your throat.

your eyes drooped shut. “don’t care.”

“so bratty. can’t you let me court you first?”

you grit your teeth, fighting back the breathy noises from the back of your throat, as he thrust forward between the hot clutch of your plush thighs.

“no,” you moaned out, letting his hands guide your hips in a slow roll over him, your cunt clenching with every movement.

“even when i’m being so nice to you right now?”

“you’re being mean,” you whined, pushing back against him, meeting the snap of his hips with a string of breathy gasps as your head fell forward.

he snaked a hand into your hair and pulled, tugging you back over his sticky length with every thrust. you felt the telltale beginnings of a rolling, sweet burn stemming from your clit to the rest of your body that you needed to satiate.

“please,” you begged, and he hummed, curling an arm beneath you to play with the sensitive swell of your nipples, holding you close to him as you jolted with each brush of your clit.

“wanna come?” he asked softly, and you nodded eagerly, feeling the first waves of your orgasm pulling you under—

then he pulled his hips back, pushing you back down to the bed, and you almost sobbed at the loss of friction against your core.

he leaned down to coo in your ear softly, “what’s wrong, princess?”

that desperate, squirming ache in your stomach melded into something angry.

“stop teasing me!” you snapped, sending him a teary-eyed look from over your shoulder, jolting when his eyes snapped up to yours.

his face was hooded—lustful, pupils blown wide, and dark with something sinister you’d never seen before.

“stop teasing?” he growled, pushing his hips forward between your thighs again, your clit twitching against the tip of him. “like how you were teasing me earlier?”

you whined as he began rolling his hips, the combined slick coming down your legs in a sticky, mixed muddle, and gasping when he hooked his arm beneath you and pulled you up so you were leaned back against his chest—his teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder.

you grabbed at the back of his neck, a pleasurable pain gliding across your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. a dark, slithering heat tightened that inevitable knot in your tummy when he slid a big hand up and wrapped it around your throat.

“bratty girls get punished. didn’t church teach you that?”

the moan you let out was downright sinful, breathy, and left your throat raw and aching, as you clawed at his hand around your throat, trying and failing to anchor yourself to anything.

he pitched forward, grabbing at your hand and pinned it down to the bed beneath his, intertwining your fingers tightly, and you watched his length between your thighs leak white pearls that glided down your skin with every heavenly thrust.

“are you gonna be good?” he whispered out, and you nodded eagerly, a slew of little whimpers and begs falling from your lips like a breathy flood.

he purred a sound of approval. “i know you will. bein’ such a good girl lettin’ me fuck your thighs like this.”

“yes, Simon, i’ll be good, i’ll be good—”

god you were so close—

“pretty girl. my sweet girl. you’re mine.”

his growled words guided you right through those convulsing shudders and a hot, searing haze welled up in your throat—tears pricking in your eyes from the intensity of it.

you only realized that Ghost came too when you felt ropes of something warm and thick splashed against your cunt and inner thighs, his groans a pretty song right by your ear. 

he practically crushed you to the bed, his warm, sweaty body pleasant against your skin. you stayed like that for a long time, listening to his deep breaths, a tickling drip down your spine—the after-effect of your shared pleasure.

you never wanted the sensation to leave you.

you searched for Ghost behind you and came into contact with his shoulder, then grabbed at his neck, and he hummed contentedly, sliding his arms beneath your stomach, pressing fleeting kisses to your shoulder and neck.

you squirmed, giggling at the ticklish sensation, but you were trapped there, and he only kissed you more with a soft smile against your skin, up to your ear, your cheek, before he leaned back to turn you over.

you looked up at him, his brown eyes warm and lips twisted in a wry smile, and curled your arms around his shoulders to pull him back down. he settled between your thighs, cheek pressed to your breast, and you scratched at the back of his head lightly like your mama used to do to make you fall asleep after a bad nightmare.

he practically purred, sinking further into the big bed, his arms winding back around your middle.

his voice was a raw rasp. “does this mean you’ll accept my request?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile on your face. “where are we going for a date?”

he inched up your body so he braced his forearms beside your head, the tip of his nose brushing yours. he blinked at you, face blank.

“don’t get mad at me, alright?”

you quirked your brow, sliding your hands up his shoulders, filling the dips and grooves of the bunched up muscle.

“what’re you hiding, Simon?”

he cocked his head. “it’s a social event.”

your brows rose. a social event?

you thought back to your daddy’s letter, such a strange and hazy memory now—i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

was that the same social?

you turned your cheek, giving Ghost a sidelong look. “the same one my daddy was talking about?”

you saw something flash in his eyes before his face became impossibly imperceptible again.

“how did you know about that?”

you snorted. “i snooped through your basement, remember?”

his brows rose, a very slow smile creeping up on his lips. 

you frowned at him. “what?”

he shook his head, grinning, “nothing.”

you dug your nails a bit into his shoulders. “tell me.”

“it’s just—”

he wouldn’t look into your eyes. he leaned down closer to you, lips against your cheek, voice a seductive, low sound. “your mind. i lust for it.”

your breath hitched. “lust for it?”

he nodded. “you’re brilliant. it’s sexy.”

you scoffed, swatting at his shoulder lightly, and a laugh rumbled through his chest into yours.

you wondered what he would think about your brilliant mind if he knew that you were periodically going through… mental struggles. you thought about something else instead.

“tell me what this social’s about.”

you watched him close his eyes, fingers fumbling with your hair. “Turner’s having a masquerade ball. somethin’ ‘bout going back to historical roots.”

your brows shot up. “and you want to go with me?”

his smirk was devilish. “who else? i was invited.”

now, your brow was furrowed. “why would Turner invite you?”

he shook his head. “he didn’t. it’s his way of having a little victory party over this war before it’s even really begun. s’basically an invitation.”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth.

“i thought you said i wasn’t going anywhere near Turner?”

he shifted above you, eyes open now, and hand still tangled in your hair.

“changed my mind.”

you scoffed. for Ghost, changing his mind wasn’t surprising. in the matter of Turner and you however…

“why’d you change your mind?” you pressed softly, meeting his buttery warm eyes.

he smiled, whole body going lax and soft against you. “last night.”

that didn’t clarify anything at all. when your jaw dropped open to reply, he filled the words in for you.

“s’just a stupid omen. there was a coyote. it was scared just at the sight of me, but i was more scared than anything.”

you stroked along the soft, warm skin of his back. “why?”

“because i wanted to protect you.” 

his eyes were wide and open, and you bit your lip, a new burning ache pushing up between your lungs.

“i promised i’d never let anyone hurt you again,” he said with a hush, pressing his forehead to yours. “i want you to be with me when you’re in danger.”

then, he slid down pressing his ear to the steady thrum of your heart. “just be with me all the time.”

a rush of sweetness poured through you. just be with me all the time.

you felt giddy, your grin big and making your cheeks ache.

“is that what you were getting all thoughtful about this morning?”

you remembered him sitting on the rock beside you, fumbling with his knife, face shadowed and faint with a furrowed brow.

he craned his neck to look up at you.

“you noticed, smart girl?”

you wanted to scoff. “i notice a lot of things.”

you drew lazy circles into his skin. “i noticed how you always like to fold my clothes. i noticed how like to put your face here—”

you pointed to the area where your hair pooled around your neck, and with that, he pulled forward to press his face to that spot with a contented hum.

you held the back of his head, feeling like you were in a hazy, surreal dreamscape.

had you really wanted revenge on him only a night ago? a few mere hours ago? did it really matter what his original intentions were with you when he displayed his feelings so clearly like this?

yes, a voice hissed out, leaving you feeling uneasy, but you beat it down so it wouldn’t cloud the blissful moment.

soon, he pulled away, shifting off of you, and slid off the bed to kneel on the hardwood floor again. the absence of him felt wrong—cold and too light. like you needed his heavy warmth to pin you back down again.

he gripped at your splayed hand from the edge of the bed. “will you go on a date with me, lovely?”

his question was completely simple and pure, but you found yourself wanting to tease him, lips twisting into a sly smile, enjoying the way he blinked in response, a bit perturbed.

“and what will we do on this date, Simon?”

you flipped over onto your stomach, propping up your head up over your elbows with your knuckles, in love with the way his blonde lashes fluttered against your cheek when your noses brushed. his lips were a mere breath away from yours.

“dine. dance…” he whispered, dark eyes flickering from your own to your lips.

his lips parted, head tilting. “maybe i can hold Turner down, and you can torture him to death.”

at that you laughed, pulling back away from him and curling onto your side into the sheets. he remained at the edge of the bed, grin wide and wolfish. once your fit of laughter stopped, you peered back over your shoulder with a hum.

“i’ll tell you what i decide in the morning,” you sang, sitting up, watching with delight as a curiosity burned in his gaze.

“did i not teach you well enough what happens when you tease me?” he asked, voice throaty, and you shivered, suddenly very aware of the exposed nature of your bare skin.

you shrugged. “guess you’ll have to remind me.”

his eyes darkened and you squirmed away from him with a giggle across the big bed so he couldn’t reach you so easily. his brows rose carefully.

“think i can’t catch you if you run away like that, bunny?”

a low, kicking thrum came back to life between your thighs.

“what are you?” you asked with a laugh, gripping at the sheets, “a wolf?”

he cocked his head in a predatory manner, words low and deep. “when i want to be.”

you shuddered and he just shook his head with an amused look, padding away from the bed to a door across the room. behind it was a bathroom, and he disappeared inside, the sound of running water accompanying you as you laid back down on the bed, reclining back into the soft blankets and even softer pillows.

the more you laid there, the more you could feel a growing, painful ache returning to your shoulder. it was stiff, hot and swollen to the touch, and you chided yourself for going so… rough in your intimate moment with Ghost.

but when he sauntered back out of the bathroom, footsteps eerily quiet, a damp washcloth in hand, you didn’t feel an ounce of regret.

he helped clean you up, swiping away your shared fluids from your skin as his kissed the crown of your head with a tenderness. you reached for the cloth, grabbing his bare hip, and were about to return the favor when you were reacquainted with the battered state of his body.

the bruises had reduced but there were still a blotchy, purple mess, and his stitches were just as bad as before—that same dried crust around it. now, you really chided yourself, angry that you hadn’t taken a moment to take care of him before…

you wiped away any residue from his nether regions, before thumbing gently over that strong, muscled v-line of his hip.

“what is it?” he asked, touching a knuckle to the bottom of your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

you blinked. “it’s really bad.”

his expression was blank. “honestly, lovely, i’ve had worse.”

“like what?” you pressed, and when his face contorted, you waved a hand.

“nevermind. don’t tell me.” you might be sick if he did.

“just please let me take care of you,” you practically begged, sliding a hand down his bare thigh as his eyes narrowed.

your frown deepened, trying to give him your best doe-eyed pout, and he heaved a sigh with a nod, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

you walked to the bathroom, casting a look over your shoulder to make sure Ghost was still sitting obediently at the bed, and when he cocked an impatient brow at you, you bit back a smirk as you entered the bathroom.

there was a big tub pressed to the corner of the room, and a wash bin where you rinsed off the wash cloth and grabbed an extra cup from the sink, filling it with water. you fished around the ornate cabinets, smiling in victory when you found a jar of vaseline pushed to the very back of a cabinet filled with sparse miscellaneous items. your mama had spread it over any injury of yours like an invisible gauze.

taking a moment to inspect your appearance in the mirror, cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, you splashed your face with a bit of water and calmed your hair with your hands.

on the back of the bathroom door, you took the simple silk robe in a pale yellow pattern and tied it around yourself, walking back out to Ghost who was lounged back against the bed and still stark naked.

“has my pretty nurse come to my aid?” he asked, eyes half-lidded.

you just nodded with a sheepish smile, crawling over to him and dipping the washcloth in the water before dabbing at the stitches. you watched his whole body tense with a hiss, and then relax again, his eyes screwed shut.

“sorry,” you squeaked with wince, wiping away the yellow ooze around it. you bit your lip, brows furrowed as you looked down at the fleshy wound—red and swollen with a loose thread pulled through it. you pressed your fingertips to it and he jolted, jaw clenched. it was hot to the touch.

“it didn’t reopen, did it?” you asked sullenly, and his eyes barely fluttered open.

“i’d be bleeding if it did.”

with that, you spread the cool vaseline over it, and he sighed, sinking back into the bed. then, he wrapped an arm around your waist, and you muffled a squeak as he tugged you towards him into pillows.

his lips were against your hair. “shoulder?”

you pushed away from him with a hand to his chest, and he grumbled in protest as you moved to put your gathered medical supplies onto the nightstand.

“s’okay. kind of swollen but nothing like yesterday.”

the sound that left his throat was full of disapproval.

instead you changed the subject, turning to him with a hand on your hip.

“are you gonna change?”

his brows raised slightly, knees tipping wider as he picked up his head to look at you with a smirk. with a blush, you refused to look down at his bare, muscled body.

“nope.”

rolling your eyes, you clambered back into the bed and he tugged the silky robe loose from your body, and you just let him do as he liked as he positioned the both of you beneath the thick blankets. 

he pulled you into his pleasant warmth and you hummed, your cheek nestled to his chest and his lips against your hair.

the room was dim, a lulling quiet darkness over the room now, pitching deep into the night. you drew circles over his forearm cast over your waist.

“when will you leave?” you whispered, sullen, because you knew these tranquil, soft moments were dwindling with uncertainty.

he smoothed a hand over your back. “in a little bit.”

you bit your lip. “why can’t i come with you?”

he shook his head, and you closed your eyes, a pinched feeling in your chest.

“i have to do this on my own. you won’t be in danger here.” 

you thought back to what he said a mere moments ago.

“what happened to just be with me all the time?”

his words were soft. “you are with me all the time.”

you craned your neck to look up at him and he inclined his head against the pillows, tapping with a finger to his chest lightly.

oh.

“i think i’ve read about that in a children’s fantasy novel, Ghost,” you said with a cocked brow and he gave you a wry smile, then shifted to tuck his chin over your head.

“what happened to Simon?”

you closed your eyes. “Simon privileges revoked.”

he scoffed. “bratty.”

you smacked at his arm and he didn’t even move—like a big rock you could anchor yourself to. 

a big rock you wanted to anchor yourself to, except that he was always leaving it seemed. 

and when he left, would he actually come back as promised? or would he leave you to the streets of san francisco as you feared—without a use for you?

unless your use was turning up to Turner’s masquerade as Ghost’s lady for the evening in another display of their battle for… ownership.

at that you stiffened and Ghost roused against you, his even breaths hitching.

the question you posed was careful and calculating. “if i wanted to run away and never look back, would you let me?”

he went impossibly still at that. then, he pulled back far enough so you could see the grim lines of his face, even through the darkness and the shroud of his mask.

“yes.” the word was so strained it almost didn’t sound like his own voice. “i think it’d kill me though.”

you cocked your head.

“when are you gonna take that mask off?”

his eyes flashed. “full of questions are you?”

you nodded. “always.”

he looked away from you. “i can’t answer all of them yet.”

always hiding something from you.

“why not?” you pressed, and he frowned, taking up your hand to press to his chest.

“in time,” he whispered, kissing the back of it, before sliding out from under the blankets.

you gripped his wrist to keep him tethered to you, voice cracking wide open.

“did you mean what you said?” 

he cocked his head, eyes a placid coolness.

you swallowed hard “about courting me? about me being yours?”

your breath was shallow when you added, “do you really think you’ll die tomorrow?”

he stared at you for a long moment before sighing out, climbing back onto the bed and over you, leaning down to brush his lips against yours softly. you jolted with a gasp, straining up to kiss that silvery scar on his upper lip carefully. he was stock still, eyes following your movement with a familiar stoicism. 

“i will be back tomorrow morning,” he promised and you grimaced.

“will you?”

he nodded strongly. “before dawn.”

you curled an arm around his neck. “promise me?”

“honest to god.”

you winced, remembering your words from two nights ago.

how can you be honest to god?

as he redressed to go out into the night, you watched him to try and find any tightness in his movements. the stiff motion of his body looked pure and simple—easing off the pressure of his injuries.

there wasn’t a trace of apprehension as he slung his gun back into his holster, sheathed knives back into the layer of his trench coat, and put on his stetson, that silver skull pendant on its brim glimmering in the dull light.

but you had seen how easily he lied to the kind man earlier. 

how easily he could lie to you.

before he left, he pressed his forehead to yours, cool leather palm against your chest, and then to that spot where your hair and neck met, and then he stepped out into the hallway and the door shut behind him.

you twisted in the sheets, searching for a sliver of warmth that he had left behind. 

there was an emptiness in your heart when you couldn’t find it.

you couldn’t sleep almost the entire night—desperately waiting for when the sun would breach the horizon, and Ghost would crawl back into that space in your heart you left vacant for him.

the night steeped into an black sky, clouds drifting across the moon in splotchy patches. you fell into a half-slumber, perched between the soft pillows of the bed when there was a quiet thud from a distance. 

you startled, picking up your head and searching in the darkness in a sleepy haze.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, only a silence answering you, as a form materialized, prowling forward from the entrance of the room.

it was the girl with milky skin and an inky black hair, in that same revealing dress as before, skin reflective in the moonlight, and a revolver in her hand.

important note: if anyone wants to learn more about san francisco’s chinatown in circa. 1900, here’s are two articles i found interesting: time magazine (bubonic plague) and history.net (prostitution & Donaldina Cameron)

that being said, i want to clarify that much of san francisco’s chinatown culture became characterized solely about prostitution, opium, and gambling in the media (movies, tv shows, etc.) because of racial prejudices in the 1900s. while i talk about those themes in this story, they don’t make up even half of the rich culture in san francisco's chinatown and i do not want to create that impression!!

ugh anyways i didn’t mean to make this chapter so angsty 🙁 it will get better i promise i promise i promise but thank you for all your guys’s amazing support <33 i hope you enjoyed this chapterrr <33 next up... character development 🌚

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @tomiesdiet @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @warenai @saturnknows @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya

@havoc973 @mentallynot-here @aqua7ofana @ccerviee @haleidontknow @imjusttheretofightforlove @moonstonedeluluera @tieflingteatime @syddieuh @savakewl @shinebright2000 @bakugo-apologist98 @queenie-b- @whenyoushipuponastar @cloufie @belm412 @thriving-n-jiving @skyxskywlkr @yellooaaa @simplyreading @sucka2me @koreoftheunderworld20 @mr-sol @riverbutghost @salsa-reads-stuff

[pinkdaisies9285]

Shiny Rings and Forgotten Means

Bob x Reader

Summary: Waking up next to your handsome boss wasn't on your list of things to do on a Las Vegas business trip. Waking up with a shiny, new ring wasn't either.

Warnings: Fluff, Vegas Wedding trope, CEO!au, kinda of Implied Smut

Word Count: 983

Author's Note: Here's my story for @bobgasm 's Au Writing Challenge! I almost forgot to post it so, I hope you enjoy it!

Waking up next to your boss wasn’t on your bucket list, especially when you don’t remember the night before. Everything was very blurry and only spurts of memories came back. Trying to remember more, made your headache even worse. The pulse behind your eyes was making itself very present. Reaching the nightstand quietly, you see a little glimmer reflecting off your hand. Looking closer, you see a stunning ring nestled on your ring finger. Forgetting about trying to find your phone, you completely focus on the piece of metal encompassing your finger. How did you get there? Why is it there? More importantly, who did you marry? The groan behind you gave you a queue of who this mystery husband was. Turning around, all thoughts flew out of your mind. The man who married you was none other than Robert Floyd, your boss.

The man in question had rolled over to lay on his back which allowed the sunlight from the windows of the room to wake him up. Squinting his eyes open, his vision focused on you. His eyes widened along with yours. Both of you seemed stunned by the situation at hand.

“May I ask why you’re in my bed, Dove?” he asked with a raspy voice.

Dove, the nickname he gave after working for him for a year. It came from you one morning humming a random melody while getting work done. When he heard your little melody, he jokingly called you a morning dove. So it spurred the nickname Dove, which is what he only calls you now.

“That I do not know Mr. Floyd, but could you explain this?” you replied holding up your left hand to show the glittering ring. You wanted answers to why you had what looked like a wedding band on your hand.

Robert grabbed your hand looking down at the pretty diamond ring with surprise and confusion. What made you more anxious was when you spotted a ring sitting on his left ring finger. He seemed to realize that as well when he had cradled your left hand in both of his.

“Dove, did we do something last night?” he questioned slowly. Looking up at you, he realized that you were trying not to throw up. You looked nauseous and panicked. This was true for the most part.

