#the damn motorcycle has a story in its pov and even has someone voicing it

[all-things-mlqc]

Kiro: A mosquito tried to bite me so I slapped it and killed it.

Kiro: And I started thinking—

Kiro: It was just trying to get food.

Kiro: What if I went to the fridge and it just slammed the door shut and snapped my neck

Kiro: How would I feel?

MC: Are you ok?

[megsironthrone]

Choose Your Story Part 5

Here’s Part 5! You voted and, by one vote, chose A: Reader chooses to confront Sandor. *As always, familiar characters are NOT mine*

Prologue, part 2, part 3, part 4

Warnings: Modern AU, mentions of drunkenness and hangovers, angst, fluff!, Renly being Renly, a couple swears I guess, POV changes. I think that’s it for this part.

Pairings/Characters: Eventual Sandor x Reader, Renly

Sandor's POV

         The first thing Sandor was aware of was the pounding in his head. He hadn't been that drunk in a very long time. The second thing he was aware of was that he was not in his bed or even in his own room. He was in yours. The third thing he became aware of was that there was a bottle of water and a dose of aspirin on the night stand. Thanking whatever gods there were, Sandor sat up and took the medicine, hoping it would alleviate the aching in his skull.  

         After stretching, Sandor slowly got out of bed. It seemed unusually quiet in the apartment but maybe that was because he was actually in the apartment and not on the other side of the wall. Or maybe you were just being polite. Sandor wasn't an idiot and it was pretty obvious what had happened the night before. You clearly helped him out.

         Sandor exited your room to find you sitting at your small table, a steaming mug of something sitting in front of you. Even from a distant, Sandor could see that something was troubling you. "Morning," he greeted. He knew his voice was still rough with sleep and the hangover he was experiencing.

         You jumped a little before looking at him guiltily. "Morning," you said softly. You didn't speak again for a moment. Sandor took the opportunity to gaze around the room. He was unsurprised to see two more canvases covered by  sheets on your easels, as well as a third uncovered one in the middle. "What do you remember from last night?" you asked. Sandor's brows furrowed. "Not much. Went to the bar, had a few drinks. I don't remember much after you walked in with those two friends of yours."

         "I was afraid of that," you muttered before meeting his eyes again. "You said some pretty interesting things last night." Sandor felt his brow raise. What could he have possibly said to make you act so awkwardly? He had to keep his eyes in his head when a thought suddenly struck him. Surely he hadn't? No. There was no way he, Sandor Clegane, had managed to spill his every thought just because he'd had a few too many.

         "Like what?" he asked, playing nonchalant. Your (e/c) eyes locked with his. "Like you said that I was attractive. That you think you're in love with me. And that if I told myself that you'd run me over with your bike. Coincidentally, Brienne brought your keys this morning." Sandor resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. It unnerved and irritated him to no end that he couldn't tell exactly what you'd thought of his little drunken confession.

         "I was pretty drunk, Y/N. Can't take anything I said seriously." You let out a little hum before taking another sip from your mug. The tension could have been cut with a knife when you leveled your gaze at him yet again. "A drunk mind speaks sober thoughts." Now Sandor Clegane did not handle embarrassment well. Probably because he didn't get embarrassed by much. But he was embarrassed now. He'd confessed his love for you and felt like you weren't saying anything about it other than to throw it back in his face. Why didn't you just outright say you didn't have those types of feelings for him? Everyone else did.

         "I don't need to drink to tell you my thoughts, Y/N. If I felt that way about you, I'd have told you when I was sober." You hummed again, but the little tic of your jaw told Sandor he'd gotten a reaction from that. "How could I love someone that drives me absolutely insane?" He was being harsh, he knew, but he didn't know how to deal with his humiliation other than with anger. So that's what he did.

         You still didn't say anything, but one look at your face told Sandor all he needed to know. His words had hurt you. Without saying another word, he grabbed his keys from the table by the door and practically ran back to the bar where he'd left his motorcycle. He knew you'd probably find a way to get back at him later, but he couldn't deal with the growing awkwardness any longer. He had to get away.

Normal POV

         You sat there in silence for several more minutes. You had no idea what had just happened. He hadn't even given you a chance to admit your own growing feelings. He had instantly gotten defensive. Maybe it was your fault for approaching it the way you had, but you couldn't figure out how else to say it. Your eyes traveled to the covered canvas that held your latest work. You'd gotten inspired the night before, seeing Sandor with flushed cheeks and the way he flopped down on your bed before confessing his feelings.

