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peachesofteal · 3 months

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Prologue: The Moirai

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 1.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: modern setting retelling of Hades and Persephone A strange dream, a strange visit.

For months, you’ve had the same dream.

You’re wandering a valley, your valley, a lush, green collection of rolling peaks, sweet grass and clover nearly velvet beneath your bare feet. The sun, high in the sky, does not moisten your brow, or cause you distress. You do not thirst. You do not tire.

You only meander, feeding the earth snippets of power, growing flowers and vines, a plethora of life, amusing yourself, as you do every night.

You roam this meadow, until your eyes open at dawn, bullfrogs and crickets and the raw chirp of birds tapping against the windowpane, brightening you to the morning better than any alarm clock ever could.

But tonight, the dream is different.

You’ve never seen so much Narcissus. It paints an idyllic picture, bright petals sparkling far and wide, blanketing the hills until they swoop low in the soft belly of the dream. They draw you in, pulling you down until you’re seated amongst a mass of blooms, Asphodelus scattered throughout, honeysuckle vine curling through the grasses, more fragrant than sea spray, filling the air with an intoxicating sweetness that you can taste, crystal like dew dripping with jasmine and vanilla.

It's beautiful.

A creek babbles nearby, crooning in its own language, rushing trickle drowning out your thoughts and feelings, twisting and tugging until it’s hard to remember you’re in a dream at all.

Is this not your meadow?

Is this not your own?

The Asphodelus shivers, rocking back and forth in a cool wind, the kind that chills your skin, whips around your shoulders and tousles the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Hello.” The greeting startles you, twists your torso in the waist deep flora. Rise. Instinct booms, like your mother’s chide ringing a shrill bell for you to obey.

A figure stands in the meadow behind you, tall beside the sun, rays of golden light casting long shadow across their features. You squint, but it’s of no use. You cannot make them out.

“Hello.” You mirror, palms forward, heels digging into the grass. There’s a sharp prick, a sting that bleeds, and you curse, lifting your hand for inspection. “Acantha.” You hiss at the goddess, as if she has anything to do with your dreams.

Gold runs from the wound like the creek, slicking your palm, coating your skin in ichor, your own lifeblood.

The lifeblood of the Golden ones.

Lest you forget.

The figure kneels in the grass before you, their head bowed, black gloved hands reaching, tugging your palm upwards, dragging a thumb through the mess of ethereal life.

“I’m fine, just a prick.” You assure in the silence. There is so much light, and yet none, nothing to illuminate the face or the features of whomever it is that occupies your dream.

A fragment of your mind, perhaps. A trick of your mother’s.

Or an interloper.

“You’re hurt.” The dark pitch of the figure’s voice is startling. It’s fathomless, beautiful like the coast of the Aegean, guttural like the shout of death. Raw ruby, not quite plucked from its sanctuary, not quite finished or ready to be seen, a secret gem, only for you. The meadow rustles, thousands of faces in the little flowers leering, scowling, blue sky dimming into grey. Thunder shatters the tranquility, clapping in the distance, a garish boom sending electric shocks through the clouds, all manner of rumbles rolling over the hill.

Rot. It fills your soul in a flood, current wrapping around your ankles and tugging, like a thousand Oceanids lay at your feet, crying. Screaming.

But your hand is warm. Your hand is warm and it is held, for a moment, a moment in which you feel dramatically unlike yourself, unlike the fledging goddess you claim to be, unlike the unloved one you’re known as, and then-

it is cold. Your hand. Your heart. You. The being, the figure, is gone.

And you are alone.

The Greenhouse is quiet. An easy peace, so easily disturbed by comings and goings, friends and patrons, all manner of beings and others, stopping in and out.

They say hello. They ask for help, advice, favor. Some things you cannot give, even to some visitors who you hold close. Dearly.

These moments alone, moments of solitude in the Greenhouse, and some that you love the most. Moments when you're alone with yourself, your power, your connection to the earth. When you can feel it the most, the worms in the dirt, the roots desperate for water, the blooms aching to flourish. You are all these things, when you're alone. A power unto yourself. A goddess of life, of fertility, of Spring. The essential reawakening. The circle of seasons.

The secret weighs heavily.

But a goddess of Spring, is no mere goddess of Spring, your mother's voice echoes. A goddess of life, may as well wear a target on her back.

This morning, when the dew still refracts the light of the sun and birds are singing, no one comes. You sit alone, pruning, detangling, taming a pothos, encouraging its lovely green vine to live on its own. It protests, and you huff at it, conjuring slivers of magic, feeding it kernels as if you care for a child, trying to encourage it to eat.

“You must try, you know.” It curls around the back of your hand, lovely silver-white speckled leaves shimmering in the morning’s light. “You’re not staying here. The Greenhouse is full. I don’t have any more room.” The overcrowded shelves and carts agree, saplings and ivy and atropa belladonna all singing in unison, quivering voices rising in protest of the pothos’ weak effort. “See? You’ll make everyone unhappy.”

“You have a habit of talking to all your plants?” A musical voice chimes from the front door, and you jump from the stool, a book on your right clattering to the concrete.

“No, I…” Your voice fails, the woman in the doorway steps closer, allowing her mortal appearance to fall away, removing her Cloak and revealing her true identity.

The Moirai.

The Three who are One.

She turns her head to the east, a flash of the Maiden surveying your workbench, and then the Crone shines through, all faces eventually melding into one.

The Mother.

“Daughter of Demeter.” She inclines her head in greeting, and you blink rapidly.

“You...” What are they… is she, doing here? “You shouldn’t be here.” You swallow the fear that races in a cold rush under your skin. A frozen river runs in your bones, frigid rapids roaring, trapped beneath a thin sheet of ice, churning your power into a weapon of terror, an uncontrollable force that tries to build beneath the swell.

“Your mother is preoccupied.” She waves her hand; unease props the hair up on the back of your neck.

“What do you want?”

“To see you.” She strolls, careful, casual steps echoing off glass. “Finally, in the flesh.” The sh sound hisses, and your power pulses, pushing forward in preparation. “You are truly as lovely as they say, little Spring Goddess.”

“I’m not the Goddess of Spring.” You rebuke, and the resounding chuckle is dry wine, a tatter of bubbles that on her tongue that sours your stomach.

“You are not.” She nods. “No. You’re so much more now. You will be.” She steps closer, red lips perfectly lined and plump, pursed as she stares you down. “I’m satisfied.” She murmurs, and even though she looks right at you, it’s as if you’re not in the room.

Rain drops patter on glass panels.

“Pity.” She frowns, and then winks as a young woman, as an old one too, vanishing from sight with each step she takes to the door.

The clock ticks too loudly, and it feels like doom. Like a shattered mirror, shattered reflection, shattered life.

The Moirai have never visited you.

Why now?

Outside, a screech owl hoots, startling you backwards, a hand rocking down to the work bench in an effort to steady your trembling legs.

“Ouch!” you shriek, flipping your palm over, a pair of pruning shears dug into your skin, golden blood leaking out around their cool metallic points. “Fuck.” Your lips cover the puncture, tongue flicking against the rivulet of ichor.

The screech owl screams.

The throne room is silent. Darkness ebbs, inky webs slithering across the floor, shadowing the blood red stone that spills from the mouth of the dais, two identical, straight back chairs sitting proudly in the middle of the hall, dwarfed by columns stretching so tall Johnny swears they surpass the boundary of this realm. Their onyx marble shrouds Simon, who stands maskless, his hands clasped behind his back, peering into the pitch-black pool of liquid vibrating inside a silver bowl.

“Who is she?” There is a woman in the seeing glass. Beautiful, bright, an overflowing bouquet of narcissus, an endless melody of spring, the promise of early death. The greenhouse breathes in her presence, all nature of blooms and blossoms straining closer, desperate to be within fingertips reach. “A goddess?” He looks closer, and Simon’s amber laden eyes affix his, broad palm tenderly cupping Johnny’s cheek. His answer is a whisper, something unearthly and severe as they are: two Kings of the Underworld, two souls twisted together, two macabre fates made one. His words are a looming promise, a vow so ruinous Johnny knows the Moirai howl and the Lethe trembles.

“Our wife.”

#peaches writes #AIV(OFK)#ghoap x reader #hades ghoap #persephone reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #Simon Riley #john soap mactavish

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grugruel · 2 months

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Big Iron

Pairings:

bounty hunter!Arthur Morgan x outlaw!f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: She's escaped a robbery, and bounty hunters have been sent out after her. They'd made no problem so far– that said, the notorious Arthur Morgan set upon her trail.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Arthur Morgan, pinv sex, rough sex, soft sex ish, lap/bulge-riding, praise, petnames (girl, sweetheart, ma'am), creampie, overstimulation.

AN: 3rd person pov, trying it out. Not yet proofread!

The campfire blazed in the night, casting a warm glow over the small, temporary hideout as smouldering flakes of ash rose in swirls above her.

Her face lit up, the sizzling embers of spent coal entrancing her.

The soaring fires of a bright building shouldered It's way into her mind, stealing space from any other thoughts.

The trees around her rustled. She leaned back against the wall of the overhanging cliff. Sliding down into a sitting position and slanting her head in ponder, slipping deeper into the memory.

Money was all she had needed. But the simple, well practiced heist escalated. Attempted arson had suddenly been added to her list of offences, robbery another one among them. Which she could admit to, and proudly so.

But the fire. . . Now the fire, was not her fault.

And not only was the law after her, but they'd sent out money hungry, bounty hunters aswell. She'd already tied two of them down yesterday, big brutish men they were. All muscle and no brains. Still, they proved quite the nuisances, but wouldn't be a problem anymore. . .

. . .Unless they died of starvation, and then she would indeed be guilty of murder. Lovely! She gritted her teeth at the memory, rolling her eyes interanally.

But she doubted it, seeing as they were curently tied to the fence of the sheriff's office.

Which left only one real threat.

One man, one singular man; a notorious outlaw himself. He was the sheriff's most resent hire. Big, deadly, tall and muscled. From long days of hard work killing and robbing she imagined.

She'd actually seen him in person once, and she could admit, he looked dangerous, and devilishly handsome. The rumors had been right about that, she was only hoping that his volatile reputation along with the Van Der Lind gang's would turn out to be folly.

She shivered at the thought, shaking her to the very bones. If it were from the thought of him or the cool of the night, she did not know. She closed her arms around herself, stroking them for warmth as she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, her gaze snapping to the treeline beyond. She was back to reality, and suddenly accutely aware of the black darkness that lingered between its stems, but her vision was good and she was quite hidden after all. No one would be sneaking up on her–

'Ma'am.'

From the shadows, a man appeared at the edge of the campfires domain, vaguely illuminated by its warmth. Broad and tall in frame, the deep night clung to his back. His sudden prescence was the only evidence of his arrival, he'd made no sound nor been seen before he'd needed to be.

Her eyes snapped in his direction, widening with recognition, the eerie sense divulged itself to her body. Like poison, it spread quickly, crawling into every blood vessel and turning them ice-cold along its journey.

'Mister' she greeted, doing her damndest to stay calm.

His hat covered his eyes, but the smile he gave her was unmistakable. 'Theres quite the bounty on you girl.' The drawl of his accent sunk into her skin like the warmth from the fire.

'There's no doubtin' that,' she nodded in admittal, slowly moving away from him, 'Although im only worth half of it, I assure you.'

She sat still, eyes meeting his as they poked out beneath his hat. He tilted his head to face hers, regarding her silently. Eyes flickering over her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and how her blouse revealed the hills of her chest. '. . . 'S that so?. . .' He took a step closer, the rope in his hands now excruciatingly evident to her.

She got to her feet in one swift motion, hesitantly gesturing for him to stay calm. 'Mister, I'm not a murderer. Crimes I did not commit have been written in my name. The sheriff framed me!' She took a few steps to the left, placing the fire between them.

'I belive ya' ma'am.' His hands pulled on the lasso, adjusting its length. Gripping it roughly from time to time, trigger fingers readying themselves for any sudden movement. 'But the law can be a crooked thing sometimes.' His eyes narrowed in on her, then shrugged nonchalantly. 'But a bounty 's still a bounty girl.'

The birds sang above them, and the world blurred around her, her knees suddenly week. And unfortunately for her, he would be there to catch her when she fell. In a sense too literal for her liking.

'And I can say the same for myself ma'am, I'm a bad man. . .' His voice imposed, yet, the gravely tone vibrated perfectly well in her ears.

Gulping her nervousity, she assessed her options. . . And then ran.

Trees rushed past in peripheral whirls as she made her way along the cliff wall. Rope flexed behind her, threads wringing against eachother as it was swung and thrown with a woosh.

The air caressed her cheeks, pulling tears from her eyes and whistling in her ears. She gave it all she had, but it wasn't enough to stop the lasso from capturing her with deadly accuracy. It fell over her shoulders and tightened around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

The rope pulled taunt– and the world stopped moving for a short second, with a yank, her body whipped forward and her feet was swept from under her– then just as sudden, it sped up again.

As a tree cut down for its timber, she fell. The ground rushing up to greet her face as she stumbled to the ground with a hard thud. She panted, smelling the earth and feeling the wet grass tickle her face as she struggled against her entanglement; wriggling and thrashing like a stranded fish.

Well-used leather chaps groaned behind her as he stalked closer, winding the rope up as he did. Its sound of hot friction against fabric made her stumache churn. She rolled onto her back to get a better layout of the situation. And there he stood. Just by her feet, looming over her. With his back to the fire it cast a glow around him, framing the big man as he filled her sight. Fear and desire fought for the helm, conflicting her mind terribly.

He crouched down, bending over her as he circled the rope around her, securing his bounty tightly. He grabbed the knot and pulled her up diagonally, pulling her flush against his body so he could level her head with his. '. . .And I've done bad things.' He whispered, lips brushing against her ear. A dull pulse appeared where there ought to be no pulse. She screwed her eyes shut, lust for this man was the last thing she should be feeling. But oh. . . How his breath raised goosebumps, having it spread over her skin like wildfire.

He straightened his legs and stood back, taking her with him while keeping her close to his chest.

Her breath fanned over his lips as they stood a mere inch apart, one bound and the other free. A smirk made its way onto his lips, his hands sliding along the tied rope until they were at her waist, and in one strong motion threw her over his shoulder.

She yelped, 'You brute!' kicking wildy in hopes of getting free. But one of his arms circled around her legs and gripped the back of her thigh to keep them still, while he laid the other on the small of her back to stop her from falling. 'You keep your hands to yourself Mister!' She shouted, struggling against his bullish strength.

'Yes, ma'am.' He assured as he began walking, not paying her futile thrashing much mind.

She cleared her throat and huffed, expecting more of a reaction. She didn't quite know what to do in this situation, she hadnt planned this far ahead. She didn't think she'd ever be properly cought. 'Well, good.' She said curtly, calming herself. Being a nuisance and making the situation worse would be a bad idea, and she'd not made any progress nonetheless, his grip was solid steel. She'd have to settle on feeling his strong back beneath her instead and revel in the feeling of his hand on her thigh.

He stomped out the campfire before moving to where he'd hidden his horse, 'Sittin' or layin'?' He asked, being nice enough to hand her to options of sharing his saddle or to be stored over his horses ass.

She huffed, 'What a gentleman, take a guess Mister.' She muttered.

He nodded, 'Sittin' with me it is.' his hands moved to her waist, easily transfering her from his shoulder to the saddle. She scoffed for the sake of scoffing, eyes narrowing as she looked down on him, and if it had the power to, her look would certainly have killed him. 'Quite presumtions of you.'

With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, he gripped the saddle before climbing on. Placing his hands on either side of it, on hand on the pommel and the other on the cantel. Which just so happened to be between her thighs, and just behind her ass. Almost grazing her on both sides as he braced himself against it, eyes meeting hers with a satisfied smirk, 'Much more attitude from ya' girl and I'll have to take meassures.'

Shock sprung itself on her, feeling dizzy all over again. The knuckle of his thumb was an inch away from brushing against her cunt. Her eyes widened at the fact, and the implications his words carried. Her loins burned, it took everything in her power to stop from rocking her hips forward. But she simply cleared her throat and neutralised her expression, 'Id like to see you try.' And faced away from him, turning her nose upward.

He climbed onto the horse, placing himself close intil her and leaned over her shoulder. 'I will if you let me ma'am.' He whispered in her ear, and then spurred his horse. Shivers shook her at that, her entire body vibrating with a dull sense of need.

They rode silently for a long while, and she wanted to sass him, she wanted it terribly. But was both afraid and hoping he'd take action, just as he'd stated. The miles wound on, oh it felt never ending. Especially with the man behind her, rutting his hips against her with every step of the horse. He was a blessing against the cold, but pure torture as his heat soaked into all the wrong spots of her body.

But finally, it came time to rest. They'd ridden nonstop from the morning of her capture to the next night. If that werent enough, a heatwave had been raging the entirety of the day aswell, and the setting of the sun had barely made a difference.

He set her on the ground, binding her feet and hands before starting on the camp. Making quick work of the fire and tent as she sat down on a rock, silently watching the man work, and very much enjoying the show.

His skin was slick with sweat, much like herself. The cool light of the moon and the warmth of the fire made him glisten in every sense of the word, and oh. . . the way he toiled away.

He had removed his vest and chaps as he got to work, then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt which now stuck to his skin. A nuisance for him to be sure, but a dream for her, she could practically see the muscles of his chest rippling.

A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, tickling her skin and drawing focus away from the view. Her eyes widened as she realised how she stared at the stranger and shook her head, attempting to clear it.

God, focus. She needed to hatch a plan. Running would do her no good, he would be too fast. He wouldn't accept bribes either, and was very hard to persuade. No attempts had been succesful so far, he didnt even want the money she'd stashed away.

At that thought, unavoidably, abashedly her eyes snapped to him as he pulled his shirt off and reached for a new one in his saddlebag. She clenched her jaw to keep it from falling, his strong chest was adorned by hair, trailing down his abdomen and disappearing under. . . The waist of his pants. In that moment, she wanted nothing else then to see where that trail ended. She wanted to trace her fingers along it, or perhaps lick it, all the way down. . .

Her jaw began aching, she fought herself to tear her eyes away from him. Managing to direct her gaze at the ground instead, waiting for him to put a fresh shirt on.

After a short while, she dared to look up again. He'd pulled a log to opposite side of the fire and sat down, a cigarette placed between hid lips and was breathing in a long drag of it. Tilting his head back, he released the cloud of smoke with a sigh.

Her eyes followed his movements intently, studying them as she hoped that perhaps he'd notice her and offer one–

'Want one girl?' He nodded toward her, gesturing with the match box.

'I do, yes.' She answered expectantly, holding her hands out for him to untie.

But to her surprise, he scoffed, then stod and walked around the fire. He crouched on one knee infront of her, his arm bracing against the other. 'You'll have to do better than that.' He said, only a feets distance between them. Then picked the cigarette from his lips and offered it to her, holding it an inch from her mouth. She hesitated, observing him with disdain, 'Go on.' He nodded. But reluctant to follow his orders, she met his eyes, making sure he knew how unhappy she was about it, and then leaned in despite herself. Closing her lips around the cigarette, she sucked the toxic smoke smoke into her lungs like it were air, keeping her eyes locked on his. She swore something glint in his eyes as he studied her pouting lips. A plan struck her suddenly, but–

'Good girl.' He hummed.

Again, shock gripped her. The praise rose right to her head, sending waves of heat cascading through her body. Then she coughed, the smoke settling wrong in her airways. She pulled back, letting him retrieve his cigarette as she regained her composure. 'You alright there sweetheart?' He asked with a grin, and patted her back before replacing the cig between his lips.

'Fine.' She hissed, still reeling from. . . Everything. 'You got anything stronger? Whiskey, bourbon?'

He nodded, and pulled out and old bottle of bourbon from his bag, 'Could you?' She held her hands out to him again.

He studied her, stroking his stubbled jaw in thought. 'Got somethin' for me then?'

Insinuations led her down a path of all kinds of possibilities, but she instead opted for a simple, 'Please?' Instead, attempting it cheapishly.