While you had always had a small crush on the handsome young CEO, you knew the boundaries of a personal assistant. Don’t flirt with him and don’t try to date him. These two mental rules you had been set in place very early in your career with Robert. Yet, by the time you had been working for him, you were completely enamored. He was kind, willing to work with you, and gave you a nickname that made you flustered still to this day. Now if you were connecting the dots correctly, you were married to him? Married to the man who haunted your dreams with fleeting touches and soft words. Married to the man who has been your boss for almost six years.

“I have zero idea, Mr. Floyd. All I know is that we had secured the deal with Mr. Robinson and decided to celebrate. After that, I can’t remember anything else,” you replied. Quickly getting up, you decided to see if anything in the room would give you more hints.

Scanning the area, you see a piece of paper sitting at the desk. It was hidden under a quickly thrown notebook. You inch closer to it, hoping it would be the key to your and your boss’s answers. The document had an official-looking seal on the bottom right corner and in the middle had both your signatures. In a pretty cursive said Certificate of Marriage with the officiant’s signature underneath it. You truly had done it somehow, you married your boss without any memory of how you did it.

Robert had made his way over to where you had been standing frozen looking at the pretty piece of paper. Looking over at what you were staring at, he found the answer to all the questions running around his head. He was married to you. He married you, his gorgeous assistant. The one that haunts his dreams all the time. His assistant whom he told himself he would never fall for. He didn’t know if this was a divine stroke of luck or a sick cruel joke. How would things go now made him feel unsure.

Should he immediately call his lawyer to file divorce papers? Or does he continue to float in this hoax of a marriage? His heart is yearning for the latter but his mind wants to immediately make sure you’re comfortable with what’s happening first before his feelings. So, he decides to break the tension stewing in the air for ten minutes.

“What would you like to do, Dove?” he softly asked. He didn’t want to scare you away with the prospect that he liked this.

You turned and looked at him for the first time since waking up. What do you do? Tell him that you’re okay with how things have panned out? Tell him you would divorce him as soon as he said he didn’t want this because you wanted him to be happy? You felt sick to your stomach like you just got off a roller coaster after eating a whole funnel cake. God, what do you do? Your brain and heart were at war with this decision. Live in this fantasy or break your heart by doing the right thing.

“I don’t know, Bobby,” you mumbled. Widening your eyes, you realized what you called him, Bobby. Looking over at him, you saw that he was smirking.

“Well, I do Dove,” he replied.

“What’s that?” you asked tilting your head to the side.

“Start our Honeymoon,” Bobby said still smirking.

You definitely were in for a ride.

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune

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Main Masterlist

[twstfanblog]

*~Mother's Day, Damn it~*

A/N: Hello all and a happy Mother's Day! Decided to queue this up since I knew I was gonna be hyper-busy the weekend and would honestly forget to post it XD Warnings: Mentions and vague descriptions of pregnancy and childbirth Pairings: YuuxMalleusxAzulxJamil, Mentioned Silver/Sebek, Mentioned Vil/Rook, Mentioned Riddle/Floyd Word Count: 4.3K

MALLEUS

Yuu made sure to apologize to Malleus once the egg was out. Well, once the egg was out, they had a quick bath, and regained mental awareness after a spontaneous three-hour nap. It wasn't their intention to interrupt his birthday party with their water breaking (they really hoped the seemingly ancient as dirt carpet survived it). Yuu didn't remember much from the egg birth. Apparently, Grandmother Draconia had made one of her rare appearances, walking into the room as though Yuu wasn't screaming on their knees and slamming the ornate headboard into the wall in an act of misplaced frustration. 

Lilia said she brought them fruit-flavored ice chips, which was very sweet.

Once they woke up, everyone had kept a good few feet away as they congratulated them on a successful birth. (Malleus told them later that night that Yuu had some…vividly creative threats made in their heat of maternal agony. One of which Malleus refused to repeat, only stating it made him physically leave the castle grounds for his own safety).

But now, as Yuu relaxed in a patch of rare sunlight with their egg baby, they felt content. Luckily, their egg wasn't as massive as Malleus's was. Though it had seemed to grow to said size as the months went by. An oil-like black, the shell shined iridescent in the light. The reflective surface was broken up by thin matte black webbing that increased in numbers as time went on. Grandmother Draconia had remarked the few times she'd seen the egg that she had never seen one with such neat growth marks, the pattern almost mimicking broken glass.

Though Yuu had their concerns, (they didn't have magic and dragon eggs needed family magic to hatch) their loved ones were more than willing to pitch in. Malleus, of course, gave the egg magic daily in the form of cuddling and kissing it before and after going about his royal duties. Lilia had given a few sprinkles of his limited magic, whispering blessings and sweet dreams to the youngling inside. Sebek nearly cried himself sick when Yuu offered to let him bestow the egg with his magic, he was one of the godfathers after all (A fact that made Sebek actually cry and hug Yuu tight enough to crack their back). Silver, as the other godfather in question, was more than happy to give his niece or nephew his magic in the form of naptime cuddles.

Even Azul and Jamil had made their way to the valley. Both to visit and to give their donation of magic to the egg. Though they had busy schedules with their own post-graduation lives, Malleus had convinced them to stay a few weeks past their original departure date. If he had to set a harbor on fire to do it, that didn't mean anything.

In the present, a strong gust tiled the egg from its upright position and onto its side in the lush patch of grass. Yuu watched in mild amazement as the egg did what it normally did, wiggling on its side for a few moments before rolling itself back to its starting position. Their child had become insanely active, a fact that Malleus and Yuu took great pleasure in. Nightly, they'd sit on opposite sides of their massive bed and call out to the egg to see who it'd roll toward (Yuu was only a little bitter that they were barely winning).

“Baby. Baby~.” Yuu laughed, watching the egg wiggle around in what could only be called joy at the sound of their voice.

But, their laughter was cut off at the soft sound of something cracking.

They looked at the egg with laser focus, the egg itself had gone deathly still as though the crack had startled them as well. Soon the egg gave another powerful wiggle, a hairline crack forming against the shell.

“...” Yuu turned toward the castle, panic clear in their voice as they screamed, “MALLEUS!”

Malleus had appeared like a bolt of lightning, eyes glowing and ready to kill whoever posed a threat to his mate and child. Only to have his attention pulled to the sound of shell cracking and Yuu's panicked question of “Do I help them!?”

Soon they were back in the castle, the wiggling and cracking egg placed on the ceremonial hatching altar. Malleus held Yuu in his arms, trying to keep them calm as they fought their own need to help their child hatch. Silver, Sebek, and Lilia had appeared after hearing all the noise. While Sebek shouted encouragement to the hatching fae, Silver tried to get his husband to stop yelling at the egg. Lilia was doing his grandfatherly duty of filming everything.

Finally, the cracks along the egg met. From the top, a small purple-tinted dragon poked their head through the opening, fighting against the remaining shell fiercely until they were able to crawl out. They squeaked, almost trying to roar at them with their wings flared out.

Lilia cooed, making sure to capture the scale pattern on the squeaking dragon's forehead, “A little girl! She's much smaller than I-”

The egg tilted on the altar, another small dragon crawling its way from the opening their sister had left. Stepping out and looking around the room unaware of the edge to the altar. Silver had rushed forward, catching the teal-tinted infant before they hit the ground. He held the squeaking dragon in both his hands, unneeded from how small he was but wanting to grip him securely, as he placed him back on the altar, “I...twins? Can there be twins?”

The shock was barely settling in when more cracking echoed in the room. From the bottom of the egg, another head poked out. A frustrated green-tinted dragon flapping their uncoordinated wings to remove leftover yolk. This one was much more tired than his siblings, once free from the egg he had huffed and laid down on the altar.

…

Yuu tilted their head back, giving themselves a high five before moving out of a stunned Malleus's limp arms, “Secured the fuck out of this bloodline! Babies! Babies~!” They gathered the chirping dragon infants into their arms, each of them growing overjoyed to finally be with the voice they always knew.

June 13th, a great blessing was gifted to Briar Valley. Three healthy and powerful heirs born in record time. The country had celebrated for weeks in joy and in blessing of the three new members of the royal family. May Malgona, Malathew, and Malicent Draconia-Crewel live long and be loved.

AZUL

Yuu had fallen pregnant again not long after the triplets' first birthday and it was all Azul's fault. A successful opening weekend of his lounge had made the cecaelian's mood all too happy and frisky. Azul, in a flustered state, claimed that wanting to mate when resources were bountiful was basic biology and he wasn't going to apologize. Jamil started the argument that Azul had done such a thing on purpose to push back his and Yuu's wedding, since Malleus's wedding planning was taken over by grandmother Draconia, and Azul didn't want to marry Yuu until he had a sizable amount of money in his savings for reasons.

While the two bickered, Yuu and Malleus marveled over the ultrasound of a tiny pea-shaped blob.

Malleus would have easily housed Yuu for their pregnancy again; What better place for an expecting mother to be than waited on hand and foot in royal luxury? An idea that Azul surprisingly vetoed, bringing up the fact the triplets would not leave Yuu any time to relax as the one-year-olds had a 6th sense for when their mother was trying to so much as sit.

“They'd run her more ragged than the pregnancy would in the first place…”

While Jamil offered, they all knew Yuu would decline; Since Jamil was currently staying in the Scalding Sands, prepping with his family (and Kalim) for their now pushed-back wedding. Yuu would not last long in the desert normally, asking them to do it while pregnant was cruel and unusual punishment.

So Yuu and Azul made their way to the Sunshine Lands where he had actually inherited a sizable beachfront property from his grandmother. How and why the elder cecaelian had even got her hands on land property, she wouldn't say. But the seaside villa Azul had built on the land was perfect, having a hand in every design aspect right down to the adorable ocean-themed nursery.

And while Yuu's pregnancy tracked along nicely, Azul's sleep schedule and mental well-being had suffered.

Malleus had rarely complained of Yuu during their first pregnancy, but now that Azul was dealing with them first hand he wondered if Malleus was simply…unbothered by the absurdity that escaped Yuu's mouth. The fae had asked how Azul was dealing with Yuu's ‘strange cravings’ during a visit. Jamil had rolled his eyes and jokingly asked if Yuu wanted pickles or ice cream during their pregnancy with the triplets. And Malleus answered she had wanted to drink molten metals, gnaw on gemstones, and wanted to eat a very specific map that was made when his grandmother was a child.

Jamil, having been around more pregnant women than the average person in his life,  stated that was…normal…ish. Pregnancy cravings could tilt to the material if the body felt it was lacking nutrients. So Azul was prepared. He had supplement potions of all kinds, he's looked up the most common pregnancy cravings; he had pickles purchased by the barrel and ice cream by the freezer load on standby. Hell, he stocked up on a non-toxic clay that was safe to digest. If Yuu asked him to, he'd crush up shells and pearls into fine dust to mix into their food and drinks to satisfy their cravings.

Instead, he was awakened almost like clockwork every night to make some type of horrific food combination that Yuu insisted would be amazing.

Ground beef and banana smoothies, corn on the cob with a cherry compote and mustard dipping sauce, chocolate-covered pan-fried shrimp. One night they simply asked for a whole, raw artichoke. He watched them eat it like it was an apple and fall back asleep as though they hadn't mentally scarred him in a matter of four minutes.

Azul could put his foot down, he could deny them these hellish cravings clearly caused by some type of demon masquerading as a baby in his date-mate's womb. But whenever he did, Yuu's eyes would fill with tears; sobbing and crying that Azul didn't love them OR the baby.

So Azul would get out of bed and make them their cursed offering. His pride as a chef was strong, but he couldn't last long against his dear pearl's tears…

But, demonic cravings aside, Yuu's pregnancy was progressing as normal. Azul would spend his evenings from the lounge resting gently on his date-mate's stomach and cooing at the tiny being waiting to be born. He had theorized their little girl was in a merform that matched his own; it would explain how they were able to kick him no matter where he kissed on Yuu's stomach. With only a month to go, his child would be the perfect belated birthday present.

Then three days before said birthday, Yuu was rushed to the hospital against their will, once again. The past few weeks they had been plagued with random bouts of false contractions. Each time Azul would panic and rush his pregnant love to their chosen hospital and demand they be looked over. The doctors would humor him, he was an up-and-coming influential member of their community after all. But, Yuu quickly grew annoyed with it, to the point they'd started hiding and waiting for the contractions to stop before even telling Azul they had them.

But now they were back in the hospital, Yuu pacing their examination room as Azul gently grilled the doctor.

“I understand that they're common, but this has been happening for weeks. Is there another test we can do or a specialist we can refer to?”

“Well, Mr. Ashengrotto, as head of labor and delivery and your personally chosen doctor, probably not.”

Yuu sighed, still walking around the room with a hand over their stomach, “Azul, just drop it. I wanna go home and-”

The sound of water hitting the tile floor made them all freeze. Yuu looked down, seeing the ‘water’ had come from them and soaking into the edge of the maxi skirt they were wearing.

…

“Fuck.”

Hours later, Yuu was in a hospital bed and Azul was still on the phone with his mother pacing outside of the room. The mer panicking over the potential health risks of a month early birth and where he could have gone wrong in his prenatal care and how he was a failure-

Yuu spoke calmly into their phone, watching Azul pace past their window again, “Yeah, no. He’s still in the hall crying…I don’t know! The doctor hadn’t said anything was wrong the past few checkups…No, Jamil, I didn’t ingest poison…Why would he give me poison!? Why would I be craving poisons!?...Wanting to drink metal is different.”

Azul had returned to the room after a nurse talked him through his breakdown, sitting at Yuu’s bedside and helping them through the labor pains. He walked them around the room, screened calls from their worried friends and family, and even managed to magic up the fabled fruit-flavored ice chips Yuu had started to demand as the labor continued. Two days before Azul’s birthday the doctor had finally stated Yuu was dilated enough to try their preferred birthing position. With Azul’s hand vice gripped in their own, a few hours into the afternoon, they felt a pressure suddenly rush out of them. The standby nurse quickly swooped in to make sure the baby was fully out and taken to be properly weighed.

Yuu and Azul both sigh in relief at the sound of their little girl wailing her head off. Azul felt tears coming to his eyes seeing she had been birthed in merform, much bigger than any normal mer child but that was to be expected when she had a personal grotto to grow and feed in for eight months; lovingly tucked away to be pampered and protected. He took in his daughter’s form with a tender eye; pale purple skin that ombred into chubby black and speckled tentacles that wiggled around fiercely. A head of stark white hair with delicate newborn curls. Gurgled cries only stopping when the nurse placed her onto an exhausted Yuu’s chest. The infant following her instincts; curling into her mother for warmth and safety, tentacles wrapping around Yuu's arm as an anchor and finally calming.

The doctor smiled at the happy family, both parents cooing over their baby. They moved to exit the room to allow them space to bond, giving Yuu one last glance to ensure there was no ripping that needed immediate attention. The smile on their face quickly fell. At a moment of silence, they moved back to position and gave Yuu a pat on their calf, “Okay! Round two!”

“...” Yuu lifted their head from the pillow, their grip on Azul’s hand somehow getting tighter, “I'm sorry…what?” The loving light of a mother quickly faded into a focused rage.

“...The…There’s a second baby-”

“A second what!?”

Azul struggled to escape Yuu’s hold, feeling his bones trying to liquefy to slip out of what his instincts were screaming was a death trap, “Darling? My pearl? Let go, please let go of my hand-”

“No! I’m gonna eat your fucking arm! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THERE’S A SECOND-”

February 22nd, Yuu uploaded a photo welcoming Charysa and Scylar Ashengrotto-Crewel into the world. Yuu smiled in bed with two identical cecaelian infants curled against each arm, one of them blinking open a dark blue eye to stare at the camera. Azul sitting at their bedside with one of his arms in a sling and bandages wrapping his fingers together. To this day he stands firm on his twins being the best early birthday present he ever received, and all they cost him was a broken hand and a dislocated shoulder.

(Yuu happily called the Leech twins once their arms were free, telling them they could stop fighting over who the godfather was to be since they could now both be the godfather to a baby).

JAMIL

Jamil and Yuu’s wedding was gorgeous.

Kalim took the fact it was a party for extended family and friends and turned his party planning skills to a whole new level, footing the bill and offering whatever venue the Asim family had at their disposal for the event. Jamil tried to deny his friend’s generous offers, but his mother shot him down so hard he physically felt the impact. He and Yuu had the final say in any decision of course, but against his mother’s cold unmoving stare and Kalim’s small suns for pupils filled with hope, Jamil crumbled often. He wanted to hate the end result, but it was honestly something out of a dream. And his favorite part was his bride.

Yuu’s lehenga was made from the finest red silk, embroidered with enchanted gold thread and precious beads that shimmered in the light. Henna was painstakingly painted on their hands and feet in ornate and fine patterns, their hair and make-up done by a personal beautician of one of the Asim wives, Finally they were coated in ruby-encrusted gold jewelry straight from the royal family's treasury that Kalim had gained permission to borrow from. Yuu was presented to him and he felt like he had found an oasis of paradise, no longer searching for a diamond in the rough as the sands had produced a perfectly cut and shining turquoise into his hands. A vision of beauty and now legally his wife.

So though it was only a month after Yuu had birthed Chrasya and Scylar, barely two weeks after their wedding night, they had learned Yuu had gotten pregnant again, much to their displeasure. Jamil’s mother was boosting at hearing the news, stating that her efforts of sneaking a yellow sapphire into their marriage bed had been the trick to such a fast pregnancy (Apparently, she claims that’s how she was blessed with Najma so soon after having Jamil). Now freshly re-impregnated, Azul and Malleus stated that Jamil should be the main one to care for Yuu as they had for their own children's respective pregnancies.

A challenge he accepted with only mild annoyance.

One of Kalim’s many wedding presents to his dear friends had been a townhouse located in a capital city of the Shaftlands. It was placed within a gated community with plenty of resident-only amenities, it was even a ten-minute walk from the downtown area. A perfect location to keep his pregnant, troublesome adventurous wife safe, yet close enough to events to keep them both entertained. One surprise meeting at the local farmer’s market later, Vil and Rook had become frequent visitors along with Azul, Malleus, and their other children to their townhouse home. However, the older Pomfiore duo had stopped visiting at the end of August as they were finally welcoming their own bundle of joy. 

A fact that Yuu quickly pointed out as a reason to visit Vil instead.

“I’m allowed to hold his baby. I’m pregnant and basically the blood sister he never wanted.”

“I’ll be honest, from how Rook’s been describing Vil's hyper possessiveness since they brought Finley home, he may actually fight you if you go over there.”

“I'm pregnant, I can do what I want.”

“Yuu, he will body slam you. Stop trying to put your shoes on.”

Once again, the pregnancy was smooth with frequent checkups and clean bills of health. Jamil remained hyper-vigilant during each clinic visit. Demanding the doctor do two or three extra ultrasounds from multiple angles, paying out of pocket for each surplus check. Only one baby was shown on the screen each pass, but Jamil never lowered his guard. Yuu had two pregnancies prior and a total of three surprise babies that managed to slip by completely undetected. Though everything pointed to one baby, that meant little to Jamil from past experience.

Even at their over-the-top baby shower, once again with Kalim as the head of the planning community, he didn’t stop his double-checking. As the triplets and the twins shoved their tiny hands into a cake to show the bright blue frosting inside, Jamil had gripped Kalim by the collar off to the side and demanded to know if the sex reveal had anything pointing to a second child. Kalim had sworn that nothing had stated there was anything out of the ordinary. Jamil had released him, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose before remarking he couldn't handle another kid. It had already taken him so long to pick Kalim as the godfather, he wasn't sure if he could pick a second person ( Kalim burst into tears at hearing Jamil had chosen him as his son's godfather. Picking Jamil clean off his feet in a hug that ended in them both falling into the pool).

Now, on New Year’s Eve, Jamil and Yuu made their way to Vil and Rook’s snowy mansion to attend their party. They had shown up a few hours early, Yuu shoving Vil out of their way once the blonde star had opened the door. Vil scowled as Yuu quickly waddled deeper into the house to coo over a four-month-old Finley, raising an eyebrow at Jamil, “And you say they're easier to handle pregnant?”

Jamil shrugged, slipping the bag of last-minute groceries Vil had asked him to bring from his shoulder and into Vil’s waiting hands, “I can placate them with food and physical affection. They sleep at least 11 hours a day and at some point running becomes a chore to them. I have half a mind to knock them up again the second this one is out.”

“They’d kill you.”

“They can’t do anything reckless or stupid when pregnant, it’s a dream come true.”