         With a sigh, you stood up, forcing your tears to stay down. You had no idea how you were going to fix this. You didn't even know if Sandor would let you fix it. So you did what you did best when your emotions got the better of you. You turned to your art. You took the sheets off the new canvases and returned to your painting as you called your best friend for some advice.

         Renly was decidedly unhelpful. He was too hung over to really be of any use in the situation. His main advice was for you to either talk with Sandor or seduce him. Talking wasn't going to work. You knew that. Sandor was clearly not good with emotions other than anger. And as for seduction; there was no way you could if Sandor wouldn't even look at you. Teasing Renly about his uselessness, you hung up the phone. You had to get to work. You only hoped something would happen and you'd be able to get Sandor to sit and listen.

Sandor's POV

         A little while later, Sandor returned home to find your car gone. He breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure he could deal with you again right now. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't you he would have to deal with. As Sandor hit the landing just outside your apartments, his gaze caught Renly's. Even hung over, the man didn't have a hair out of place.

         "Clegane, what did you do?" he asked simply. Sandor scoffed and moved to pass the smaller man. "Y/N loves you too, you know." Sandor froze. He turned to look back at Renly. "What?" Renly shrugged. "I've known Y/N for a long time. Trust me when I say, you aren't the only one in love here. And you aren't the only one struggling to talk about those feelings."

         "Talk? We didn't talk. Y/N sat there staring at me like a damn fish!" Sandor snapped. Renly looked unfazed as he fished something out of his pocket. It was a key. Sandor arched a brow, making Renly grin a Cheshire Cat grin. "What? Did you seriously think I wouldn't have the super make me a key to best friend's apartment? This building has really low security. Now come on."

         Sandor glanced around him while Renly went to work unlocking the door. Once the door was open, Renly wasted no time in going inside, ushering Sandor in after him. It was strange being in your apartment without you. "Y/N is probably going to kill me, but you need to see this," Renly stated by way of preamble. He motioned to one of the seats before disappearing into the room Sandor had woken up in just a couple of hours before.

         Renly returned a moment later, canvases in hand. What did your paintings have to do with anything? Renly turned one around. "This is from when you and Y/N first met. When you were fighting every damn day." Sandor could practically feel the anger and irritation coming from the painting. "What is your point?"

         "Shut up," was all Renly said before turning over another painting. "This one was done shortly after the two of you became friends. You're Y/N's knight in shining armor here." Sandor stared at the painting of a knight that looked suspiciously like him. The knight stood tall and proud, with a hound shaped helmet tucked under one arm.

         "You see, Y/N has a habit of letting emotions do the painting. Whatever Y/N is feeling is what goes on the canvas. And the picture I was sent this morning of the latest piece tells me exactly what Y/N feels for you," Renly stated. He then walked over to the covered canvases that Sandor noticed that morning. The canvas in the middle was simply two sets of hands clasping each other, but then Renly took the sheets off the other two paintings.

         On the left was you. You were smiling and seemingly looking at something like it hung the moon in the sky. Sandor followed the painting's gaze to the third painting. The one on the right. He swore all his breath left his body. Was that supposed to be him? The scars were there, but so was a soft smile and a faint blush. There was a gentleness and softness Sandor never would have associated with himself. There was tenderness.

         "See? Y/N sees you in a completely different light. While the words aren't being spoken, the feeling is there. The two of you just need to talk it out." Sandor didn't say anything as he continued to look between the three paintings. Were you really just putting your feelings on canvas? Is that how you saw him?

         "What the hell?!" Sandor hadn't even noticed that you were back. He glanced over at you. There was a fire in your eyes but for once it wasn't directed at him, but at Renly. The dark-haired man smiled. "Good to see you, Y/N. Gotta go!" With that, he darted from the apartment. You whirled on Sandor.

         "What are you doing here?" Your voice lost some of its power as you spoke. Your eyes flashed over the paintings and then back to him. "Now you know, huh?" You put your belongings down and closed the door behind  you. You pushed passed Sandor to recover the canvases, but Sandor's hand shot out to gently grab your arm.

         His eyes met yours and it was as if the whole world stopped. How had he not noticed that look in your eyes before? He'd never seen anyone looking at him like that, with such adoration. "Let go," you said. Sandor released your arm, but took a step closer to you. "What do you want?" you asked. Without even thinking, Sandor had his reply.

