#Memory care in Silver Spring

[silver-spring-md-life]

Silver Spring, MD, location

Silver Spring has a prime location that is situated right on top of the D.C. diamond, extending up North. This location provides easy access to D.C. for those who are in Downtown Silver Spring. Multiple transportation options, such as the train, metro, bike, or car, are available. Additionally, major highways such as 495, 95, 295, 270, and 200 are easily accessible from Silver Spring, making commuting to any destination convenient. Compared to neighboring cities like Bethesda and Chevy Chase, Silver Spring is more affordable and closer to D.C. In summary, the location of Silver Spring offers many benefits for its residents.

Dementia care Silver Spring

At Clifton Woods Memory Care, they believe in providing quality care that is tailored to the individual needs of each resident. They understand that Alzheimer's disease and related dementia conditions affect people differently, and they take the time to understand each resident's unique experience. The team is trained to assist with daily living activities, personal care, incontinence care, medication management, and nutrition monitoring. They are equipped to serve all stages of memory care and can adapt to the changing needs of dementia patients. In addition to their on-site staff, they offer access to external providers, including physicians, dentists, therapists, and podiatrists. Their ultimate goal is to ensure every resident is happy and healthy in their home. For inquiries, contact (301) 384-4017.

Maryland Youth Ballet

For almost 50 years, the Maryland Youth Ballet (MYB) has been dedicated to offering exceptional training and performance opportunities for aspiring young dancers. MYB's children's program strongly emphasizes pre-professional development, with each level of instruction designed to provide comprehensive training and coaching. MYB's adult program, which spans from beginner to advanced levels, offers the same high-quality instruction from top-notch teachers in ballet, stretching, and classical core conditioning as the children's program. MYB also provides the community with access to professional-quality ballet performances, introducing the art form to audiences in the area. Additionally, MYB's outreach program offers underserved and disadvantaged children the chance to experience the joy of dance. Since its founding in 1971, the mission of MYB has been to enrich and educate the community through quality dance instruction and performances, successfully preparing young dancers for careers in the performing arts while offering classes to dancers of all ages and levels.

Burglar was caught on camera.

A burglar was caught on camera breaking into a home in Silver Spring during daylight hours on May 11. Montgomery County police released the video in hopes of identifying the suspect. The burglar kicked in the front door, put on a mask and sunglasses, and proceeded to steal items from each room before leaving. The surveillance footage captured the burglar staring directly into the camera. Although security cameras are becoming more common, criminal justice expert Kalfani Ture believes they are ineffective in deterring motivated offenders. Instead, Ture suggests that proximity to the police or loud alarms may be more helpful. Montgomery County police are offering a reward of up to $10,000 for information leading to the burglar's arrest. Read more. 

Link to Map

Driving Direction

Maryland Youth Ballet

926 Ellsworth Dr, Silver Spring, MD 20910, United States

Head northeast on Wayne Ave toward Fenton St

0.5 mi

Turn left onto Dale Dr

0.5 mi

Turn right onto US-29 N/Colesville Rd

 Continue to follow US-29 N

3.3 mi

Take the MD-650 N/New Hampshire Avenue exit toward Ashton

0.2 mi

Merge onto MD-650 N/New Hampshire Ave

2.5 mi

Turn right onto Midland Rd

463 ft

Turn right onto Clifton Rd

 Destination will be on the right

367 ft

Clifton Woods Memory Care Home

13408 Clifton Rd, 

Silver Spring, MD 20904, United States

[archivegyu]

masterlist

invisible string

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

There’s a golden softness to late afternoons in Seoul. The kind that melts into the floorboards and sneaks into the corners of rooms. In Seungcheol’s apartment, it spills in through the wide living room windows, lazily painting everything with that hazy warmth only spring can offer. It catches in the ridges of your coffee mug, glimmers against the silver edges of your ruler, and warms the back of your neck as you hunch over the center table.

The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of your laptop fan and the occasional scribble of your stylus across the screen. Your project , fills the display in layers of blueprints and notes. Post-its clutter the table’s edge, reminders of measurements and deadlines, and in the middle of it all, there’s you; oversized hoodie, glasses slipping down your nose, hair pulled back in a lazy bun.