By the late evening, the party had calmed from the large soiree it started as to an intimate get-together of the original NRC group. Children were put to bed upstairs while the adults all talked and caught up with personal lives. Yuu had excused themselves to the bathroom, Kalim taking the opportunity to ask Jamil if he was doing ok.

“You’ve been bouncing your leg all night…”

Jamil sighed, leaning forward and placing his nose and mouth into his clasped hands, “...” He pulled his mouth from his hands, “Something is going to happen.”

Vil rolls his eyes, pouring himself another glass of champagne, “Honestly.”

Riddle hummed from his place under Floyd’s arm, fighting off his drunken sleepiness to soothe his former classmate's concerns, “Jamil…from what I’ve been told, Yuu’s had perfect screenings, you’ve kept them on a strict prenatal diet, and you only have two more weeks until their due date. I believe you are as they say…in the clear.”

“That means nothing when Yuu is involved and you know it.”

Malleus chuckles, stroking a hand through Jamil’s loose hair, “I don’t think there’s any need for concern. Yuu hasn’t had any strange cravings this pregnancy, nor early contractions. I agree with Riddle on you managing to conquer these dreaded ‘surprise pregnancy’ events we’ve been having.”

Rook nodded, humming as he stood from his chair to pat Jamil’s shoulder, “Worry not, monsieur multi! You’ve been so vigilant in monitoring your bébé’s status that I don’t believe the poor boy could hope to kick without you knowing about it.”

Yuu walked back into the room, a hand braced under their stomach and the other pointing behind them toward the bathroom, “Hey remember how I went to the bathroom?”

…

Jamil’s eyes moved from looking directly ahead of him to glancing at Yuu, “Yes…what about it?”

“So I thought, I was just actively peeing; which is why I went. Turns out, Aha…my water broke.”

…

Everyone had watched in a shared muted silence as Jamil picked Yuu into his arms and basically threw them into the back of their car, peeling out of the mansion’s driveway in a barely contained manic episode. They had sheepishly continued the party for an hour, midnight barely two hours away before Vil texted Jamil and Yuu, asking if they had safely reached a hospital.

Azul and Malleus crowded around the phone when Vil let out a delighted scream. Jamil had responded by sending a single photo of Yuu in a hospital bed still in their party dress, a bundle of blue blankets in their arms. While Malleus and Lilia had playfully lamented the loss of another January birthday boy, Cater had remarked how Yuu looked to be fighting back the urge to either laugh or fling the baby out of their grasp.

Jamil texted back, ‘We checked into the hospital, Yuu laid on the bed, and he just fucking came out.’

The doctor and nurses had to be called in, no one expecting Yuu to have birthed so quickly since the ink on their forms had barely dried. Luckily, the baby had no health issues, fully formed with feathery wisps of black hair and giving loud cries to show his airways were clear. Once he was placed into their arms, Yuu had jokingly asked the peaceful infant what had been so important that he needed to be born two weeks ahead of schedule in less than an hour. A joke question that the baby had seemingly answered by blinking open his little coal-colored eyes, opening his tiny mouth and burping. With that single act, he closed his eyes and nuzzled back into his mother’s embrace to sleep.

…

“Jamil, get this motherfucker away from me-”

Two hours before the new year, December 31st, Jamil Jr. (J.J) Viper-Crewel decided he was ready to be born.

(“I didn’t agree to that name. We had, like, twelve names picked out, why are you giving him my name?”

“Jamil. Look at him. This is just you, what the fuck else am I supposed to call him?”)

[mj2606k]

Ma Yawne Olo’eyktan

Pairing: Tonowari x Fem!Reader

Characters: Tonowari, Fem!Reader, child!Aonung, child!Tsireya, unborn child

Warnings: None, a little kissing and their queues bond (non-sexually) but then just soft sleepy morning fluff + family cuddle pile

A/N: I’m starting to repost some of my old writings from on here, hope you guys enjoy! ^-^

•~Reader’s POV~•

I awake with a quiet yawn, stretching before opening my eyes slightly, squinting at the sunlight slowly beginning to sneak into our Marui. Rolling over to avoid the light, I rest my forehead against Tonowari's chest and nuzzle him a bit, smiling softly when he also wakes up with a rather loud yawn.

As my mate wakes up fully, his arm tightens slightly around my waist where it had been resting all night, his hand splayed protectively across my growing stomach. Now he leaned down and pursed his lips slightly for a kiss, causing me to giggle quietly before leaning up and connecting our lips in a soft kiss. His hand came up to gently cup the side of my face, rubbing his thumb over my cheek slowly when we disconnected our lips.

We laid together for a while, Tonowari's hand absentmindedly rubbing over my stomach gently while we just talked to each other, catching up on how our jobs within the clan were going over the past week. Eventually Tonowari goes quiet and for a moment I fear that something is wrong until he just sits up and carefully scoots down the length of our hammock before laying back down, his face now level with my stomach as I was laying on my side still facing him. He grabs his queue and lifts it over his shoulder, looking up to me for permission before gently grabbing my queue when I nod and connecting them carefully.

As the bond settles we both become more calm, any tenseness in our muscles disappearing as he just leans down once again and starts gently pressing kisses all over my stomach, a smile gracing both our face as we both feel the baby kick, the bonding of our queues making it so much easier for Tonowari to feel the baby rather than trying to feel it through my stomach. As she continued kicking for a bit of time, Tonowari starts quietly singing a section of his songcord to her through my stomach, his eyes shut as he pressed his forehead lightly against my stomach. I simply let him, smiling at the sound of my mate's voice and reaching down to gently play with his hair, which was down and very curly since he had let me take out the braids last night before bed.

We just relaxed together for a few moments before we heard the quiet pitter-patter of feet against the floor of our Marui, heading towards the direction of our room. Tonowari returned to laying normally next to me, his arm once again gently wrapping around my waist as he spoke quietly to our other children, Aonung and Tsireya, who were standing just out of view from our bedroom door and giggling quietly to each other. "Come in, children." The kids wasted no time running into the room and promptly jumping up onto our hammock next to us, Aonung crawling up to rest in the space between us while Tsireya sat on top of my legs so she could look down at my belly, smiling at it.

I gently took one of Tsireya's hands and took one of Aonung's as well, smiling when they both watched my movements as I directed their hands to rest on my stomach. After a few minutes the baby began kicking again and both of my two other kids almost squealed with delight, excited at the prospect that they would be able to meet their new sister soon.

While they felt along my stomach carefully I began to doze off slightly, Tonowari taking notice as he gently disconnects our queues and manages to get the kids to calm down, both of them ending up settled in the space between us, Tonowari's last words to me being "Go back to sleep, ma yawne (my beloved)." before I slipped off to sleep.

[littledollll]

Hey...sorry it's me again, but since you write for wanda, can I maybe request something with a fem reader where there's a little bit of mindfuckery going on? Basically reader wakes up in some sort of new reality, in a bed made for two rather than one, blinds to let the sunlight in rather than curtains to keep everyone and everything out, but they don't really question it because it almost doesn't feel real? Kinda like a dream? And suddenly they have a girlfriend, Wanda, who dotes on them, snuggles them in bed, watches sitcoms with them, somehow knows all their skeletons in the closet (mind reading hehe) and lets them curl up on her chest and cry it out as she soothes them, makes them snacks, helps them do basic tasks when they're (super) depressed. Unbeknownst to reader, Wanda has actually torn apart the multiverse to be with them once again after having already lost them in another??? I'm sorry if this is way too much

-🧸 anon (loves you)

Mastermind

Wanda Maximoff x reader

A/n: im so behind on requests im trying believe me! Writing is getting hard :/ but! this was so fucking nice to write, yk that random motivation. when I tell u it just came to me and I couldn’t stop writing- I love love love Wanda, specially her being rly soft and lovey:( ty for your request hun.

Warnings: kinda manipulation? Hex pt.2, slightly suggestive if you squint, lots and lots of soft kisses, mentions of r struggling with anxiety and depressive episodes, lots of comfort, mostly narrated.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

A kiss. It was so soft. Intoxicatingly so. Her gentle hands cupping your face, the comforting weight of her straddling your lap made you feel grounded, and so safe. You whimpered when she parted from you, nuzzling into her chest while your arms wrapped around her. “My sweet little darling.. oh how I love you.” She whispered, her hands brushing your hair back and away from your face.

You didn’t know where this came from. Some day long ago you simply woke up and there she was. Wanda. You had a whole life with her. And somewhere between the fuzziness you remembered it all. How you met, everything from your first conversation to your first time. Your life before you got married, how you moved in together before then, and how your family disapproved of it. And god. That perfect wedding. The happiest day of your life, when it all finally came together for you, this was it. The stars aligned and have you this, gave you her.

In some part of your mind you didn’t know this woman, but at the same time you always had. You knew everything about her and she knew everything about you. Every little thing. You couldn’t bother to question it, if it was a dream then so be it, it was such a lovely dream, everything you could possibly ever want was right here. A beautiful and kind woman, with so much love and comfort to give. Wanda understood you, she allowed you to feel and cry but never alone, she was right here through it all. Allowing you to hide against her chest and pet your hair when you cried, telling you the most reassuring words, ensuring your comfort at all times.

It wasn’t a one time thing, you quickly noticed. Every day felt like a movie, every day she was the perfect woman, and she was yours. You’d watch tv together, listen to music and dance your hearts out.

Your favorite part was the cooking. Just like you were now. Both hands wrapped around her torso as you hugged her from behind, your girl, your wife. She let out an adorable giggle when you nuzzled into her neck and squeezed her tight.

“Are you planning an staying there the whole time darling or would you bother to help me out with our dinner.” She teased, her tone was scolding but so obviously not genuinely upset.

“m okay right here, my love.” Almost as if on queue the tv switched to play one of your favorite songs. You swayed with Wanda, holding her impossibly close and effectively preventing her from getting any actual cooking done which she was quick to scold you about yet again.

“If you want dinner you need to let me cook, dear.” You ignored her, sighing contently against her neck and closing your eyes. “Just gimme a minute to love on you, nothing wrong with giving my wife a little affection.” She let you. Her own arms coming to hug around yours, a bright smile painted on her face. She always looked so happy with you, even more so. It’s like all her energy recharged when you did little things like this, and the second you noticed you started doing it non-stop.

Wanda always gave you so much. She gave you her everything. The least you could do was give her these moments, ones where she took a deep breath and let her head lull to your shoulder, eyes blissfully closed and an always beautiful smile on her face. You loved this woman. Your beautiful Wanda.

���Let’s finish cooking mamá, I’ll help you.” You parted with a kiss. A sweet kiss like always, those kisses she’d giggle or smile into and give you a flirty little look, then go about her day like she didn’t know what she was doing to you. “Cut this up for me will you, darling?” You hummed and did a she asked, shaking your head to think about the now and not the events awaiting later tonight.

“Get your mind out of the gutter!” Wanda smacked you with an oven mitt furrowing her brows at you. “Dirty dirty mind.” You chucked and looked back at her. “What! I didn’t say anything” she let out a drawn out, “mhmmm” before turning back to put some ingredients in the pan. “I just know what you’re thinking. Hurry it up I need those!” “Right right! I’m sorry!”

Wanda found it odd, that making this reality with you didn’t take so much of her power like others had before. Like your own mind was subconsciously giving into her without her trying to force it. When Wanda occasionally peaked into your mind to see if any dreams or memories about your old life haunted you there was nothing. When she searched for doubts about your life or any clue that you might be figuring things out she only saw the slight confusion of those moments there your mind briefly recalled having a life without or before her, but you didn’t dwell on them, in-fact you thought of them as your anxiety messing you up but never once did you doubt her. Like you subconsciously simply refused to believe there was ever a life without her.

It was perfect. She didn’t really trick you. She just treated you like she did you from her universe, gave you their memories and anything you could possibly need. And you seemed more than content with this life, with her. She was your perfect girl, and you were her darling little love. Both of you living the life of your dreams, together.

[inkluvs]

IVES IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!

could I possibly get smth abt steve celebrating your birthday w you please rahhh maybe he does smth cute for it, I’ll leave that up to you teehee

have a lovely day bae <3

many moons ago

a/n: ok i wrote this really quickly so i'm not exactly sure how i feel about this? queueing it before i can overthink but happy (belated when this posts) birthday bae i love uuu <3 tw: food ; steve is a morning person ; one line that mentions sleep deprivation ? (0.3k)

steve harrington x fem! reader

 masterlist // taglist

Sunlight pours in from the sliver between the blinds and the windowsill, just enough to have you blinking rapidly as you try to turn around in search of your boyfriend. He isn’t there. You run through the reasons in your mind: He might have work, picked up a weekend shift, and forgotten to tell you. He might’ve gotten started on breakfast, which would explain the smell that’s starting to waft into the room. Or maybe there’s an occasion you’d forgotten. 

It’s your birthday, is what you’re forgetting. Ridiculously late nights that pour into early mornings dismembered your sense of time altogether. For all you know, it could very well still be new years. 

You drift in and out of sleep for the next hour and a half, only stirring awake when the door hinges creak as it swings open. Steve’s soft like this, you think, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, apron tied ‘round his waist and neck as he walks in with two plates. 

You smile into your pillow as he sets down the food on your nightstand, the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric reaching your ears as he unties the apron. Your bedsheets rustle as you turn to face him, your arms reaching out to pull him close.

“Mornin’ pretty,” He murmurs, words pressed tight against your neck.

“Morning,” you hum. “What’s the occasion?”

Steve’s never been that great of a storyteller, constantly getting distracted by little details and branching off when you give him input, but that didn’t always stop him.

“Many many moons ago,” he starts smoothing his thumb over the slope of your cheek, “on this exact morning,” he pauses, “you were born in the morning right?” You nod and his voice drops to a dramatic whisper, “You were born.” He dots a kiss against your hairline and your cheeks split in a grin.

“That’s what it was.” You realize, eyeing your breakfast with fervor.

He hums, “Happy birthday honey.”

[arazialotis]

Get Him to the Con - Part 6

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: About 7600

Summary: The reader stumbles into Jensen at her favorite bar, a very drunk Jensen. She soon realizes Jensen was booked for a con this weekend and has to be eight hours from town in only two.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warnings: Language, Mutual Pining, A very mild jalapeno pepper in the beginning

Although this is an RPF, it is a character I created and should not reflect back IRL. I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time as coping skill. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

-----

Sunlight filtered into the room through sheer curtains blowing in the gentle breeze. Birds chirped outside, greeting the day with a chorus of melodies. A peaceful sigh brushed the back of your neck. An arm wrapped around you, holding you close to the solid form behind you. A hand bordered on the edge of your shirt that must have ridden up during the night. Another grazed the back of your bare thigh, and another pressed hard against your ass. A soft moan escaped past your lips as you pressed further into it. You would have been content to stay here forever. Wait! Your eyes shot wide open. That was one too many hands.

You jolted from bed, now fully awake. Jensen grumbled but rolled over to the other side, not ready yet to face the day. Thankfully, it gave you enough time to get your shit together. Where were your pajama bottoms? You were a notorious chronic stripper. Always starting the night off with too many layers because you were cold, but as you started to warm up, thus commenced the unconscious removal of layers. It didn’t help that Jensen was hot. Like, temperature-wise. The guy was a fucking furnace. You weren’t concerned last night about it because you thought you’d be too anxious to sleep at all. Turns out you were so very wrong. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed.

Jensen sniffed, and the sheets rustled as he turned onto his back. The bedding became tented near the area you had believed was his third hand. Change of plans. You abandoned looking for your missing pajamas and opted for jeans and a sweatshirt. After a quick trip to the bathroom, you left on a mission to find breakfast and coffee, sure Jensen would appreciate the privacy to tackle the obvious, albeit impressive, situation on his own.

The town was bigger than Lebanon, but not by much. At least it was walkable. The downtown had one restaurant but didn’t open until eleven. Traffic was busy on the main stretch of the road, filled with trucks, semis, and livestock trailers. Tires squelched through puddles and mud. Across the way, loud mariachi music called travelers to a pop-up tent where there was a line of hungry patrons waiting. An intoxicating aroma of spices broke through the smell of cattle. You eagerly went to join the queue.

Forty minutes of walking, waiting in line, and waiting for food seemed like an appropriate amount of time to give Jensen. On the way back, to Anthony’s credit, you did peek into one of the empty rooms, which was completely stripped of wallpaper, carpet, and wood paneling. The furniture was pushed to one corner and covered with a plastic tarp. You knocked on your motel door. Jensen answered, having changed into black jeans and a Family Business t-shirt tie-dyed with bleach. His hair looked so soft, still free of product. It was the most unkempt you’d seen him, yet you craved to see more of his natural state. How he would appear on a lazy Saturday morning with no one to impress.

It was another morning with more uncertainty of how to start the day, of what to say, of what to address. Both of you stood there frozen in time, staring at each other. Though the storm had broke last night, a new one began to brew in the spaces between. There was a need to feel clouds clash against each other, to feel the shake of thunder, to watch lightning flash in each other’s eyes. It wasn’t only you who felt the flush of heat; Jensen’s cheeks visibly reddened, lost in the memory of a dream, wishing it had been reality. At any moment, the clouds would break, and the floodgates would release. Thankfully, you had the perfect solution.

“Breakfast burrito?” You held up the heavy paper bag as a barrier between the two of you. “I didn’t know what kind you would want, so I got one of each. There’s eggs and potatoes, eggs and chorizo, veggies…”

---

Jensen had taken the entire leg of the journey yesterday, so you insisted on starting the drive today. You rushed through, getting ready and eating breakfast, eager to leave the creepy motel behind. There was a minor traffic jam on 36, but it lasted only twenty minutes, and you were flying down the road once more.

Jensen finished his last sip of coffee. “Didn’t we listen to Led Zeppelin all of Thursday?”

You gasped. “This is Greta Van Fleet, you uncultured swine.”

It took him a second, but he got there. “Did you just insult me with a line from Toy Story?”

“It’s a good line.” You defended, “Why reinvent the wheel?”

“Uncultured,” He scoffed. “I’m not the one listening to a cheap knock-off.”

You continued the playful banter. “You sound exactly like all those cake-eaters on Reddit whose only knowledge of musical theory stemmed from listening to Entry of the Gladiators too many times at clown school. I enjoy it so I’m going to listen to it. Fuck the pretentious haters.”

Jensen chuckled silently, shaking his shoulders. “You’ve been holding that in for a while.”

You nodded your confirmation.

“Entry of the Gladiators?” He asked for clarification.

You used a series of “da da das” to sound out the melody of the iconic circus theme music.

“Ah, of course,” He recognized it not even halfway into the first stanza. “Who wouldn’t know that had a title other than ‘circus music?’ Clown school,” He chuckled again. “I’m going have to steal that line for future use.”

“It’s going to cost ya.” You warned.

“What’s the price?” He questioned.

You took your eyes off the road, studying his face. His finger was brushing against his lower lip as if offering them up freely as compensation. A wave of anticipation coursed throughout your body, landing in your toes. As you leaned closer, testing if he would meet you, you chickened out instead and adjusted the volume before focusing back on the road.

“The price is your admission that this is actually a decent song and that you’re somewhat intrigued.” You settled.

Jensen had not yet pulled away from leaning in. “Oh, I’m intrigued, alright.” He admitted but was talking about an entirely unrelated matter.

It was not even two hours once you hit the Colorado border, but this entire trip had felt like a lifetime of trying to reach an unknown destination that was finally in sight. The wooden sign read ‘Welcome to Colorful Colorado.’ The car slowed to a stop on the road’s shoulder.

“Come on,” Jensen complained. “We’ve already taken a hundred pictures this trip.”

But you were already halfway out of the car, bounding into the tall grass and wildflowers to get closer to the sign. “We’ve taken three!”

“Be careful!” He warned. “You’re going to get bit by a rattlesnake or infested with ticks.”

“Well then, you better come over here and protect me. I'm sure a big, strong Texan such as yourself ain't afraid of no rattlesnake."

The grass swished against his calves as he came closer.

“As for the ticks,” You continued, bravery rising up. “We’ll have to turn on some country music and see what Brad Paisley advises for those.”

He raised his arm above his head, leaned against the wooden post, and looked down at you. The intensity of his gaze normally would have made you turn and run or, at the very least, create a distraction to diffuse the tension. Instead, you stepped closer, a whisper away from him. The sun shone through the gap between.

Gravel and tires met as another car slowed, pulling off the road behind yours. Three girls piled out of the car, laughing and squealing at each other. Fuck. You stepped away from him.