His hands slipped down to his hip, pulling the knife from its hilt, 'Thats more like it.' He mumbeled with his cigarette clad lips.

And cut the rope around her hands and feet, stopping at the rope around her waist and met her eyes. 'Try anythin'. . .' He raised his eyebrows, and lowered his voice to a mocking tone '. . . run, hurt me' his eyes narrow as a corner of his lip tugs. 'And there'll be a steep price to be payed.'

Swallowing, she nodded enthusiastically, 'I just wan't a sliver of freedom before im locked up, you could understand that right?'

He nodded, 'S'pose so. . .' And began cutting, '. . . difference is girl' the rope snapped and slid down her sides, 'I'd never get caught.' He gathered the rope from her sides, his fingers accidentally brushing against her hips.

Her breath hitched, and her skin tingled desperatley for more of him as fluttering wingbeats set of in her stumache. Such a small thing, turning into such a big reaction.

He cleared his throat, handing her the bottle as he threw the rope into the fire. He sat down on another log, not as far away form her this time. Leaned back against the tree behind it and spread his legs wide. His bulge was enough to make her salivate, 'It's not easy you know, for a woman like me, when there's men like you Mr Morgan.'

Arthur quriked an eyebrow in question, 'You know me?'

'I know of you.' She corrected, taking a big swig of the fluid, then handed it back to him for him to do the same.

He nodded silently, a sigh escaping under his breath. 'All bad I guess.' He took another swallow, not to bothered by her statement. Probably used to hearing it by now.

She shook her head, taking the bottle and another gulp. 'Many of the ladies say you're handsome.'

At this he looked up at her, chuckling. 'Well, I don't know 'bout that.'

'It's true. . .' another sip, followed by a hiccup. 'They say you can be quite the gentleman too.'

His eyes bore into hers, his tone serious but expression joking as he humours her. 'Depends on the lady.' He reaches for the bottle, and she stands up to give it to him. Walking closer, she hands it over, fingers brushing against eachother in the motion.

His eyes meet hers, and she brushes her hand under his chin, 'You know what else they say Mr Morgan?'

'No, what do they say about me sweetheart?' A smirk tugged at his lip, the liquor starting to affect the both of them.

'That you're good in bed. . .' She steps between his thighs, her hand falling from his chin to his neck, scratching at the nape gently.

He hums appreciatively, then takes another sip of the bourbon and sets the bottle aside. His hands reach for her, coming to a rest on either side of her thighs, pulling her closer to him and squeezing them at his pleasure. 'They're only rumours girl.' He tilts his head backward against tree to get a better look at her, eyes fastening on her lips.

With her other hand, she hikes her skirt up, revealing her thighs as she step over his legs, one at a time, slowly sinking down onto his lap as his hands automatically slide to her hips.

She placed herself on top of his bulge, and he grunted from the pressure. The pulse within her began strumming at her nerves, turning them jittery.

'I doubt it Mr Morgan.' She whispered, 'Women do not lie to eachother of such things.' his bulge beneath her grew harder, luring a hidden smile from her, but she wills it from her lips so that it only reaches her eyes. 'They say you're rough, or gentle. Dependin' on your mood.' As she says that, she swears she detects the faintest red creep up his cheeks. Arthur Morgan. . . Blushing? Now, she couldnt help herself as the smile reaches her lips. Hes quite endearing.

The man cleared his throat, acting as if it had never happened. 'That's told of me in everythin' I do girl.' He smirks, the grip on her hips hardening, knuckles turning white.

'But you're always sweet 'n caring.' She continues, her own words were building the lust within her, making the pulse ever stronger. It was becoming hard to focus. She needed to release some of the pressure building inside her. Evaluating the consequences, she rocked her hips downward. Grinding into his bulge.

Simultaneously, she whimpered and he hissed. She leaned against him, her lips brushing against his ear as she nuzzles his cheek. 'Apparently, It's also true what they say 'bout ridin' cowboys–'

'Girl.' He interrupted with a chuckle, 'I know what you're doin'.' He breathes, 'Seducin' me.' With the tight grip on her hips, he helps rock her hips against him, the rough fabric of his pants grinding against her core.

With a gasp, one of her hands shoots out to burry itself in his hair. Then she leans into him, the other hand grabbing his shirt for support as she rests her head against his shoulder. He nuzzles his cheek against hers, and mutters, 'You use your sweet talkin', then get me drunk 'n run off, that your plan girl?'

Her eyebrows furrow, hips grinding down harder, her ruts becoming more frantic, needy. She screws her eyes shut from the copious amounts of pleasure washing over her. All she can do to answer him is hum in admittal as shes straining hard to even stay contious.

He chuckles. 'Easy girl. . .' His voice commanding, low and raspy as he slows her hips, but keeps the pace hard. 'Use your words.' He orders, loving the way shes falling apart for him.

She nods hastily, hoping it would satisfy his request. But he pinches her hip through the fabric of her skirt, and her eyebrows furrow in pain, however not having the energy to even make a sound. Her thoughts were a blur, she couldn't tell what to keep secret anymore, 'Yes– yes. . .' She sighs, the coil inside her tightening impossibly hard.

'Mmh, thought so.' He breathed, the words curt on his tongue, but lust evident in his voice. His hands leave her hips, one arm snaking around her waist, his hand placing itself at the small of her back to push her against him.

Then he stands, drawing a whine from her. She did not quite understand what was going on as the loss of movement gradually undid all the progress she'd made. 'Mr Morgan?' She inquires, hesitantly wrapping her legs around his hips.

He walks them to the tent, 'Arthur.' He corrects, carrying her with ease. He pushes the flap to the side and kneels, bending over her as he lays her on the ground.

'Arthur.' She smiles, worry seeping out as she realised he was making them more comfortable.

His knees slide apart, hooking her legs upon them as they spread. Her hands shoot up, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, close enough for his lips to hover over hers. Their eyes meet, 'Please. . .' She whimpers, one hand sliding downward. '. . .Please.' She says again, fingertips trailing down his abdomen, suddenly grabbing hold of his bulge with a firm hand, his member rock hard. 'Outlaw or gentleman?' She asked, smiling a wicked smile.

He grunts, lips brushing over hers. 'Neither.' And grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his crotch, catching the other in the motion. His free hand reached over her head, and the hauntingly familiar groaning of strong rope sounded above her. She shook her head, 'Arthur, please. . .' Panic moved into her voice, the repeated words carrying a completley different meaning this time.

He held both wrists with one hand and tied them together with the other, the rope burning her skin in the motion.

She cried out unhappily.

But he chuckles, in a matter of factly kind of way. Stroking the burn gently as ge corrects her, 'Should've behaved.' And when done, he sits back. Observing her as she lies tied up, legs spread infront of her, circled around his hips. Much to his dismay, he wouldn't be enjoying the sight as much as he wanted to. 'It's late.' He grunts curtly, then stands and walks toward the flap.

'Arthur. . .' She pleads, trying one last time.

He turns his head just enough to see her in his peripheral, 'Get some sleep, you got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.' He flashes his eyebrows smugly, 'Night, sweetheart.' Then exits the tent without another word.

She huffed, unbelivable. Nuzzling herself into the bedroll.

Sweetheart. . . But how could she be annoyed when he calls her such a thing. She dreamed herself away, with imagines of a shirtless Arthur Morgan and the feeling of him inside her. But she'd not given up, make no mistake, he would fall asleep and she would leave. . .

The night carried on and the temperature finally began dropping, a shiver shook her pleasantly. It was a welcome change. Her body strained as she raised her neck to get a look of the outside. Through the flap she saw Arthur, sitting, snoring, hat covering his face as he leaned back against the tree he'd previously been sitting on.

Now, she needed to get rid of her restraints. Rolling over, she crawled toward the opening, her eyes never leaving Mr Morgans sheathed knife.

The fire had been reduced to embers at this point. Crackling and sizzling lowly as the cool moisture in the air riddled the grass with dewdrops, dampening her hands and skirt as she approached her goal. She sat on her knees, then moved to grab the knife carefully, gnelty sliding it out. The sound of it unlatching nearly had her yelp.

No movement in Arthur.

Shallow breaths, she exhales. Relief flooding through her begoee she began working the knife against her entangled wrists with her fingertips. Carefully regarding the vicious man for any signs of waking. But her thoughts slid, perhaps, if he caught her, he would be kind. Or would he be angry? She could truly not decide werther which reaction she'd most prefer–

The rope snapped, and exhilaration filled her. Gaze snapping between her free hands and the hunter, imagining her prospects. She stood quietly, holding her skirt tightly around her to keep the fabrics from rustling. Slowly, knife still in hand, she backed away. On careful tiptoed steps she faded into the night, the fire dwindling in the distance.

The darkness made it hard for her to see much of anything, at its height the tree-crowns silhouette were visible against the blue summer sky. Branches moved, leaves swished in the gentle wind. She grew paranoid, head snapping in every direction, reacting to every little noise around–

A branch broke behind her, she jumped, turning around so fast she almost ripped– a Buck. She froze, a god damned buck? She had expected it ro be Arthur, but she seemed to have ogtten the better of him. The animal looked at her, ears twitching as it chewed on grass– suddenly hopping away. She sighed and turned back.

Only to collide with something hard. Her thoughts raced, she knew, she knew. She looked up, eyes tracing along his body until they met his, half hidden under his hat. Reflexes prepared her to run, but before she had as much as taken a step back, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. Again, she thumped into his strong chest. Held against him with the familiar iron grip, she fought, as usual; but to no avail, as usual. He snaked an arm around her waist to hinder her from breaking free, yet she kicked and punched violently with her free limbs. But it made no dent in the man. He couldn't even spare her a reaction as he half carried, half dragged her back into the low light of the burnt out fire. He spun her around and pushed her up against the cliff wall, grabbing the wrist closest to him and pinning it above her head. 'I warned you, girl.' He snarled, the look in his eyes doing just as good a of job pinning her to the wall as his hands. He reaches for the second–

When something sharp digs into the soft flesh of his throat, he froze. His chest was the only thing moving between the two of them, heaving breaths of annoyance.

'Thrid times the charm.' She smirked.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled, 'That so?' His voice mocking, and before she could comprehend what had happened, he'd captured both wrists with one hand and slammed them above her head and into the wall. And the knife had appeared in his free hand, she noticed this because it was now held against her own throat. 'Repeat that for me girl.'

Her lips struck a thin line as she attempted a neutral expression, although fuming on the inside. She shrugged her shoulders, 'No.' Was all she said, but stubborn in tone.

He nodded, looking her up and down, studying the buttons on her blouse. 'Ought to teach you a lesson sweetheart.'

She cleared her throat, deciding that to act nonchalant was her best option. 'Yeah? What ya' gunna do, huh? Ravage me?' She asked half joking, but still hoping there'd be some truth to it.

At this, the corner of his mouth turned up, a wicked grin developing on his lips. 'I just might.' He breathed, tracing the tip of the knife downward, along her collarbone and then along the front of her blouse, coming to a stop at the first button. She gulped, feeling the knife poke through the thin fabric against her chest, making goosebumps run amock in reaction and the pulse reheating in her core. He leaned forward, pushing his body against hers until there was no room left between them, his head hovering just above the crook of her neck. 'May I do with you as I please?'

This was it, the sweet balance between a hardened outlaw and a tender gentleman. 'Yes– yes, Arthur please.' Her voice near a cry, it took everything in her to control her tone–

Her blouse ripped, from top to bottom he cut it open, and she wasn't wearing a brasier. Her chest laid bare before him, and he groaned happily at the sight.

With her go-ahead he wasted no time, he let go of her hands and cut her skirt too. Cutting a slit as far as he reached with the knife then threw it to the side, and the tore the rest. She gasped, every nerve in her body on edge. In an instant, his lips were upon hers. Hungry, hungry lips devouvered her as hands roamed her body, groping and grabbing wherever they got purchase. Her own hands greedily searching for a steady hold in his hair, she grabbed a fistful and pulled gently. He moaned at the feeling, such a beautiful sound. His hands slid over her breasts, squeezing them, then pushed the remains of her blouse off of her shoulders.

Except for her undergarments, she stood completley exposed for him. She could practically feel him salivating when he cupped her clothed mound, and finding her clit with expertise and rub it through the fabric.

She tore herself free from his kisses, she had to breathe. A deep gasp brought oxygen to ger lungs once again, allowing her to whimperand moan in equal measure as he worked her clit. The pressure made her knees week, she wriggled, attempting to rut against his hand. But she was too unsteady to make progress. Noticing her difficulties, his other hand slid behind her back and held her steady. Allowing her to chase her pleasure. And left with no lips to kiss, he latched onto her neck instead, to suck at her sweet spot.

She hummed appreciatively, unable to keep a big smile from her lips as pulses of pleasure washed through her. She slid her hands from his hair and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers along his strong chest and abdomen, gingerly feeling all of him as her hands worked themselves lower. Finally unbuttoning his pants. She did no longer have to wonder were his happy trail dissapeared too, she bit her lip. He was huge. She stuck her hand into his pants and stroked him eagerly. 'Need ya' Arthur, please.' She panted.

He let out a strained grunt against her shoulder, and his hand left her clit. She whined, but didn't have to stay displeased for long.

Both his hands slid down her sides, and she tried to breathe steadily, but it proved hard. The feeling of his calloused hands on her skin was too heavenly. Suddenly, he lifted her. Pinning her against the cliff wall with his arms and the weight of his body, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around him. She hadn't known, but he had wordlessly obided her request. He pulled her garments to the side, and line himself up with her entrance. 'Sure about this?' He asked, a final reassurance.

'Yes.' She purred, no hesitation in her answer.

And so he pushed inside her, the sheer size of him was making her want to scream–

'Good girl.' He moaned, and directed his eyes to hers. She repressed a moan, biting her lip hard to hinder it as heat flashed through her. It was two words, yet she could've come undone from them alone, when said by him alone.

He gazed upon her softly, one of his hands left her thigh to gently stroke a strand of hair from her face. She smiled, and so did he. He was just giving her time to adjust, but her heart soared at the simple gesture.

God how could she feel so strongly for a stranger?

Her hands retangled in his hair as Arthur slid out of her, she furrowed her brows– but in a rough, quick thrust. He shoved himself back inside of her, filling her to the brim. He set a cruelly pleasurable, unrelenting pace. Any trace of gentleness gone.

She felt the pressure tightening within her, building snd building until she was on the verge of coming once again. Her hands sunk to his back, clawing and scratching because she did not know what else to do, he was too much, too good, too big. He overstimulated her with his mere prescence. And he knew when her walls tightened around him, adding extra pressure onto his already throbbing member. 'You close girl?' He grunted, his gruff voice breathed against her ear and his hand squeezing her thigh roughly beneath her. God it was sublime.

'Mhm. . . So- close.' She murmurs, her words coming out jagged as her body rocks with Arthurs thrusts. Pushed closer to her release with each thrust, once again, she shut her eyes and spots speckled her eyelids. Breathing turns frantic, she could no longer tell who was who as they mixed, moans and curses spilling from them both.

With a flash of pleasure, searing hot it soured through her, making her whimper uncontrollably. His thrusts slow, holding her securely, caressing her face and kissing her lips as she rides out her high. 'You're alright girl.' He breathes reassuringly, 'Well done Sweetheart.'

Overstimulated tears roll from her eyes, 'Oh Arthur, you sweet, sweet man.' She sighs happily, and he comes a mere second later. His seed filling her and oozing out.

They'd clean themselves tomorrow, since tiredness plagued them currently. He backed away from the wall and she clung to him, desperatley not wanting to part with him.

He carried her back to the tent, this time not bothering to tie her up as they laid down facing eachother. Arthur, grabbed her chin between his index and forefinger. Studying her thuroughly before they finally succumbed to sleep. She could escape if she wanted to, he wouldn't stop her this time. Her plan had worked, they both knew it. But they felt something else too, and they both knew it.

Hooded eyes blinked, blushing at Arthurs intent eyes and searching gaze. Her eyelids weighed down by exhaustion, It'd been a long few days, and before she knew it–

The light dawns, rays of dusty sunlight shone through the flap of their tent as the morning wakes. Bringing warmer tempratures and calm birdsong.

He opens his eyes, and immediately meet hers. She'd just been admiring him. 'Surprised?' She asked, biting her lip and stopping herself from reaching out to touch him.

He smiles, 'Naw, I was hopin' I'd wake up to you girl.'

#arthur murgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #rdr2 arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #rdr smut #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfic

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navybrat817 · 4 months

Note

What if Bucky doesn't want to go outside on a cold day?

Then he doesn't have to, nonnie.

Shiver

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky isn't a fan of the cold weather. Not anymore. Word Count: Over 1.1k Warnings: Slight angst, past trauma, comfort, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: This just screams Addicted to Love Bucky to me because our reader is so good for him. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky Barnes didn’t like the cold.

It sounded ridiculous when he said it out loud to himself. He ran warmer than most thanks to the serum that will forever course through his veins, so it physically shouldn’t be an issue. The hottest fire still wouldn’t be able to suppress his shiver when he sees the falling snow each winter, too many dark memories flashing through his mind to count.

Winter. Cold. Death.

Fitting how many saw the bitter season as harsh, calm, and silent when he had been the living embodiment of those elements thanks to Hydra. Harsh and calm in his executions, they made him death incarnate by forever silencing his victims. Unlike the beautiful serenity of a new fallen snow, there was no peace when he completed his missions.

They muzzled him to keep him quiet, but it never silenced the voices in his head.

“Bucky?” You asked as you closed the curtain, blocking the snow from his line of sight. You slowly walked over and took a seat beside him on the sofa when he stayed quiet. “Are you okay?”

He hadn’t realized how wide and distant his eyes were until he blinked the thoughts from his mind. He tried to give you an assuring smile as you patiently waited for him to respond, but it was something akin to a grimace. On one hand, he didn’t want to make a fuss out of nothing and possibly worry you. On the other hand, he didn’t want to pretend everything was okay.

“I don’t know,” he whispered truthfully, clenching his vibranium hand.

It didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He swallowed thickly and exhaled when his heart thudded faster. He had nothing to fear. You were there beside him in the loving home you crafted together with care.

It helped his next breath come easier.

“I just saw the snow out there and…” he trailed off, not wanting to say more as he shook his head.

You nodded as if you knew what his answer would be. It was no wonder you closed the curtain when you said minutes before how pretty it looked outside. “Well then, why don’t we stay in today? I don’t see any reason for us to go out there.”

He shook his head after a moment. “But we’re supposed to go sledding later,” he reminded you.

While you sounded excited to try it, he was torn. He feared flying down a hill would remind him of falling. Would he land in a heap when he reached the bottom, paralyzed as someone dragged him away? Would the snow’s beauty be a calming presence or would red splotches bleed into his vision?

In his heart, he knew you would be there beside him with a smile bright enough to light up the darkness and chase those shadows away.

But the voices of the past drowned out the logic of the present.

You gingerly placed a hand on his cheek and gave him a soft smile as he leaned into your touch with a sense of desperation. It was almost warm enough to rid himself of the chill he produced by lingering for too long on memories best left for another time. If he was once the embodiment of death, you were life.

The spring to my winter.

“No, I think we’re supposed to stay inside today and watch movies under a blanket until it’s time to eat,” you corrected him, as if that was the plan all along.

His forehead creased as he searched your face. “You really don’t want to go out today?”

“I really don’t,” you said, simply scooting closer and grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch. You securely wrapped it around him and rubbed his arms with that same soft smile he loved. “Why would I want to go out there when I have everything I need right here?” You added, brushing your fingers through his hair as he sighed.

His eyes burned, but tears didn’t come. You were the type of person to exude compassion without making him feel like a burden. How was it fair to you that you ended up with a partner like him?

“Are you upset?” He asked in a tiny voice as his eyes flickered to yours, only to be met with compassion.

If you wanted to go sledding or do any sort of activity in the snow, he would find a way to reach down inside himself and push the discomfort aside.

Don’t I owe it to you to try?