And next to you, lying belly-up with a kind of careless peace you envy, is Kkuma.

She lets out a little huff, tail twitching as if in a dream. You reach over to scratch behind her ear with your free hand, lips twitching into a tired smile.

This is what most of your evenings look like lately. Half-finished sketches, cold takeout, and a drowsy dog keeping you company while your best friend dances himself to the bone in some faraway practice room.

You hadn’t meant to stay here long. When Seungcheol first offered his spare room, you’d told yourself it was just for a few months — until your life calmed down, until rent became less of a monster, until breathing felt easier.

But the months stretched, and the apartment never stopped feeling safe. He never made you feel like a guest, either. It wasn’t his place. It became yours too. The kind of home that smells like coffee and fabric softener, where the walls are filled with memories neither of you ever had to say out loud.

The front door clicks open a little past eight.

You don’t look up. You don’t need to.

The soft shuffle of sneakers on tile. The familiar thud of a duffle bag hitting the entryway floor. Then the drag of tired footsteps across the wood, slow and heavy, like gravity itself decided to cling to him today.

“I’m home,” he calls, his voice quieter than usual. Rough around the edges.

Still, you smile without looking. “There’s kimchi fried rice on the stove.”

He pauses, then: “Did you cook or order again?”

“Define ‘cook.’”

He laughs under his breath. A real one. Not the polite, camera-ready kind.

You finally glance up and find him standing a few feet away, hoodie soaked through, bangs sticking to his forehead, sweat glistening at his collarbone. Exhaustion clings to him like second skin, but his eyes are gentle, warm when they land on you.

“You’re still working?” he asks, nodding toward the screen.

You shrug. “Final review is next week.”

“You said that last week.”

“I meant it then, too.”

He shakes his head, kneels to pet Kkuma. She perks up, tail wagging in sleepy little thumps against the floor.

“She’s spoiled now,” he mutters. “Doesn’t even greet me at the door anymore.”

You hum without thinking, eyes drifting back to your screen. “She likes people who feed her on time.”

He snorts. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t pass out on the floor again.”

You raise a hand in lazy salute, already tuning back into the chaos of your canvas.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You’re fast asleep by the time he finds you again.

Curled up on the center table, cheek pressed to your folded arms, a pencil still tucked between your fingers. Your laptop screen has dimmed to black, casting the room into a warm hush. Kkuma lies beside you, paw resting near your knee like she’s been guarding you all evening.

Seungcheol exhales quietly from where he stands in the hallway, towel slung around his shoulders. His hair is still damp, shirt clinging slightly to his skin from the shower. His body aches from practice, but his chest aches for something else entirely.

He steps forward, careful not to wake you. There’s something fragile about the scene; the way your face is turned toward the window, the way your brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, like the weight you always carry has finally slipped off for just a moment.

And God, you still wear that hoodie he gave you two winters ago— fraying at the sleeves, too big for your frame, swallowed by the fabric.

He kneels beside the table.

“You weren’t supposed to fall asleep like this,” he murmurs softly, reaching to brush a stray hair out of your face.

You don’t stir. You never do, not when you’re this tired. It’s something he’s learned from the years. How you give everything you have until your body stops you. How you always say you’re fine even when you aren’t. How you carry the weight of the world in silence.

He hesitates, then gently scoops you up in his arms. You sink into his chest instinctively, head resting against the hollow of his shoulder. You smell like shampoo and his vanilla lotion you pretend not to like.

Your fingers twitch once in your sleep, curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.

And that’s what does it; that tiny movement, that subconscious reach for him. Like something inside you knows, even now, even half-asleep, that it’s him.

He carries you to your room, nudging the door open with his foot. Lays you down slowly, carefully, like you’re something precious. Something breakable. His fingers linger on your wrist for a second too long before he pulls the blanket over you.

Then, without thinking, he reaches up and grazes the back of his knuckle along your cheek.

“Night, pretty girl,” he whispers, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even your dreams deserve rest.”

He closes the door quietly behind him.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Back in the living room, Seungcheol sinks into the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. The quiet presses in; thick and full of everything he’s never said.

Kkuma climbs up beside him, paws light on the cushion. She flops down, tail flicking once, then still.