“Hey,” One of the girls called. “We’ll take your photo if you take ours!”

“So it begins,” Jensen mumbled under his breath.

You didn’t understand why until they stepped closer. You raised your hand to shield the sun from your eyes. One girl was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt over a black tank, the anti-possession tattooed on their chest, one in a shirt that had the side profile of the Impala that read ‘The Winchester Brothers’ like it was an advertisement, the third’s shirt was just Jensen’s face everywhere in the style of a 90’s album cover.

The shock of realization crossed their faces slowly and then all at once.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” One repeated over and over while simultaneously hitting her friend’s shoulder.

The one subject to the abuse just stood there, mouth hanging open as if her brain was having trouble computing the reality of the event. The third gulped, wide-eyed, and turned a hundred and eighty degrees walking back to the car.

You snickered and whispered to Jensen, “Fight, flight, freeze.”

He snorted but then recomposed himself, calling over to them. “Y’all don’t happen to be traveling to Denver for a certain convention now, are ya?”

“Oh my god,” The fighter repeated again. “I told you it was going to be worth it.” She pulled the fleeing friend by her collar back to the group. “I told you!” She then directed to Jensen, “We’re huge fans of the show.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled as if the shirts didn't give it away.

The frozen one thawed. “Were you in Lebanon, like literally yesterday!?!”

“Sure was.” He said. “Did you see my note?”

Two of them squealed while the other said, “We must have been like an hour or two behind you.”

“Well, we are all here now. Should we get a picture or something?” He suggested.

“Oh my gosh! Yes, Please!” The one in the Impala shirt gushed.

You offered to take the photo, and as you were receiving instructions, one of them asked you, “So, are you like his… cousin? Assistant?”

Jensen was yacking it up with the other two girls. You looked him up and down, not sure what to define it as. Caught somewhere in between. Wondering if it would cement into something more. But then it hit you. This road trip was almost over. You were leaving him by the end of the day. You’d go back to your life and he to his. Who knew the next time you’d be able to see each other, let alone work on a relationship? If that’s even what he wanted. Was it what you wanted? Honestly, the guy might be looking for a quick fling. Again, was that something you wanted? Jensen felt your gaze and met it; his lips pressed together. Your brain spun from overthinking.

“Friends,” You sputtered out. “We’re just friends.”

Relief radiated from the girl, but you were more focused on Jensen, wondering if that sigh was a hint of disappointment. But god dammit! If he wanted something more, he was going to have to be the one to bring it up! Several pictures later of the group and singles, Jensen realized he needed to take control of the situation, or he’d never leave.

“Alright, alright.” He attempted to settle them. “I didn’t do my hair today, but one of those has to be decent, and there’s a dinner I gotta catch tonight.” He looked at his watch to sell that he was running behind.

They thanked him profusely, trying to draw out the moment as much as possible.

“Actually, can you get one real quick of me and… my friend… before we head out.” He asked.

Oooh. Was that as intentionally backhanded as it felt?

“Get over here.” He impatiently waved you over. “Wait, actually, do you have your phone? I think I left mine in the car.”

You nodded and handed it over to one of the girls, knowing fully well that his phone was in his back pocket; he just had the common sense not to hand his phone over to random fans. (Unless he was very drunk per your first encounter). Although you had been the initial one to want a photo, now that you had an audience, you didn’t know how to act. One of the girls had her phone out as well, possibly recording the interaction. You stood next to his side with your body angled towards him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. The girl with your phone counted down before snapping a pic.

“No, no, no.” Jensen complained and reset. “This feels too photo op-y.” He adjusted his jeans as he squatted down. “Hop up.”

“What? Jensen!” You protested.

“Don’t ‘What, Jensen’ me.” He argued. “You did it yesterday, and it was cute, and I’d like a picture.” He tried to encourage you with the wave of his hand. “Oh, don’t get all shy on me now. One way or another, I’m getting you in the air for a picture, whether willingly or over the shoulder with just your ass in the frame, which I wouldn’t complain….”

“Fine, fine.” You chuckled as you gave in to his demand.

His knees popped as he lifted you quickly, and you bounced in the air.

“Gentle,” You scolded. “I’m not paying for your knee replacement surgery.”

“Smart ass.” He bit his lower lip and pinched the underside of your thigh.

You shrieked with laughter, and Jensen turned to look up at you.

“Oh, that is adorable.” The girl called, taking a few candid shots.

“Just friends?” Another mumbled though the two of you were not privy to the conversation.

The third agreed. “How much you wanna bet he’s going to make an announcement tomorrow he’s off the market?”

“I’m not betting on a hand already lost.”

After several more moments of thanks and prolonging the experience, you finally made to part ways. You and Jensen sat in the rental. As you waited for the girls to take off, Jensen saying something about not wanting to be followed the whole way to Denver, you played with the filters on the photos and sent the best ones to Jensen. He then added the one of him next to the sign in Lebanon to Instagram. Later as he was driving down the freeway, you read the whole thing: If there was one word to describe this year so far, that word would be unexpected. The start was unexpectedly filled with chaos and turmoil, as most of you know, though maybe I should have seen it coming. But these last few months have taught me unexpected isn’t always a bad thing. It can come in the form of unexpected kindness from strangers, unexpected friendships, unexpected journeys, unexpected mysteries, and unexpected healing. All of which has led me spontaneously and unexpectedly back home. Oh, home, let me come home.

Though he had driven all of yesterday and you only had a couple of hours in today, he insisted on seeing you through to Denver. Though he teased you over your deplorable and sometimes downright terrifying driving, you thought it was really because he wanted to reinforce the driver picks the music rule. (You weren’t ‘that’ bad of a driver). It was sole stubbornness that kept him from admitting he liked Greta Van Fleet or confusing them for Zeppelin in the first place. Instead, he went for an indie playlist of his featuring bands like Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, The Flaming Lips, and Beach House.

The drive continued ever onward, and though Colorado did have some rolling hills, the bare wasteland and fields you had become accustomed to over the past few days drew you to the brink of insanity.

“Hey, Jensen.” You said.

“Yeah?”

“Clouds or Mountains?”

He thought on it for a second. “Clouds.”

Sure enough, he was right.

A half-hour, he prompted you. “Hey, Y/N.”

You only humphed a response.

“Clouds or mountains?”

“Clouds,” you grumbled.

A few minutes later and a new shape emerged on the horizon.

He asked again, “Clouds or mountains.”

You whined again. “Clouds.” And sighed a deep sigh before quoting, “I want to see mountains again. Mountains Gandalf! And then find somewhere quiet where I can finish my book.”

Jensen chuckled. “I always forget how big of a nerd you are. We should watch those movies together sometime.”

“Yeah, we should!” You concurred. “We can marathon them and have a hobbit day where we follow the meal schedule and everything. Breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon….” You listed off. “Tomatoes, sausages, nice crispy bacon,” You impersonated a few more quotes. “Malt beer, ripe meat of the bone.”

His stomach grumbled. “Ah, man, I'm hungry just thinking about it.”

“How?” You giggled. “You had three breakfast burritos.”

“Two and a half.” He defended.

“Hold on,” You said before unclicking your seatbelt and shuffling to the back. “What do you want?”

His tongue flashed over his bottom lip. After his dreams last night, you were the only snack he was concerned with. God, how he wished he had a few more days. Perhaps canceling on the con so you could keep driving wouldn’t be such a bad idea. You could just keep heading to Vancouver. He’d make it to set on time. Most likely. Okay, if he was able to have his way with you two days late, but it would be so worth it. You reoriented yourself in the front with your stash. “Goldfish, Pringles, and we still have a few pretzels.”

He was going to make his move tonight. He didn’t want to wait any longer. He was ready to take things to the next step. He was glad to have you as a friend, but he wanted more. From the moment you slid in next to him all those months ago at the brewery, he knew he was a fucking goner. Sure, at that time, he was as drunk as Jimmy Buffet in Margaritaville, but that instinct hadn’t lied to him. It held and only grew. It had taken him these past months and this road trip to build up this decision, to finally have the courage to act on it. He just wasn’t quite sure how to initiate it yet.

“Hey,” You called him from his thoughts. “You gotta help me with these. I really only want to take the granola and trail mix up with me to Estes Park.”

His heart immediately sank. Maybe he didn’t understand or hear you right. “Estes Park?”

“Yeah.” You confirmed. “I actually got an unbelievable deal at the Stanley Hotel. You know, Stephen King’s inspiration for The Shining. Like such a good deal, the ghosts may be luring me there. So I may call you in a panic tonight and probably should get some salt on the way up. Oh man, how awesome would it be if you and Jared stayed there and made a little ghost hunter special? But I figured you’d be busy with the con all weekend, and we wouldn’t get to see each other much anyways, so I might as well make the most of being out in Colorado and hike the Rockies while I’m out here.” You rambled.

“Right.” His heart stayed in his stomach, remembering your early conversation about what you told your friends, not realizing it was a partial truth to them. “Cause how else are you going to have your meet-cute with some handsome lumberjack unless you trip over his fallen log?”

He meant it as a joke, but disappointment twisted inside you. So the kiss had been a fluke, and this morning was just a natural reaction. He wasn’t interested. It made sense. More so than what you had thought.

“Exactly.” You said.

Friends. You thought. Just friends, he thought, and his cheeks flushed. Simultaneously, you both swallowed a lump in your throat. The ride from there on was quiet. There was an obvious tension in the air. Not like the storm waiting to break as was before. No, this was more like when your grandfather brought up politics on Thanksgiving. At least you had other rooms to escape to then.

You played on your phone a bit, tried, and failed to read. The motion of the car and focusing on the stationary words was too much for your brain to process. Jensen seemed lost in thought. Like he wanted to say something but never was able to work it out. Maybe if you could tell him how you were feeling. Just let it all out. That you didn’t know how much longer you could handle the ‘just friends’ thing. It was pretty easy when thousands of miles separated you, but being so close together, it was near impossible to deny your emotions. At any moment, they could explode out of you. But you didn’t want to risk it. Didn’t want to make a mistake and lose him altogether.

“Hey, Y/N?” Jensen pulled you from your thoughts.

“Yeah?” You responded hopeful.

“Clouds or mountains?”

It was not what you wanted to hear, but at least some of the tension had lifted. You squinted and took in the hazy purple shape in the distance. After a few moments of analysis, your eyes widened. You softly and repeatedly slapped his shoulder in excitement.

“That’s a fucking mountain bitch!” You squealed in delight.

He laughed boisterously.

“We made it!” You proclaimed.

Jensen slipped into a British accent in an attempt to impersonate David Attenborough. But it came out more gentler, more breathy, and a higher pitch than his usual deep voice.

“After years of endless searching, the pair of travelers laid eyes upon their destination. The high peaks of the mountains are a stark contrast to the flat sea of plains they had battled tirelessly through.”

You melted, and a high whine sounded in the back of your throat. Jensen glanced at you and bit his lower lip as you quickly recomposed yourself. It was such a sweet and delicate noise. He wanted more.

“Little did they realize, the end of the great migration is only the beginning. The female will depart from the male to venture further into the hills, gathering resources for the nest. All the while, the male will be left defenseless against hoards of a terrifying new threat. Fangirls. If either of them survives the next perilous chapter, it will be nothing short of a miracle.”

He was unsuccessful at coaxing another whimper from you, but your giggle was just as pleasurable.

“Oh my god,” You chastised him with a chuckle. “You’ll be fine. You secretly feed off the praise and attention even though you act like a complete grump.”

“And what about you?” He asked. “I know you packed an entire walk-in closet, but do you have bear spray?”

“Bear spray?” You furrowed your brow.

He rolled his eyes at your lack of unpreparedness. “What about water? Do you have a camel pack?”

“I’m sure my water bottle will be just fine.”

He scoffed. “First aid? Gauze if you get a cut or need to make a splint?”

“Jensen,” You stopped him. “I’m going on popular trails part of the National Parks Service. If I run into any trouble, I’m sure there will be plenty of people around to help. If not a handsome lumberjack, perhaps a park ranger.” You added for the spite of it.

He clenched his jaw, trying his hardest to ignore the jab. “No, we are stopping at an Arc’teryx or, or Patagonia or something. Make sure you have all you need.”

Was he panicking? “Jensen,” You said his name again, hoping to ground him. “I have everything I need. I’ll be fine. I’ve hiked before. There lot’s of places back home.”

“But this is, like, the actual mountains.” He continued to argue. “Wild terrain, no cell service, bears, cougars…”

Your laugh cut him off. “I think you should be more worried about cougars this weekend than me.”

"This is serious, Y/N." He groaned.

"I'll be fine. I promise." You affirmed.

"Will you…" He started. He didn't want to be overbearing, and he knew you were fiercely capable and independent, but anxiety was getting the best of him. "Will you just text in the morning and when you make it back, so I know you're okay?"

"I'm sure you'll hardly be able to check your phone, but yes, I'll text you." You agreed.

"And take lots of pictures, so I can live vicariously through you." He added.

“Deal!”

The last leg of the journey remained quiet and calm, Jensen’s indie playlist providing a soft ambiance, even as the skyline grew heavier with angular earth jutting into the heavens. Even as Denver grew from a speck reflection of sunlight to a concrete jungle, neither of you could think of what to say. Your gold necklace glinted in the side view mirror, and the orange sun streaked across your face.

You had arranged with a rental company to come meet you at the hotel where the convention was taking place. That way, Jensen would still have a car, though you figured he may have a driver for the event itself. For the first time in this journey, an active map with actual directions had been pulled up to navigate the way through the city. Though now you were wishing you had encouraged his earlier plan to keep heading west. As the minutes counted down to arrival, your hearts grew evermore tender knowing soon they’d be parted.

Jensen pulled into a roundabout, a fountain in its center flowing into a garden of roses, through the archway leading to the hotel entrance. He put the car in park, but the engine ran idle. Both of you stared directly ahead, not quite believing the trip where time stood still was finally over.

An intrusive vibrating buzzed into the quiet. You looked down at your phone, notifying you the pick-up was here, as a black Malibu drove under the awning next to you.

“That’s my ride.” You said defeated.

Jensen nodded, and as the trunk behind you popped open, his door creaked as he exited the vehicle. You studied the lines in your hands as they lay in your lap, wondering if they held any insight into your fortune. If you could read them, perhaps they could guide you forward. But all you could do was sit with that same feeling as the morning you first left him. The trunk next to you slammed shut, signaling it was time to go. You scrambled out of the car but froze, facing Jensen, trying to discern the look on his face, not knowing it mirrored yours.

“Well…” He bumped his fists together. “This is it.”

“Yeah.” You agreed.

“Be safe.”

You let out a half-hearted laugh. “You too.”

Jensen pounced. It happened so fast your brain couldn’t process it until it had already happened. His lips worked hard against yours as you met his claiming pace. One hand wrapped around your waist, pressing you against his hard frame. The other wound around the back of your neck, leaving no room for escape. Your fists clenched the fabric of his shirt with such strength at any moment, it could tear. Gravity had no hold here as it felt like you were floating far above the atmosphere. Harsh clashes drew out into savoring breaths, and when you finally pulled apart, you found you were out of air entirely.

You looked up at him, your noses nearly grazing.

Ask me to stay, your eyes pleaded.

Please, stay. His heart begged.

Someone nearby cleared their throat, and you took a step back, color flooding your cheeks. Yet, still, there were no words to say to each other.

The Enterprise driver rolled down their window. “Lady, I got a schedule to run.”

“Right, of course,” You snapped back to reality as time and gravity came rushing back with an oppressive force.

Jensen rubbed his lower lip as if waking up trying to remember a dream.

“Thank you?” It came out as a question.

You didn’t know what you were thanking him for. The kiss, driving, paying for the hotels, maybe everything. Had you ever thanked someone after they kissed you? More people were around the entrance now; some under the awning, some looking through the glass windows of the lobby, and more than one had their phones out. Your chest began to tighten, and your vision blurred. Your mind grew evermore blank the harder you fished for something else to say.

His brow creased, and he tilted his head slightly. “You’re welcome?”

A high voice called his name, followed by another, and then a tank of a man came barreling over, mumbling to Jensen the need to check his phone more frequently. That he wasn’t about to have another Nashville on his hands. Without another word, you got into the car and drove away. Jensen’s eyes stayed fixed on you until the car was out of view.

---

The view on the way to Estes Park should have been stunning, breathtaking, and spectacular, but you were two-for-two. Two-for-two on leaving Jensen at a hotel and crying on your way to your next destination. And it was stupid. You shouldn’t be crying. You should be elated. It probably had something to do with tuning into a radio station playing that dreaded Neil Diamond song you couldn’t seem to escape.

He kissed you. Like, kissed you, kissed you. There was no mistaking it this time. Yet, he didn’t ask you to stay. He didn’t say anything. You knew what you wanted at this point. You wanted him. You wanted to try and make some sort of relationship work despite the distance, despite his status, despite everything. But you were going to leave it in his hands. He had to decide what he wanted and then fucking communicate it to you. With actual words, though, the lips had been enjoyable.

You chewed on your thumb, thinking things over. Maybe you should turn around and head back. Give him an opportunity to actually say what he was thinking. But then again, he was going to be so busy this weekend that you wouldn’t have time with him anyways. No. You were staying the course. You were a brave, independent woman and didn’t need to be hung up about some guy. When you booked this trip, you wanted to see ghosts at The Stanley and you wanted to see the mountains. So by god, that was what you were going to do. If he had anything to say, he could come find you.

The Stanley was impressive, to say the least. It had a glamor to it, feeling as if it stood still in a bygone era. The ghost tour was fun and spooky, and you even managed to catch an orb on camera, despite the rule, ‘no videos allowed.’ Though it felt lonely. You kept thinking of quick remarks to say to Jensen or feeling the same chill down your spine or how he’d undoubtedly say your orb was just a spec of dust yet secretly keep a box of salt close by that night.

Sleep was impossible. It wasn’t the scratching on walls or the footsteps above, even though you were on the top floor, or the swinging chandelier. It was the fact that he hadn’t called or texted. And yes, despite your horrible cell reception on the road trip here, you did, in fact, pay for cellular service. And it seemed to working just fine as you reconnected with friends and family ensuring them you arrived to Colorado in one piece.

You don’t kiss someone like that and not follow up! You buried your head under a pillow. You also don’t kiss someone like that and thank them. What had you been thinking? You weren’t thinking that was the problem. Possibly even had a panic attack given by the growing crowd. No wonder he hadn’t called you. What was he supposed to think? You tried to rationalize the thought process. You had shown gratitude towards the action, thus indicating you appreciated the gesture. But even you didn’t buy that.

An icy caress crept up your spine, sending shivers throughout your body, and you reached your breaking point.

You shot straight up. “Can’t you tell I am being haunted enough by my own idiocy!” Perhaps it was your own imagination, but the creaking floorboards seemed to settle, and warmth flooded back. “Thank you!”

You laid back down and pulled your phone out, staring at his number, the photos being the last thing you sent. You had to put a feeler out there.

‘Thanks again for an amazing trip! If you’re looking for a buddy on your next road trip, let me know. And don’t worry, the ghosts here are all bark, though I can’t say the same for those in room 217.’

You slammed your phone on the one-night stand and prayed sleep would find you.

Morning came quickly, too quickly. Your alarm cheerfully chimed you awake though you did not meet it with the same attitude. After hitting snooze twice, you regretted your decision to wake up early and beat the crowds. The sheets crinkled as you reached over, searching for Jensen, only to remember he wasn’t there. The realization was enough to get you moving instead of what you really wanted, opting for a lazy morning in bed with him.

Though it had been a struggle to pry yourself free from the bed, it had been the right call. Prime parking was still available at the head of the trail, which was starting to fill in even at this ungodly hour. The trail up to the Sky Pond was going to be a long one but worth it, or so you kept telling yourself. You double-checked your supplies, ensuring you had enough water, food, and a compass. To Jensen’s credit, you probably could have been more prepared, but you also didn’t want to be weighed down. You snapped a few pictures of the map at the start of the trail, just in case. It would all be fine.

Two hours into the hike and you had convinced yourself you made the right call. The landscape and views were astonishingly serene. There was peace and euphoria blowing like wind through branches, rushing like rapids of a river, sweetly singing like birds in the breeze, gasping like the lack of air in your lungs, dripping like the sweat on your brow. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but you just needed a second wind. It would be worth it, you repeated. And you were only thinking about Jensen every 500 feet or so. Progress. You had already passed Alberta Falls, and it had been spectacular. There was something healing about the sound of water. There was more to come, and it would be worth it, repeating the mantra of the day.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, so too did the heat of the day. Conserving water throughout the hike was essential, but staying hydrated was just as important. You guzzled down another few sips. As you rounded a bend, you hesitated, seeing the ascent. The backpack bearing weight on your shoulders grew heavier, and you adjusted the straps. Your breaths deepened, and a few crude words muttered from your lips as you prepared for the climb. If Nesta could do it, so could you.