“Of course not. My only concern is that you’re okay,” you assured him, bringing your hand back to his cheek. Your touch pushed away the demons inside that tried to rip him apart. “And if that means staying inside, so be it.”

He swallowed again, still not used to someone so understanding offering him a kindness. “I just don’t like the cold. Not anymore. I don’t know if I ever will,” he admitted above a whisper, blinking rapidly as your thumb moved in circles along his skin. “But as funny as it sounds, I don’t mind when you’re cold.”

You tilted your head, curiosity filling your gorgeous eyes. “And why is that?”

“Because I get to keep you close and make you warm again,” he answered, bumping his nose against yours. “It makes me feel like I’m doing something right for a change.”

You put so much energy into taking care of him and he did his best to return it full force.

His eyes slipped shut when you pressed a kiss to his forehead, your lips sending a wave of heat through his head. “You’re doing everything right,” you said against his skin.

He chuckled a bit, wishing that was true. “I’m still a work in progress. Still trying,” he said. He was on his way to believing he was doing things right though thanks to you.

“That’s what counts,” you said, tilting his chin so his lips met yours. “You’re a good man, Bucky Barnes.”

“And you’re an angel for putting up with me,” he teased, covering your mouth with his again before you could argue that you weren’t putting up with him.

As Bucky deepened the kiss, he further believed that you were the spring to his winter. His good fortune. His happiness. Hope for a fresh start and an even better future. And while he may never learn to love the cold again, he would try to look on the bright side of his circumstances that brought him to you.

Because how could one love and appreciate the spring if they didn’t endure the winter?

It was that very thought that finally quieted the voices in his mind.

Bucky deserves only good things, okay? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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tourettesdog · 2 months

Text

DPxDC Prompt:

Jason has had a repeating dream for years now. It started when he first crawled out of the Pit, when his mind slid back into proper place.

The dream is always a little different, but always too much the same.

A town he's never been to, far smaller than Gotham. The sky dark and studded with stars. A cold breeze that sends a shiver down his spine.

Green flickers haunt the corners of his vision. Shadows dance on the edges. Jason's never believed much in ghosts, but he doesn't know what else to call the shapes that solidify enough to show fangs and claws.

Jason's never had a more vivid dream. It almost feels real-- the chill of the wind, the crunch of gravel under his boots--

The ache in his legs when he wakes, as though he's spent all night walking.

It's a dream, Jason tells himself over and over. He never shares it-- never wants to know what meanings someone might derive from wandering an empty town alone, haunted by blots of Lazarus green.

It's a dream, Jason has told himself over and over again…

It's not a dream, he thinks, staring at the town just over the hill. There's a sign out front, one he's seen a few times but never been able to read.

Amity Park. A quaint name-- nothing quaint enough to warm the chill settling into the marrow of Jason's bones.

#dpxdc #dpxdc prompts #dogprompts

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awritesthings1 · 3 months

Text

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: You ask your husband Tommy if he believes in ghosts. The answer might surprise you.

Warnings: dark, angst, spooky.

ao3 link

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

It was near the end of winter, and another autumn of earl grey teas and tireless raking of crunchy leaves was fast approaching Arrow House. Tommy’s peaky cap lived on the coat hanger by the front door, dusted in the faint smell of smog. Gone was the silver razor; the Shelby’s were much too respectable for that anymore. In came the monogram initials, all of which had been carefully handstitched onto cuffs and collars to match golden cufflinks, and out came the fine woolen overcoats.

The weather lay thickly that year over the English countryside, enough to invoke a ghostly mist around the trimmed hedges and shorn grass. A stillness crept in as sly as a cat when the fog came down, covering all life with a sheer dew. The garden retired into a dull combination of cool greens and toe-curling crystal air.

It was at this time of year that the monsters came out to play in their ominously shaped shadows and faint howls. Where there was a tick of movement, an airy silence and childhood fear followed. Tommy would have teased you endlessly for your paranoia if he hadn’t suffered through the same fate after the war. You supposed he had more of a right than you because his fears came from a very real place, and yours were out of superstition.

“Spirits,” Tommy clarified. “Yes, it’s in my blood.”

“But have you ever seen one?”

Tommy turns his head to look at you, squeezing you closer to his chest from where you both lay under the covers.

“Why’d you ask?” His accent was thicker in the morning.

If anyone knew anything about spirits, it would be your husband. He was more superstitious than you due to his gypsy blood. The things he told you about the community were nothing short of witchcraft—charming dogs, telling fortunes, and cursing wrong'uns. It puzzled you at first that your seemingly pragmatic, calculating husband believed nothing short of Madame Boswell’s words as nothing but gospel.

You stared out the window, attempting to conjure up the right words, but shivered instead when his fingers ghosted across your back.

“Well… I don’t know. I don’t think I would believe in something until I saw it for sure with my own two eyes.”

He hummed and smiled lazily. “Why do people believe in God, hm?”

You pressed your lips together and shrugged as best you could in his embrace.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Eh?”

“Have you ever seen a spirit?"

Tommy’s eyes glazed over in thought. It was the answer you dreaded.

“Yes.”

“Were you scared?”

He blinked out of the daze.

“No.”

Your hand moved to rest on the cusp of his cheek.

“What happened?”

He cleared his throat and laced his hand with yours there on his face.

“I was nine. Madame Lovell’s nephew drowned in a lake the day before, and then on the day of the funeral, it rained. I was running back from over the hill when I saw him. He stood there staring at me through the spray of rain.”

Your thumb swiped over the tops of Tommy’s cheekbones.

“You’re certain? Maybe the rain got in your eye, and what you saw was a shadow or maybe even an eyelash in your eye. That happens to me sometimes.”

“I know what I saw.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, then tried to picture the scene for yourself. You stood atop some grassy hill, peering down into the valley. Dark plumes of smoke rose from a small coffin stationed at the bottom of the hill, slivering up through the wildflowers and tree branches to where you stood. Then there, through the smoke and rainfall that blinded your eyes, was the boy who drowned.

“Was he scared?”

A pause, then: “no.”

That night, you settled by your vanity, combing out knots and patting lotion onto your skin. The haunted look of that boy Tommy said he saw lingered in the back of your mind, and every vague shape or shadow shifted in the corner of your eye. Paranoia—that's all it was. You didn’t want to be caught staring at a dark corner like some half-mad crook. Tommy would be crossing the threshold into your room any moment now. Maybe if his last-minute business hadn’t held him up in his office, he would be here with you now, and you wouldn’t be glancing over at that suspicious coat hanging up by the wardrobe. The lamps that were lit didn’t stretch far enough to illuminate the monsters from their hiding spots.

It was a trick of the brain, that’s all.

And surely enough, Tommy’s footsteps were heard down the hall. Your shoulders slumped in relief. The autumn season was only one for the dramatics.

Your hand cream pot clattered onto the vanity, swirling in circles until it came to a stop just as you heard Tommy outside the door. But when you stood to greet him with a kiss, the door to your bedroom remained closed, and the doorhandle remained still.

“You can come in!" You laughed, but a sort of coldness seized your heart with terror when you wondered why Tommy was just standing there on the other side.

“Tommy?” You inquired after a painfully thin stretch of silence.

Again, nothing.

You reached for your comb, holding the long, sharp piece you used to part your hair out like a knife. You weren’t naïve. Tommy had enemies, opportunistic ones, too.

And so you stood there, straining to hear any noise beyond your heartbeat that thundered in your ears. You tried slowing your breathing to hear better, but your eyes then began to water from the strain and your refusal to blink. Then it happened, as abruptly as you imagined. The door burst open. Tommy rushed in, slammed the door shut behind him, and stormed over to the closet without so much a look in your direction.

“Tommy?” You squawked, still seized in terror.

He grunted, shrugging on his overcoat and snatching his leather gloves from the tallboy.

“What’s going on?”

Finally, he paused. His eyes were bloodshot and far away. You feared he looked through you rather than at you. He came closer then, pulling you into his arms and laying a warm kiss on your temple.

“Everything’s ok, darling.”

“Where are you going?” Your voice broke. “Did something happen?”

“No…” He hushed. “No.”

“Then where are you going? It’s still dark outside!”

He sighed into your disheveled hair, then pulled away.

“I need to check on one of the horses. Get into bed; I’ll be back soon.”

You clutched his lapels in protest. “No!”

He said your name sternly: “I really need to go. Frances is in her room if you need anything.”

“Tommy, I heard something!” Then, you lowered your voice so only he could hear, “I think someone’s in the house.”

He pulled you in by the scruff of your neck. “No one’s here, love. It’s just us and Frances.”

His boots thud severely against the wooden floor to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Begrudgingly, you let him leave and confined yourself to the bed, pulling the covers over your face like a small child afraid of the dark. You left all the lights on, determined to let any intruders know that yes, you were home, and yes, you would see them coming. Tommy would be back soon, and if Tommy didn’t suspect anything amiss, he was probably right.

But the grandfather clock in the other room kept ticking, tick tick tick, and little fairies scampered about in the garden below. The moon’s solemn gaze glared judgingly through the windows, past the squinting shutters, and onto your skin. Ink from family portraits bled into one horrifying mess of shadows. You threw back the hungry covers, which seemed to be swallowing you whole, and knocked your shoulder into the jaw of the door (you had mistaken it for being further than it really was). A teacup flew off a shelf, but you dodged it with one ugly turn of your ankle.

Then you ran down the winding stairs, through the narrowing hallway, and out the chattering front doors of Arrow House. A lustrous mist had fallen over the land, thick enough that your arms whipped around senselessly, blinded by the clouded night, in your attempt to trek to the stables.

The stable gates were banging back and forth by the time you reached them. They whack your behind when you pass them, and you would’ve cried if it weren’t for the airy atmosphere peeling the moisture from your eyes.

“Tommy!”

A clack of hooves answered you.

Your feet burned despite the bitter cold, swelling with each step. Still in your nightgown, the elements worked together, clawing, scratching, and biting at your bare skin. The swell of a draft caught the tip of your nose, and you whipped around just in time to see a coat disappearing around the back of the stable where the paddock was.

Fear acted like a glaze of sweltering iron, hissing the rhythm out of your heart.

“I can see you!” You tried to warn as if you were the hunter and not the hunted.

Leather hands wrapped around your shoulders from behind.

“Are you insane, eh?” Tommy’s gruff voice scolded in your ear.

You turned around to crumple into his embrace.

“Tommy, something’s not right about this house.”

“Is that why you’re out here? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It could have been a ghost, a careful soulless thing—a soundless haunting memory with no cause for action, warping around the edges of reality. It was then a great whipping lash of winter lakes and violent snowflakes cut into the lines of your knuckles and sliced beneath your skin.

Your lips moved sometime after that, or maybe it was before; you couldn’t remember. Nothing seemed to make sense. The man in the moon wound away your surroundings one by one, like a fisherman with his catch on a hook.

“What?”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what, Tommy?”

Silence held a knife to your neck.

“Out in the paddock..." His dark, long eyelashes brushed earnestly along his high-cut cheekbones, and you feared the thought that had seemingly paralyzed your husband from saying any more. If it weren’t already dark, a shadow might’ve passed over his features.

A fountain of words prepared to gush out, but you slipped on a puddle that appeared around your feet. You stepped back with a gasp. It wasn’t raining.

“I’m sorry, my love. I should’ve listened to you.”

The puddle kept growing. Words turned into water.

“What the fuck is happening, Tommy?"

His thumb brushed the apple of your cheek.

“I’ll avenge you. I will.”

You cried.

“Shhh, don’t be afraid, darling." Tommy kissed your ice-cold forehead.

You choked. Water: water pooled out of your mouth and suffocated your lungs. You couldn't breathe.

“Go back to bed for me, eh?”

All over your nightgown—water, water, water.

The horse trough out in the paddock, the goldfish swimming past your cheek, straw in your teeth, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, no response, no one, the weight of a hand tangling in your hair, air, air, air, no air.

Drip, drip, drip.

Water in your eyes, ears, nose, mouth—

You never saw them coming.

“I promise, love. I’ll get the bastards that…”

He choked as if he were also choking on water, water, water.

“I never saw them coming, Tommy,” you hiccupped, but it was all water, water, water—

“I know.”

Gurgling.

“I just wanted to find you.”

“I know, I know.”

They pinned your arms back.

“The fucking water trough, Tommy!”

He swallowed painfully.

You couldn’t see him anymore. His face had washed away in your straw, goldfish, blood, water, water, water, tears. Blindly, you traced under his eyes and felt his salty, grief, widowed, water tears.

There’s so much tears and sorrow there in that stable that it begins pouring from outside and through the roof. Most days it was in the paddock, but tonight it was here.

Frances, the housekeeper, watched from her window. On these types of nights, when Arrow House became entrapped in a spell and rain drizzled over the countryside, Thomas Shelby would squelch across the overgrown grass to the paddock behind the stable before disappearing. Where he went, she didn’t know. The hazy sheet of mist left much to the imagination. What he saw out there? She didn’t know either. The poor bastard probably just missed his wife.

Frances briefly left her room to peer into Mr. Shelby’s. Letting out a sigh of relief, the room appeared untouched, still frozen in the state Mrs. Shelby left it when she went out to find her husband that tragic night. The sheets were still tossed aside, the teacup still shattered on the ground, her comb still waiting on the bedside table.

Satisfied with her findings, she turned to leave when—

What’s that?

A puddle.

There must be a leak somewhere.

Oh well, she’ll see to it in the morning.

With that, she quietly crept away to her room and fell back asleep, undisturbed by the chattering shutters or creaking floorboards. Not even the ghostly cries down the hall woke her.

After all, there was no such thing as ghosts, only things that went bump in the night.

Taglist: @maliceofwonderland , @fairytale07 , @goblinjnr , @ilovepeoplesdads , @multidimensionalslut , @blogforficslol

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mediumgayitalian · 20 days

Text

The slam of his car door is loud enough to make him jump, echoing across the dipping valleys and proud hills. He curses to himself, standing frozen, one, two, three, four, but no one comes running. A light dusting of snow falls in a perfect circle around an invisible border, and Lee shivers as he jogs over to it, worn sneakers squelching over the wet, half-thawed grass.

As soon as he steps onto the bottom of Half-Blood Hill, he feels the difference, the balmy breath of warm summer under the clear December sky. The power of Thalia’s tree sends its usual shiver down his back, and he touches it, briefly, as he speeds past, sending his usual prayer of thanks. He pauses at the crest of the hill, using the bright gibbous moon to survey the camp, marking his path.

“Two, four….twelve,” he mutters to himself, craning his neck to map every one of the patrol harpies. He crouches for a while, watching them, tracking their patrol: paired, hexagonal, staggered circuits around the cabins. Four minute window of opportunity.

He can do four minutes.

As the two harpies walking the Apollo-Artemis circuit begin to cross the common, Lee bolts. He keeps low and close to the shadows, sprinting fast and on the balls of his feet to stay quiet, and ducks behind whatever shadow is closest whenever something looks his way. By the time the harpies turn back towards Cabin Seven, he’s already on the rickety porch, tossing his backpack inside the window Michael left open for him and throwing himself in after it.

He lands palms-first, tucking into a roll to absorb the momentum. He freezes, panting, by the leg of what is usually Amir’s bed, straining to hear past the crickets and cicadas.

One, two, three, four.

Nothing.

He’s good.

“Took your damn sweet time, didn’t you.”

“Hello to you too,” Lee grumbles, pushing himself upright. From across the cabin, lounging on his bed like a goddamn French monarch, is his dick of a brother, grinning like the little shit he is. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, most people say hello, et cetera, et cetera.”

Michael shrugs. “You’re late. I watched you on the hill; you coulda made that run twenty minutes ago.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“I’m always asking me.”

“Get over her, boogerbrain.”

“Real mature,” Michael mocks, but ambles over anyway. He retches like a twelve year old when Lee hugs him, but twists his hands in the back of Lee’s shirt when he lets go too fast. Lee hides his smile in his over-gelled hair.

“You might miss me less if you actually write me letters, you know.”

“I didn’t miss you,” he responds automatically. “And I wouldn’t have to write you letters if you stayed home, already.”

Lee sighs. “…I have school, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure your dumbass bio teachers have loads to teach the guy who can do open heart surgery with his eyes closed.”

“Yeah, yeah. If anyone could do with a good, old-fashioned, public school humbling, it would be you, hothead. You ready to go?”

Michael pulls away with a roll of his eyes. “Only since yesterday. Been waiting for your sorry ass.”

“My sorry — your sorry ass doesn’t have a car!”

Michael snickers, jogging back to his bunk and grabbing the black duffel bag resting under it. Lee makes quick work of packing his own bag, stuffing in a couple squares of ambrosia and and giant roll of bandages, just in case, before creeping over to the only bed left with someone still in it.

“Hey, kiddo.” He folds over the sheet pulled all the way over messy blonde curls, immediately plaguing the cabin with loud snoring. He rests his palm over a sleep-creased cheek, mapping his thumb over the freckles dotting pudgy cheekbones, and brushes back the hair plastered to his baby brother’s forehead. “Will, sweetheart, get up.”

It takes him a couple minutes of gentle prodding — when Will is out he is out — to wake up, squinting blearily in the dim fairy lights strewn across his bunk. He blinks, one, two, three, four, then gasps.

“Lee!”

“Oof,” Lee grunts, shifting his weight as he is abruptly accosted with an armful of child. He smiles, curling around Will’s flailing, chattering form, tightening his hold on his waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder. “Hi, buddy.”

“—missed you so much! Is this why your letter was late? Are you staying? Is this why Diana left yesterday? Is she here now? Is Cass coming? Is everybody coming? Can I —”

“C’mon, Motormouth,” Michael interrupts, cuffing Will’s ear as he walks by. “Go get your sneakers on. We’re going for a drive.”

“‘Kay,” Will days happily, dashing off to find the light-up Star Wars shoes he refuses to throw out, even though there are literal holes in the soles.

“You got his bag?”

“Yep,” Michael affirms, holding up a straining backpack. “Toothbrush. Hairbrush that he won’t use. Three comic books. Change of clothes. And two more changes of clothes for when he inevitably destroys the first one,” he adds when Lee opens his mouth. He shoots him an exasperated look. “Me and Diana have been chasing after the little brat for four months, dude. I got him.”

“Alright, alright,” Lee grumbles. “Heaven forbid I double-check.” He turns over to the door, where Will is tying his shoelaces, tongue peeking out of his mouth. “You ready, Will?”

He tugs on the two loops. The entire knot unravels. Quick as a flash, he stuffs the laces inside his shoes, scrambling to his feet.

“Yes,” he lies. He scratches at his throat.

Lee and Michel sigh in unison.

Luckily, the reaction is hardly more than itchy eyes and a cough. Lee herds him towards the door, sliding the backpack over his shoulders and holding out his arm and —

“Hold on a sec.”

“Why?” Will whispers.

“Shh,” Lee says.

Window cracked open, Michael exhales. The release of his bow hardly makes more than a soft hiss.

The angle is odd, limited space as there is, but Michael never misses — the clunky arrow whistles through the open window, sailing past the sloped roofs of the west wing cabins, and thunks somewhere behind the first layer of trees in the forest. Immediately, it lets loose a burst of sound identical to a dropped bottle and a group of teenagers cursing. In seconds, the curfew harpies are screeching, descending upon the source of the noise with the fury of a thousand sun chariots.

“Go go go go go,” Michael orders, wrenching open the door.

Will, immediately, takes off, gleeful at the opportunity to run away with permission (usually, he’s running from one of them, screeching at him to get back here). (Or Chiron, although Chiron has a much easier time catching up, what with the six limbs and all). (…Is Chiron an insect? Technically?)

“How long do we have?” Lee whispers, once Michael has caught up.

He shrugs. “Seven minutes, give or take? More than enough time.”

Lee worries his bottom lip. “More than…” He glances at the forest. Vaguely, in the low firelight, he can see the odd wing, hear the odd screech. Nothing looks very close. He glances at the rapidly approaching Athena cabin, just a few yards out of their way. Hm.

“Detour!” he decides. “Will, c’mon!”