He chuckles softly, leaning back. “She’s gonna burn herself out before she even graduates.”

Kkuma yawns.

“She doesn’t take care of herself unless someone makes her. It’s annoying,” he says, his voice softer now, gentler. “But… I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the one who reminds her.”

Silence stretches between him and the dog.

“You know, I’ve been trying to ignore it. For years, maybe. Told myself it was just comfort, or familiarity. Like she’s just… always been here.”

He stares up at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded.

“But it’s not that. It’s never been that.”

His voice wavers just a little.

“I’m in love with her.”

There. He says it. Not to you. Not to anyone who can answer. Just to the only soul in the room who might understand.

Kkuma lifts her head slightly, ears twitching.

“I don’t even know when it started,” he continues, his eyes growing distant. “Maybe it was when she stood up to my bully. Maybe when she shared her candy and said I could have the red one.”

A soft laugh escapes him, short and breathless.

“Maybe I’ve always known.”

He reaches down and pets Kkuma’s head again, more to ground himself than anything.

“I don’t know what she’d say if I told her. I don’t know if she’d laugh, or freeze, or leave.” His voice turns quiet. “But I’d rather have her here, like this, than risk losing her at all.”

He looks toward your closed bedroom door.

“So maybe I’ll just wait a little longer.”

The city hums quietly outside the windows. And in this in-between, not quite night, not quite morning; he sits in the golden aftermath of everything unsaid, gently held by the thread that’s tied you to him all this time.

[sirenpearldust]

Found you

Baby Daddy Azriel!

Series masterlist ⋆ Part one ⋆ Part two

Pair: Azriel x Spring Court! Reader

Word count: 1.993

Warning: none

Azriel was perched high in the branches of a sturdy oak, the warm spring air brushing against his  wings. He was ordered by Rhysand to observe Tamlin’s movements, the task proving far less engaging than he had hoped.

The silver ring in his hand spun idly between his fingers, glinting in the sunlight as he surveyed the lands below. Distant rustle of leaves and the water splashing from a waterfall nearby were his only companions until a sound broke through the monotony.

A laugh, light and sweet, unmistakably a childs floated up to him. Tilting his head, he scanned the bloomy landscape for its source, curiosity piqued. A rare smile ghosted across his lips as he thought about Nyx.

Azriel shifted silently on the branch he sat on, his gaze fixed on the scene before him.

The child, a boy, chased a small cat through the tall, swaying grass.                                                   But it wasn’t the laughter or even the playful scene that rooted him in place. 

It was the wings. The boy had wings. Illyrian wings.

Azriel’s breath caught as he studied the child more closely. The size, the structure they were unmistakable, a testament.

But how? How could an Illyrian child end up here, deep in Spring Court territory, so far from their mountain homes?

He leaned forward slightly, his shadows curling around him protectively, as his mind raced.         Was this an accident? A trick? Did he get lost or was it something far more troubling?             Whatever the answer, he couldn’t walk away now.

Azriel watched as the boy’s shadow stretched across the grass, curling and mingling with his own shadows. The sight tugged at something deep within him, a faint, unshakable unease. Shadowsingers were rare.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his movements careful, deliberate. The boy turned at the sound of his approach, his laughter vanishing in an instant. Wide, startled eyes met Azriel’s and the boy’s small wings twitching as if preparing to flee.

His gaze on Azriel.

Azriel stopped in his tracks, his heart tightening in his chest. Those eyes, he had seen them before. Years ago. In this very court.

The boy’s shadows rippled as if echoing his unease, ready to attack Azriel if he made a wrong move. He simply stood there, his fists clenched, his wings half-flared. And those familiar eyes, bright and piercing, stared at Azriel with something that felt like both a question and Curiosity.

“Where are your parents?” Azriel asked, his voice soft, not to scare the child.

The boy tilted his head. “Mommy’s busy,” he replied simply, relaxing a little, kicking at a tuft of grass with his bare foot.

Azriel’s shadows stirred restlessly, their unease mirroring his own. “And your father?” he pressed.

The boy shrugged, petting the white cat that had positioned itself between them.

“Mommy said he’s gone.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched tightly, his teeth grinding together, unease blooming in him. He didn’t want to finish the thought forming in his mind, didn’t want to follow the thread of suspicion unraveling before him.