         "I want to kiss you." You arched a brow, but Sandor could the emotions raging in your eyes. "Then what are you waiting for?" you questioned softly. Your voice was barely above a whisper. Sandor leaned in. He could hear your shaky breath and knew his was just the same. His heart was beating in ways he hadn't experienced before. Then, just as his lips ghosted over yours, the door flew open. "Forgot my- Oh My GODS!"

(a/n: Hurray for part 5! Voting for Part 6 will be up in  about an hour! I’ve had to change things up a little this week for my b-day celebration this weekend! Anyway, i hope you enjoyed part 5!)

CYS Tags: @fallatyourfeet​ @songoficecreamandfireworks​ @emmice9​ @silversprings98​ @thatcutewerewolf​ (Tags are still open!)

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Deacon St. John || Ambush

A/n: By the way, I do have a Wattpad where you’ll find these stories, too. I literally just copy these from my drafts and post them here. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

***HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD! PLEASE NOTIFY ME OF ANY ERRORS!!!***

***** Prompt: You and Deacon have been happily married for five years. Even when all hell broke loose, your love for one another remained intact. One day while on a supply run, the two of you are ambushed by a group of marauders. *****

~3rd Person POV~

"So, what's the plan?" (Y/n) questioned, waiting patiently on Deacon's bike as he filled the tank with gas. 

"Get in, get out. It's just a normal supply run, (Y/n)," he said, placing the jerrycan down beside the barrels of gasoline.

"Remember what Tucker said the last time we visited the Hot Springs? Y'know, about all the marauder activity recently in Belknap and how all their supply routes were ambushed?"

Deacon took one of his wife's hands in his, entwining their fingers together. "You worry too much."

"You," she used her other hand to poke him on the cheek. "Don't worry enough. Someone's gotta make up for all your carelessness. And who would be a better candidate than the woman you married, huh? Even Boozer is as careless as you sometimes! I can't believe you both are still alive with all the crazy shit you've done in the past two years."

A smirk crept across Deacon's face as he released her hand and mounted the bike. "Pretty sure you're the reason why we're still alive. All that nagging keeps our asses in check."

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around his waist with a scoff. "Why does that sound like and insult and compliment combined?"

"'Cause it is." Deacon revved the engine of his motorcycle, his smile widening. "Better hold on tighter. We're not stopping until we reach Belknap."

"I just hope this place you have in mind hasn't been raided yet," (Y/n) said, tightening her grip on the front of his shirt.

"I hope so, too." Deacon took off down the dirt trail of O'Leary Mountain, leaving the safehouse and Boozer behind.

The beautiful scenery of the mountain was plagued with the occasional dead corpse on the side of the trail and the groans of Freaks echoing through the trees.

Through the dark tunnel connecting Cascade to Belknap, a few Swarmers had chased them as Deacon carefully weaved the motorcycle between the vehicles.

Safely through the tunnel, they passed a NERO checkpoint as they made their way to Marion Forks. (Y/n) looked around and spotted a small glint. Before she could question what it was, they both were knocked off the bike. The motorcycle scraped against the asphalt, creating sparks.

"Get 'em!" A man shouted. Several men and women emerged from the shrubbery aligned on the side of the highway with melee weapons raised in the air.

(Y/n) struggled as she tried to get to her feet and defend herself from the approaching marauders. A little ways down the road, she saw a truck heading straight for them. "Deacon," she called out weakly to her husband.

At the sound of her feeble voice, Deacon managed to get to his feet just as four marauders surrounded him. He whipped out his pistol, killing three of them in a flash. He turned to take out the last man, but a rush of pain in his gut knocked the air out of his lungs. Hunched over in pain and desperately gasping for air, he watched as the rustic truck pulled to a stop in between him and (Y/n).

Four more marauders jumped out of the rickety vehicle. (Y/n) grabbed the knife concealed in her boot and swung it, but one man grabbed her arm and knocked the blade out of her hand. She tried to punch him, but another adversary grabbed her other arm. She struggled against them as they dragged her to the truck while cackling at the top of their lungs. "Let go of me, you bastards!" Swinging her legs, (Y/n) desperately tried to kick them.

"Knock 'er out, Ben!" One of the men restraining her demanded.