Your legs shook as you started, already weary from the elevation gain. You wondered what it would be like at the convention right now. Would you be hanging out with Jensen? Meeting his friends and coworkers? Or would you just be milling about, waiting for the day to be over? Probably the latter. He had asked you to text in the morning, but he hadn’t even responded to your message last night. He was probably too busy with the day. Or just as confused about the kiss as you. The first time it happened, you didn’t talk about it, so why would now be any different? Whatever the situation, you bet if you were still in Denver, it would include air conditioning, less sweat, and the opportunity to read. But you could read at the lake and cool your feet off. If you ever got there. The mental games were becoming as big of a hurdle as the physical limits.

You were too in your head that when you hit the next rock, your foot missed it entirely. Landing on the step below, your foot slipped out from under you, and you came crashing down on your hip with a big thud.

“Fuck!” You cursed and then hissed through your teeth.

“Woah!” A voice called in the distance, and the sound of heavy boots beat against the rocky steps. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

You braced yourself to get up and were met with a helping hand. The green pants and khaki shirt were a dead giveaway for a park ranger. He was tall and broad with dark brown curls and soft whiskey eyes. His skin was darkened from days in the sun. And unlike you, he was barely breaking a sweat.

“Yeah.” You winced as he helped pull you up. “Wasn’t watching my step.”

“At least you can stand.” He said, “But let’s take a look anyways.” He crouched down beside you. “A few scrapes and you’ll definitely have a bruise. Can you twist your ankle?” You did as he instructed. “Bend the knee.”

You looked down as he tenderly applied pressure to certain areas. You confirmed the scrapes from the few bright red streaks traveling down your calve and brushed at the dirt that ran your whole length.

“All looks to be in working order.” He assessed, brushed off his hands, and started digging through his pack. “I have acetaminophen.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” You gladly accepted it and washed it down with water.

“Here.” He took his water bottle and ran it down your leg, clearing the cuts of debris. “You’ll want to clean that better once you’re finished for the day, but you should be fine until then. Where are you hiking up to?” He asked.

“Sky pond.”

“Ah, me too, actually.” He took his hat off to fan himself and ran his hand through his bouncy curls. “Someone has been messing with the trail cams up there, and I gotta reset them. Mind if I join you?” Maybe it was because you pursed your lips, he quickly added. “If not, I’ll hang back for a while and create some distance. It’s so peaceful out here I wouldn’t want to ruin…”

“No. It’s cool, we can hike together. Though I’m probably slower than you’re used to.” You said.

“Oh, I love a leisurely pace. So much to take in. Maybe even catch sight of the bear I keep hearing about.”

“Bears?” You raised your brows. “Yeah, you can definitely stick around.”

As you hiked onward, you learned a little about each other. Where each other were from, family, careers, hobbies. He moved out from Maine recently, but being stationed in the Rockies had always been a dream of his. The ascent finally leveled out a bit, and you were able to catch your breath.

“You have a partner back home?” He asked.

You chuckled.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… complicated.” You explained.

“Hold that thought.” He said. “There’s an excellent view back here most people don’t know about.”

He started in through the woods.

“So much for staying on the trail rule.”

He looked back and winked. “Perks of traveling with a ranger.”

“Definitely not impersonating one and preying on single hikers.” You teased but also voiced the concern in the back of your mind.

“And disgrace the badge? Never.” He smiled.

“I do have bear spray.” You lied and gripped your shoulder straps tighter.

“Well, I’m glad I came across you. I left mine down at the station. If we did come across B 712 I was going to yell real loud and hope for the best.” He teased back.

Despite the warning bell in your head, you continued onward, following him further from the main path. The forest cleared to a rocky cliffside overlooking a massive gorge carved from the very glacier this trail was named after. It made you feel so insignificantly small and at the very top of the world all at the same time.

“Wow.” Was all that came to your mind.

“Ah, don’t get too close to the ledge now.” His arm went in front of you like a mother who braked in the car too hard. “If you slip here, well…” He peered over the steep ledge.

You took out your phone and scanned the area with the lens. “Pictures never do it justice.” You said disappointed.

“I never get sick of the view.” He stated. “You should come back when the colors change, it looks like the valley is on fire. Sorry, you were saying earlier?”

“Right. Yeah, no…” You were flustered, wondering how much to share. “It’s just I really like this guy, and I think he likes me too, most of the time anyway. But I don’t know what he wants. And I don’t want to get hurt. So I’m kinda stuck in this pining phase, and I don’t know how to get out of it until he’s ready. I’m not making sense.”

“Hmm.” He pondered. “I mean, I’ve known you for twenty minutes I can say with certainty he likes you back.”

You rolled your eyes at the pass. “No, it's different. He’s like a big deal. Like a big fish in the ocean, and I’m a trout in a pond.”

“First of all,” He stopped you. “I hate that analogy with a passion. Second, If you’ve put him on a pedestal and he’s reinforced that in any way or hasn’t corrected that, he is not worth the time of day. No matter where you are in your walk of life, comparing yourself to other people never ends well. And using that comparison to deflate your own worthiness or happiness is going to lead to a self-fulling prophecy of missed opportunity.”

Wow, that was deep and stung a little. “Are you really a park ranger or a psychologist?” You teased.

“I listen to a lot of Brene Brown podcasts.” He admitted. “What, it gets lonely hiking up here all the time; gotta do something to keep the mind busy. You said he likes you; what makes you think that?”

“Shall I lay on this bolder while you connect this back to my relationship with my mother?” You gestured to the rock next to you.

“Fine, fine.” He retreated. “I have a knack for wanting to fix things; car engines, relationships, trail cams. Let me say this, and now that I’ve creeped you out enough, I’ll let you hike in peace, but you said you don’t know what he wants, but have you asked him?”

“Well… I…” You stuttered. “I’m waiting for him.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Because that’s what you do. The guy asks the girl. He makes the moves.”

He scoffed. “I guess that’s fine. I didn’t take you as being so old-fashioned.”

“I’m not old-fashioned.” You scoffed back.

He raised his hands in surrender. “It’s not a bad thing if that's what you want.”

“No, it’s just… this is in his court. It’s his move.” How could you explain the situation without giving it away?

“Two-for-two with the horrible analogies.” He pushed.

Oh, he was getting on your nerves. “He’s an actor! Okay! Like a somewhat recognizable one. And I’m just,” You gestured to yourself. “A nobody, covered in dirt.”

“Oooh. So it is the pedestal thing. Man, I’m good!” He leaned against a pine and crossed his arms smugly. “The way I see it, if you like him, and he’s given you all the signals back, you need to get over your own insecurities and open up a channel of communication, or you're going to be stuck in that small pond forever.”

Tears were threatening to spill from your eyes. “How?” You whispered.

“Simple. Tell him how you feel and ask him the same, ask him what he wants.” He suggested.

“And what if, what if he doesn’t want what I want? What if I lose him altogether?”

“It’s a risk, but do you really want to be trailing behind him forever? Putting your whole life on hold while you wait for him to catch up?” He pushed. “‘Sides, you know where I’m stationed, and I’ll make my intentions clear from the beginning.”

You squinted your eyes at him. “What’s your name?”

His grin widened, showing off his canines. “Why, you going to report me, sweetheart?”

“No.” You stamped your foot. “You are obviously entitled to a raise. I bet you find all the single hikers and help them with their existential crises.”

“It keeps me busy.” He bit his bottom lip. “The name’s Dean. You?”

You scoffed. Of course, it was. “Y/N. I think I’ll let you continue on your own from here.”

“I understand. I came on too heavy.” He sighed. “Should’ve stuck to the surface-level topics.”

“No, it’s not that.” You said. “It’s just I’m heading in the opposite direction now.”

You weren’t going to wait to keep hashing it out with him. A new determination had sparked. The branches snapped underneath your feet as you started the way back to the main trail. You wondered how fast you could run down a mountain.

“Hey, take it easy,” Dean called after you. “I don’t want to come back on the trail tonight to find you twisted an ankle on the way down. Where are you off to so fast anyways? Really taking those words to heart.”

“Denver.” You shouted back. “There’s a con I gotta get to.”

-----

Continue to Part 7 Here!

GHTTC Tags: @maggiegirl17 @foxyjwls007 @djs8891 @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510

[avaantares]

Guardian Bonus Bingo: Starlight (Amnesty edition)

<recipe blog intro> Sooo the past month has been one of the months of all time, between yet another bout of COVID (it's still a thing, get your booster!) and the whole workshop reg explosion (I covered that on my main rather than here, but basically it meant two weeks of panic), and then the nonsense happening with the next con I'm booked at (heavy 😒 face) which is o n g o i n g

ANYWAY

All that to say that I've not been on Tumblr regularly since... uh... the second week of July? and the majority of everything posted since then was just my queue running out. While I did remember to look up the @guardianbingo prompts and even managed to produce some content, I wasn't online to actually post said content. Thank goodness for the amnesty period.

I remember writing something for the Frustration prompt, but I... don't exactly remember where that file ended up 😅 so I'm posting Starlight first. </recipe blog>

Like the first two fills, this one is a scene that will slot into my AU YOHE fic Picture Imperfect, which will resume posting just as soon as I have two consecutive minutes free to actually edit the thing (which will not be this month. Fingers crossed for September).

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

It was well past sunset when Shen Wei appeared at their usual meeting place at the watchpost. Zhao Yunlan was stretched out on his back in the sparse grass. He’d barely registered the approaching footfalls when he was jolted to awareness by the alarm in Shen Wei’s voice. “Kunlun?”

“What?” Zhao Yunlan half-rolled to his side and craned his neck to look at him—or at least in the direction of his voice. He could just make out a deeper darkness silhouetted against the night sky. “What is it?”

“You—” Shen Wei froze, halfway to a crouch beside him. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Shouldn’t I be?” Zhao Yunlan strained his ears for any cries of warning or sounds of battle from below, but the night was still. “Is something wrong?”

“I thought you were… unwell.” Slowly, Shen Wei sank the rest of the way to his level. “Why are you lying on the ground?”

Zhao Yunlan dropped back to his recumbent position. “I was just looking at the sky.”

Shen Wei looked up. “Is there something noteworthy about it?”

“Just how many stars there are. It’s so dark tonight, you can really see them.” Thousands upon thousands of them, sprinkled across the sky, dense as the sand on a beach. Without the moon or artificial light to compete with their soft glimmering, the entire canopy stretching overhead seemed alive. Even the darkest parts were shaded with faint speckles, once you looked closely. “I’ve never seen a sky so full of stars.”

“Dahuangshan has no view of the sky? I thought the mountain air would be clearer.”

“They’re… obscured, where I’m from. Too much haze in the air. The light from people’s lamps bounces off it and makes it hard to see through.”

Shen Wei was silent for a moment. “There used to be more of them. Before the Calamity.”

Zhao Yunlan squinted at his silhouette. “What, the meteor knocked stars out of the sky? That doesn’t seem very likely.”

“The ash and debris thrown into the heavens from the impact blotted out the sunlight and plunged the world into sudden winter. Some of the dust fell back to the surface in the years of black snow, but the researchers say that much of it stayed high in the air, circling Haixing. They can tell somehow, with the sacred machines.”

So apparently the spaceship computer analyzed climate data, too. He really needed to get a proper look at one of those “sacred machines.”

Not tonight, though. Tonight, he was on a date—not that his companion would recognize it as such, or even know what one was. “Do you remember it?” Zhao Yunlan asked. “The sky, before the meteor? Or—no, I suppose you were still in Dixing then, weren’t you?”

“No,” Shen Wei answered quietly. Zhao Yunlan assumed he meant he couldn’t remember until he added, “I didn’t see Dixing until much later. I was born on the surface.”

“You were?” Zhao Yunlan rolled upright and shifted around to face him, though it was too dark to see. His Shen Wei had always been so tight-lipped about his past, he hadn’t expected the younger version to share anything about himself. “Where?”

“West of here.” Apparently that was all he was willing to share, because something rounded and warm was suddenly pushed into Zhao Yunlan’s hand. “I brought food. Eat while it’s hot.”

Zhao Yunlan patted around the edge of the bowl until he found the handle of a spoon poking out of it. “I had supper with the men, you know.”

“I saw what you had for supper. You need to eat more.”

Zhao Yunlan could have protested, but Shen Wei was probably right—and he wasn’t about to discourage the man from feeding him, not when he knew what culinary bliss awaited him in the distant future. He sampled the substance in the bowl. It wasn’t exactly congee, since they’d run out of rice days ago, but the texture was similar. He detected bits of wild onion and a few shreds of meat mixed in with the porridge. “What am I eating?”

“Millet, primarily. Unless you mean the rabbit.”

“We have rabbit?”

“The hunters were fortunate. They discovered a warren and brought back several.”

Rabbit wasn’t his favorite dish, but he was grateful for the additional protein. Except for the occasional smoked fish, his meals lately had been lean portions of grain and a selection of increasingly unpalatable vegetables. Even a small supplement of boiled millet and a few bites of meat might give his body the energy it needed to finish healing, and he wanted his leg back to normal as soon as possible.

When he’d finished eating, he set the bowl on the grass and maneuvered around so he could lean back against one of the boulders. “It’s been over a month,” he murmured, gazing up at the sky again. “We left Jiangyan right before the new moon, remember? That means I’ve been here around five weeks.” Air escaped him in a slow sigh. “I wonder how things are back home.”

[yetanothersparrowofthedawn]

All you had to do was Stay

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Genre: Angst,  hurt, ex!Jake

Context: Queue the Wedding March.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language, so I apologize in advance for mistakes and awkward wordings to come.

Also, this is one is for the sad angsty girlies, as usual, I needed to feel something and apparently making boys cry is the only thing that does it for me????

Previous Track: St Jude

Chapter soundtrack: All you had to do was stay – Taylor Swift

Here you are now, calling me up, But I don’t know what to say. I’ve been picking up the pieces Of the mess you made. People like you always want back The love they pushed aside. But people like me are gone forever When you say goodbye.

(By the way, for every ‘Chapter Soundtrack’, basically the idea is that it’s a song that YN eventually wrote with that chapter of her life in mind)

Masterlist

Alright, let’s get into this.

________

The dressing room exuded an air of quiet anticipation as the chiffon curtains danced with a subtle breeze that wafted through an open window. A large mirror dominated one side, reflecting the bride-to-be as she stood in the center, a vision of elegance in her white gown. The floor-length veil cascaded gracefully down her back, adding a touch of timeless allure.

The sunlight painted a warm glow, casting a soft halo around YN. She stared at her reflection in quiet contemplation, her eyes capturing the image of a radiant woman ready to embark on a new chapter of her life.

She adjusted her hair, the delicate pearls of her earrings catching the light as she moved, a final touch to her wedding attire.

A familiar voice interrupted the solitude, "Hope I’m not interrupting." YN turned to see Josh entering the room. His smile was infectious, and with a playful twirl, he lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a joyous dance. "You look so good," he complimented, genuine admiration in his eyes.

"So do you," she smiled, teasingly adding, "You're gonna steal the show with that suit."

"Well, that was the plan,” Josh replied with a laugh.

“So, is everything alright out there?” She looked at him excitedly. They had settled for a rather huge ceremony, nothing nearly as extravagant as the public might have expected for such a high-profile event, but still quite overwhelming. YN hadn’t really cared much for the organization detail, but she knew how much it meant to her fiancé. “I'd go and see for myself, but I don't want to see Harry, you know, bad luck and everything."

"Yeah, it's all good," he assured her. "Everyone's here, everything looks beautiful."

As Josh spoke, YN returned to face the mirror, tending to the final details with a graceful touch. She flattened the fabric of her dress, ensuring that every inch draped perfectly.

In the mirror's reflection, she detected a subtle shift in Josh's demeanor. His usually composed facade seemed to betray a hint of unease. "Are you okay?" she inquired, concern slightly etching her features.

Josh remained silent and looked down, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. A playful laugh escaped YN's lips. "What is it? You look more nervous than I do," she teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Nothing at all,” he paused, “I should probably go wait with the other bridesmaids," Josh eventually replied, his attempt to deflect the conversation apparent, as he headed out.

"Are you sure?" YN pressed, curiosity evident in the furrow of her brows.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he replied absentmindedly, “I’ll see you out there, superstar.” YN smiled in response. Another pause lingered in the air before Josh spoke again. Standing on the threshold of the door, he turned back toward her, his gaze carrying an unusual solemnity. "Please, don't hate me," he muttered, his words carrying a weight that caught YN off guard.

A teasing smirk played on her lips as she responded, "Now, why would I hate you?" She called out his name, turning around to face him directly, only to find that it was no longer Josh standing at the door. The air in the room grew thick with unexpected tension.

He stood in the doorway, a figure from her past. His eyes, usually alight with the rebellious spirit of a rockstar, now held a quiet intensity.

"Hey," Jake's voice broke the apprehensive air of the dressing room.

His eyes seemed to tighten with a mixture of nostalgia and regret as he absorbed the vision of her, clad in ivory, the garment embodying dreams and promises she’d made to someone else.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, eventually, her voice carrying an icy edge, a knife to his heart.

"D'you really think I wouldn't show up?"

"Well, considering the little scene you pulled last week,” YN began, “I didn't exactly expect you—"

"I tried calling you," he admitted, his eyes pleading for understanding. "To apologize."

 "I blocked your number," she replied, her voice unwavering. "Do you know why? Because I don't want to talk or listen to you, so you can-"

"Please," Jake stepped forward, a mixture of desperation and sincerity etched across his face. "It'll only take a minute." The room seemed to hold its breath, caught between the echoes of a painful past and the uncertain present.

She stood in silence, considering the request.

"Well?” she eventually demanded, eyes fixed on him, a mixture of defiance and curiosity etched on her face, “you said you wanted to talk, so talk." His mouth opened, but the words seemed to retreat, swallowed by the gravity of the moment.

After a prolonged silence, she sighed bitterly. "Wish I could say I'm surprised," she muttered, turning away, her reflection in the mirror revealing the guarded vulnerability in her eyes. "You can close the door on your way ou—"

"Don't go through with it," he blurted out, the urgency in his voice slicing through the room. She froze, her entire being arrested by the unexpected plea.

"W-what?" Her voice, a fragile whisper, conveyed the shock that gripped her.

He repeated the plea, his footsteps closing the distance between them, each step echoing the tumult within, “Don’t marry him.”

 "Jake—" she started, but the words faltered.

"I love you, YN" he confessed, the words hanging in the air like a heavy mist. The room, once filled with the rustle of fabric and the soft exhales of emotions, now held a charged stillness.

Everything clicked in YN’s head. God, how could she have been so stupid? "Don't do this. Please—" she implored, her face a canvas of conflicting emotions, a tempest of anguish swirling beneath the surface.

"Please hear me out," Jake pleaded, hesitantly taking another step forward. "Last week? I—I don't even know where to start. I was such an idiot.” He’d been so drunk and so angry, and he’d taken it all out on her. The thing was, he’d only really been angry at himself, and scared too. He’d beenscared, terrified, by the very thought of spending the rest of his life blaming himself for not fighting for what they’d had, not fighting for her.

"No, Jake, don't—" she began, a plea in her voice.

"Tell me you don't love me. Tell me you don't love me, and I'll leave right now.” He grabbed her hand, “Just say the word, and I'll walk out that door, and you won't have to ever put up with me ever again," he insisted. She stood there, unable to form a word. "See? You still love me. I love you. We love each other. Now let's just go—"

"I love Harry," she finally said, her words cutting through his desperate plea. He momentarily flinched at her admission but pressed on, unwilling to let her slip through his fingers once more.

"So w-what? It’s okay. It’s you and me. We're the real thing. And sure, we both lost our way a little, and it's my fault. It's my fault.” He pressed a hand against his chest, his eyes desperately seeking her fleeing gaze, “I was stupid, and I let you go, but it doesn't matter now. The only thing that matters is that I love you, and you love me, so let's just—"

"I don’t," she whispered, her gaze fixed on her feet. His heart stopped, the weight of her words settling over the room like an irreparable fracture in the fragile silence.

 "What?" Jake's voice broke, a tremor betraying the desperation in his heart.

"I don't," she repeated, her voice soft but firm. "Not like that. Not anymore."