Ignoring Michael’s hissed complaints, he veers towards to neatly maintained cabin. He slips in the space between Cabins Six and Four, holding tight to Will’s hand. He counts the windows as he passes — one, two, three, four — and stumbles to a stop, crouching down in the dirt.

“Oh, are you — for the love of Zeus.”

Lee ignores his eye-rolling, scanning the ground for pebbles. He selects a handful of them, careful not to choose anything too big, and jogs a few steps back.

“What’re you doing?” Will asks, too loud, but at least he tries to whisper.

Instead of answering, Lee launches the first pebble at the window.

It pings off harmlessly.

Waiting a breath for the harpies to come running, he continues, firing off pebble after pebble with increasing strength. Finally, after pebble #7, a face appears behind the clear glass, bleary eyes widening when they take in the sight in front of them. Quickly, the latches are undone, and the window is yanked open.

“Lee?!”

Lee grins. “Hey, Carter.”

“What’re you — you’re — it’s December! What’s going —”

“I need a favour,” Lee whispers. “Can you — cover for us?”

For the first time, Carter looks away, brows raising as he notices Micheal, who taps his (watchless) wrist obnoxiously, and Will, who waves brightly. Carter waves back, small smile tugging at his lips.

“Cover for you?”

“Just, like, infirmary stuff. I don’t think anything will happen, and if it does we’re an IM away, but —”

“Lee,” Carter says exasperatedly, “cover you guys for what?”

“Oh.” Lee clears his throat. “I, um. I need to do something for my family.”

Smiling, Carter rests his elbows on the windowsill, chin in his hands. “Mysterious.”

“We’ll be back by tomorrow evening,” Lee assures.

“And then you’ll stay for a bit?”

Lee’s mouth goes dry. “You want me to stay?”

Carter ducks his head, fingers tracing a mindless path on the windowsill. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you for a while.”

A thousand gods of prophecy could not predict the sound that comes out of Lee’s throat.

Something between a whimper and an awkward laugh, his voice cracks four seperate times. Carter giggles. Lee prays, genuinely, that a crater opens up beneath him and drops him right at Lord Hades’ feet.

“Everything okay, Lee?”

“Peachy,” he croaks.

Carter giggles again. Lee flushes. Michael gags exaggeratedly behind him, pausing mid-heave to whisper something to Will, and then there’s a giggle, and then two people fake-retching. Carter peeks through his dark eyelashes, pleased expression softening his heart-shaped face, and Lee counts twelve of his own capillaries straight-up explode.

“Well,” he says, too loudly. “I’m — well.”

“I think you have harpies to run from,” Carter suggests gently.

“Indeed.” Lee clears his throat, nodding. “As you have so astutely observed, we do —”

Michael, recognising the strained tone to his voice, groans. “Fucksake, Lee —”

“— and so I bid you adieu —”

“Dude, oh my gods, snap out of it —”

Lee can’t. He barely has control over his own mouth.

“— and vow to see you again in the eve.”

Feeling his soul exit his body, settle in front of him, and then crumple up and die, Lee fucking bows. There is the very distinctive sound of a hand slapping over a mouth, muffling an eruption of giggles, and then the hand of mercy, also known as Michael Yew, clamping on the back of his lava-hot neck.

“Please excuse him,” he says grandly. “He was dropped on his head as a child. He’s normal, usually.”

“Except when you wear your glasses,” Will pipes up. Lee makes a mental note to find Clarisse’s spear and shove it through his own eye. “He gets real weird when you wear your glasses. Once he walked into a wall and broke his nose.”

“…Did he.”

“Yep. And last time he —”

“God, this hurts me to say,” whispers Michael, “but I have to put a stop to this conversation. We’re on a time limit. C’mon, Will. Bye, Carter. Sorry for — well, you know. Apollonian dramatics, not always easy to control.”

He turns, dragging Lee, still hunched over, out of the Cabin Six shadow.

Lee does not un-hunch until they are well over the crest of Half-Blood Hill, harpy screeches beginning to echo behind them.

“I have never been more embarrassed to be related to you in my life,” Michael informs him, the second he’s upright. “Like, genuinely, I’m considering disowning you. That was atrocious, Fletcher. You need to get ahold of yourself. Where is your game? Your dignity?”

“I think he lost it when he was born,” Will says thoughtfully. “Or maybe when Carter smiled at him the first time.”

“I hate both of you,” Lee croaks.

Neither of them seem too incredibly bothered, snickering to each other as they duck into the car.

Willing his flush to go down, Lee herds them into his car. He takes a moment in the cool air to chill the hell out, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, then slips behind the wheel. He checks that Will is belted in properly, slips the car into neutral, and coasts down the road, waiting until Thalia’s tree slips out of sight before turning it on and hitting the gas.

“Where’re we goin’?

“You,” Michael says, flipping down the vanity mirror to glare sternly at Will, “are going to dreamland. It’s three in the morning. Time for bratty children to sleep.”

“What? No! I’m not tired!”

“Fine, fine,” Lee says, exchanging a grin with Michael. “Stay awake, then. As long as you like.”

Will narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“No trick?”

Lee crosses his fingers. “‘Course not.”

“Fine,” he relents. He settles into the booster seat Lee dragged out of the trunk for him (which he hates), arms crossed over his chest, and stares out the window.

Counting off on his fingers — one, two, three, four — Lee and Michael begin to hum.

At first, nothing happens. Will taps absentmindedly on his knees, humming along to the parts he knows, but soon his fingers slow. Lee and Michael keep it low and quiet, cycling through quiet folk songs Michael’s dad taught him, matching with the rumbling of the car, the slight breeze of Lee’s cracked open window. Michael kicks softly at the base of his seat, one, two, three, four; and matches the rhythm of the radio static, the click of the blinkers on every turn.

Will’s out in twenty minutes.

———

The drive is long.

Michael curls up sometime around four, fogging up the windows with every snore. Lee keeps the radio on a low hum, letting the background noise keep him focused as he navigates. The Atlantic Ocean is ink-black in the early morning, and the waves crash loud enough that he can hear them over the sounds of the engine, and for a while they’re still far enough from the city that the air smells fresh. Even when it starts to sour, and the noise gets a lot more urban, it’s early enough and he’s east enough that the traffic is minimal. Never non-existent — he actually cannot imagine what a traffic-less New York would look like; he doubts he’ll ever live to see it — but enough that he keeps at a steady 35.

The drive through Jersey is uneventful. Farmland and suburbs, nothing he hasn’t seen every day of his life, nothing he didn’t see the last time he made the drive. He entertains himself by counting every brown car he sees, randomly wagering the number by the time he gets there. He’s relieved when he finally crosses the memorial bridge, driving down the exit ramp and pulling into the first big parking lot he sees. Michael wakes up as he puts the car in gear, killing the engine.

“We here?” he asks, popping the joints along his spine.

Lee yawns. “Pretty much, yeah. Pulled off the highway.”

“‘Kay.” He glances in the backseat, where Will is starting to stir. ��You nap. I’m gonna find a place for him to change and brush his teeth, maybe get breakfast for all of us.”

“Sounds good”

He crawls in the backseat as Michael guides Will out of it, accepting the blanket tossed his way. He slides his hoodie over his face, lies back, and conks out in minutes.

———

“Yo, Lee. Get up. I got food.”

“Timizzit?” he asks, shaking the grogginess from his limbs.

“Eleven. You slept for four hours. We gotta be at the theatre in an hour.”

“When’s she on?”

“Fuck if I know, man. Diana said noon, I’m gonna be there at noon. You wanna piss off Diana?”

“No.” He rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes, reaching blindly in the direction of Michael’s voice. “Food, please.”

A bag of grease is deposited into his waiting hand. He is pleased to find three cheeseburgers within it, and immediately tears into them with a fervour that can only be described as ‘ravenous’, or perhaps ‘revolting’. Esurient, perhaps, if one was feeling poetic.

Finally awake enough to function, Lee looks critically at the scene in front of him. Michael is dressed in the same button-up and slacks he wears to his dad’s performances, on the years he’s in the U.S., and Will is in jeans without grass stains, real shoes, hair mostly brushed. Michael has even managed to find a shirt that’s not half-unraveled from Will picking at the seams.

“Nice,” he says, nodding in approval.

Michael picks at his nails, visibly preening. “Oh, it was no big deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Dweeb.”

He polishes off his last burger, then ducks inside the nearest store to find somewhere to get changed. Diana told them it didn’t matter, really, what they wore, but Lee knows better. He knows what this means for Cass, and while yeah, sure, it wouldn’t really matter if he showed up in sweatpants, he wants to show her that he put in the effort. That even if her mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t, they will. All of them. He wants her to see them and know that they did this for her. He wants her to see them and know that they tried, that they care.

Hair perfectly placed and clothes as unwrinkled as he can get them, he hurries back to the car. The theatre isn’t far, and they have a little under an hour, but he doesn’t want to push it. Finding parking will be hard enough.

“Are we on a quest?” Will asks, five minutes out on the road.

“Eight year olds don’t go on quests.”

“Diomedes was ten when he fought the Trojan war.”

“Are you Diomedes?”

“No.”

“Are you ten?”

“No.”

“Then no quests for you.”

“Aw.”

“Your quest can be being quiet for twenty minutes,” Michael grumbles, making a face when Will sticks his tongue out at him.

———

part two

#writint michael was SO FUN and also a bit of a challenge bc he is a bitch #god i love him #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #lee fletcher #michael yew #will solace #cabin seven #cabin seven kids #lee fletcher & will solace #michael yew & will solace #lee fletcher & michael yew #my writing #fic #longpost

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xetswan · 9 months

Text

Youngest Shadow- Sick Days

One | two | three | four | five | six |

Since it’s getting warmer students around me are wearing shorter clothing even though it’s barely sixty degrees.

And collectively we all sit outside for lunch today, but of course it’s the one day I got sick. Plus on our big game day and due to my fever that keeps growing I’m going to have to leave school early and miss out on maybe being in the newspaper.

“He’s not here.” Jessica says, startling me as everything makes me jumpy from how shitty I feel. “Whenever the weather is nice the Cullens disappear.”

“They just ditch?” Bella asks, not understanding.

“No, Dr, and Mrs Cullen yank em out for hiking and camping and stuff. I tried the idea out on my parents, no even close.” Jessica sighs. Bella takes it all in and I cough earning a look from Jessica who was sitting on the ground. I just put my head down.

“I’m going to the prom with Eric! I just asked him, I took control!” Angela jumps on the table in between Bella and I, hugging my sister as I lift my head back up to smile. “That’s amazing,” my voice is hoarse and I cough as it strains my throat.

“Oh, [Name] are you okay?”

“She’s running a fever and her throat is bothering her.” Bella explains for me that and I’m internally grateful for it. “I’m sorry.” Angela says, rubbing my back then talking to Bella again.

She ends up keeping a hand on my back which feels nice. I repeatedly keep shivering from occasional breezes.

“Are you sure you have to go out of town?” Angela asks Bella, “it’s a family thing, [Name] is staying though.” I put my thumbs up to confirm that.

“Oh my god, we need to hit the stores in Port Angeles before the dresses get cleaned out.” Jessica gasps,

“Port Angeles?” Bella asks, “can I go with you guys?”

My face scrunches even though they can’t see it, Bella? Dress shopping? If only I wasn’t sick I would love to see this.

“Thank god, we need your opinion.” Angela says.

I end up leaving right after lunch, sneaking past school staff to get to my motorcycle I luckily got back from Jacob yesterday. I tried calling my dad but it just rang through, I’m guessing something is going on to where he can’t answer.

I take my helmet out of Bella’s truck bed and roughly tug it on my head. I lazily try to put my leg over the bike, almost falling so I hold on to the truck. Giving myself a minute as I feel dizzy. A horn honks, scaring me to the point where I hear my heart beat thump in my chest.

“[Name]! What are you doing?”

Alice? Wasn’t she supposed to be hiking or some shit? I go to talk but my tongue feels too big for my mouth. I take a deep breath. “I don’t feel good, I’m trying to get home.” I try to say as loud as I can, even then doesn’t feel loud enough.

“Want me to take you home?” She goes to reach over and I shake my head. “I gotta get my bike home somehow.” I take a few steps closer to her car. “I’ll have Jasper bring it over.” She smiles, I tilt my head, squinting as I looked at her.

Get into her car? Or drive home myself?

“Where do I put my keys?” I jingle them too close to my face. “Hide them on Bella’s truck tire, closest to the bike.” She instructs me and I drag my feet back over to my bike, doing as told. I then take my helmet off, putting it on the bike for Jasper.

I climb into her car as if it were a hill. Accidentally slamming the door behind me. “Sorry, thank you.”

My body faces her, I watch as she drives, wearing sunglasses. She glances at me and sadly smiles. “You should’ve stayed home.”

“I know.” I mumble,

After moments pass it felt like milliseconds and we’re already at my house. “Alright, we should get you inside and you need to lay down.” She unbuckles herself, going around the car and opening my door as I am pretty slow with my movements. “My body is aching.” I try to laugh at myself but I just end up in a coughing fit.

She puts a hand on my waist and she walks me to the door, making me feel more fragile than I actually am. “There’s a um house key under the uh mat.” I tell her and she bends down to grab it.

Opening the door I trip inside. We go over to the living room and i plop down, accidentally bringing her with me. I feel how cold she really is and I shiver from the touch. She giggles and stands back up.

“Let me call Jasper and I’ll find you something small to eat and medicine.” She boops my nose, leaving me to be alone as she heads towards the kitchen.

It didn’t take long for her to come back with crackers and a few pills laid next to me on the arm of the couch. “Jasper should be here soon. Do you want to watch something?” Alice sits next to me and I shrug. “I’ll get you sick. You should go enjoy time with your family.” I take a cracker from its wrapping and bite it. She smiles, shaking her head. “It’s quite alright, it’s nothing I haven’t done already. I’ll stay until your dad or sister gets back.” She informs me and if I wasn’t so sick I would be bombarding with questions.

I hear an engine rev outside and I jump unnoticeably from the noise. Alice stands up and I look down at lol the crumbs I have on my shirt.

The front door opens and I see Jasper putting my helmet and keys down. “Here you should take the medicine.” Alice tells me.

“How do I know you’re not drugging me?” I rebuttals and she scoffs with a smirk laid upon her lips. “What would I gain from that?” She teases, handing me a water bottle. “I don’t know, you could rob me.” I hum, looking at her through half lidded eyes.

“Sweetheart, I could’ve already did that by now.”

I shrug, stretching my arms and sitting up. “What’s the medicine?” I simply ask. “Ibuprofen. That’s it. I couldn’t find cold medicine or anything.” She tells me, I nod, expecting that from Charlie.

“Why are you guys helping me?” I look between the both of them.

“We want to help a friend.” Alice grins, i squint my eyes at her response.

“Seriously, we will leave if that’s what you wish.” Jasper finally speaks up. My eyes follow to him. “What if that is what I wish?” I say in a snarky tone.

“Then we will listen. We don’t want to over stay our welcome.” He winks and I’m caught off guard.

“I just want to sleep. I have too many questions that I don’t feel like will be answered.” I go to stand up and they try to help but I smack their hands away. “I got it. I barely know you two I don’t get this.” I aggressively motion between the three of us.

“What do you mean, [Name]?” Alice asks, both of them wear a worried expression. “Why can’t you guys go to the Quiluete beach? Or or.. why when it’s sunny your parents just decide to take you out of school?” My throat starts hurting worse from before, the strain from me yelling doesn’t help. I almost go into another coughing fit but luckily the feeling goes away but I am definitely feeling a shortness of breath.

“[Name], you should take a nap and when you wake up, if you feel better we will answer everything you want to know.” Alice assures me.

I huff, wanting to scream from how confused I feel.

“I want you both to… to leave!” I get extremely dizzy just like before, my knees giving out, Jasper immediately helps me. Grabbing onto my arms as I hold onto his. “You need to go to sleep.” He whispers, “your skin, it’s so cold.” I tell him, he presses his lips together, glancing at Alice.

He sets me back down on the couch and I lay down. “I don’t want to wake up to you guys here.” I mutter, loud enough for them to hear though.

My eyes open to darkness, and blankets over me. I feel around and I’m in my bed. I hear whispers next to me, weight on my bed beside me. It feels like my fever has also just disappeared.

“You’re up.” A voice says softly. I jerk up in response. “Why are you two still here!?” I sternly question them, getting up to my knees on the bed, backing away from both of them.

“You’re still upset?” Alice frowns and I tilt my head. “Duh, I’m still upset! I told you both two leave, you said if I told you to leave you would. Um so seems like the problem can easily be solved.” I remind them.

“We did leave, we came back when we realized nobody would make sure you were going to be okay for a while, darling.” Jasper tells me and I sit there for a moment. I shake my head. “Don’t give me a lame ass excuse. Just explain everything I want to know then leave.” I straight up tell them, tired of this game I feel like I’m in.

“I feel like you know everything already.” Alice points out. I take a deep breath.

“Why won’t you just say it?”

“To protect you.” Jasper steps closer and this time I don’t flinch away. “Maybe I don’t need nor want your protection.” I cross my arms.

“Why me? None of this makes sense.” I tiredly laugh, I feel like I’m going insane.

“You’re our person, [Name]. You’re like a metal and we’re your personal magnets. A missing piece you never knew you needed. You’re just stubborn.” Jasper sits down on the bed, pulling Alice with him. Both take my hands and for some reason they aren’t cold anymore…

And then I really wake up from what felt like a nightmare. “[Name]! You home!?” Bella calls and I look around, confused about what I just experienced. Pinching myself underneath my blanket. It’s real. And with this being real. They really did bring me to my bedroom.

“What’s going on?” I mumble, rubbing my eyes. “Dad wanted me to check in on you. I don’t know if you heard.” She comes up to my bed, sitting down next to me. “What happened?”

“One of his buddy’s, Waylon passed away. Attacked by an animal.” She tells me and my eyes widen. Not expecting that of all things.

She hands me a pepper spray. “Dad also wanted me to give you that.”

I furrow my eyebrows in response and she chuckles dryly. “He gave me one too, twins.” She shows me hers and I smile.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s okay as anyone could be in his position.” She shrugs and I nod, that makes sense. “Did you happen to pass by Alice or Jasper at all… today?”

Her body tensed from the question.

“Not.. Alice or Jasper. Why?” She adjusts herself better to face me.

“They took me home earlier, gave me medicine.” I explain and Bella shoots me a weird look.

“They were here?” I nod

“How was dress shopping?” I change the subject not wanting to think about the dream I had.

“Eh, I bumped into Edward.” And I smirk.

“Stop it.” She rolls her eyes.

Then it was silence between us. And as she goes to stand up I grab her wrist. “Wait, i um have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you feel something.. off about the Cullens?” I bite the inside of my mouth, waiting for her answer.

“You feel it too?” She whispers,

“You heard about the Quiluete story?” I question.

“Jacob told me the other day.” She nods.

“Okay, I’m not the only one then.” I sigh, taking her hand. “I had a weird dream. I just I need to find out what all of this means.” I exclaim.

“That’s how I feel. I bought a um book. From the library down in Port Angeles.” She reaches down and I didn’t even know but she placed a book bag down there before getting on my bed.

She comes back up with a heavy old looking book.

“Sleepover?”

“I’m still sick, Bells.”

“I don’t care, scoot.” I do as told and we lean against the wall, I grab my laptop bed we use that light as a resource to look through the book.

Pages of masked creatures, menacing looking.

We then turn to the another page, this time it was a white mask with black eyes and a row of sharp teeth. “The cold one.” It read.

I quickly sign in to my laptop, searching that up, immediately getting beer pop ups on my screen. I irritatedly close them. “Look.” Bella points on the screen, it was a link to “The Cold One: Apotamkin.” I click on it.

Pictures begin to load of a seductive Apotamkin with his ice blue skin, devouring victims in tapestries, engravings. The creatures that are horrific portrayed to be beautiful.

Demons attacking villages; perfectly sculpted predators luring innocent women.

“All of this is gruesome murder and sexual innuendos.” I whisper.