A younger man walked over with a wooden bat in his grasp. He didn't hesitate to swing the weapon and knock (Y/n) unconscious. The two men hauled her body into the backseat of the truck with a victorious chant. The remaining marauders hopped into the vehicle, but one had managed to strike Deacon in the spine with a metal pipe before hopping into the bed.

The drifter's entire body ached and he could barely move from the abuse. He managed to lift his head from the ground as the man behind the wheel lowered the window and grinned down at him menacingly. "This is what you fucking get for killing my friends, drifter. You want your girl back? Just try. You'll be dead before you can set foot in our camp. Sayonara, ya bastard!"

Deacon helplessly watched the truck disappear in the same direction it came from. With slightly shaky limbs, he pushed himself off the ground and to his bike. The engine was smoking, but he had just enough scrap to repair it. "You sons of bitches just wait. I'll kill every last one of you," he growled under his breath as he hauled his aching body onto the motorcycle.

Not wasting a single minute, Deacon pursued the marauders. Once leaving Marion Forks, he easily spotted the fresh tire tracks in the dirt and followed as fast as his bike could go. Unfortunately, his pursuit was halted when he spotted a horde making its way down the road. Confused as to why the large group of Swarmers were out during the day, he turned his bike around and searched for a place to hide. He was ill-equipped to take down a horde and had no other choice but to wait until they passed by.

Deacon found some foliage to hide in and parked his bike on the side of the road. He hid in the shrubbery and watched as the horde slowly made its way past him.

It felt like an entire hour crawled by before every last Swarmer passed him and headed further down the road. With an annoyed sigh, Deacon returned to his bike and searched for the tire tracks. However, all traces of the vehicle had been cleansed from the ground by the footprints of the horde. Desperate to save his wife, he searched for anything that could help him track the marauders who took her. Morosely, there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Dammit!"

<————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It had been a few hours since (Y/n) was captured by marauders. She recognized the area as Bear Creek Hot Springs, which wasn't very far from Marion Forks, but it was hidden along the base of the northern mountain range. They had tossed her in a small, makeshift prison beside a house. She had regained consciousness a few minutes ago with a splitting headache and a thick, dried streak of blood down the side of her face where the bat made contact with her skull. Now, she was pacing around in circles like a caged tiger.

None of the marauders had come to check on (Y/n), which made her happy to some extent. By what she could hear from a few women chatting just a few feet from the prison, Deacon was the intended target. Their laughter filled the air before their voices grew distant.

Suddenly, the door to the prison was unlocked and a smirking man stood on the other side as it swung open. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His eyes raked across her body and a disgusted look appeared on (Y/n)'s face. She backed away from him, glaring sharply. "The hell do you want?"

"Nothing. Just sizing up the goods," he chuckled darkly. When his eyes spotted the diamond ring on her left hand, he guffawed in amusement. "You're married to that bastard? Ha! You're married to a murderer, you know that, sweetheart?"

"First of all," (Y/n) snarled. "Don't you fucking dare call me "sweetheart". And second, he's not a murderer. Last I checked, the only murderers here are you morons. Guess idiots of a feather really do flock together."

"You're the moron for not knowing the definition of murder," he scoffed. "Let me tell you about all the shit that fucking drifter has done."

(Y/n) patted the back of her head as she listened to the marauder insult Deacon. She discovered a hairpin in her (h/c) hair and gripped it between her fingers tightly. She waited for the perfect moment, pretending to listen to the man as he ranted. The second he stepped towards her with his hands resting by his sides, she lunges forward and plunges the hairpin into his eye. He let out a bloodcurdling scream before losing his balance and falling to the ground, curling up into a ball. "Look at the bright side—you can start wearing an eyepatch. Heard they kinda look badass."

(Y/n) stepped over the marauder's body and exited the prison. Fortunately for her, there were no men or women around to hear his painful wails. She snuck around the camp, searching for a way to escape. The dirt muffled her footsteps as she stealthily made her way out of the camp. Knowing exactly where she was, the woman headed back to Marion Forks in hopes to find some shelter from the approaching darkness of the night and a safe place away from Freakers. She even prayed she would reunite with Deacon, but she had no idea her husband was heading in the opposite direction.

<———————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"C'mon, Tuck. Someone must've seen something!" Deacon stalked after the old woman.

"Listen, Deek. I'm sorry for what happened to your wife, but no one knows where these assholes are camping out," Ada replied with a sigh. "You should know by now that people who are captured by marauders never return."