"N-no... no, you don't mean that,” he insisted, desperation coloring his words. He reached for her cheek, his touch imploring her to look him in the eye. "It's okay. I get it if you're scared to walk out. It's fine. Just—just say the word, and I'll go out there and tell everyone to leave. You can go.” His eyes filled with tears, as he grabbed her hand. “We can go home."

His body language mirrored his irrational and desperate plea. He clung to her, as if trying to anchor himself to a reality that was slipping away.

"No,” YN shook her head, trying her best to remain collected, to keep a shred of distance between them, “we can't."

"No—no,” his voice broke, “don't say that," he pleaded, his desperation escalating as he grabbed her neck, the lines of rationality blurring in the intensity of the moment.

"Please, stop. I'm getting marr—"

"No!" he cut her off, his voice strained, unable to bear the reality unfolding before him. "Just- no, you—you can't, you're—you're mine," he pleaded, desperation driving him to his knees. He clutched at her waist, a desperate attempt to anchor her to a reality that was slipping through his fingers. "You're mine," he repeated, the words escaping him like a prayer.

"I'm so sorry, Jakey," YN said, gently extricating herself from his grasp. "I wanted to be yours, you know," her lip quivered, and her voice wavered with the weight of memories. If only he’d stayed. That was all he’d had to do.  "I really did," she admitted, haunted by the ghost of a time when she once entertained the possibility of meeting him down the aisle. "But not anymore."

"Y/N," he whispered, a defeated plea that hung in the air like a lingering echo, as she stepped away from his kneeling figure.

"You should go," she said, fixing her mascara in the mirror. "They're waiting for me out there." The room bore witness to the shattered fragments of a love that once held endless promises, now scattered like ashes in the wind.

“Y/N,” he called out once more, desperately trying to get her to turn around, to tell him it was all one big elaborate prank, that she was now ready to come home. But she never did. A few seconds passed by, though to him it might as well have been a century. Still, he remained shackled to the floor, unable to summon the strength to get back on his feet.

That was until something sparkly caught his eye, a glint that reflected the sunlight.

Of course, he had noticed it before, who wouldn’t have? For a hundred grand, Cartier made sure anyone would. But he had never, until then, understood the extent of what it had truly symbolized. A shiny trinket of grief.

His throat dried up. He had lost the battle long before that morning.

As the door clicked shut, YN's legs betrayed her, and she sank into the nearest chair, the cold leather offering a semblance of stability in the emotional storm. She rested a trembling hand on her chest, attempting to soothe the chaotic beats beneath her fingertips. The room seemed to close in on her, as she breathed heavily.

Josh, swift as a guardian angel, materialized at her side. "Y/N, I am so sorry. Are you okay? I knew this was a bad—"

"Water,” she interjected, her voice hoarse, “please.” He swiftly retrieved a glass from the side table and handed it to her.

"Here,” he paused, and she took a sip, trying to regain composure. His hand gently caressed her back. “I am really sorry, YN. I just—” he sighed, “I figured you should at least know all your options, you know?"

She took another sip, the cool liquid offering a momentary reprieve. "It's okay. You were right,” she nodded, “it's better this way." She smiled sadly, her lower lip quivering slightly. After a moment she looked up to meet Josh’s gaze, "y-you should get one of the boys to go with him. He shouldn't be alone right now."

"Don't worry about that. Sam and Danny went after him as soon as we saw him walk out. Said they'd try to stop by the reception later if everything's okay."

"Good, good. That's good," she echoed, though her words seemed to traverse a great distance, lost in the labyrinth of her thoughts. The room enveloped them in a heavy silence, punctuated only by the distant hum of activity from beyond the door.

As the weight of the moment lingered in the air, Josh broke the silence hesitantly, his words carrying a concern that only a brother could muster. "So, you're really going through with it, then?"

Her eyes flickered with a mix of weariness and determination as she responded, "Josh, I really need someone to be on my side today."

"Of course,” a solemn nod conveyed his understanding, “you know I am. I just- wanted to make sure."

"I am," she affirmed after a moment, but the subtle lines etched on her forehead hinted at the inner turmoil she wrestled with. This was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

With a gentle smile, Josh reassured her, "Alright, let's go then." He offered his arm, a supportive gesture that spoke volumes. "It's showtime, baby."

She took his arm, the physical anchor grounding her in a moment that felt suspended between dreams and reality. As they stepped out of the dressing room, the echoes of the upcoming ceremony reverberated in the hallway. The rest of the wedding party awaited, their faces a mosaic of excitement and anticipation, ready to accompany the bride on her transformative journey up the aisle.

The doors were poised to swing open, unveiling the next chapter of YN's life. "Ready?" Patty inquired as they all lined up.

"As I'll ever be," YN replied, her smile a testament to the resilience she summoned for the occasion.

Amidst the celebratory atmosphere, she couldn't help but notice Josh's quiet concern, a flicker of emotions that he didn’t quite manage to conceal. She knew him well enough to guess precisely what was on his mind—Jake.

"Wait," she said, stepping closer to her friend and gently leading him aside, away from the buzzing anticipation of the impending ceremony. Concern etched his features, and before he could voice his inquiry, she spoke, her voice a hushed secret meant for his ears alone. "You should go."

His eyes met hers. Words hovered between them, unspoken but palpable. “YN-”

"He probably needs you more than I do right now," she continued. Her gaze drifted to the rest of the wedding party, a mosaic of friends assembled for her momentous day. "I'll be okay," she reassured him, punctuating her words with a tight smile.

Tears filled her eyes as Josh looked at her speechless. He knew she was right.

 "Come by the reception later?" she suggested, attempting to inject a note of levity.

A sad smirk played on his lips. "You know I'd never miss out on an open bar."

Their eyes met in silent exchange. They both knew he wouldn’t be back that evening. He let out a sigh and reached out to squeeze her hand gently before heading out the door.

Surrounded by her bridesmaid’s tender and inquiring looks, YN felt something shift within herself, like a chapter closing. She sensed it would be a while before she saw the Greta boys again.

YN’s throat closed as she blinked a couple of tears away. She smiled as her bridesmaids teased her for being so emotional on her special day. How cute it was to see her this flustered at the thought of the life ahead of her.

She turned one last time to the venue’s exit and was taken aback as she saw Josh sprinting back, quickly crashing into her figure as he engulfed her in one last bone-crushing hug. Now, that’s better.

 "You've got this," he whispered in her ear, “give ‘em hell.” She laughed tearfully at the sentence she’d heard so many times before.

He blew her a kiss before heading out just as the musicians inside the venue started playing.

She smiled as the doors opened. Showtime.

Next Track: Honeymoon

Masterlist

Hope you liked it! Once again, I am begging you all to interact and leave comments it makes me so happy to get feedback and reactions xxx

Also, this is only the beginning lol. I have a billion drafts for other chapters so stay tuned, peaceful army.

Taglist

@aintthatapity

[givemea-dam-break]

ephemeral - chapter one

a/n: hello everyone!! finally had some inspiration, so this will be the first part of a lockwood x reader multipart series!! i hope you enjoy!!

warning: angst, mild language gn reader

full collection: here

It's a warm day out, and you can feel the heat of it even deep within the kitchen at Arif's, intensified by the humming ovens. Sunlight beams through the open window, and you can faintly hear singing birds within the bustling noise out in the front of the store. Summertime is always busy, and although not many people can actually sit in, queues are often out the door, bringing with them loud conversations and whispered gossip.

Soft music plays from a speaker as you roll out some dough, hands dusted in flour, and you find yourself quietly singing along. The smell of pastries of all kinds baking is soothing.

You're the only one working in the back. Arif is dealing with orders at the counter. Kate and Lana are off running deliveries. Jack is on holiday, revelling somewhere in the Scottish countryside. But you don't mind. Even with all the customers, the rush is something you've grown used to over the past few months, and you've found ways to manage it. The less you rush, the quicker the food gets done, as strange as it sounds.

When Arif appears in the kitchen doorway, your hands are buried in a fresh batch of dough you're in the middle of making.

Arif's a big guy, but he's got a sweet face and an incredible recipe book, so it's no wonder he's so popular in this part of London. Even though he's been working out front, he wears his trademark pink apron that had been a gift from you and the others for his birthday. He's smiling, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. A habit, you've found, when he's about to start baking.

"Shift swap?" you say.

He nods. "A few customers sitting in, but the queue has died down for now. I'll wait out front while you clean up."

It doesn't take long to finish making the dough and clean your hands. Swiftly, you swap your flour-covered apron for your front-of-house one, which looks much more presentable, but Arif still has to dust flour from your hair as you pass him.

It's routine now. Come to the bakery in the morning, work the kitchen until lunch, and then swap into the front until closing. Surprisingly, it took only a few days for you to fall into the routine, despite the dozens of late nights you worked in your previous position, and you've found yourself enjoying it.

Even if you have to hear his voice almost every day.

He comes in around ten in the morning, so it's not like you have to see him or be the one to serve him. Usually, you're in the middle of making a fresh batch of pain au chocolat or scones, depending on what day it is and which regulars have arrived, and you know that that's down to Arif's rota. Unknowingly, he's saved you a lot of unease. You're not even sure that he's aware you work here now.

But today is the exception.

You're in the middle of refilling the display cases with doughnuts and croissants when he appears, framed with beautiful golden sunlight. His hair falls over his forehead, brushing just above his dark eyes, lined with thick lashes. The past few months of summer heat have not permitted him a tan, but there are a few very faint freckles on the bridge of his nose. And despite the temperature, he still wears that ridiculously long greatcoat.

"Surely you're melting in that," you say, closing the case and coming to stand by the till. "It's twenty-five degrees out."

It's now that you notice the frozen look of shock on his face. His eyebrows, barely visible under his hair, are almost comical in their position, raised halfway up his head, and his mouth hangs open slightly.

"(name)," he says after opening and closing his mouth a few times. "I didn't - um, where's Arif?"

"In the back making the goods." You keep your voice light, but it's easy to pick out the undertone of strain in it.

You haven't seen Anthony Lockwood in eight months. Yes, you've heard his voice frequently when he's come to place orders. Yes, you've even made his orders - and been tempted to replace the almond sauce he likes with lemon - but it's insanely different from standing in front of him now. Even though he's uncharacteristically quiet, all you can hear is your last conversation together and the horrible things you both said.

"What can I get you?" you ask, trying to shove down the awkward tension that's forming between you both. "Just the usual?"

"You know my order?"

"I've been making it for the past eight months. And I also used to be on the receiving end of the deliveries." Already, you're typing it into the register. "Two jam doughnuts, one glazed, half a dozen almond fingers, and three croissants, all for delivery, right?"

He looks even more shocked than when he first saw you. "Uh, yes, please... Oh, and -"

"Three teas to go?"

That part isn't memorised because of your job. That part you know from your time spent at Portland Row. You know exactly how much milk to put in each cup.

"Erm, yeah, if you wouldn't mind."

"I don't mind at all. In fact, I get paid for this."

He hands you the money for the total order, and you print out the delivery order, slipping it through a small window behind the counter that leads to the kitchen. Arif's hand, covered in chocolate chip cookie dough, snatches it away.

Lockwood stands as you fill the to-go cups with tea and milk, and he watches carefully as you squeeze a dollop of honey into one of them.

"You know," he says, "I've actually been looking for you. We need to talk."

You hand him the cookies, eyeing the bakery door. "Yes, well, you've found me, but talking will have to wait. I've got customers to serve."

As if on cue, a short old woman, one of your favourite regulars, clears her throat behind Lockwood. Next to him, she looks tiny, but the look on her face has him shuffling to the side and out of the way.

"Just the usual, Nancy?"

She nods, and you type in her order.

"When do you finish?" Lockwood asks as you step back over to the coffee machine and begin making the order. You take a few cookies out of the case as you wait.

"That's for me to know," you say. Then, plastering on your customer service smile, "Thank you for popping in. See you around."

But he doesn't leave yet. He watches as you serve the next few customers, only hesitating when the queue begins building up again for the lunchtime rush. Relief overtakes you when he does leave, finally free from the weight of his gaze, and you can breathe again.

You're not very lucky, though.

An hour later, he reappears just shortly after the rush has died down and there are only a couple of customers left, sitting and chatting at the tables. He saunters up to the counter, filled with the confidence he lacked earlier.

But you know him. You can see that it's not entirely genuine from the way his fingers discreetly tug on his pocket zip and fiddle with the hilt of his gleaming rapier.

"Hello. What can I get for you?"

"A few minutes of your time."

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you say, "I'm afraid that'll be quite expensive. And, unless you're going to order any food or drinks, it's also quite improbable that you'll get that order."

"Fine. I'll have one of those."

Your eyes follow his pointed finger and you raise your brows. "Apricot Danish? Lockwood, you don't like apricot."

"Lovely of you to remember. I'll have one anyways."

Begrudgingly, you pluck one out of the case and place it in a little box once he's handed you the money owed. The whole time, his eyes follow you.

"Now, how about those few minutes of your time?"

You almost smile, ready to tell him that you've no time to spare, and another customer is entering the bakery, but Kate, one of your coworkers, appears, smiling.

"I've finished deliveries," she says, brushing her dark hair into a ponytail. "Arif says you're on break."

The look you give her is murderous, but she only grins, nudging you out of the way as she pulls on a pair of gloves and greets the next customer. Lockwood looks slightly too happy.

"Go sit somewhere," you grumble. "Give me a minute."

He disappears, and you huff as you tear off your gloves and apron.

Although it's been over half a year since your fight, seeing Lockwood brings it all up to the surface, bubbling and boiling. Your skin feels hot with anger and sorrow you haven't felt for a good while, fresh as if you've been transported back to the day it all happened.

Lockwood is sitting at one of the corner tables, far from the other customers, nudging the box holding his purchase. At the sight of your approach, he perks up, donning that infamous white-toothed smile of his.

"Here you go." He pushes the box over as you sit.

You stare at him. "What?"

"For you. You used to get them all the time."

Part of you wants to leap with joy at the fact that he remembers a small detail like that, but it's squashed almost instantaneously by your anger and confusion. You don't touch the box as if it is contaminated. It hurts that someone so distant from you now remembers such a thing.

"What do you want?"

"We need to talk."

"Yes, you've mentioned. We're currently talking."

He shoots you a look, but there's no anger behind it. Not even frustration. "I need your help. We need your help."

"We being you, Lucy, and George?"

"Yes."

"And what makes you think I'll help you?"

The question stumps him, but he recovers quickly, brushing imaginary dust off his pristine white shirt. It's infuriating how the sunlight hits his face, emphasising all of his perfect features. His eyes sparkle like molten bronze.

"It's a big case, a lot of money involved, and you could get a decent cut of it. There are some things we need, but that involves -" He lowers his voice, leaning close to you - "stealing." Sitting back again, he speaks normally once more. "Now, if this were any normal case, we'd be fine on our own. But it's not a normal case. The documents we need are at the Rotwell building, and nobody knows that building like you do."

You cross your arms. "You're telling me all of this as if I'd accept. Judging from the fact that you want me to steal from the second-largest agency in the country, it'll most likely be a pretty dangerous job and, while that would rack up a lot of money, I'm sure you can tell that I'm not an agent anymore. I'm rusty."

"(name), you know I wouldn't be here asking you for help unless we really needed it."

"The last time we saw each other, you called me a hindrance to the team and demanded I leave lest I kill myself or the others."

He winces. "And if I remember correctly, you called me, and I quote, 'a massively conceited asshole who cares more about his company's status than the lives of his agents'."

"And I'd say it again. But if I'm such a problem, why come to try and hire me again?"

"It's temporary," Lockwood says. "And, like I said, you know Rotwell's just as well as George knew Fittes', if not better. We need this information."

"What do I get out of it? Peace from you? A written apology?"

"A cut of the money."

"Yes, you said, but do you really think that a sum of money is going to console me when I'm working with the guy who fired me because of a small slip-up?"

"It wasn't small -"

"It most certainly was. Do you think I meant to trip over Lucy? The iron circle had been fixed immediately, and no one other than me was hurt. My arm was in full working order a week after it happened, thank you for asking."

He's quiet for a minute, pondering, but his eyes are unnerving. They follow your every move as if waiting for you to pounce. You don't miss the way his fingers tap on the table, a tell-tale sign of his nerves.

"You won't see me again."

"What?"

"You heard me." He finally looks away, finding the Apricot Danish more interesting than you. "I'll make sure you don't see me again. Things ended badly, worse than they should've, and there's obviously still a lot of animosity on your part, so I'll stay away until you're ready to speak to me again, or forever if I have to."

Forever...

A small part of you, the same part that enjoyed the feeling of being known, is screaming, begging you not to accept. But, at the same time, it's painful merely sitting in front of him right now, and, if he's offering you peace from that, you should take it. It won't take long to get this job out of the way, and then you can be free of him.

"You don't have to decide right now," he clarifies. "But, if you accept the offer, come to the house once your shift finishes. We can discuss things then."

As he stands, he pushes the box holding the Danish closer to you.

Then, with a swift brush of air, he's gone, leaving nothing but a sense of... confusion, anger, and a little lingering absence, in his wake.

<- full collection part 2 ->

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Flufftober Day 27

Reunion-  Natasha Romanoff

Word count: 904       Nat Masterlist   Marvel Masterlist    Flufftober

When you walked in you found Natasha sitting on the sofa, her back facing you as she held a cup of coffee in her hands. Her fiery hair is in a loose bun and small stands fall to frame her face, making her look incredibly ethereal in the morning light. 

   She's softly humming under her breath, a calming Russian tune you've heard before, though you're not sure you were meant to hear it. She sings it to Liho in soft moments. Times when you're not around, or at least not in the same room. Your eyes immediately start looking for the cat.

   You spot her across from Nat on the floor, stretched across a patch of sunlight to soak up its warmth with not a care in the world. As you gently set your bag down however, her interest is caught. She suddenly sits up, looking intently in your direction, which of course, Natasha is quick to pick up on.

   She turns to the door and smiles upon seeing you. Then before you can even blink she's vaulting over the back of the couch and running towards you. Luckily you're used to this and know her next move and you catch her as she jumps into your waiting arms. 

   “I missed you, kotenok(kitten)” she admits, nuzzling her face against your neck

   “Missed you too, Tasha” you reply, placing a kiss on her cheek. Your attention is removed from her briefly as you feel something rub against your leg. You glance down to see Liho looking up at you, greeting you with a meow, “And you too, Liho”

   Nat chuckles, glancing down at her black cat before looking back at you. Her hands softly cup your face, and you eagerly give into what she wants. Wordlessly you connect your lips to hers, sighing contently as she deepens the kiss. You melt into her embrace, forgetting all about your post mission stress and sore muscles. All thoughts and senses are solely focussed on your girlfriend, and knowing she's succeeded in this she pulls away from you with a smile.

   “Come on, let's get you into something comfortable” she tells you, grabbing your hand to pull you towards the bedroom.

   She has you sit on the edge of the bed, kissing your forehead before heading off to grab you an outfit. She quickly returns with a pair of your sweatpants and a shirt of her own, and hands them to you with a shy smile. You smile back, admiring the slight blush on her cheeks as you take the clothes. You set them on the bed before standing, beginning to strip yourself of your mission gear.

 Natashas brows furrow as your torso becomes bare, allowing her to see the few minor scrapes and bruises that litter your skin. She carefully places her hand against your ribcage, gaining your attention and stopping you from putting on the new shirt. You look at her, only to find her concerned eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort or distress.

   You offer her a smile and she takes this as her queue to wrap her arms around you once more. She rests her head against your chest, listening to your heartbeat to reassure herself that you're here and you're ok.

   “I’m alright baby.” you whisper against her hairline, “I promise.”

   She nods, releasing you after a few moments to allow you to finish getting comfortable. Once you're redressed you reach out a hand and she eagerly grabs ahold, lacing her fingers with yours as you both walk back out to the living room. She practically pulls you down on top of her as she sits back down on the couch. 

   You settle into her lap and she pulls you even closer, letting your head rest against her shoulder. You relax into her embrace and sigh as her fingers gently run through your hair, caressing your scalp lovingly. 

   From her spot on the windowsill Liho meows, complaining that she wasn’t let in on the current cuddle session you and your girlfriend are having. You can feel the couch cushion next to you move as the cat jumps up, and her head softly pushes into your side in an effort to gain your attention. But when that doesn’t work she resorts to meowing as loudly as she can.