Gone. That single word hung in the air, heavy with too many meanings. And Azriel just hoped, prayed, it wasn’t what he feared.

Azriel’s jaw tightened as memories he had long buried resurfaced. 

Four years ago, in the Spring Court, he had been tangled in a fleeting, passionate affair with a noblewoman. It hadn’t meant much, not to him, at least. Their connection had ended in bitterness and harsh words. He hadn’t thought of her since.

But now, as he looked at the boy with Illyrian wings and familiar eyes, he did not want it to be true. His shadows pressed closer.

It can’t be, Azriel thought, though the pit in his stomach kept tightening with doubt. There was another explanation for this child’s existence. He hoped the boy wasn’t his son. Because if he was…

He needed answers, and he needed them now.

The boy tilted his head, watching Azriel with wide, curious eyes. There was no fear in his gaze anymore, only fascination, innocence.

Azriel’s stomach twisted as he took in the details he couldn’t ignore. The boy’s dimples, so faint yet unmistakable, mirrored his own. His skin was the same deep shade of brown and then there were the shadows swirling faintly around the boy, just as protective of him as his own.

The boy smiled tentatively. It was like staring into a reflection of himself, a reflection smaller and unshaped by the cruelty of this world yet. It was starting to freak him out.

“Amias!”

The voice cut through the stillness, edged with worry. Azriel turned sharply toward the sound, his heart stuttering in his chest as you came running into view.

The boy lit up, squealing with happiness.

 “Mommy!”

You swept the boy into your arms clutching him tightly against your chest as though you’d feared he’d vanish. Azriel stood frozen, watching as you smoothed a hand over the boy’s hair, voice scolding, soft but firm.

“Did I not tell you to stay inside?” you said, tone a mixture of relief and frustration. 

“What were you thinking, wandering out here alone?”

Amias squirmed a little in your grasp, clearly unfazed by the reprimand. Adjusting your hold on him, shifting him onto your hip you turned and began walking back toward the house.

Azriel blinked, completely thrown off. You hadn’t even looked at him. Not a single glance, not a flicker of acknowledgment. As though he weren’t standing there at all.

“Y/n”

You kept walking, your steps steady, your soft blue dress swaying in the wind. But Azriel didn’t miss the way your body tensed, the slight shudder that rippled through your frame. You’d heard him.

“Wait,” he called, his voice firm. When you didn’t stop, he winnowed directly in front of you.

You didn’t falter, stepped around him as though he were a ghost, attention fixed solely on the boy in you arms, your son. His son, Azriel realized with a jarring certainty.

His jaw clenched as he watched you, ignoring him, the way you pretended he wasn’t standing right there. As if he was invisible.

But he wasn’t about to let you slip away. He reached out, his fingers wrapping gently around your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

Your steps faltered, and  Amias looked up at him. The happiness that had lit his young face moments before drained away, replaced by wide-eyed fear. He clung tighter to his mother, his tiny wings twitching nervously. His shadows curling around the both of you.

Azriel’s  focus shifted to the sound of movement nearby. A servant stood at a distance, observing the scene with a wary eye. His sharp gaze caught the subtle shift of their hands, reaching for the hilt of a blade.

Azriel released your arm, his fingers lingering for a moment. He stepped back, his eyes finally met your angry, guarded eyes, filled with a familiar coldness he’d seen once before. The same expression you’d worn the last day he left, the day everything had ended between you.

He had never expected to see you again, at least not like this.

Without a word, you gently placed Amias on the ground, your hand lingering on his small shoulder before you spoke.

“Lex, take Amias and tell Nara to get him ready for bed.” Your voice was firm, smooth, like he had remembered. The servant from before stepped forward and ushered Amias away with a soft murmur.

Azriel watched them go, his heart sinking as the boy kept glancing back to them, eyes full of confusion and fear. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the way the child reacted to him.

He watched them disappear into the house. 

He turned back to you, you were already facing him, your eyes cold and unreadable.

“So, you’re not going to say anything?” His voice was quiet, the words sharp, but you detected hurt.

Your expression remained impassive

“Are you done trespassing into my court?”