Words at the bottom say:

Speed, strength, cold skinned, immortal… blood drinker…

I close my eyes for a brief second. Thinking about how Edward moved fast when Bella was in the accident, how he stopped a whole van. I never really questioned it before but now… I don’t know. How Alice knew where my house was… I never told her. How they all look young and are cold to the touch.

Another picture shows and it’s a man biting a white neck.

“It’s not possible.” Bella shared a look a with me, both of us struggling to make sense of it all.

Chapter five!!!

Also I’m going to start doing short Imagines! So if you want to request anything feel free!

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tastywordgasms · 3 months

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👀📚ᑕᗝᐯᗴᖇ ᖇᗴᐯᗴᗩᒪ📚👀 HILLS OF SHIVERS PAM GODWIN is releasing soon! ℂ𝕆𝕄𝕀ℕ𝔾, March 12th, 2024. 𝒫𝓇𝑒-𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓅𝓎 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎!

New Release coming March 12! AMAZON | APPLE | B&N | KOBO | GOOGLE | GOODREADS BLURB Abducted and taken to a remote cabin in Alaska, Frankie finds herself at the mercy of four feral men, each with his own dark secrets and twisted desires.With nowhere to run, she must rely on her wits to survive the harsh winter, trapped with them.As she delves into their mysterious pasts, she uncovers an…

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#Frozen Fate 1 #Frozen Fate Book One #FROZEN FATE Trilogy #Hills of Shivers and Shadows

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dargeereads · 3 months

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Cover Reveal

HILLS OF SHIVERS AND SHADOWS by Pam Godwin

Cover Reveal: Feb 8, 2024

ARCs go out: Feb 23, 2024

Release date: Mar 12, 2024

Ebook cover → https://bit.ly/3HxWyYE

Graphics → https://bit.ly/3OjdTZ8

Series → Frozen Fate, #1Cliffhanger → Yes

Length → 177,000 words / 721 pages

Genre → Dark Romance

Tropes → Abduction, Adult Romance, Alpha Hero, Angsty, Anti-Hero, Band of Brothers, Billionaire, Bully, Captivity, Dark Romance, Enemies-to-lovers, Escaping a Killer, First Love, Forbidden Love, Forced Proximity, Found Family, Poly (3+ people), Protector, Romantic Suspense, Scars, Slow Burn, Stalker, Taboo, Tortured Past, Touch Her And Die, Tragic, Vengeance, Virgin Hero, Why Choose

Triggers → https://pamgodwin.com/hills-of-shivers-and-shadows-spoiler-free/

Goodreads → http://bit.ly/41YMlOa

Preorder links →

Universal link: https://books2read.com/hoss

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/4bqFfGT

Amazon Worldwide:https://mybook.to/HOSS

Apple: https://apple.co/3u1eQP0

B&N: https://bit.ly/4bagtKN

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3OiI96s

Google Play: https://bit.ly/47RKoEN

Audible: In production (release date TBA)

Blurb →

Abducted and taken to a remote cabin in Alaska, Frankie finds herself at the mercy of four feral men, each with his own dark secrets and twisted desires.

With nowhere to run, she must rely on her wits to survive the harsh winter, trapped with them.

As she delves into their mysterious pasts, she uncovers an insidious evil that feeds on loyalty and uses love as a weapon.

Nothing is as it seems.

In this desolate world where the monsters are as beautiful as they are cruel, trust is elusive. They torment her, protect her, and keep her in the dark.

But to have any chance of escape, they must stand together.

Or fall prey to the evil in the hills of shivers and shadows.

FROZEN FATE Trilogy

1 - Hills of Shivers and Shadows

2 - Cage of Ice and Echoes (coming 2024)

3 - Heart of Frost and Scars (coming 2024)

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

Author Photo → https://bit.ly/3UyAo0j

Author Bio

New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, cats, retired greyhounds, and an old, foul-mouthed parrot. She traveled the world for seven years, attended three universities, married the vocalist of her favorite rock band, and retired from her quantitative analyst career in 2014 to write full-time.

Her interests veer toward the unconventional: bourbon, full-body tattoos, and tragic villains. Equally peculiar are her aversions to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.

Author links

Website → www.pamgodwin.com

Bookbub → http://bit.ly/2G5VKvY

Instagram → http://bit.ly/2FUDceR

TikTok → https://bit.ly/496yJTy

Amazon → http://amzn.to/2hvqSpj

Facebook → http://bit.ly/2DGabSc

Goodreads → http://bit.ly/ZKdcgo

Twitter → https://bit.ly/2vljB6T

Pinterest → https://bit.ly/2qDyuLW

Other books by Pam Godwin

STAND-ALONES

DARK HISTORICAL PIRATE ROMANCE

Sea of Ruin: pamgodwin.com/sea-of-ruin

King of Libertines: pamgodwin.com/king-of-libertines

ROCK-STAR DARK ROMANCE

Beneath the Burn: pamgodwin.com/beneaththeburn

BILLIONAIRE / REVENGE ROMANCE

Dirty Ties: pamgodwin.com/dirtyties

STUDENT-TEACHER ROMANCE

Dark Notes: pamgodwin.com/dark-notes

STUDENT-PRIEST ROMANCE

Lessons in Sin: pamgodwin.com/lessons-in-sin

CELEBRITY ROMANCE

Incentive: pamgodwin.com/incentive

SERIES

LOVE TRIANGLE ROMANCE

TANGLED LIES trilogy: pamgodwin.com/tangled-lies

DARK ANTIHEROES ROMANCE

DELIVER series: pamgodwin.com/deliver

DARK DYSTOPIAN ROMANCE

TRILOGY OF EVE: pamgodwin.com/trilogyofeve

DARK COWBOY ROMANCE

TRAILS OF SIN trilogy: pamgodwin.com/trails-of-sin-series

#Pam Godwin #Hills of Shivers and Shadows #cover reveal

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azsazz · 10 months

Text

Whispers in the Wind

Azriel x Reader

Summary: The Split-Fic is here!! @writingsbychlo and I are so excited for this! Featuring Tamlin's sister!reader as she navigates life after losing her family.

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 823

_________________________________________

The vast gardens surrounding the Willow manor are always beautiful in the peak of summer. Vibrant lilacs and blush flowers bloom far and wide not only across the Spring Court but live perfectly contained in the lavish garden of your brother’s estate; preened and watered daily by the house staff.

Just like you.

You sigh, pushing away from the bench by your window. Your linen skirts whisper against the floor as you stride across your room, flinging yourself onto your bed. It feels much too big for only yourself, but yet you were all you had, with your brothers and parents gone, save for Tamlin. Your heart yearns in your chest—to bask beneath the summer sun that reminds you so much of them, Neo and Wells chasing you around with teasing grins and flowers for your hair.

You miss them, even if they did fight a lot, both in training and out. Neo was the oldest of the four of you, fiercely protective and you thought him more intelligent than even the Surial sometimes. And Wells was a master of the sword, always willing and more than ready to answer with his fists. Both of your brothers showed exemplary traits that could crown them High Lord of Spring someday, but now…

Tamlin hadn’t ever wanted that life. He wanted to travel and said that he’d show you the white sands of Summer or the Mountains of Night someday because you weren’t allowed to tag along with your father while on official business. No, that was a male’s journey, one for only your brothers.

And now he’s the High Lord, because Neo and Wells are gone, killed in the night by the hand of Night itself, Rafe.

He and his son Rhysand had moved as the shadows within the manor, silent killers that made straight for your family in the dead of night. You had hardly heard more than your mother’s plea before she was silenced, and you burst from your bed chambers only to find Tamlin kneeling in a pool of Rafe’s blood, eyes hopeless as his body thrummed with newfound power.

You don’t feel like eating, hadn’t felt much of anything in the months the rest of your family had been killed. It had been a relief to your remaining brother that you hadn’t been murdered, and he’d left the next night with such a fiery vengeance that he’d nearly set fire to the wisps of long grass in the fields behind the manor.

It has been days since he’s been gone.

The sun dips low behind the rolling hills as night approaches, smothering the light like a snuffed-out flame. It’s both utterly intriguing and disturbing now that you know what it’s capable of.

Tamlin had said you’d be fine when you begged him to allow you to join on his travels. Bron and Hart were here to protect you and would lay down their lives for you if you asked.

As the stars awaken, you shiver, your stomach curling in betrayal. They call to you, just as the shadows do, just as the moon does. She cries silver tears into your favorite spot in the Spring Court, aptly named Moonlight Lake.

You shouldn’t go, shouldn’t wander through the fields like that. Nasty creatures still roam the night, you’ve heard the wolves howling at the full moon high in the sky, and the whispers of creatures that scared the deer into hiding.

Yet you can’t seem to stay away. Your fingers twitch against the soft sheets and it’s hard to keep yourself from getting up and following the moon. You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a steadying breath. Maybe Bron will play the pianoforte to distract you or perhaps Hart will teach you that card game that he loses every week.

Sneaking out of the Willow manor is as easy as it was when you were fourteen and Wells had shown you how. Bron and Hart won’t bother you, of that you know. A mourning daughter of Spring that shan't be bothered, Tamlin instructed.

The grass is cool beneath your bare feet and you follow the brightest star in the sky though you don’t need to. You know the way by heart.

Silver glows, the lake beckoning you with each step. Its mercury waters are dazzling, a mirror that reflects the night sky it wishes to return to.

A voice across the clearing stops you just before you’re about to dip a toe into the star-filled waters.

Squinting, you can’t make out the figure more than a silhouette of darkness. Your breath catches in your throat and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. He stands directly across from you, the lake the only thing separating him from you, and you can easily tell how tall he is.

His voice is a caress of darkness itself, sliding down your spine like a drop of moonlight escaping into the pool below. “Hello, petal.”

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x you #azsazz x writingsbychlo #acosf #azriel angst

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

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Hi! I hope you're well.

I have a request that may not be achievable and thats okay! Really, its just a thought.

What if the reader is a new recruit to the team and has the nickname 'Reaper' due to her skull Balaclava and skill (https://www.tumblr.com/men-wearing-masks/652072573328392192/skull-mask-week-day-47?source=share) from her other teams.

They're mainly a sniper but are amazing at everything. They're smaller than the rest of the team (I'm picturing an afab) but they're silent and bring death with them.

For example; Ghost is noticeable by his naturally intimidating presence but Reaper cannot be noticed unless you're actually looking for them, and when they pass, it feels as if a cold shiver has gone down your spine.

I picture this being a Ghost x reader because they're just as good as ghost, if not better, and everyone teases him about that. Making jokes about how reader is on top because a Reaper is higher up the chain than a ghost. Then I feel like on a mission reader gets sick of it, but in an attempt to be 'part of the team' they make a joke that's sexual in nature about her being on top which just sets ghost off.

If you don't do anything with this, totally understand, hope this wasn't just a silly rant though 'xD

Much love,

🔳

ok, sorry this took me so long to respond to I was trying to flesh it out but I hope it fits what you imagined

warnings: typical violence, death

“Hostiles are taken care of, you’re clear for entry” You call it in through your comms, you’re sat high on a hill, hidden from view by the dark as the team infiltrates.

“Copy Reaper, moving in”

You walk as Ghost and Soap make their way into the building, changing your sight to check in on windows.

“I’ve got eyes on two, south east window”

No response

“Alpha team I’ve got eyes on two, how copy?”

The comms are silent, you don’t think you just move, sprinting down the hill before you’re in front of the target building, you can hear the echoes of gunshots.

“Soap I’m at the entrance, what’s going on in there”

You hear someone inside yell, deciding to rush in to cover, you make your way through the rooms, clearing them before heading up the stairs to follow the noise. You see muzzle flashes at the end of the hallway, you slowly make your way down before turning into a room, Soaps backed against a wall struggling with one of the men, you raise your gun to fire but your arms are quickly pushed away,

“Reaper, on your left”

You struggle against the man in front of you, using your foot you kick at his knee knocking him down, your knife raising to plant in his neck before you pull it out, throwing it across the room, it lands in the shoulder of the man strangling Soap, he screams in pain and Soap is able to push him off to kill him.

“Thanks”

You nod your head, “Where’s Ghost?”

“We split down a hallway, comms went dead a few seconds after”

“Why do these always turn into rescue missions”

“Maybe he likes being saves by you”

You roll your eyes at him, picking up your gun and advancing around the building, there’s no sign of Ghost in the rooms.

“Stay inside, I’ll search the perimeter” You say

“Stick to the shadows” Soap winks

You make your way outside, creeping around the dark spots of the yard as you slice through the few remaining hostiles, you come across Ghost in the garage, he’s focused on some computer as you approach.

“Thought you went missing”

Your presence surprises him,

“Clear the building?”

“No thanks to you”

“I did my part” He gestures towards the two dead men on the opposite side of the room, “Got what we came for, let’s go”

You meet back up with Soap at the front of the house, making your way to the rendezvous point,

"You better thank your God that Reaper was here to save your ass LT"

"I was fine"

"Not counting the hostiles swarming you" You jump in

Ghost glares at you as the three of you make your way onto the heli for evac. Arriving back at base Ghost is practically silent, sparing you few words during your ride while Soap talks your ear off, there's something off about Ghost but you can't place it, you decide to leave it be.

The base is bustling when you arrive, people running everywhere, your attention being drawn all around until Price shouts for you,

"Reaper, need you on the next car out"

"Just me Sir?"

"Just you, need the best" He nudges your shoulder, you turn to see Ghost standing behind you, fists clenched at his side,

"You've got competition LT" Soap jokes running past you, Ghost walks away without a word, leaving you standing alone.

Your mission was a success, in and out, just you with Price covering from the sky. You managed to clear the building without being detected, sticking to the shadows as you dropped hostiles one by one.

Your muscles ached arriving back, simply wanting to shower and sleep except Soap had forced you invited you to join the team for a drink, figuring it was an easy way to fit into the team you accepted.

The team was already a few drinks down when you arrived, Ghost catching your attention as he sat in the corner, leaned back in his chair.

"There ya are" Soap shouts from across the pub, hollering you over to their table, you sit and he hands you a beer, you feel the cool glass against your warm palm, eyes darting around the room.

"So is there something about the masks that the rest of us don't get?" Soap asked, pointing between you and Ghost, you tilt your head in question,

"No, no correlation"

"Just coincidence?"

"Just coincidence" You nod

"Well just seems that LT's been knocked down a peg since you showed up, no longer the scary lad in a mask compared to you"

You glare to your side, you can see how Ghost's face contorts under his mask, fumes practically coming from his face,

"Ghost is just as good as me"

"Ghost can't do what you can believe me," Soap laughs, taking another sip of his drink

"That'll do Johnny" His voice booms in your ears,

"You think you're better than me Ghost?" You say, suddenly filled with courage, he doesn't afford you a response, he simply stares back at your masked face.

"You do" Your words are cut off by Johnny

"Is it that mask?" He turns to Ghost,

"What?"

"S'that why you're always buggin' Reaper, you like them, some sort of mask kink?"

Your eyes go wide at his words, your chest suddenly feeling tight,

"You like a strong woman LT?" Soap laughs

Ghost's next movements are quick, he stands from the table practically knocking over everyone's drinks before his hands are at Soap's throat, Price jumps to pull him off but it's no use.

"Keep your fuckin mouth closed Sargeant"

Soap sobers up instantly, nodding under Ghost's grip before being released, there are murmurs around the pub as Ghost exits, the air is thick with tension.

The rest of the night was quiet, the men keeping their jokes to themselves out of fear of Ghost somehow hearing. The next day on base was even more awkward, strange tension between the team had unfolded as Ghost barely spoke a word to anyone all day.

A few hours later you make your way to the gym, completely surprised to see the Lieutenant there you eye him as you enter, setting up on the large mat in the centre of the room.

You watch as he moves to stand in front of you, his stare pinning you down,

"Ready?" He asks, you nod before lunging at him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you dig your feet into the mat trying to push him backward.

You grapple for a few minutes, both of you refusing to tap out, intent on proving you are better than the other, you manage to trip him and he falls with his back flat on the mat. Your legs move to straddle over his torso, your arms pinning him down as you cover his form, your heavy breaths filling the air.

"Guess I really am on top" You laugh

Without a second thought, he thrusts his hips, throwing you off him so he can flip your form, pinning you against the mat, you're caged under his form as he pins you flat, there's no chance of getting out. You writhe against his grip but he doesn't falter, simply staring you down,

"Give up?"

"Not a chance" You continue to struggle against his grip,

"You're just gonna tire yourself out"

"Using weight against your opponent is cheating"

"It's smart, you're small but quick, and I'm more than double your size"

"Get off" You huff

"Tap out"

"Admit I'm better than you"

He laughs at your words, releasing his grip before standing, he lets you get up, your hands rubbing at your wrists as you move across the room, you turn around and he's in front of you. He forces you back his strides pushing you back until you collide with the wall, you tilt your head from him, his mouth inches from your ear, you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin.

"You may be better in the field" He pulls back to face you, his dark eyes glued to yours as your body stands still, "But I'm always on top" You can see his smirk under his mask as he leaves, you're frozen in your spot, his words replaying in your head.

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doumadono · 5 months

Text

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Hawks, fem!reader, viking themes, seer!Mirko, blood

Summary: the Earl sought counsel from the seer, seeking guidance after Shoto's proposition to send him and Touya on a mission to the north. Concerned about the rumors surrounding the mission, you resolved to extract information directly from Shoto

Word count: circa 6.5k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT III - SEEKING ANSWERS

The cold winds of late autumn swept through the rugged hills as earl Endeavor rode toward the dwelling of the renowned seer, Mirko. His thoughts were consumed by the intriguing proposition his youngest son, Shoto, had presented regarding a land rich in goods. The idea of sending his eldest son, Touya, to oversee this promising territory crossed the earl's mind, a strategic move that could secure his settlement's prosperity.

Upon reaching Mirko's abode, the atmosphere seemed to change. The air grew thick with an otherworldly aura, and the eerie silence made the settlement's seer even more intimidating. Mirko was a young woman with a fearsome reputation, her presence alone sending shivers down the spines of those who sought her guidance. Mirko was not beautiful in the conventional sense; her appearance held an unsettling allure. Long, wild locks framed her face, and her eyes, intense and piercing, seemed to hold secrets of both past and future. Tribal markings adorned her skin, marking her as a conduit to the spiritual realm.

Earl Endeavor, a man hardened by battles and strategic decisions, felt a twinge of uncertainty as he approached the seer.

Mirko's dwelling, draped in dark fabrics and adorned with symbols, exuded an aura of mysticism. She welcomed him with a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. "My lord," she spoke, her voice a haunting melody, "what brings you to seek the guidance of the unseen?"

Endeavor hesitated momentarily before speaking. "I come seeking counsel, Mirko. My youngest son has spoken of a land rich in goods. I contemplate sending my eldest, Dabi, to oversee it. What do you foresee in the tapestry of fate?"

Mirko, seated in the midst of her mystical domain, gestured for Endeavor to sit.

Endeavor unfolded his plan, explaining the potential prosperity and influence this land could bring. "I intend to send Dabi to ensure our dominance over this territory. What do your visions reveal?"

The air thickened with an unspoken power, and her haunting hums echoed through the room. The earl observed, a sense of unease settling over him as he witnessed the seer's transformation.

Her eyes closed, Mirko began to sway rhythmically, her body guided by an unseen force. The haunting melody of her hums intensified, creating an otherworldly atmosphere within the sacred space.

Endeavor found himself being on the precipice of something beyond his understanding.

Her voice carried a spectral melody, and the room seemed to pulse with an unseen heartbeat. Mirko's eyes, still closed, painted visions of impending doom with her words.

"In darkness veiled, the land awaits, Echoes of sorrow, at destiny's gates. A wolf, fierce, prowls in the night, A dance with death, a sinister delight."

The seer's hands moved gracefully through the air, as if conducting an unseen symphony of fate. Her words painted vivid images of a land consumed by shadows and the imminent clash between two primal forces.

"An eagle, majestic and bold, Descends from heights, its destiny foretold. A battle fierce, 'neath the moonlit gleam, In shadows cast, where spirits teem."