   “Ty razdrazhayushchiy malen'kiy rebenok, ty znayesh' eto?(you are an annoying little baby you know that?)” Natasha mumbles, her tone slightly higher than her usual one as she speaks to the cat, “Mogu ya ne imet' pyat' minut s ney dlya sebya?(Can I not have five minutes of her to myself?)”

   As if replying to your girlfriend's questions, Liho meows again before jumping onto the back of the couch. She rubs herself against the top of your head and then Natashas. The Russian grumbles, glaring at the cat for interrupting her time with you, but a kiss to her cheek from you quickly melts the annoyance from her face.

  "Don't be so grumpy Tasha, Liho just wants cuddles too."

  "Fineee." She huffs, patting a spot on her lap that you aren't taking up, "Come here then"

  The cat chirps happily, quickly hopping down. She purrs as she makes herself comfortable on your girlfriend's lap and lays down with her back against your side. You smile, content to feel completely at ease, back at home where you belong with your two favorite girls.

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69​​ @mmmmokdok​​ @nataliasknife​​ @natashasilverfox​​ @when-wolves-howl​​ @danveration​​ @naomi-m3ndez​​ @sheneonromanoff​​ @sayah13​​ @likefirenrain​​ @nighttime-dreaming​​ @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece​​ @readings-stuff​​ @chaoticevilbakugo​​ @crystalstark02​​ @wackymcstupid​​ @xchaiix​​ @iaminluvwithnat​​ @lovelyy-moonlight​​ @blackwidow-3​​ @mistressofinsomnia​​ @that-one-gay-mosquito​​ @yomamagf​​ @yourfavdummy​​ @justarandomreaderxoxo​​ @scoutlp23-blog​​ @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145​​ @eline03 @wizardofstories​​ @imthenatynat​​ @marvelonmymind​​ @fluffyblanketgecko​​

[citrus-moonlight]

Claire, all of those WIP titles are sooo good and intriguing and I can't wait for all of them, but I have to know more about "Lotus." It's so sexy in its simplicity and meaning, and I am 🔎🔬🧐👀 eyeballing it so hard. 💕

Tara thank you, you're so sweet! 🥰 This was the perfect one for you to pick because it's my yoga instructor!Alfred Pennyworth x Reader AU idea that was inspired by your PT Kino AU! It came about while I was in a yoga class and thinking about which Andy blorbo would work in that scenario, and Alfred came to mind immediately.

The idea is that Alfred started exploring it to help with his injury (and to placate Bruce who kept suggesting it) and he ended up enjoying and appreciating it so much that he started teaching so he could help others. 

Since your ask I actually managed to get about 2k written (hence why this took a couple of days to answer), and I think I've been able to capture the vibe that's been floating around my mind for so long! (and oh dear, I feel like this one is going to get away from me 😂). So here's a little bit I have so far:

WIP Ask Game

Divider by the lovely @saradika-graphics

The studio provides small wooden discs similar to a drink coaster to indicate if you're ok with physical adjustments, or would prefer not to be touched. The “not” side is the dark outline of a lotus flower laser etched into the wood, the “yes” side is the same flower but coloured in a pretty shade of peachy-pink. 

For weeks you've left it with the outlined side up, but as classes go by you begin to look at it with a little more consideration each time as you stretch out your hips before class starts.

You'd never been concerned with being touched by an instructor in the past, whether male or female, and at first it was simply because you wanted to allow yourself to find your bearings again on your own, but now..

Maybe today, you think, class after class, but then you'd glance up at Alfred with his kind blue eyes and broad shoulders and strong looking thighs and-

You lose your nerve every time.

There's something about him that feels different, that feels like allowing him to touch you would be...intimate maybe wasn’t the right word, but you can't shake the thought, as irrational as it is, that he would be able to sense what you were feeling if he did. 

Because your feelings had been growing.

Warm thoughts finding you late at night when you can't sleep as a seemingly infinite parade of sirens pass your window. Wondering if his hands are as warm and solid as they look as your own fingers dip lower, quickly chasing thoughts of what his would feel like wrapped around your wrists.

Eventually the temptation reaches a tipping point on the first properly warm day of spring. 

Everyone’s step seems a bit lighter after the long and dreary winter, sunlight lingering in the evenings as pockets of green finally begin to fill out the rough and somber edges of the city.

Alfred is dressed in his usual uniform of dark sweatpants and a half-zip sweater, but as you’re stretching and waiting to begin he suddenly pulls the sweater over his head to reveal a deep navy fitted tshirt underneath. 

The sleeves are pulled snug around his biceps, and the outline of his strong chest and shoulders that are always tantalizingly present beneath the heavier fabric are now much more prominent.

You can’t pull your eyes away, taking in the muscles of his forearms and the brush of hair that covers them, and when he turns to greet another student who'd just walked in you admire the arch of his lower back and the soft but firm swell of his stomach, unable to help wondering if there’s hair there as well, and does it trail lower to perhaps meet the hair beneath his waistband..?

You’re lost in your reverie when Alfred turns back around to queue everyone to begin, and when he meets your eyes your mouth that you didn’t realize was hanging open snaps shut.

You think you catch a ghost of a smile before his focus returns to the class.

As everyone settles into place you pause, then before you can change your mind you quickly flip your disc to the coloured side and lie back, taking a deep breath that does little to slow your beating heart or calm the swell of heat between your legs.

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Sunrises - Nikolai Lanstov x OC

warnings: Sturmhond Nikolai, post season 2, sweet, soft fluffy Nik, new Grisha OC

word count: 7.5k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1382079816-sunrises-zrina

Masterlist

Zrina stared up at the imposing ship and swallowed thickly past the knot of nerves lodged in her throat.  Her excitement at being chosen for this commission had soon faded to a nervous dread at the enormity of her task.  It was only thoughts of her parents that finally encouraged her to set a foot on the wooden ramp that led up to the deck.  She hoped they’d have been proud.

The Volkvolny was a mighty vessel and Zrina shook herself once more at the realisation that not only had she been chosen for Sturmhond’s fleet, but that she was on his flagship, her, a brand new squaller with barely a week of experience driving a wind through a sail. No, she thought to herself, you can do this!  A stern voice brought her back out of her thoughts and she hitched her large bag up onto her shoulder as she turned to see who had spoken.

“You’re late,” the Grisha huffed once more, rolling his eyes in disparagement.

“I…I’m sorry,” Zrina stammered, feeling her cheeks flush.  “There was a queue at the entrance to the docks and…”

The Grisha cut off her explanation with a wave of his hand and jerked his head towards the other end of the ship.

“Your bunk’s that way.  Stow your gear and then come to the foredeck.  Be quick though, you don’t want to keep Sturmhond waiting. Again.”

Below deck men, women and Grisha moved around stowing their belongings and readying for departure. Zrina had never been on a ship of this size and she wasn’t sure she even belonged now, gripping tightly to her pack, huddled deep into the collar of her kefta. She studied the other squallers, moving toward where they had formed a corner of bunks and set her belongings on the floor near the wall, earning a few dirty looks from who were supposed to be her peers and friends. 

“Did you finally figure out how to use your wind, otkazat'sya?” One of them sneered, pushing past her one by one they slammed into her shoulders to remind her of her place. 

Orphan. They had started calling her that at school, when her powers seemed fizzle and crack. She was a Grisha, born from two powerful squallers and placed on a pedestal she would never belong on. But she had not been abandoned, or refused like the other squallers seemed to believe. The power was there, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was her fear. 

“You look as though you might be sick,” a voice called out as soon as the hull emptied. 

Zrina spun to follow the sound only to find a lanky body resting haphazardly in one of the dirty canvas hammocks, a hat pulled down over their face. 

“I will be fine, thank you.” She spoke, pinning her shoulders back she attempted to push away the nausea that churned in her stomach. There were a thousand ship hands like this one, mean and abrasive to newcomers. He was probably drunk on last night's whiskey and had just been looking for a quiet place to nap. 

“There is candied ginger in the barrel behind you, place a piece between your teeth.” He said. 

Zrina turned to look at the small barrel, perched atop a pile of others and popped the lid to find a stock of sticky, amber candy that smelled spicy but instantly quelled the rolling waves in the pit of her stomach. She grabbed a few, tucking them into her handkerchief and into her pocket before turning back to thank the man only to find him halfway up the stairs. 

“You better hurry, the Kapitan is coming.” 

Sturmhond. 

She watched as the helpful, slightly irritating deck hand stripped from his dusty moth eaten jacket and hat, parading into the sunlight. The tight brown suspenders dug into his shoulder blades and rumpled the white tunic that was tucked into his trousers as he spun to stand next to Tolya and Tamar. The most famous Shu twins in Grisha legend. Zrina could barely believe she was sharing a deck with them, let alone the sky. 

She found an open spot towards the center of the deck and walked towards it. She stood tall, chin up, shoulders pinned back as her mother would always tell her to do. No matter how in awe she was that she was in fact part of something this magnificent. No matter how hard her heart was beating in her ears, and Saints now it was looking for a way straight out of her chest. She stood tall. Like she belonged wherever she was, because she did. 

As she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve in an effort to focus on something other than the nerves going haywire in her body, a ruckus of boots stomping and whistles from the crew broke her way sending the focus of her vision forward where she was met with a pair of curious, iridescent eyes looking back. 

It’s him. 

At the ship’s bridge stood the illustrious Sturmhond. A tall man whose broad shoulders were squared in a commanding presence but his face held an entirely different air. Not that it commanded any less attention but he had a calm, almost serene look in his blue eyes and a satisfied smile accompanying it. She took a deep breath as he held Zrina’s gaze softly almost like he was studying her.

After lingering on her eyes for a while, his eyes, which were the same color of the water surrounding them, wandered further down until halting on the muted cherry color of her lips. 

"Tell me, fair one, what is your name?" His voice carried through the winds as he addressed her.

"Z-zrina, K-apitan." The tremble in her voice broke the words apart as it wreaked over the rest of her body with a visible shiver that didn't go unnoticed. A small semblance of a smile formed on his lips.

"Kapitan Nikolai Lantsov." His arm stretched out and moved with fluid motion as a sign of welcome. 

“Zrina’s our new squaller, Kapitan,” the snarky grisha from before interjected.

“Thank you Delyan, but I’m sure she’s more than capable of speaking for herself,” the Kapitan smirked, throwing a wink towards Zrina.

She nodded and kept her tall stance but inside, Zrina’s stomach roiled and she wished she could sneak another piece of ginger.

“We weigh anchor in ten minutes,” Kapitan Lantsov commanded and then fixed his intense gaze on Zrina. “Our new squaller can take us up.”

As he turned and stalked off towards the stern Zrina stared numbly at the platform where the squallers stood when steering the ship. She could do this, at least, that’s what she tried to convince herself.

Ten minutes seemed like no time at all before Zrina found herself standing on the wooden platform fighting the urge to pick at the cuffs of her kefta. She felt as if every single pair of eyes on the entire ship were upon her and she clenched her toes in her boots in an attempt to stop her knees from trembling.

She caught the piercing gaze of the Kapitan, who nodded once, and so she raised her hands and opened her palms. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, raising her palms higher. At the sound of whispers and even a few titters she opened her eyes again. The ship hadn’t moved.

“Saints,” she swore under her breath, her eyes dropping from the limp sails to the toes of her boots as she wiggled out the tension in her fingers before taking one more deep breath and readying her hands again. 

When she looked up her eyes connected with his but this time she didn’t close them, instead she let herself get lost there. The blue in his eyes reminded her of the open sky on her face, swirling and brushing around her like she was a bird in the clouds. 

Just as the wind tickled her fingertips and rushed through her kefta whispers of mockery floated around her, “razrusha’ya,” they said. And maybe they were right, maybe she was ruined. She couldn’t even lift a sail, she could barely muster enough wind to ruffle her hair. 

“If you can’t do it, otkazat'sya, get down and let a real Grisha try,” Jadran hissed from his station below her, his dark brown eyes looked at her with disgust until Toyla spun, accidentally, slapping the Grisha in the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. The commotion giving Zrina enough time to climb down from her post and offer it up to the next willing. 

She stared down at her hands with tears in her eyes, “why don’t you work?” She breathed out the words in a feeble attempt to stay quiet and calm. 

She could feel the stare of Korol Rezni on her as the ship raised through the air and joined the clouds. He watched her carefully as she moved around the ship, helping with tasks and struggling to fit in. Lanstov studied her with knitted brows and a tender smirk as she got down on her knees to help scrub the deck. 

All the while Zrina waited for him to throw her overboard for being useless. What good was a squaller who couldn’t summon the wind? 

She tried so hard but his presence, although not menacing, intimidated her.

"Zrina." She heard him call. Her back stiffened as she got up from her knees to address him.  

"I think we start you slow so you can learn the ropes. Finish the deck, get you some food and once the sun sets, the night shift awaits you." that playful, boyish smile returned to his lips as his eyes lingered on her face a little while longer. 

She didn't quite understand the softness he presented to her but she would be lying if it didn’t make her a little glad that she is getting to stay on the ship.

Zrina pressed her lips into a thin line, and nodded once, “Thank you, Kapitan.” She kept her eyes on him as she took two steps backwards before turning on her heel and heading over to help with ensuring everything on deck was secure. 

She was in a battle with herself in her head, cursing her abilities for proving the other grisha right about her. Embarrassment at how she looked in front of the crew and her new Kapitan. The bustling bodies around her as everyone worked didn’t phase her in the slightest. All she could focus on was the fact that night would come soon enough, and then it was all up to her. 

With an exasperated grunt, Zrina tied a tight knot in the last lifeline, tugging tightly and subconsciously taking out some of her anger. The words of the other Grisha danced through her head and it wasn’t until a heavy chuckle came from beside her that her eyes finally looked up from where she was working. “What did that rope ever do to you?” Tolya teased, crossing his arms over his chest with a playful smirk on his lips. 

Zrina cleared her throat and shook her head, “I - I was just making sure it was secure,” 

“Don’t let them get to you,” Tamar chimed in, hopping up on a barrel and rolling her eyes, “Some crew members like to forget that they were new to this too at one point.” 

Zrina felt a little of the tension drain from her shoulders and she let out a sigh. They were right, she knew that, but hearing those words that she’d heard all her life thrown at her in such an important moment had shaken her badly.

“Look, you interviewed for this commission, right?” Tamar asked and Zrina nodded her head in confirmation.  “Exactly, so you were chosen out of all the others who interviewed too.  You’ve got something that they didn’t have and I think you’re right where you’re meant to be.”

Zrina felt the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth and Tolya didn’t miss it either.

“Is that…is that a smile I see?” He teased, making Zrina chuckle.  “There she is. Look, new girl, you’re on the night shift so take that as a grand opportunity.  There’ll be practically no-one around so you can practice to your heart’s content, build your confidence. You’ll be back on the day before you know it.  Might even be given your own ship.”

He nudged her shoulder with a twinkle in his eye and Zrina managed a laugh.

“That’s the spirit,” Tamar joined in, “and if anyone says anything else just remember you have as much right to be here as they do.”

Tamar slipped back off the barrel and clapped Zrina on the back before turning with Tolya and the pair of them sauntered off to the aft of the ship, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more.

After a meal of biscuits and stew, Zrina returned to her bunk and tried to rest before dark but sleep eluded her.  She tossed and turned, her anxiety rising yet again, and she found herself staving off tears more than once.  She was almost relieved when darkness finally fell and so she slipped from her bunk, refilled her stash of ginger pieces, and headed up on deck.

“Don’t ground us, otkazat'sya,” Delyan hissed as she stepped up to take his place on the platform.

Zrina threw him a blank look but it was hidden in the dim light from the few lanterns scattered about.  The deck was blissfully quiet, although she knew there must be lookouts aloft, and she waited until Delyan was below deck before she raised her palms and felt for the wind.

It came easily this time, that tingling rush of power, and a breeze whipped around the bottom of her kefta.  Zrina raised her face to the sky, beaming in relief and she twirled on the spot, laughing breathlessly as her wind played through her long dark waves, lifting the strands in a chestnut halo around her head.

Someone clapped softly from behind her, “marvelous.” 

The Kapitan stepped forward into the long wispy strands of the moonlight, his eyes turned up toward the billowing sails in awe. “I knew you had it in you.” He said. 

“Thank you sir,” Zrina nodded, all of the confidence rushing from her the moment his glassy eyes flickered down to her. 

“Ah,” he huffed with a nod. The corner of his lips curling to the side, “under the scorching heat of the sun I am Kapitan, King, Sturmhond, handsome, daring, brave,” he laughed into the empty night sky with a smile on his face that warmed her cheeks. “But here with only the stars as my audience, I am simply Nikolai for they do not care that I am handsome and charming.” Zrina nodded uncomfortably with the idea of not addressing him by his title. “I must apologize for this morning, I suppose the nerves took hold of me.” She said, still concentrating on her fingers and how the power vibrated through them, calling to the wind so naturally. 

“I would like a word with whoever taught you that you are less than magical,” his smile fell but his eyes reflected the constellations back at her. He stripped from his jacket, letting the cool air nip at the bare skin that lay beneath his loose white shirt as he walked toward her. He carried the air of a Saint, suffocatingly impressive but all the while, still just a man in awe of science and magic. “I have always been jealous of Grisha.”

“You, jealous?” Zrina scoffed before she could stop herself from being so impolite to her King, her Kapitan. 

“Such an undesirable trait, I am aware.” He rolled up the sleeves of his billowy shirt and put his hands on his hips, staring at the sails again. “I used to stand on the balcony that overlooked parts of the little palace, sneaking away from my studies,” he looked at her over his shoulder. “I stood there until my tutors caught me, waving my hands around like a fool trying to learn the magic that could not be taught.” 

"On this ship, your magic is a blessing. I won't tolerate anyone that tells you otherwise, Zrina." Nikolai took a few sure steps towards her, the heat in her cheeks coloring them in a rosy tint. 

Even under the few stars and the moon shining onto them he noticed the way she reacted to his compliments. 

"Look at that, I like that beautiful blush on your skin, milaya."  

Zrina felt the heat spread through her body, failing to distinguish if this was her being intimidated by his presence or something else entirely. Something she never felt before. 

She felt the wind drop a little and shook herself, reaffirming her grip on her power despite the Kapitan’s distracting presence.

“Sorry,” she grimaced, knowing he’d noticed the change in their flight.

“No apologies necessary,” he smiled warmly.  “We’re in no rush to get to our destination, and night flying is designed to be a little less…taxing.”

He reached upwards, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his neck before doing the last thing that Zrina would ever have imagined. With a boyish twinkle in his eye he plopped himself down on the edge of the platform and leaned back on his hands with a satisfied sigh.

“You don’t mind if I stay here for a while do you?” He asked, tilting his head back to look up at her.  “It’s a nice night but I don’t want to disturb your work.”

“I…I mean…” Zrina flushed as she fumbled for words.  “It’s your ship Kapitan. You may do as you wish.”

Nikolai raised his eyebrow and his lip quirked up in a cheeky smirk.

“No!” Zrina answered quickly.  “No, I do not mind.”

With an amused hum, Nikolai turned his attention back to the skies, kicking his legs like a satisfied child as he sat on the edge of the platform.

They stayed in silence like that for a while and slowly Zrina grew used to his presence.  The slight shuffling noises and quiet sighs he let out became a comfort to her as she worked, although it no longer felt like work to command the wind to propel the ship.  It was there in her mind, as if it always had been, and she found she no longer had to concentrate on that one task.  As her mind began to wander she maintained that hold on her power and the ship continued to fly ever onwards.

“Ahem,” Nikolai cleared his throat in an unsubtle way of getting her attention and Zrina barely hid her smile.

“Yes Kapitan?”

“Are you due for a break? From the passage of the stars across the skies I am sure that you have worked long enough for a respite.”

“Perhaps,” Zrina replied.  “But I’m trying to make a good impression.”

“Shut up and sit down here,” he laughed, patting the platform next to him.

She smiled fully then and when he saw it his face lit up with joy.  Zrina clambered down and perched next to him, her hands in her lap and her crossed ankles swinging gently.  Nikolai turned and sucked in a breath as if to speak but then paused.  Tilting his head to the side he stared at her curiously, and then up at the sails that were still full of wind.

“The ship’s still flying,” he observed.

“Yes.”

“But you’re sat here.”

“You noticed that hmm?” She teased a little.

“Clever little squaller,” Nikolai said with amazement.  “I knew there was something different about you.”