"If you think I'm gonna give up on (Y/n), you're fucking mistaken. She's my wife and I would do everything in my power to protect her. Someone in this damn camp must know something." Deacon left before Ada could respond and asked around the Hot Springs.

After stalking around the camp and asking around, Deacon stumbled upon Alkai. He placed his hands on the counter of the man's stall and leaned forward. "Problems aside, I know you've been on plenty of supply runs. And I know—"

Alkai interrupted the man before he could finish his sentence. "A few drifters arrived a couple days ago and reported spotting an ambush camp at Bear Creek Hot Springs. They said they were going to try and wipe them out, but they have yet to return."

"'Bout damn time someone told me something," Deacon sneered.

"You've got enough ammo to take down an entire camp of marauders?"

"Always do."

Deacon departed from the Hot Springs and headed north to Bear Creek as the moon rose into the sky, taking the place of the sun. It was dangerous at night, but the darkness would provide more cover for him to move through the ambush camp without being spotted.

Arriving at the camp, the drifter was shocked to find it was empty all except for two men. He crept closer to them, listening closely.

"Goddammit, Ben!" The man on the ground shouted as he covered his left eye.

"How the hell am I supposed to get it out?!" Ben yelled back. "Your eye is fucked!"

"No shit, Sherlock," the unnamed man grumbled.

Seeing as either man wasn't armed, Deacon grabbed his handgun and emerged from his hiding spot. He shoved the muzzle of the pistol into the back of Ben's head. "So you're Ben, huh? Heard your buddies shouting your name during the ambush."

Slowly, Ben stood up and stepped aside with his hands in the air. "H-Hey, listen, man. None of that shit was my idea! It was this asshole's plan!"

"I don't give a shit who's plan it was." Deacon pulled the trigger, a single bullet whizzing through the man's skull. "All I care about is killing you bunch of murderers and finding (Y/n)."

Stepping over the corpse, Deacon kneeled beside the man crumpled up on the ground. The object protruding from his eyes caused the drifter to smirk in amusement. "Pretty sure those don't go in your eye."

"Fuck off, drifter. That damn bitch of yours did this to me," he hissed.

"Never thought I would ever see someone use a hairpin as a weapon," Deacon guffawed. "(Y/n)'s just that resourceful."

The marauder on the ground grinned. "That fucking broad is gonna get what's coming to her. The entire camp went after her once they found out what she did."

Deacon's smirk morphed into a fierce glare. He grabbed the tip of the hairpin and tugged harshly, the marauder shrieking loudly form the rush of unbearable pain. "You gonna tell me where they went or am I gonna have to tear this hairpin out of your damn eye first?"

"M-Marion Forks!" The man wailed, his voice raspy from all the yelling.

The drifter released the hairpin and stood up. The man on the ground lifted his body slightly with a painful and confused expression. "You're not gonna shoot me?"

"No." Deacon holstered his firearm, stepping closer to the assailant. "I'm gonna slam that hairpin further into your skull." He stomped his foot directly on the hairpin, pushing it further into the marauder's eye. His shrill cries echoed throughout the camp, but he suddenly fell silent. The drifter didn't bother to check to see if the man was still alive, but he would succumb to his injury soon and perish.

When Deacon arrived in Marion Forks, he spotted the familiar white truck parked by the church. The center of town was crawling with marauders as they searched the buildings. He armed himself with his boot knife and crept around the town, taking down any marauders he could while searching for (Y/n).

"Come on out! We know you're here!" One woman yelled as she searched the gas station alongside a couple of her companions. Deacon circled around around the gas station, avoiding their line of sight and making his way across the street to Hungry Jim's. He jumped through a broken window and landed on the shards of glass. The small noise caused him to freeze and he heard something skittering behind the counter. Gripping his knife tightly, he snuck further into the restaurant, keeping his head low.

Rounding the counter, he spotted droplets of blood leading to the kitchen. Deacon followed the trail out the rear entrance of the restaurant and to a car located in the parking lot. Peering through the foggy window and into the backseat, he saw a figure laying down. Opening the door, he realized it was (Y/n). His heart raced as the sudden click of the door opening startled her and she bolted out the other door thinking he was a marauder. She fell out of the car and on the asphalt, small pebbles digging into her palms.

Deacon swiftly maneuvered to the other side of the vehicle to stop her from running. "Hey, hey, it's me." He squatted down in front of her, obscuring the only escape route she had. He grabbed her wrists in his hands and whispered gently to calm her down. "It's me, sweetheart."