The eagle and wolf, symbols of opposing forces, danced in the tapestry of Mirko's vision. The room echoed with the weight of her words, each rhyme a forewarning etched in the annals of fate.

"Blood on feathers, and darkness entwined, A struggle unfolds, destinies aligned. In the land cursed, where choices are made, The echo of battle, in shadows will fade."

"What does it mean?!" The earl growled loudly. "Tell me, now!"

As Mirko's body moved, a voice emerged from her lips, yet it seemed detached, as if another entity spoke through her. The words, laden with an eerie resonance, foretold a grim fate awaiting those who ventured into the land Shoto had spoken of. "The path you tread is bathed in blood, earl Endeavor. Death dances upon the horizon, and shadows darker than the night itself await those who dare to grasp the threads of destiny."

Endeavor felt a chill coursing through him. Mirko's words seemed like a macabre prophecy, a dire warning wrapped in a melody that resonated with the spirits of the unseen.

"Blood will stain the soil, and death will be the echo that reverberates through the ages. The spirits speak of a land cursed by the choices of the living," Mirko continued, her voice carrying the weight of the ethereal.

Endeavor, despite his stoic exterior, couldn't shake the disquiet settling in his chest. Mirko, in her trance, spoke as if guided by forces beyond mortal comprehension. The grim portrait she painted clashed with the earl's visions of conquest and prosperity.

As Mirko's humming reached a haunting crescendo, she opened her eyes, the once vacant gaze now piercing through the fabric of fate. The trance lifted, leaving the seer standing before Endeavor, a conduit between the living and the unseen.

"The spirits have spoken, my lord. The path ahead is shrouded in darkness, and the choices you make will echo through the very essence of time," Mirko uttered, her words lingering in the air like an unspoken decree from the spirits themselves.

Endeavor leaned forward, his expression stern. "Speak plainly, Mirko."

Mirko's voice carried a weight beyond the present. "The flames may consume not only the intended but all who stand too close. Choices shape destinies," the woman replied mysteriously.

Endeavor emerged from Mirko's dimly lit hut, the weight of her prophecy hanging in the air like a shroud of uncertainty. The pale light of the moon bathed the settlement nearby in an eerie glow as the earl took a moment to collect his thoughts.

Silence enveloped him, broken only by the distant sounds of the night. Endeavor closed his eyes, reflecting on the words Mirko had spoken. Despite the foreboding visions, a resolute determination burned within him. He knew the risks, but the allure of wealth and power beckoned him forward.

Turning to Mirko, he offered a nod of gratitude. "Thank you for your insights, Mirko. May the spirits guide us through the shadows." As a token of appreciation, Endeavor gently took Mirko's palm in his hands and pressed a grateful kiss upon it.

The seer's eyes, still veiled in the mystery of her visions, met his with a knowing gaze.

Mounting his horse, Endeavor set forth, determined to confront the future that awaited him. The night held its breath as Endeavor rode back to the settlement, a lone figure against the canvas of the darkened landscape. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but the ember of ambition burned brightly within him, lighting the path toward the destiny he sought.

Dabi sat in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, his presence almost like a shadow against the flickering candlelight. The rhythmic sound of a whetstone against his sword filled the air, a comforting repetition that matched the beat of his troubled thoughts.

The raucous atmosphere of the tavern buzzed around him, but the glances thrown his way were not ones of admiration or desire. The courtesans, usually attentive to potential patrons, seemed to cast him disgusted looks. Even though he was the heir to the earldom, the one who would sit on the throne after his father's eventual passing, they all were disgusted by him. His status brought him no favors in this realm of longing and fleeting connections.

Dabi's eyes occasionally flickered across the room, catching those disdainful glares. He couldn't deny the sharp pang in his chest — a mix of frustration and a longing for a connection he had been denied for so long. He had grown accustomed to rejection, so much so that he had stopped actively seeking companionship. Still, the yearning for the warmth and softness of a woman's touch lingered, a desire he had learned to bury deep within.

As he took a swig of ale, the bitter taste seemed to mirror the bitterness that had settled in his heart. Dabi continued to polish his sword, the repetitive motion a way to distract himself from the disapproving looks that haunted him. In the midst of the crowded tavern, he remained a solitary figure, surrounded by people but untouched by the warmth of human connection.

The loud thud echoed through the quiet walls of the Great Hall, jolting you awake from your shallow slumber. Concern etched across your face as you rushed out of the room you shared with Hilda, following the source of the commotion. The dimly lit corridor led you to Dabi's chamber, where you found him struggling to regain his balance, a victim of the ale's intoxicating effects.

"Easy there," you said, your voice soft but laced with genuine concern. "Need a hand?"

Dabi looked up at you, his turquoise eyes momentarily clouded with confusion before recognition set in. He grunted in agreement, accepting your offered help. Together, you steadied him, and he leaned against the wall for support. The flickering light from the fireplace cast a warm glow on both of you, creating an unexpected intimacy in that late-night encounter.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his usual aloofness momentarily giving way to a hint of vulnerability. The moment was fleeting, but it lingered in the air as you helped him back into his chamber.

You assisted Touya onto his bed. The warmth of the hearth seemed to soften the edges of the usually stern and enigmatic man. However, as you turned to leave, his hand shot out, gently grasping your wrist. When you met his eyes, you were met with a vulnerability that seemed to pierce through his usual façade.

"Stay," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of desperation.

You hesitated. The rules that governed your roles in this Viking settlement were clear, and getting too close to someone of higher standing could invite trouble. Yet, the sadness in his eyes and the unspoken plea tugged at your empathy.

"I… I shouldn't," you started, but he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"Please," he whispered, his tone a mixture of loneliness and longing.

In that moment, you found it difficult to resist. Against your better judgment, you stayed, settling on a bed beside him. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Touya's eyes never left yours.

The room was shrouded in shadows, and the warmth of the fire seemed to cocoon you and Touya in a fragile bubble of shared vulnerability.

With a hesitant yet genuine smile, Touya broke the silence. "Tell me about your homeland," he requested, his eyes showing a glimmer of curiosity.

His request hung in the air like a delicate thread, and you couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh before responding. "You want to hear about the place you tore me away from? Like a flower ripped out of the life-giving soil?" Your words held a weight, a mix of resentment and sorrow.

Touya met your gaze, his expression carrying the burden of understanding the pain he had caused. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low and sincere.

In the flickering glow of the fire, you began to weave a tale of your homeland. Your words painted a vivid picture of quaint cottages with thatched roofs, their walls weathered by the salty breeze that swept in from the sea. The narrow cobblestone streets echoed with the laughter of children playing and the rhythmic sounds of craftsmen honing their skills. "Near the shore, where the cliffs stood tall and proud, we built a small chapel—a haven of solace and prayer. Its stone walls echoed with hymns, and the air was filled with the scent of incense," you recounted, your voice carrying the nostalgia of a place left behind.

As you spoke, Touya's piercing eyes remained fixed on you, absorbing every detail of this distant world he never truly understood. The contrast between the harsh Viking settlements and the idyllic Christian village seemed stark.

"The coastline, painted in hues of blue and gray, witnessed the ebb and flow of tides. Fishing boats set sail at dawn, their sails billowing in the morning breeze, while the cliffs provided a vantage point for the villagers to gaze upon the vast horizon," you continued.

Touya's features softened as he envisioned the serene landscape you described, a world far removed from the tumultuous life he had known. Touya's eyes closed, a faint smile gracing his lips as he absorbed the essence of your words. "You must have been missing the place ever since," he pointed out, the words carrying a gentle understanding of the yearning that comes with reminiscing about a home left behind.

You nodded quietly, the flames of a fireplace reflecting in your eyes. "Indeed. The memories are like whispers of a distant melody, a reminder of a life that once was. I can almost feel the salt-laden wind against my face, hear the distant hymns in the chapel. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I close my eyes and pretend I'm back there, surrounded by the familiar comforts of home."

Touya's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression, as the echoes of your quiet sobbing reached his ears. He opened his eyes, and there he found you, tears streaming down your cheeks, your gaze fixated on the dancing flames in the fireplace.

His heart constricted with an unexpected ache. A flicker of empathy illuminated his usually guarded gaze.

"But it is all gone. All gone. You and your people took everything from me. And now I'm here, locked in a cage of a shadow of something once called life. Apparently, this was God's plan for me," your voice carried a weight of bitterness and sorrow.

His gaze softened as he watched you, the firelight casting shadows on your tear-streaked face. "Gods have their own way of weaving destinies, entangling lives in threads that stretch across time and space. Perhaps, just perhaps, there's a reason our paths crossed in this tumultuous journey."

You gave Touya a searching look, the flickering firelight dancing in your eyes, and asked, "What do you mean? Why would the God bring me here, to this… place of captivity?"

Touya looked at you with a glint of intensity in his eyes. "Our gods are different, you know. Freya, Odin, they're not like your Christian God. They're not confined to a single doctrine. They're free, just like the wind that sweeps through these icy lands. And I believe, with all my heart, that the Allfather sent me to your village for a reason, and that reason was you."

You couldn't help but snort at his words. "You're drunk, Touya. Those gods of yours aren't guiding anything. I'm here because of the whims of men, not gods."

Touya locked eyes with you, his gaze intense and filled with unspoken emotions. Slowly, he wrapped his arm around you, drawing you closer until there was barely any space between you. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "You're beautiful."

His breath sent shivers down your spine, and before you could fully comprehend his words, his lips boldly found yours. Shock coursed through you at the unexpected kiss, your first taste of such intimacy. The heavy scent of alcohol lingered on his tongue, but amidst the surprise, you felt a strange warmth. You hesitated at first, unsure of how to respond, but the gravity of the moment pulled you in.

As the kiss continued, you found yourself brushing your lips against his, a hesitant exploration of uncharted territory. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, bearing witness to a connection that transcended the roles you were assigned in this harsh world.

The following day, Endeavor summoned Dabi to his side, his face stern and determined. The air in the room felt heavy with an unspoken gravity as Dabi approached his father. "Touya," Endeavor began, his voice cutting through the silence, "I have a mission for you."

Dabi's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity and apprehension. "What kind of mission?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on Endeavor.

Endeavor's eyes bore into his son's, revealing a mix of authority and expectation. "You, Shoto, and a selected group of warriors, including Hawks, will be sent to the northern part of Sweden. There's a land there with potential, rich in resources. It's time to expand our influence, and you're crucial to this endeavor."

Dabi nodded, acknowledging the weight of the task ahead. The mention of Shoto and Hawks in the same mission stirred a sense of unease, but he kept his emotions in check. "Understood," he replied, his tone resolute.

Endeavor continued to lay out the details of the mission, his plans unfolding as a complex web of politics, power, and strategy.

Little did Dabi know that this journey would lead to unforeseen challenges, testing not only his strength as a warrior but also the bonds that held his family together.

Hilda approached you with a furrowed brow, a concerned expression etched across her features. The flickering light of the torches in the chamber cast shadows that danced upon the walls as she spoke. "Y/N, I need to talk to you," she said in a hushed tone.

You looked up, sensing the seriousness in her voice. "What is it, Hilda?" you asked, your eyes reflecting a blend of curiosity and apprehension.

She took a moment before responding, choosing her words carefully. "I think I just need a listening ear. Touya is going on another mission. But what worries me more is that Shoto, his younger brother, is being sent alongside him."

You furrowed your brows, recognizing the tension between the two brothers. "Isn't that a cause for concern? They don't exactly get along, do they?"

Hilda nodded solemnly. "No, they don't. The earl's decision to send them together is raising suspicions. It's a risky move, and I fear it might not bode well for the stability of the mission."

Concern etched across your face as you contemplated the potential consequences of such a decision. The dynamics between the two brothers were already strained, and sending them on a mission together seemed like a recipe for conflict. Hilda's worry mirrored your own, and the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on both your minds.

You finished brushing your hair, the strands flowing smoothly through the comb. The flickering candlelight in your chamber created a soft ambiance, but your thoughts were far from the present moment. Hilda's words echoed in your mind, and the worry for Touya settled like a heavy stone in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to Hilda, who was quietly arranging some furs in a corner of the room. "Hilda," you began hesitantly, "is there really nothing we can do for Touya? I can't shake off this feeling of unease."

Hilda paused, her gaze meeting yours. The lines on her face spoke of years of experience and wisdom. "Y/N, sometimes the currents of fate are beyond our control. All we can do is navigate the waters as best we can. Right now, the best course is to stay vigilant and hope for the best."

You nodded, understanding the weight of her words. The unpredictable nature of the situation left you feeling powerless, and it frustrated you. "But what if something happens to him? What if Shoto…"

Hilda placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We can't predict the future, dear. All we can do is be prepared for whatever comes our way. Keep an eye on the situation, and if there's an opportunity to help, we'll take it. For now, focus on your tasks and be vigilant."

You sighed, acknowledging the wisdom in her advice.

Hilda observed you with a shrewd gaze, her eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. As you finished your nightly routine and settled onto the furs, she couldn't help but voice the question that lingered in her mind. "Y/N," the woman began, her voice gentle yet probing, "forgive me if I overstep, but your interactions with Touya have been minimal. Why this sudden concern for him?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering your words carefully. The truth was, your initial reservations about Dabi were not baseless, but something about Touya's vulnerability had stirred a different emotion within you. You looked at Hilda, deciding to share a part of your thoughts. "I may not like him, but I can't shake off the feeling that there's more to Touya than what meets the eye. The way he spoke about his past, about losing everything, it resonated with me. It's not pity, Hilda, but a sense of understanding, maybe empathy. And now, knowing he's going on this dangerous mission alongside Shoto, it's hard to ignore the worry."

Hilda's smirk widened as she spoke, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Oh, my dear, I can see your cheeks flushing when you speak about him so fondly. You're having a crush, am I right?"

Hilda's smirk didn't go unnoticed, and you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. Her teasing words struck a nerve, and a flicker of irritation danced in your eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hilda. It's just concern for a fellow human being," you retorted, your tone defensive.

Hilda chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Concern, my dear, often wears a different face. There's no shame in admitting you care for him. After all, this world is full of unexpected twists, isn't it?"

You pursed your lips, attempting to maintain composure. Deep down, you knew there was a kernel of truth in Hilda's words. The concern for Touya had indeed taken a different form, and your heart acknowledged a connection that transcended mere worry. Yet, admitting it to yourself felt like navigating uncharted waters.

Ignoring Hilda's knowing gaze, you turned away, feigning disinterest. But within, a storm of conflicting emotions raged, and you couldn't deny the impact Touya had made on your guarded heart.

As the night wore on, sleep eluded you. Tossing and turning in your simple bed, a peculiar yet potentially useful idea began to form in your mind. The notion of extracting information from Shoto about his plans took root, and you found yourself contemplating the details of how to execute this risky but potentially advantageous scheme.

The flickering light of the dim chamber barely illuminated your face as you hatched a plan to subtly and strategically approach Shoto. The urgency of the situation and the looming mission compelled you to consider taking matters into your own hands, even if it meant navigating the treacherous waters of deceit. With a determined resolve, you prepared yourself mentally for the intricate dance of conversation that lay ahead.

In your best dress, adorned with the finest that could be salvaged among the thralls, you made your way to the tavern after learning from Natsuo that Shoto was seen going out with a warrior named Hawks. As you stepped out, the cool breeze of the late afternoon caressed your face, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

Arriving at the tavern, you could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking mugs seeping through the wooden door. Taking a deep breath, you pushed it open, revealing the warm, dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the scent of ale and the low hum of conversations. You scanned the room, finally spotting Shoto and Hawks in a corner, engaged in a conversation.

Shoto's two-colored hair caught the wavering light as he raised his tankard in a toast. "To power and the thrill of the hunt," he declared with a smirk, taking a long swig.

Hawks leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes.

The duo seemed engrossed in conversation, their laughter mingling with the low hum of the tavern. Female thralls, drawn by their presence, attempted to engage in conversation, but the exchanges were marked by a darkness that hinted at their underlying intentions. Shoto and Hawks were having fun in the company of two thralls with exotic features that hinted at a southern origin. The air was charged with an unmistakable tension as the men engaged in flirtatious banter.

One of the thralls, feigning coyness, asked, "What brings you to our humble company tonight?"

Shoto, with a sly grin, leaned in to the thrall seated by his side, and said, "Oh, just the usual – seeking a bit of warmth in this frigid place. Perhaps you ladies could provide some, hmmm?" He mused, running his hand up and down the girl's shoulder.

The other thrall, playing along, responded, "Warmth, you say? Well, you might need to work hard to earn that from us."

Shoto frowned a little, yet his voice stayed low and smooth, "You seem to be unaware of my position, woman. I am the heir to earl Endeavor, and I demand that you address me with the respect befitting my status," he forcefully grabbed the other woman by her shoulder, causing her to tumble off her chair and land on the floor next to him. "So, I suggest you watch your manners, for I am the best you can find in this establishment. Consider your words carefully before opening that foolish mouth of yours next time."

Hawks nodded in agreement, "Indeed, the gentleman here is right. Shoto, don't scare the lady."

The conversations continued in this bold and wry manner, each word dripping with innuendo as the men skillfully navigated the delicate dance of desire. The atmosphere in the tavern buzzed with anticipation as the thralls played their part in the seductive exchange, the one that previously ended on the floor now sat quietly, letting Hawks wrap his strong arms around her shoulders as his hand was playing with her breasts from time to time.

Summoning your courage, you approached them, the rhythmic thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. As you drew nearer, you caught Shoto's eye, and a subtle smirk crept onto his face. Hawks, on the other hand, eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. The atmosphere shifted as you prepared to enter a world of alliances and secrets, uncertain of what the outcome might be.

"Well, well, what brings you to this den of sin all alone? Where's your precious Touya? Couldn't keep up with his demands?" the youngest Endeavorson taunted, his tone laced with amusement.

You brushed off his wry remark. "I think it's time for us to bury the hatchet. Our relationship didn't start on the best note, and I believe we can find a way to coexist peacefully."

He looked at you, seemingly surprised by your suggestion. Shoto considered your words, and after a moment, he offered you a seat with them.

Throughout the interaction, Hawks observed the scene. You gave him a brief smile, trying to maintain a cool demeanor in the company of the two men.

Shoto turned to you with an air of faux politeness, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I believe we can have a civilized conversation, don't you?" His eyes darted towards the thrall who had been seated beside him, and with a dismissive gesture, he uttered, "You, leave us."

The thrall shot you a cold glance before complying with Shoto's request and vacating the space.

Now alone, Shoto leaned back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "There, much better. Now, let's chat, shall we?"

You took a deep breath before speaking, "I must admit, despite the fear you instill within me, there's a certain charisma about you. It's hard not to notice."

Shoto's grin widened, appreciating the acknowledgment. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. And by the way, I quite like your accent. It adds a certain charm." His compliment was laced with a hint of mischief as he reached his hand out to briefly rub your shoulder.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Shoto's hand landed on your shoulder. Suppressing a wince, you decided to play along with his casual demeanor. When he asked about the real reason for your visit, you hesitated for a moment before responding, "Well, I just wanted to get to know you a little better, my lord."

Shoto raised an eyebrow, considering your words. "Interesting choice of words. Here, have some mead." He poured some into a wooden mug and handed it to you, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You accepted, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

Hawks, with a twinkle in his golden eyes, couldn't help but comment, "Quite a beauty you have here, Shoto. Earl Endeavor's thralls are indeed a treasure."

Shoto, taking a sip of his mead, glanced at you and replied wryly, "All Christian women have this softness within them. I just happen to enjoy breaking it." His words were delivered with a certain darkness that sent a chill down your spine.

Trying to maintain composure, you played along, responding with a forced smile, as you looked at Shoto's companion, "Well, thank you for the compliment, sir."

As Shoto continued to drink, you couldn't shake off the unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As more mugs of mead were emptied by the men and the atmosphere in the tavern grew warmer, you mustered the courage to bring up the topic that had been gnawing at your thoughts. Leaning in, you addressed Shoto, "Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard that you and Touya are going on a mission. Is it true?"