Zrina giggled, and turned her gaze up to the sky with a wide smile on her face. It was still a little surreal to her that she was actually on this ship as one of the main squallers, and now in charge of flying them through the stars. It was something her little self had only dreamt of when she started training. The words of the other crew members drifted from her mind as she let herself take in this moment and enjoy the view before them. She sighed happily and shook her head once, “Saints, it is beautiful isn’t it? I mean, I’m sure you’re used to it by now but -” 

“Believe me, I can still be amazed by beauty,” Nikolai replied, quieter than she was expecting. Turning her head, she caught his blue eyes glancing over her with a soft smile tugging at his lips. A swarm of butterflies fluttered deep in her stomach as a blush took over her cheeks. Zrina thanked the Saints that it was dark enough and hoped he couldn’t see how his words had gotten to her. She felt a little embarrassed assuming it was her that he was talking about, but the slight twinkle in his gaze held her there in hope for a moment before she looked back down to her hands in her lap. “I’m sure you can, Kapitan,” Zrina finally replied, smiling over to him, “Can I ask you a question?” Nikolai hummed, looking out onto the deck as a playful look took over his face, “I suppose so,” he teased. 

"What was your first journey like?" Her words came out with a little stutter as the reaction he evoked in her body was distracting her train of thought.

"It was terrible. Let's just say I had a similar experience to you. As a Kapitan you have so much responsibility and I wanted to prove myself to this crew. It got the best of me."

His voice got quieter towards the end, making Zrina search his eyes in the imminent darkness of the night.

"It's hard to believe with the ease that you command this ship, Kapitan Lantsov." 

"Ahhh, milaya. Thank you for the sweet words." 

He watched her for a second longer, surely observing the reaction his words caused in her and his face lit up, almost delighted to find that beautiful rosy color returning on her fair skin. It filled him with a sense of pride that he has the honor of watching this beautiful woman flustered with his words. 

They must have sat there for an hour or more, each of them sharing stories with the other.  Zrina had never felt more comfortable with someone and gradually the charming Kapitan broke down her defenses and she found herself sharing more of her childhood than she ever had before.

It was during a lull in their conversation that Zrina’s stomach let out a loud growl and Nikolai burst into peals of laughter at her flushed cheeks as she clutched an embarrassed hand over her abdomen.

“I see I am failing in my duties tonight,” he chuckled, “for I have allowed you to go hungry and the great Sturmhond has a reputation to uphold. He may be fearsome but he always makes sure his crew are fed, watered, and warm.”

Nikolai patted Zrina’s knee in a comradely gesture meant to comfort.

“Wait here but a moment.”

She watched curiously as he hopped off the platform and, with a wide grin over his shoulder, disappeared down one of the staircases that led off the poop deck. She heard a door close and then, not five minutes later, it opened again and a voice called up to her.

“Hie little squaller, I’ve secured us a feast!”

Zrina smiled and pulled her bottom lip through her teeth as she remembered what Nikolai had said about magic.  With a deep breath and raised palms she searched for her power.  Straight away she felt the draw on it from the wind in the sails but she ignored that part and focused on a single tendril which she encouraged to grow stronger and thicker, forming a net of air.  In her mind’s eye she envisioned the net being cast and wrapping around the Kapitan, who was now setting foot on the stairs back up to the poop deck.  She wrapped that net around him tightly and tugged, so hard that he lost his grip on the railing.

She laughed out loud at the very un-royal squawk that left Nikolai’s lips as he found himself being raised off the ground supported by a cushion of air.  His consternation did not last long however, for he caught sight of Zrina and knew it was her doing.  To her surprise and delight the dreaded Sturmhond spread his arms wide and leaned back into her net, trusting completely that she would not let him fall.

Something twisted then, inside her heart, and she lifted him further, bringing him level with the deck.  She bounced him a few times and the giggles that left his mouth sounded so innocent and fun-filled that she could not help laughing alongside him. When his boots finally found the deck she was met with the biggest smile she had ever seen. 

“That was incredible,” he looked around in awe. “And it just comes from you,” he rushed to her, cupping her face in his hands, “do you understand how incredible you are?” 

Zrina swallowed tightly her only thoughts on how close Nikolai’s face was to hers and how his fingers felt against her skin. Being incredible was the last thing on her mind as the smell of sweat and cinnamon filled her nose. 

“I apologize,” he whispered, his mouth so close to her face that she could feel his sweet breath on her bottom lip. “Toyla tells me regularly that I am too much for the common person to handle and I fear that I have overstepped by touching you.” He peeled his fingers away. 

“Tell me then how can I be incredible and common?” She teased staring up at him as he straightened his posture. 

“Perhaps not so common then,” he brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear and collected the food that he had dropped. He piled the bread and fruit between them, showing it off with the utmost of pride. 

“Apples,” she gasped, grabbing the red fruit and bringing it to her nose to smell it. 

Nikolai watched her, his blue eyes growing big with happiness as she savored the fruit, “had I expected this reaction to an apple I would have brought the barrel up.” 

“I believe it would have gained you points on being the most thoughtful Kapitan,” she said shyly.

Zrina took a bite out of the fresh apple, some of the juice escaping down her mouth. Nikolai stepped closer and slid his thumb over her chin picking up the remaining apple juice, “I am not just Kapitan to you, milaya. Or, at least, that’s not what I want to be.”

She stared at him, looking a bit confused, “Then what are you, if not that?”

Nikolai shrugged and continued to move his thumb in a lazy circular motion. Gazing into her eyes he said, “That remains to be seen, little squaller.” He said, with a small smile and a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he knew something she was not aware of.

Zrina wasn’t expecting the sweet gesture, so instead of reacting like any normal person she startled and let the control of her magic slip. Suddenly Nikolai is knocked down and she is standing there, not knowing if she should laugh or apologize. She didn’t anticipate her magic reacting that way. Usually, her magic doesn’t react at all when she is presented with situations where she can get easily flustered or anxious.   

As she was debating what to do and what to say, she heard Nikolai say, “I see I overstepped once again,” laughing as if she didn’t just knock him down unintentionally, that is.

“Saints! I didn’t mean to do that,” she said with a giggle while trying to help him get up.

“Intentionally or not, it was rather funny. I don’t get many opportunities to laugh and be carefree anymore,” he said with a far away look in his eyes. In that moment she wondered what made him think that he can’t laugh or feel joy, when everyone should have that in their lives. 

“Well, I hope to be bearer of more joyful moments lapushka Nikolai,” her last words came out but a whisper and she swallowed thickly, hoping she was not overstepping at the use of them towards the King of Ravka, “if you so wish, of course.” Zrina let her gaze fall to the wooden deck below them unwilling to hold his gaze out of fear of what his answer might be, whether it be a positive response or a negative one because she truly didn’t know how she would handle either. 

She once more felt the tingle of his skin pressed against hers as he tucked his forefinger under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. His blue eyes shone brightly under the moonlight more than the stars themselves, a content look in his eyes as he smiled tenderly. “Moya milaya, I think you know the answer to that. I can only beg the Saints to let me have as many as I can, for as long as you’ll allow me.” His voice drew goose bumps all over her body and his honest admission flowed like molten heat, setting her ablaze from the inside. Her breath hitched and a small whimper whispered into the dark sky peppered with a million and one stars as he lifted his other hand to carefully move the loose strand of hair from her usual tidily made braid and tucked it behind her ear so delicately, like she was made of the most precious material he ever seen.

“What is happening here?” She whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“Something that I hope will continue,” Nikolai whispered back, a soft smile on his lips.

A light breeze picked up and swirled gently around them, lifting up more tendrils of Zrina’s hair, which Nikolai tried to tame as he had the first.  His efforts were in vain though, for the more he tried, the more strands the breeze took hold of.

“Milaya I think that is all you,” he chuckled.

“Sorry,” Zrina replied lowering her gaze as a bashful flush painted her cheeks.

“There is no need for apologies,” he countered, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest.  “The fact that you can do that at all is a marvel and I feel blessed that I am that much of a distraction to you,” he chuckled quietly.

To Zrina’s surprise she felt him press a gentle kiss against her hair and warmth blossomed within her chest. Again a warm breeze brushed through their coats and caused Zrina to shrink within the warm fur collar. Nikolai turned a set of bright blue eyes on her, his smirk producing the most devilish of dimples.

“You are like the mood rings they sell at the market, the wind changes with your smile.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and it made every muscle in her body warm. “Curious,” he laughed leaning forward. 

“Don’t keep secrets,” Zrina was brave enough to chirp. 

“I just wonder how the wind would react,” he brushed his nose against hers and his breath fanned over her upper lip. “Zrina, would you be greatly opposed to a kiss because knowing how you react when I do feels pivotal to our adventure and of course for science.” He added like it might quell the nervous fireworks that seemed to fire off in her chest. 

“For the science,” she mumbled as he brought his lips closer. 

Nikolai wasted not a second for her to change her mind before he cupped her face in his large hand and pulled her chin to meet him. Their lips slotted together with delicate care as his fingers tangled into her wild hair and the wind pushed them up from the bench they were seated on. Nikolai giggled against her mouth as he deepened the kiss, needy for more as she let herself feel every spark of excitement he created. 

“I very much like science Nikolai,” Zrina giggled as he reluctantly pulled away. 

“Perhaps as much as I like your lips,” he stole another kiss and Zrina leaned into him as he pulled back. “Would you mind?” he laughed, looking nervously to the deck they floated above. 

“Oh!” Zrina looked around them and noticed that they were in fact floating and it wasn’t just her imagination. “If this happened because of a single kiss, I wonder what would happen if it’s more than that,” she said with a nervous laugh. Her abilities were acting strange. She didn’t remember the wind being this powerful. Interesting development, indeed.

“Let’s see if I can bring us down,” she mumbled while trying to concentrate on not just snuffing out her wind all together and making them fall.

“What do you mean?” Nikolai asked nervously.

“Well, I’ve never done this before and I need to concentrate on not letting us fall. It looks like it will hurt if I do,” Zrina was trying not to laugh at the situation they found themselves in. 

Tilting his head, Nikolai smiled, "I trust you.'' 

Zrina closed her eyes, a small smile on her lips. Thoughts of her Kapitan’s kiss stained lips moved like a film through her mind; calming it and bringing her focus back to where it needed to be. 

She took in a soft breath through her nose, holding it for a second before blowing it through her lips. Zrina could feel Nik’s eyes watching her as the two of them started descending back down to the wooden deck below. While the whole situation still kept the butterflies fluttering around in her belly, for some reason, with this version of him beside her, she felt like she could accomplish anything. 

When they were safely back down on the deck, Zrina took in one more deep breath, focusing her wind back upwards into the sails with a satisfied grin tugging at her lips. 

“That’s my girl,” Nikolai whispered from beside her, brushing his fingertips lightly across her cheek. 

A soft chuckle escaped her, and Zrina leaned into his hand, bringing her eyes back to find his blue ones watching her carefully. 

“Do you think if we tried that again you may be able to keep our feet on the deck?” He teased, the fingers of his other hand entwining with hers.

“Perhaps we should sit first,” she giggled, “just in case.”

They sank back to their previous perches on the edge of the platform although this time there was far less distance between them.  Nikolai toyed with Zrina’s hand, turning it this way and that, gently twisting their fingers together before untangling them once more.

“Tell me, little squaller, what does it feel like to hold the power to command the air?” He said softly, his eyes still fixed on their joined hands.

Zrina thought for a moment before raising his hand to face her, steadying it with one hand whilst she scraped a fingernail heavily over his palm and fingers, tracing patterns.  His fingers twitched and he instinctively tried to pull away but then settled, watching intently as she continued to draw shapes against his skin.

“Like that,” she said.  “A tingle but more, it is an urge, a necessity.  I could no more deny it than I could deny…the need to breathe!”

The sails on the ship billowed a little stronger in response to her words drawing both of their attention and Zrina chuckled sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

“That is something else you need to stop,” Nikolai said, retrieving his hand and nudging her shoulder.  “There is no need for apologies on my ship.”

“Sor-“ she began but stopped herself at his raised eyebrow.  “It is a hard habit to break.”

“Perhaps an incentive might work?  For every hour you refrain from saying sorry you can have an extra apple in your rations.” He declared smugly.

“How about a kiss instead?” Zrina blurted before slapping her hand over her mouth and flushing as red as the apples she loved.

“Oh ho!” Nikolai laughed, his eyes twinkling with amused delight. “My bold little squaller. Those you can have for free.”

Her eyes fluttered as he brushed his nose against hers but instead of granting her another kiss, his teeth sunk into the flesh of her apple. She gasped, laughter trickling from her lips as he finally stole her breath and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to her mouth. 

“You can have whatever you wish Zrina, just ask,” he said as he pulled away. His blue eyes were more serious than before. She felt the warmth from his words blossom in his chest but he still seemed so sad and she couldn’t help but wonder why.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked. 

 “Of course not.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s just a feeling that plagues me in the quiet hours.”

“Is that why you are awake?”

“I hardly sleep anymore,” he answered, his brows kissing together. “The war is over,” he whispered to the clouds, “and yet-” he stopped again, choking on the words he meant to say out loud. “Zrina, is it silly to be more afraid of being King than I am fighting or flying?” He turned to her, the confident king gone from his gaze leaving behind the quiet, fearful puppy prince. 

“Fear does not care if you are a king, Nikolai.” Zrina whispered, tangling her fingers into the loose opening of his tunic softly. 

“Do not tell my advisors that,” he offered her a sad chuckle. 

“You are already twice the man that the old king wished to be,” she said, “perhaps he was not afraid enough, too confident in his prejudice and laws. Perhaps what Ravka needs is a king afraid of failing, a king who walks with his fear instead of wielding it to harm others beneath him.”

He stared at her for a moment longer before the corner of his mouth upturned and the dimple returned to his cheek. She thought for a second she may have spoken too brazenly with her king but he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers and drew out a lazy kiss from her mouth as his hand slipped to rest around the base of her throat. 

“Thank you,” he whispered in retreat. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Zrina shrugged, “It’s just words, but people often forget how powerful words can be. If I would have been surrounded by people that didn’t make me feel ashamed of feeling scared of doing something, I think I would’ve been a different person now,” Zrina knows how much the feeling of being afraid has influenced her life and knowing that someone so brilliant and strong as him is afraid of doing something makes her feel less alone.

“You speak as you know how it feels like. Tell me little squaller, what are you afraid of?” he asked bemused. 

“Everyone is afraid of something, I guess,” she answered sleepily. The excitement of the day had finally got to her. “Don’t let people fool you into believing that they have it all figured it out when in reality they don’t,” Zrina was mumbling at this point. She didn’t even know if she was making sense or not.

“Fine way of not answering the question. Very well, I guess I’ll get that answer some other day,” he said chuckling. 

A small smile tugged at her lips, “Do not worry, Kapitan. We will continue this conversation later… after some sleep. I can barely keep my thoughts straight.”

She started to get up, but he held onto her arm, stopping her. Zrina looked back at him, a question written on her face. “Would you stay here with me?”

“What? Sleep outside on the deck?” she asked, a little confused. “What if we get cold?”

Nikolai had a wicked glint in his eyes, “I can keep you warm.” 

Zrina rolled her eyes and chuckled, “Be serious! I want to sleep.” 

He continued looking at her, the playful glint in his eyes was now gone and replaced with a much softer gaze, “Yes, I want us to sleep on the deck. I want to show you something and I fear that if we go below deck, we might miss it.”

“What is it that you want to show me,” curiosity got the best of her. 

“The reason why I like to stay up every night.”

“And what reason would be so important as to keep the great Sturmhond from his bed?” Zrina asked.

“Stay with me and find out,” he insisted as a charming smile bloomed across his face.

A fizz of nervous excitement grew in her belly as Zrina regarded the handsome Kapitan.  She had overcome so many of her fears today that she may as well continue with another.

“Alright,” she murmured, nervously tucking her hands up into the sleeves of her kefta.

The beam of joy that came from Nikolai made her heart soar and she was utterly grateful for the courage she’d found that made her say yes.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his chest as he settled them both against the side of the platform and then bent his head down to give her one more sweet kiss.  She could feel his hum of delight as she nuzzled deeper against him.  As their breathing grew deeper and more steady, just beginning to take on the rhythm of sleep she murmured against his chest.

“Everything.”

“Hmm?” he responded sleepily.

“I was afraid of everything,” she whispered, but there on the deck, as Nikolai tightened his arms reassuringly around her, Zrina found herself unable to be afraid of anything at all.

A flutter across her cheek and then the softest whisper against her lips pulled Zrina slowly from her slumber.  Her mouth curved into a soft smile as her eyes opened and found herself staring into the ocean blue gaze of the Kapitan.  He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to meet his lips, kissing her gently once, and then a second time before returning her smile with his own.

“Good morning, Milaya,” he rumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Is it?” Zrina asked, for the sky was still mostly dark.

“Almost,” he said, bumping his nose against hers and chuckling low in his throat.  “I would like to share this moment with you, if I can.”

Unwrapping his arms from around her he rose to his feet and held out his hand.  She took it gladly, allowing him to pull her up and lead her over to the starboard rail.  He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her once more as they took in the sky that began to lighten in the east.

“Watch this,” he murmured in her ear before resting his head against hers.

Zrina placed her hands atop his, lacing their fingers together as the sky began to grow brighter along the horizon.  The scattering of clouds below them remained dark islands in a midnight sea and then suddenly there was a blinding flash of brilliant white as the sun made its first appearance of the brand new day.  The sky flowed rapidly into an ombre of blues, whilst the clouds began to glow orange and the world below looked as if it were on fire.

Zrina could not stop the tears that tracked down her cheeks at the sheer beauty of it all.  She tightened her grip on Nickolai’s hands, fearful that she may get swept away by the intensity of her emotions.

“Nikolai,” she gasped in awe, unable to articulate the experience.

“I know, Milaya, I know,” he crooned in her ear, fully remembering how it felt to see this wonder for the first time.

Zrina turned slightly, her eyes darting between his face and the wondrous sunrise.  He was bathed in a golden hue, looking every inch the king that he was, but the smile he wore was just for her.  He raised his hand to her face and brushed away a tear gently with his thumb and she tilted her face up to him, going up onto her toes to press her lips against his.  He tasted of sunshine, and new beginnings. “I have never shared this wonder with anyone before,” he murmured when Zrina finally pulled away, “but I would share each and every other sunrise with you, Zrina.”

“It would be my honor, Nikolai,” she whispered back and he pressed another kiss to her lips before they turned once again to face the growing daylight together.

[elaratyrell]

Hey, dear! I just found your blog and omg it’s wonderful and your writing is amazing! I don't know if you are accepting requests, but if so, could I get a Daemon x wife!poc fem reader imagine/oneshot, in which reader is his third wife (after Laena, instead of Rhaenyra) And they have a wonderful relationship, including with Baela and Rhaena (She loves these girls) One day she feels sick and faints, desperate the servants notify Daemon and call the maester. After examination, it is concluded that she is pregnant (it is reader's first pregnancy), Daem is overjoyed with the news and so is she, but she is afraid of the girls' reaction, Daemon calms her down saying that everything will be fine. The next day she prepares a picnic (or something like that so she can tell them), They spend the day together as a family (the 4 or 5 of them if you count the unborn baby) She hesitates, but ends up telling them the news, After a few minutes of silence the girls go to her and hug her, happy with the news, reader says she loves them. When she is 5/6 months pregnant, Daemon and she are sitting talking (about names and things like that) and they get into the subject of "birth time". Having heard several reports of women who died giving birth (Laena herself and Queen Aemma, being one of them) reader makes Daemon promise that he won't let any maester gut her like she was a fish, he promises. Finally it's time for her to give birth, she has some complications, which trigger bad memories in the three of them (Daem, Baela and Rhaena) Daemon consoles the girls and they take them to bed saying that everything will be fine (kind of trying to convince himself too) He goes back to where reader is and the maester suggests cutting her to get the baby out and reader freaks out, Daemon refuses and goes to her trying to calm her down. Reader orders everyone to leave. Finally, she ends up giving birth to twins, alone, with only Daem following her instructions (during the months of pregnancy she studied the subject a lot). After a whole night of labor, baby number 1 was born at the moment the first ray of sunlight came out, after thinking it was over she felt pain again and baby number 2 was born. The next day (for Baela and Rhaena) they go to their room expecting the worst, when they come face to face with a tired but smiling reader with two little bundles of joy. Just fluffy, with a little angst and a happy ending, please? (if you can detail the girls' relationship with reader and Daemon and the birth, I will be extremely grateful. Sorry for the amount of detail and like I said, feel free to ignore and sorry for my English)

Oh my god I love this request so much!!!! Of course I can write this for you! Soft Daemon with his lovely little family 🩷

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