(Y/n) inhaled a shaky breath as she registered Deacon's voice. "Oh, god, Deacon." The moment he released her wrists, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. "I thought you were one of them."

"You... stabbed a guy in the eye with a hairpin?" He questioned as he held her body flush against his his.

"Uh, yeah." (Y/n) pulled away slightly to meet Deacon's gaze. "A little gruesome, but it gave me the chance I needed to escape."

The sound of approaching footsteps startled the couple. Deacon was the first to act and dragged (Y/n) down to the ground to hide from the marauder. He held her in his arms, taking cover behind the car. They listened to the marauder approach the vehicle, but their footsteps suddenly stopped on the other side. "There's no one fucking here!" The marauder suddenly shouted.

"Keep lookin'! There's no way in hell she could've made it far," a woman yelled back.

The second the man turned and headed back towards the rear entrance of Hungry Jim's, (Y/n) wiggles out of Deacon's arms and pilfers the knife from his boot. She crept after the man and followed him into the kitchen where she rammed the blade into the enemy's back, causing him to scream out as he fell to the floor. He turned his head to look over his shoulder. "You bitch!"

(Y/n) leaned down and yanked the blade from his back with a smirk. "It's a shame I don't have another hairpin. Enjoy bleeding out."

The man screamed as loud as he could, luring all the marauders to the restaurant. The (h/c)-haired woman rushed back to where she left her husband. Deacon was still crouched behind the car, watching the marauders storm into Hungry Jim's. "Let's get the hell outta here," he mumbled to her.

"Lead the way."

<———————————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"You both look like shit," Boozer commented when they arrived back at the safehouse the next morning.

"Nice to see you, too, buddy," (Y/n) snorts with laughter.

"What happened out there? I thought you'd be back before nightfall."

"One word—marauders," Deacon replied. "Bastards ambushed us on the highway. Remind me to return later on this week to kill the rest of 'em."

"Do we have anything for a headache?" The woman inquired, placing a hand against her pulsating head.

"There's some in the watchtower," Boozer responds before turning towards his bike. "I'm heading out to trade with Cope. Maybe we can get our hands on some more fish."

"Alright, Boozeman. Be careful," Deacon said. He looked over his shoulder to ask (Y/n) a question, but he saw she was making her way up the watchtower and followed. At the top, he watched her scrounge around for the medicine.

A dizzy spell caused (Y/n) to lose her footing, but she managed to catch herself before she fell. "Ugh, dammit..." Lowering her hand from her forehead, the blood on her fingertips caused her to grimace. "Why did it have to be a baseball bat?"

Deacon quickly rushed to her aid and caught her before she fell to the floor. He supported her body and guided her towards the small bed they shared. "You need to sit down and relax." He placed her on the bed gently before bending down to examine the wound on her head. Blood trickled down the side of her face, adding to the blood that had dried hours ago. He searched for a clean rag, medicine, and water.

Dabbing the cut along her hairline, he gripped the bottle of pills tightly. The plastic bent in his grasp, the top threatening to pop off from the pressure. "What else did they do?"

(Y/n) couldn't help but smirk at the question she thought he would've asked her hours ago. "And here comes the worrywart." She placed a hand against his cheek once he was done cleaning the wound. Her smirk transformed into a gentle smile. "Besides a bat to the head, nothing." She dropped her hand and patted the space next to her. 

Deacon sat beside (Y/n) on the bed and handed over the medicine. "You're out of commission until I say you aren't."

She swallowed the pill with a raised brow. Once the medicine slid down her throat, she spoke. "We've been married for five years, Deek. Haven't you learned anything?"

"Even if you beg me with those damn puppy dog eyes, I'm not changing my mind," he declared.

"I've more control over you than you know. I can change your mind. It's like flipping a coin—easy and simple," (Y/n) grinned.

A smug grin etched across the man's face. "Whatever you say." When Deacon saw she was about to stand up, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She gasped in surprise when the world around her spun and when her vision steadied, she was laying beside him. "For now, we're gonna get some rest."

The bed was small, but it provided enough room for them both. (Y/n) rested her head on Deacon's chest, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. "Didn't realize how tired I was until now."

Deacon combed his fingers through her soft, (h/c) locks. He continued his ministrations, glancing down at her face and watching her blink tiredly. "We're taking the entire day off."

"Agreed," (Y/n) smiled, closing her eyes and welcoming slumber with open arms.