Shoto's eyes, a mix of icy determination and something unreadable, met yours. He took a moment, swirling the remnants of his mead in his mug before responding, "Yes, a mission to the north. Father believes it's a land rich in resources, and he wants us to secure it for the settlement."

Hawks, who had been listening attentively, chimed in, "Aye, a mission of great importance. The north can be treacherous, though. Many dangers await those who venture into the unknown."

You nodded, though a lingering concern for Touya flickered in your eyes. "What kind of dangers are you talking about? Is it just the harsh conditions of the north, or is there something else we should be aware of?"

Shoto's stoic expression betrayed little, leaving you to wonder about the true nature of the mission and what it might mean for both brothers.

Hawks took a sip from his mead, his golden eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and wariness. "The north is a wild place, full of untamed landscapes and creatures. Wolves, bears, and more roam freely. Not to mention, the weather can be brutal, especially this time of year."

Shoto's gaze never wavered as he observed your reaction to Hawks' nonchalant explanation.

You sensed there might be more to the story, but both men remained guarded in their responses.

Shoto's sudden shift in demeanor caught you off guard, his hand landing on your knee with an unexpected boldness. He began to rub your knee casually, his gaze steady as he threw a question your way. "Let's change the topic, my dear. The ruggedness of our upcoming mission might be a bit too much for a delicate female mind like yours to comprehend," he remarked, his fingers tracing small circles on your knee, playing with the hems of your dress. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in, his tone low and almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, has my older brother had his way with you yet?"

You felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance at his audacity, but you tried to maintain composure. "That's none of your business, Shoto," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "And the mission—"

"Oh, don't play coy," he interrupted, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'm genuinely curious. After all, I'd hate for you to miss out on experiencing the full range of pleasures in our little settlement."

The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and you found yourself navigating the conversation with a mix of caution and defiance, unsure of where Shoto was leading with his intrusive inquiries.

You met Shoto's audacious question with a bold response. "No, my lord, I haven't been with anyone, ever," you asserted, trying to maintain a sense of control in the conversation.

Hawks chimed in with a cryptic comment, "Well, isn't that a rare treasure in these parts. A thrall with untouched cunny, how intriguing."

You shot a wary glance at Hawks, uncertain about the implications of his words.

Shoto, however, seemed more amused than surprised, his smirk widening as if he had expected such a revelation. "You're missing out on experiences, thrall. I could show you what it's like. I doubt my older brother knows how to please a woman. Look at him, covered in scars, a truly disgusting sight. No normal woman would willingly lie with such a damaged man."

You felt Shoto's hand sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, making your breath catch in your throat. His audacious suggestion hung in the air, and the atmosphere became charged with tension.

You pulled away, a mix of surprise and discomfort evident on your face. "Maybe… Nut I didn't have enough mead yet, my lord," you asserted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation.

Shoto, undeterred, leaned in with a sly grin. "Afraid of a little adventure? I promise you, it'll be an experience you won't forget," he whispered, his mismatched eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

As Shoto poured another mug of mead for you, you discreetly took small sips, ensuring that the majority of the liquid found its way into Hawks' cup while the two men were engrossed in conversation. The effects of the mead were beginning to show on Shoto, but you remained clear-headed.

The conversation in the tavern continued, filled with laughter and raucous chatter. You observed Shoto's growing inebriation and wondered if this was the opportune moment to extract information about the mission.

As Shoto, in a visibly inebriated state, decided to make his way back to the Great Hall, Hawks was more than willing to accompany him. However, seizing the opportunity to gather more information, you stepped forward and offered to walk Shoto back on his behalf. Hawks, busy with the two other thralls he managed to lure, readily agreed.

With Shoto leaning on you for support, you began the journey back to the Great Hall. The night air was crisp, and the sound of distant revelry echoed through the settlement. As you walked, you subtly steered the conversation toward the mission, aiming to extract any valuable details Shoto might unwittingly reveal in his inebriated state. As Shoto stumbled beside you, you ventured to ask, "Shoto, why do you harbor such resentment toward Touya? It seems like there's a lot of tension between you two."

Shoto's response was punctuated by occasional hiccups, and he spoke with a slurred cadence, "Touya… he's always been the favorite. Father sees him as the rightful heir, even after he attempted on killing him… When he was a baby… I'm just… the spare. I've had to fight for every scrap of approval, every shred of acknowledgment. It's fucking infuriating."

His words were tinged with a mix of bitterness and vulnerability, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was more beneath the surface of their strained relationship.

Shoto's alcohol-laden breath hung in the night air as he delved deeper into the caverns of his animosity. His words spilled out, laced with venom and a fervent desire for retribution. "You see, Y/N… Touya has always been the golden child… Father dotes on him, oblivious to the struggles I faced. I fought tooth and nail, but in his eyes, I'm still the disappointment." His voice resonated with a toxic blend of envy and resentment. "I wish he'd disappear, fade away… It would be so much easier without him overshadowing me at every turn… Fucking Touya. Father might finally see my worth."

As he spoke, you couldn't help but sense the profound wounds that fueled Shoto's disdain for his older brother, wondering if there was any way to mend the frayed bonds between them.

With a heavy sigh, you opened the huge, wooden door to the Great Hall. In the dimly lit hallway, you guided Shoto with careful steps, avoiding any unnecessary noise. As you reached his chamber, the weight of your question hung in the air, and you couldn't help but ask, "My lord… Do you plan to harm your older brother during this mission?"

He paused, his drunken demeanor momentarily overshadowed by a serious glint in his eyes. "Hurt him? No. But if fate has other plans for him, who am I to intervene?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if Shoto's words held any truth or if they were merely intoxicated ramblings. As you opened the door and let go of his waist, you couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that there was more beneath the surface of his seemingly casual response. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face, adding an enigmatic air to the entire exchange.

The sudden force of Shoto's grip on your waist surprised you, and before you could react, his lips collided with yours in a messy, drunken kiss. The taste of mead lingered on his breath, making the encounter less pleasant than you might have imagined. You winced, feeling a mix of discomfort and confusion as the moment unfolded.

Shoto's hand slipped beneath your dress and moved up your leg, resting between your thighs. As he pulled away, his eyes were glazed, and he chuckled under his breath, resting his back against the wooden wall. "You're an interesting one, Y/N," he slurred, releasing his hold on you and stumbling into his chamber. "I'll make sure you're mine, not his." The door closed behind him, leaving you standing in the hallway, processing the unexpected exchange with your palm pressed against your mouth.

As you turned around, your heart sank, its rhythm momentarily disrupted - there, in the corridor, stood Touya. His expression held a mixture of surprise and shock as he observed you, and an unspoken tension hung in the air.

Touya's harsh words hung in the air, stinging like a bitter truth. "I can't believe you're like that, Y/N, letting my brother touch you this way. I thought you were different, not like every other thrall, but I guess I was wrong."

A lump formed in your throat as you desperately wanted to explain, to make him understand, but before you could utter a single word, Touya turned on his heel and left, the resounding crash of the door slamming shut echoing through the dimly lit corridor.

Now, you found yourself standing alone, the weight of his accusations settling in. The corridor seemed colder, lonelier in the aftermath of his anger. You replayed the scene in your mind, the hurt etched on Touya's face, the disappointment in his voice. It was a bitter cocktail of emotions that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The truth was, you never intended to betray or hurt Touya. You considered chasing after him, explaining that it wasn't as it seemed, that your intentions were never to betray him. But the finality of that slamming door weighed heavily on your shoulders.

A lone tear traced the contours of your cheek, a delicate testament to the waning emotions within. It was as if you had relinquished something profoundly vital, a precious fragment of your life slipping away, leaving behind a poignant void.

heathen wolves: @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Ruin

König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Part 7 of Little Mouse)

Word Count: 4.8k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Hints of yandere König, Stand-offs, Hostage Scenarios, Ambushes, Price Whump, Injury mention, Kidnapping, Capture, Angst, Violence Warnings: Violence

You don't like this.

The truck rumbles over the back country roads as you, Soap and Price pick your way through the rolling hills of the Serbian countryside. The wheels grind over the dirt road, and with every bump you feel your joints creaking, groaning with a barely contained, taut energy. Price and Soap are quiet in the front of the car, seeming to mirror your unsteady, fidgeting silence. You can barely see their faces in the twilight darkness, strange shadows cast only by the headlights against their stiff expressions. There's an air of taut apprehension none of you seem to address, a mysticism that leaves the two men ahead of you quiet, hesitant to speak. In the silence you find yourself untethered, shifting listlessly, trying your best to contain your tumbling thoughts and focus on the mission at hand.

Your destination was a warehouse at the edge of a remote town in the southeastern part of the country. No helicopters this time, no armored vehicles. Laswell was specific that some of the Serbian military had a hand in the weapons trade she sent you to investigate. Stealth, subtlety was the emphasis of this mission. No backup, no overwatch. If any of you were injured, you were walking out with the same wounds, one way or the other. Price's brief had been quick, relayed as you three gathered your gear and immediately started making preparations to leave.

"It could be scuttled at any moment." He barked at you both as you piled into the car, gear and supplies packed neatly and efficiently into the back. "It's our only lead after the death of our contact in Mozambique."

Mozambique.

Maybe that's why you were so unsettled, by the memory of a huge, hulking shadow with a red, dripping knife in one hand, and Gaz's throat in the other. Gaz's scream, choked as he was hoisted further up the wall, seems to ring ceaselessly in your thoughts, urging you to run, flee-

Yet when König's eyes had turned to you it wasn't malice that painted his gaze, it was surprise, a pleased interest that briefly had him forgetting about the man in his hold. Compulsive, keen, fixated on you, like a cat with a small, tiny bird fluttering in the trees. Just out of reach, tantalizing, mouth-watering. You can still remember his eyes, glinting like waxing crescent moons under the dark of his mask, a forbidden penumbra that has you falling into the eclipse of your thoughts.

"If I run, will you chase me?"

"If you run, I will catch you."

It shudders a sinister prophecy in you, feeling for all the world like this is the game you're destined to play with him, of running and fleeing from your thoughts, from the truth of your attraction, to the ends of the earth- only for him to find you, corner you, engulf you in his fastened hold.

Why then, did you want to run? For him to chase you?

"Everything ok?" Soap asks from the front, having noticed the shiver of your shoulders as you sink further into the depths of your rumination.

"Fine, why?" You ask, and your deflection is anything but convincing, throat a little tight, eyes not meeting his.

You cast a glance at him from where you sit, see the taut line of Soap's mouth as he purses his lips, doesn't answer. It seems...vaguely displeased, which is odd coming from the Scot, usually cheery and teasing. Now he doesn't bother to fill the car with any type of conversation, leaving you reeling in his absence.

It's the mission, you tell yourself. He's just nervous. Price too, is quiet, and you think it's because he's just focusing on the road ahead, navigating the pits and bumps of the remote hillside.

It's not because of you, you try to reason. It's not because you came back from Mozambique different, quieter. The team was used to your cheery smile and teasing, friendly banter. Yet instead, you had hidden yourself away at base, secluded yourself to your room, refused to talk except for briefings. Lost in your thoughts just as you are now, trying to find excuses within yourself, trying to find the person you were before all of this began.

You continue to lie to yourself, like you have been doing for some time now. Creating a false raft of hypocrisies on which to save yourself, to keep yourself from drowning in the truth.

They're concerned for you, that much is clear. No doubt they heard from Gaz about your most recent encounter with the man who is supposed to be your enemy. From what Gaz has said before, your actions are all the more reason for them to be convinced there's things you didn't say about when you disappeared, when König captured you. Your refusal to tell them what really happened that night seems to only be further, damning proof of their suspicions. You can't correct them, can't confess to them the truth. How are you supposed to say you might have feelings for the enemy?

Caught, in a web of falsehoods of your own design, the silvery threads ensnare you further as you continue to struggle, to free yourself.

"Do you want me to take you, Maus?"

You rub a hand over your face, trying to smear away the lingering sound of his voice, like dark oily clouds that blot out the moon in the night sky.

"Rookie."

You snap up instantly at the sound of Price's voice, at attention, back straight. His eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror- stern, steely.

"Don't get distracted, soldier. We have a job to do."

"Yes, Sir." You answer immediately, voice clipped in your reply.

"Good, because we're here."

You blink, looking out the window. If by 'here' Price means a dark, pitch-black set of woods with what could hardly constitute a road, then...yes. You suppose you were. Before you can ask, however, Price is shutting off the car, the headlights blinking dim and plunging the three of you into the dark.

"Warehouse is two kilometers east. We're walking there. Get your gear." He issues, voice measured, rough from years of tobacco that grows thick against the back of his throat. "Stay close, stay quiet, understood?"

He pauses then, and even in the dark you can sense his eyes have turned to you.

"There may be enemy operators inbound to our position." He goes on, voice dipping now. Stern, a warning. There's a murmur of something there that's unfamiliar to you. It's quiet, restrained, but paces at the corner of his thoughts like a caged animal, eyes glinting with a feral, untamed anger.

"Rookie."

"Captain." You reply, voice quieter now, easing into the resolve of a soldier, one who's mission stands before them.

"If you see König, I want you to exfil, do you understand?" He states, and that animal inside him growls with a distant, ominous thunder.

"But Sir-" You try, for once trying to argue against him, brow furrowing. It doesn't make sense. There's only three of you. You need every person you can get. To bench you doesn't suit the needs of the-

"Understood, corporal?" He asks again, voice harsher now.

A pause. Anxiety roils in your stomach. That same trepidation from earlier, the unease that clogs your throat like black smoke rises once more. It's as if you can see the murky, shadowy shapes of something imminent, gliding smooth underneath the surface of the reality before you before vanishing into obscurity. Something isn't right. Yet there's nothing you can do except walk forward willingly, into the night, waiting for fate to inexorably descend upon you all.

"Understood."

---

It takes less than an hour for the three of you to get fully geared and make your way up the hill towards the warehouse. The forest around you is cloaked in darkness, misty at the edges, entirely silent except for the distant, troglodytic calls of owls within the canopy. It feels much too like your dreams, the ones where König rises from the darkness like he did once upon a memory. When you had gotten separated from the team in the hills and he had risen from the darkness like a primordial phantom, looking down at you from the cliffs, his eyes reflecting the scant moonlight in the trees.

You shake the thought, once more earning a stern look from the captain ahead of you.

Keep it together, Rookie. You remind yourself. No room for error on this job.

The three of you pick your way through the trees like hunters of old- silent, still, fatalistic with every breath, every step and sweep of your scopes. It does nothing to assuage the asphyxiating paranoia in your chest, winding it tight and tighter until you hear your heart flutter against your ribs like a frantic, trapped bird. You’ve always been able to discern smoke on the wind, a shift in the breeze before anyone else. Now, however, you push it down deep into your chest, certain it’s only the remnants of your thoughts that pull your mind taut like a bowstring, ready to snap and send shockwaves cataclysmic through your form.

Price clears the path ahead, his form lit green by night vision goggles. Soap stays tight to your flank, more so than usual, and seems to match your every step, to watch your six more than his own. He doesn't speak. None of you do, radio silent as you approach the dim lights of the warehouse. It's only once you're there that Price holds his hand up in a silent gesture for you and Soap to pause.

He withdraws his scopes, and the air feels too cold, thick around you as he catalogs the exterior of the building, noting the scant few sentries that pace the perimeter.

Three guards. He signals to you both. Armed.

You hold your breath, looking through your own scope to confirm the captain’s observations, noting as well the freight truck in the asphalt lot of the warehouse. Several more figures walk between the vehicle and the loading dock doors. It’s at the entrance of the truck that you see a figure vanish behind the edge of the doors, and you blink, feeling a pull of recognition at the woman before Price taps your shoulder.

There's a pause before he puts away his goggles. You prepare to set up your rifle from this vantage point, provide sniper fire so the captain and Soap can infiltrate, but instead Price signals for you to follow him.

You and Soap exchange a silent look.

Soap is a sniper too, of course. You two have had more than one go at it to see who's the better shot and come up close every time. Still, it's Soap who's the demolitions and arms expert, not you. If anyone should be in there to examine the weapon's cache, it should be him. Still, you've learned your lesson from earlier, to not question the captain. So, silently, you nod in confirmation, offer Soap a fist-bump, and begin descending the hill down to the warehouse.

The three sentries are dead by the time you cut through the wire gate, slumped on the ground in an ooze of red you don't pause to look at, courtesy of the Scotsman hidden on the rise. You pass them, following as Price takes point, moves interior to the back hallways of the warehouse.

You take out two more guards as you go, pausing over each with a confirmed kill before you both make your way towards the main storage area of the warehouse.

Yet you signal Price's attention as you pass one of the offices, noting the ledger of goods and its origins that lays in plain view, not yet tucked away. You stuff it into your pack as Price hovers by the door, reminding yourself to offer it later to Laswell for intel.

It's only once you're inside the dim, musty storage floor that Price dares to speak.

"Bravo seven one, this is Bravo six. We're interior. Searching for payload, stand by."

"Copy Bravo Six." Soap's voice comes across the comms- hushed, focused.

Price motions for you to fan out, so you do, the world shades of black and green through your goggles as you navigate the shelves of crates and boxes. You step over one aisle from Price, eyes roaming over the vast collection of possible items in the warehouse. Your first few attempts yield little, nothing more than repair parts or work tools. Most of the boxes are conspicuously empty, and the more of them you discover the more you begin to feel that knot of stifling anxiety coil further within you.

There should be more boxes, clues, leads, something that may yield answers. In fact, for a place that is supposed to offer intel like Laswell promised, it's noticeably unguarded. You’re supposed to find indications of ties to enemy organizations, foreign suppliers with which to track down KorTac. However, this feels for all the world like a standard warehouse filled with various bits and bobbles used only for farming in the surrounding area. It’s almost like someone is trying to hide the evidence here.

You stop where you stand, hands tightening on your weapon in realization. Like scenting blood in the air, you feel your shoulders tighten, your heart thrum louder.

We need to leave.

You find Price at the end of the next aisle, his face hidden behind his goggles. Yet you can tell from the way his shoulders scrunch, his mouth set taut, that he feels the same. There are no answers here, and the scent of iron seems to only thicken at the back of your throat as realization slowly, horrifyingly begins to wash over you.

It's a trap.

No sooner do the words enter your mind does the world suddenly grow bright, blinding you. The clunk of a switch greets both your ears, and your goggles flood with piercing light that makes your head throb sharply. You grunt, tearing them from your face and rubbing your eyes, instinctively hunching down to hide from whichever enemy decided to ambush you.

"Soap!" You whisper urgently into the comms, trying to find your vision. "We've been made, I repeat, it's an ambush, we-"

A hand settles over yours, and you flinch hard, blinking up at Price. The captain settles a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be silent.

"We need to move." He tells you, voice grave, hushed. "Now."

You nod, eyes wide, startled, clutching your weapon like it's your life support. Your lips purse into a tight line, following as Price turns back in the direction you both entered from.

You freeze when you hear it then, the heavy footsteps that echo through the aisles, predators in search of prey. Distantly, you feel the heavy weight of recognition press down on your shoulders, muted by the consuming dread and panic of your situation.

He could be here. He could be only feet away from us and we won't even know until it's too late.

Your heart thumps loud, loud enough you're afraid that he might hear it, trace it to the source, hunt you down like a shark scenting blood. Yet your next thought feels like a flash of lightning that cracks the sky open, cleaves apart the heavens and leaves you with the earth-shattering remnants.

Price could kill him.

Your brain blinks in radiant, fluorescent light, trying to find the balance between two diametrically opposed rationales. The asymmetry of it makes the world around you haze over, tightens the breath in your chest until you begin panting, overwhelmed by it all as you try to discern the truth lost in a haze of lies.

You need to get out of here.

You need to kill him.

You can't watch Price murder him.

You don’t want him to die.

Panic rises swiftly within you, untamed by the paradox of your uncertainty, and even as Price hauls you to your feet with a hiss you can barely hear him, blinking, eyes unfocused-

"Rookie!" Price snaps at you, voice grating, teeth cracking, and that manages to ground you, and you look at him with wide, glassy eyes.

Only to see the shadow looming behind him.

Price notices a moment too late, raising his weapon, trying to aim. Yet the shadow raises one massive, brawny arm, and swats Price straight in the face with a sound louder than thunder.

The impact sends him flying.

The crack against Price's jaw is harsh enough to rattle your bones, shaking at the creaking, unsteady foundation of you. There's a moment where Price sails through the air, his feet barely skimming the ground and then there's silence, dreaded and suspended on all sides until the moment where the arch of his momentum apexes, races back towards earth.

Your scream is muffled by the sound of your captain's body crashing into the dismantled, empty crates.

"PRICE!!

Yet your captain's body shifts, then falls still, the dust around him lifting, settling around his twisted, fallen form.

He doesn't move.

You can't breathe.

The shadow falls over you, blotting out the light from above.

It's...it's not him.

No, it's someone else. Tall, but not as tall as König, maskless. A beard grazes his jaw, massive, brawny arms hanging at his sides, eyes dark as he advances on you. The distant, still functioning part of your brain reaches for the information Price gave you, tries to recall the face on the folder.

Aksel.

Aksel, the one to hit Price so hard he could have snapped his neck, Aksel, the one who towers over your smaller figure as you panic and try to back up, forgetting the weapon in your hands as your previous panic multiplies, climbs up your throat in a heaving, shuddering gasp. Aksel only continues to move forward, footsteps like the impact of a war drum as he closes the distance, reaching a huge, gloved hand for you.

Your heart threatens to burst from your chest, terrified, paralyzed, the air in your throat frozen as you shake, trying to will yourself to move.

Then, movement from behind him. You watch as a pair of hands reach around, looping a chord over Aksel's neck and then pulling, pulling until the soldier's face contorts and he grunts for air, falling backwards. His hands fly up, trying to dislodge the rope from his neck, writhing violently. Yet all he gets in return is a pair of legs wrapping around his arms, pinning them to his sides.

It's only once he's on the floor that you see him. That you see Price.

There's blood gushing from a cut in his forehead, leaking down into one of his eyes. Yet the other remains open, and you nearly gasp at the violence there, the pure atrocities he threatens with his rage alone. The anger you heard constrained in Price's voice earlier seems to bleed into his stare, promising complete, and utter violence. The fury in his eyes seems to speak of divine retribution, a vengeance so unholy you briefly think he may be the incarnation of the fallen angel Lucifer, sworn to an eternal damnation.

"Keep your. Bloody. Fucking. Hands. OFF my sniper!" Price snarls, feral, untamed, each breath a cracked inhale as he struggles to contain the man in his hold. His hands rub and chafe at the rope, twisting brutally into his skin as he yanks it tighter, tighter.

"KILL HIM!" He roars at you, voice hoarse, bellowing the order like it's his final, ultimate act of defiance. He doesn't bother to look in your direction, intensity entirely focused on the enemy in his grip who thrashes violently, feet scrambling as he tries to buck off the captain to no avail.

It startles you from your reverie, jolts you back into the presence as you lift your weapon, take aim-

A blade at your neck.

"I wouldn't, Maus."

You freeze, heart stopping, breath halting, your entire body rigid as warmth crowds into your back, an arm wraps around your front and drags you back, backwards until you meet the uneven, uncomfortable surface of a tac vest.

König.

"Let go of the gun, kleine Maus." He purrs in your ear, and you can't- not when you can squeeze off a shot, could kill Aksel right here. Yet the blade presses further into the bare flesh of your neck and you blink, trying to understand how he of all people could threaten you like this, could force you to abandon your captain.

Nothing prepares you for his next words, as he leans down, and the fabric of the mask traces the edge of your face even as you lean away, eyes wide, horrified, confused, panicked at all that seems to be happening around you.

"You were supposed to be outside."

You blink, lips parting as you try to speak, try to ask him how he knows-

In your shock your hands loosen on your weapon, and it takes little effort for König to divest you of it, clicking on the safety and placing it to the ground, kicking it somewhere far behind him.

One huge arm wraps around your front, and it isn't until it does that your brain kicks on and you begin to struggle, arching away from the blade and thrashing. It does you little good, for within seconds König has you restrained against his front, arms pinned to your sides.

"Captain." He states, and you look frantically to Price, who's stopped actively trying to strangulate his opponent and instead now focuses on both of you. There's fear that flashes across his eyes, bright and quick as lightning, and it pierces into you. Your captain was never afraid. Resolute, concerned, angry, yes. Fear, however, was not something he displayed, and never in front of an enemy.

"I have your sniper." König goes on, and you again try to thrash, but the man has the advantage of not only size but also strength, keeps you immobile with one, bulging arm. "If you don't wish to see her bleed to death, I suggest you release my comrade."

He wouldn't

Would he?

No, this is all just a mistake. He...he said he'd never hurt you. He's bluffing.

"Let me go." You whisper, voice hoarse, starved of air.

König shifts then, and you feel him stiffen at your voice until he finally replies with his voice almost too soft to be heard:

"I can’t, Maus."

You look at Price, thoughts reeling, hands shaking, trying to find which way is up, to untangle yourself from the cobwebs inside your thoughts that prevent you from thinking clearly. The world tilts around you, the ground shifting under your feet and you realize this was a mistake from the beginning, to come out here. You weren't ready, too ill-prepared after what happened in Mozambique, when König had crowded to you just as he does now, had offered you a single request that even now echoes in your thoughts ceaselessly, tormenting you.

"If I ask, you'll come with me?"

"Let her go." Price rasps, and you stare at him, as his arms bulge with the effort it takes to contain Aksel.

"After you, Captain Price." König practically purrs, keeping you glued to his front, the sharp end of the blade pressed barely into your skin.

Price pauses, and you can see him thinking, processing, trying to find a way out of this where you both survive unscathed.

"Price. No." You manage, again trying to free yourself. Yet König's other hand snaked upwards, covering the lower half of your face in one huge, gloved hand.

"Quiet, Maus."

It doesn't stop you. If Price frees Aksel, Aksel will kill him, and you can't allow that to happen, can't witness the death of your captain in front of your eyes while you're able to do nothing. Not when it's all your fault.

"Our commander has been very eager to meet you, captain." König goes on. "If you release Eriksen, I may be inclined to let your sergeant here meet him as well."

You still, König's words sink into you as you do into terror, realizing exactly what the enemy soldier's threat entails.

Capture.

You thrash in earnest now, heedless of the blade at your throat. Your voice echoes into König's palm, a cry of fear, of outrage at the prospect of being taken again, of Price, your captain being taken alongside you. Somehow, you wiggle your arms free and try to claw at König's forearm, your gloved fingers scraping uselessly against the metal of his bracers. The blade in König's hand nicks against your throat, and you're certain you feel a red ooze from the source, but you pay it no attention.

You could endure capture, shameful though it was. You were trained to withstand interrogations, to not crack under pressure, but the idea of Price, of Price being captured, of them possibly using your own captain against you, or worse, trying to use you to crack him-

You reach for your vest, one hand fumbling for your blade there, trying to withdraw it in a desperate attempt to free yourself, to save Price, anything-

Yet König's hand releases your mouth and twists your wrist as soon as you find the blade, and you grunt as it is twisted free of your grasp, clattering uselessly to the floor.

"Let me GO!!" You scream, panic now forcing up your throat and through your limbs in an uncontrolled, untampered frenzy.

König shifts with you in his arms, tries to lean down to you, and you hear his voice dip in an almost soothing murmur, tight and barely audible. You don't hear him, focused entirely on your captain.

"Price!" You scream, voice shrill. "Kill him! Run! Get out of here!"

Price seems taken aback by your outburst, his single open eye glinting as he takes in your wildly thrashing form, eyes feral, untamed, afraid.

Slowly, Price unwinds the rope.

You have just enough time to scream, to shout "NO!!" Before Aksel twists, seizing one of Price's arms and bending it down in a harsh motion so abruptly and severely you hear a 'Crack!' at the motion. Price shouts, a harsh grinding sound, yanking the arm back automatically and trying to grapple himself away from the Norwegian on pure instinct. Yet when his eyes land on you, he pauses, just long enough for Aksel to stand and launch a heavy, booted foot right into the man's ribs.

Price crumples back with a shout that's dwarfed by your own. You scream, your entire body surging forward, only for König to wordlessly catch you, his entire form rigid, stiff at the sight before him.

"Leave her." Aksel barks at König, his voice cracked, hoarse from Price's murderous attempt. You barely pay any attention to the Norwegian, your eyes focused on the form of your captain. He’s curled on his side, blood oozing from the laceration in his hairline, his hat crumpled and tossed to the side. He writhes slowly on the floor, choking on a ragged inhale, and you call for him, voice thick with despair.

"Price, John, please- look at me."

He does. He turns his head and there's anger there, hard enough to make you flinch. Pure ire seeps from his gaze, one eye mottled with blood that continues to seep from his head. His shoulders heave as he tries to gather his breath. No doubt Aksel's kick, harsh enough to dent metal, was enough to fracture a rib. The pain only feeds the fury, your captain's teeth bared in a feral, gnashing snarl. Yet it isn't directed at you, it's focused instead on the man who holds a knife to your throat, the one who you feel shift with you pinned against his front.

"No." König's voice startles you, makes you flinch against him. Yet the hand clasped across you eases just a touch, his thumb grazing reassuring circles into your skin you barely seem to feel. "O'Conor wanted him alive. We can use her as leverage."

Aksel shoots König an annoyed look, but there must be something in the Austrian's stare that makes him pause, consider.

"Fine." He bites at last, clearly displeased. "You take her. Roze is expecting us outside."

With that he reaches for Price and you snarl, thrash in König's grip like a wild, rabid animal.

"Don't you fucking touch him." You grind out, but Aksel has the audacity to shoot you a look akin to amusement, as if he doesn't really believe the unspoken threat in your words. So, you turn to the captain, who stretches on the floor, seeking your weapon that was kicked uselessly to the side. When Aksel's foot lands on his hand with a sickening crunch, John grits his teeth and only offers a grunt. His enraged stare fixates on the Norwegian standing above him, reaching down to grasp him by his tac vest, and haul him upright.

Then, in a brutal, dizzying move, Aksel cranes his head back and then forwards, connecting it with Price's hard enough to severely stun the man. John’s eyes roll hard enough to make your stomach turn with a putrid, sour taste.

"John-" You try again, voice terribly small, broken at the sight of your limp captain's body now hauled over Aksel's broad shoulders. "John, please."

"Let's move." Aksel barks to König, and soon your world shifts as well. You're too startled to offer a reaction, not until you're slung across König's shoulders in a similar manner to Price, both hands caught in a single, strangulating grasp.

"König." You try once you're sure Aksel can't hear you. Your voice is tight, caught in your throat. "Please- please don't do this."

König doesn't reply, not at first. You can tell he's thinking, considering, his shoulders tense under you as he absorbs your plea.

"I won't let them hurt you, Maus." He murmurs back, voice hushes, raspy. "I'll...keep you safe."

Yet he doesn't sound convinced by his own words, and you only struggle in response, trying vainly to free yourself.

"Let me go." You plead a little louder, voice cracking. "Please, don't...don't let them use me against him. König."

König flinches. Yet he doesn't respond, not as his mind continues to churn and yield only fruitless solutions. You feel panic rise within you again, and as you struggle König only offers small, hushed assurances that do little to deter the building terror inside you.

They're going to capture you. Yet this time it won't just be König. As much as he says so he can't guarantee your safety, can't ensure you won't be tortured, used as fodder to break your captain.

The cool night air billows across your face as you exit the warehouse. There's cars now that you didn't see before, and among them is an armored truck that Aksel makes for with long, unbroken strides. Horror wells in your stomach, the back of the truck yawning open like a black maw, threatening to take you down, down until you choke only on ichor and darkness.

You struggle then, air rising hot and suffocating in your throat, made worse when König's distant murmur of "Maus, Maus, it's going to be okay-" filters through the smoggy haze of fear. You can hardly breathe, mind conjuring images of being tied to a chair in a dark room, of Price, bloodied and beaten across from you-

BOOM-!!

A deafening, catastrophic explosion shakes the ground under you, and the darkness of the warehouse lot is suddenly illuminated by a fiery, orange glow that casts König's gigantic shadow in a looming, phantasmic stretch before your eyes. You twist your head just in time to feel the heat of flames cast brightly against your face.

"ROZE!" Aksel bellows furiously over the roar of the conflagration, and you hear a female voice in the distance yell something back, voice rising sharply in alarm, words indiscernible.

König spins, entire form radiating tension under you. When you twist you catch a glimpse of his eyes- wide, frantic, searching for answers.

You already know. If it wasn't them, there's only one person it could possibly be. Your mouth forms the name, calls out to him amidst the fire and flames, seeking purchase on the only lifeline you have left.

"SOAP!!"

No sooner had you cried out did you feel König's body lurch under you, so abrupt and severe his balance falters. The sound of something sinking into his tac vest is enough to make your heart stop, and he grunts, something akin to pain. Too top heavy with your body slung across his shoulders he teeters, and then goes down like a mammoth tree falling in a forest. You spill from his grip, on your feet in an instant.

König grunts with pain when he reaches for you, manages to secure one foot around your ankle.

Yet then, mysteriously, he pauses.

The Austrian catches sight of your eyes, sees your stricken, terrified gaze looking down at him. A rabbit in a snare, staring into the jaws of a predator, the glint of fangs reflecting in your irises.

He lets go.

You pause long enough only to blink at him, wanting to say something, anything, to speak to him in this moment not as enemies or allies, but something between. Something that feels strangely like trust.

Instead, you fling yourself in the direction of the gunshot, hearing a bellow of anger behind you as you sprint for the fence line in search of freedom.

Only to skid to a halt once you get to the edge of the burning building, against the not yet consumed office spaces, sparing a horrified look behind you.

Price.

No sooner did you turn back in the direction of the truck where you captain was being held did you trace the glint of a scope, reflecting the burning haze of the building.

You duck just in time, absent of a weapon to return fire, getting behind the exterior wall of the building. Heart racing, you barely hear your own thoughts above the sound of the inferno, growing closer to your position at every moment.

You need to get Price, need to find a weapon, to return fire, to-

Hands seize you around your middle.

You scream on instinct, reaching for your knife no longer in your vest, searching for one of your other weapons, for something-

"Rookie, it's me!"

You twist in your attacker's arms, seeing the wide, blue gaze of Soap peer down at you. In his eyes you see the orange of the flames, see your own horrified stare, see the ashes of catastrophe falling around you like omens from a cursed, skyward pantheon.

"Soap-" You breathe, voice clogged with smoke. Your relief is short lived, because soon another bullet pings against the wall and Soap is ducking you both down, his face grim, brow drawn in frustration.

"Th-they have Price." You supply, voice cracking. "In the truck, they said they needed him alive. We need-"

Another bullet, and you flinch. You look to Johnny, who peers over your head with growing dismay, face falling open at whatever he sees.

"Soap." You try again, voice tight. "You need to return fire, to get Price-"

"Can't." Soap tells you, and he looks at you then, his eyes wide, afraid. "I can't risk hitting the captain."

The next bullet pierces the wall above both your heads, but you feel rather than hear it, blood rushing in your ears, the fire roaring so loud you feel the vibrations of it in your feet.

"We need to leave." Soap yells over the chaos, voice stern, issuing an order and still somehow failing to contain his utter anger and grief at the situation. He doesn't wait for your approval, doesn't wait to hear you respond. Instead, he seizes your arm, begins dragging your stunned, paralyzed form with him in the direction of the fence.

"S-Soap." You try, but your voice is hoarse, barely able to be heard. Soap doesn't look back, doesn't try and release you, hauling you along as you stumble behind him.

"GO!" He tells you, shoving you at the hole in the fence and turning to spray his weapon wide, long enough to cover you ducking through the wire. In the time it takes to force himself through, whoever's scope has you in its sights fires in your direction once more, shots barely missing you.

"MOVE!!" Soap yells at you, hands shoving, and you've never heard his voice like that before. Terrified, shaking, trying to somehow maintain a grasp on a situation that's spiraled far beyond his control.

"PRICE!!" You scream, voice shrill, cracking in your throat. You reach for him, try and shove Soap off of you, but the Scotsman has an arm secured around your middle, dragging you backwards from the line of fire even as you shriek. "Soap- Johnny, let go!! Price- we need to-!"

"We can't." Soap interjects, and you can hear in his voice the devastation, the complete and utter despair. "We need t' get out of here, right fuckin now-"

Yet it only makes you thrash harder in Soap's grip, watching as the injured form of your captain is tossed, thrown, into the back of the truck. You watch the wheels bounce with the impact, a cry of utter anguish tearing raw from your throat, enough to be heard over the fire of bullets that rain down on your and Soap's position.

"Leave him." Soap hoarses into your shoulders, even as your fingers try and pry his arm from you. "They need him alive- we...we can get him back." Johnny's throat cracks on the promise, as if he doesn't believe his own words. "We will die if we stay here, corporal. We need to leave. That's an order."

You sob then, at the reminder of your rank, at Soap using every method he has to get you to retreat away from your captain. It doesn't make sense. He's right there, so close you can almost see his eyes as the back of the truck closes, and he vanishes from sight.

"C'mon, lass, move." Soap grunts then, none too gently hauling you further into the shadows of the woods, away from the line of fire. "Yer no use to him dead."

You don't reply, allowing Soap to haul you further into the forest even as your wails leave a trail of anguish behind you.

----

You leave him.

You leave Price.

Both of you, you and Soap, flee into the Serbian forest. The blaze of the warehouse burns brightly behind you, casting a red glow upon the horizon in the absence of dawn. The smoke clings to the back of your throat as you pick your way through the forest, jumping at every twig snapping underfoot, every rustle of the canopy. It's unclear if you're being pursued, or if your attackers are too preoccupied with their own exfiltration to even bother.

You and Soap make it back to the van with record speed, and it's only once you're there that you seize him, use all your force to corner him against the side of the truck.

"Why!?" You gasp, hot tears blooming in your eyes. "You could have gotten him, not me!"

You bend your head forward, voice choking on a wail, knowing still there may be enemies in the trees just beyond sight. Fists clench on Johnny's chest and you shudder with a sob, uncontrollable guilt bubbling searing and viscous up your throat.

This. This was your fault.

You should have told Price something was wrong, should have reacted sooner to the ambush, shouldn't have gotten panicked in your own head because of him-

Soap's hands land on yours. Firm, comforting. He doesn't snap at you to get back in line, doesn't scold you for your tears in the face of defeat. Instead, he murmurs two words, his voice broken, choked with emotion that mirrors your own.

"I'm sorry."

You look up at him through a watery gaze, ashes smeared across your face, hair coming loose from under your helmet. Soap's eyes are miserable, face contorted as he tries to contain the guilt, the grief that sinks deep into his chest like the carve of a dull, serrated knife. It's enough to make you pause, blink your eyes free of tears.

"I-I had to." He goes on, voice thick with emotion, laced with despair that fractures at the brittle inside of you, threatens to send the foundation of you crashing down. "It couldn’t be you. Not...not again."

Again.

After the first time. After König had marched away with you into the night, had begun this winding, ensnaring tale of irrevocable magnetism, two planets in asynchronous orbit destined for a ruinous collision of destruction. After you had come back different, shaken, trying so hard to hide the truth that your teammates, your brothers had no choice but to assume the worst.

You understand now, how they must have felt when you were taken. The grief, the despair, the all-consuming outrage that now festers inside of you like molten glass, dripping and scorching over your form.

Your face crumples at that, and like a child you weep against Soap's front, feel the warm wetness of grief trace paths through the ashes on your cheeks. You bang a fist weakly against him, and it only summons another cracked apology, arms closing around you as he gathers you to him in your combined grief.

"We'll get him." He murmurs. Over and over again, a litany of promises that you try to find solace in, try to hide from the guilt of your own ruinous emotions.

Slowly, as the sun rises, you try to bury him in your heart.

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