“Is he my son?” His voice was low, strained, as he finally asked the question that had haunted him since he first saw the boy’s face.

Your gaze didn’t waver, eyes locking onto his with an icy clarity.

“Our laws state any Spring Court citizen is allowed to kill any trespassers” you said flatly.

 “Are you here to die?”

You were daring him to make a move, daring him to test your resolve. It wasn’t just a threat, it was a challenge, one he wasn’t sure he was prepared to meet.

”I am here to know if he is my son!”

You didn’t answer right away, but the smirk that crept onto your lips made Azriel’s gut twist. It was a look he knew too well, too familiar. One that reminded him too much of Eris.

You shrugged, clearly unbothered by his insistence.

“Let me rephrase,” he said. “Did you fuck another Illyrian after me?”

The laugh that followed was like a slap. It took everything in Azriel not to let his anger flare, but he couldn’t help the tightening in his jaw, out of frustration. You really had a way to make him angry.

He had hoped for answers, serious answers and instead he was met with mockery.

He had to bite back the words he wanted to say. He didn’t expect what you said next.

“He’s yours.”

He and his shadows froze, momentarily stunned, as if they, too, were caught off guard by the blunt honesty in your voice. Azriel couldn’t move for a moment.

Now that the truth was out there, raw and plain, one question still lingered on his tongue.

“Why did you hide him from me?”

“He’s safe. Do not bother caring or playing house now.”

Azriel’s heart twisted at your words.

“He’s my son. I have a right-“

“You don’t have any rights,” you snapped, your anger flaring like a sudden storm. Eyes blazing, full of fury “He’s my son, my heir, and a citizen of this court.” 

The finality in your tone struck him like a blow. Azriel recoiled slightly, his breath catching in his throat. The woman he remembered was not there, in her place stood someone entirely different.

You turned away from him, back rigid with anger. The woman he had known had been soft, kind. This woman? She was a warrior, someone shaped by cruelty and far, far more dangerous then he remembered.

You had shut him out, made it clear that any claim he thought he might have on his son was nonexistent. He had no rights here, not in your eyes, not in this court.

“He’s still Illyrian,” he continued. You kept walking, ignoring him again.

“He needs to learn how to fight, fly and control his shadows.”

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, but before he could say anything, you waved your hand dismissively.

“Do not worry about his education,” you said, voice sharper now. 

“He’s fine and he will not be sent to the camps you were raised in.”

Azriel’s feet moved before his mind could catch up, his long strides closing the distance between you in seconds. He grabbed your arm, halting you.

“Stop this nonsense,” he said, his voice low but forceful. Your skin soft under his rough, scarred hands. 

You turned to face him, expression as cold as ever.

“What do you exactly want?” Your words were clipped, as though you had already decided this conversation was over. 

He wanted to know his son.

You could read his mind. Your lips curled into a cruel smile. 

“Fine, but you will get to know him on my terms. No discussion.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he followed your steps, the frustration building in his chest. 

“What conditions? He is my son I should see him whenever I can!”

But you didn’t answer him. Just kept walking, pace never slowing. 

Your silence gnawed at him, driving him insane with every unanswered question. You wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t speak beyond the bare minimum.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria

[itsaintmebabe]

silver springs

summary: years after the outbreak, joel keeps seeing someone who shouldn't be alive, just a glimpse, always disappearing before he can be sure. on the road to jackson, a masked stranger steps out of the shadows, gun raised, eyes too familiar to ignore.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

notes: i love love love reunion fics, let me know if you guys like it! i would love to take any requests you have too! <3

The first time Joel saw her, he thought he was losing his damn mind.

It was in Boston years after the world had ended when he spotted a figure slipping between two crumbling buildings. The street was crowded, loud, bodies pressing against each other as people bartered and argued over scraps. But everything else faded the moment he saw her.

His breath caught. His heart slammed against his ribs.

It couldn't be.

Joel shoved his way through the market, ignoring the curses thrown his way, eyes locked on the spot where she had disappeared. His pulse roared in his ears as he turned the corner, boots skidding against the broken pavement.

But she was gone.

Just a ghost in the ruins. Another cruel trick of his memory.

Then it happened again. And again.

Always fleeting. Always just out of reach.

A silhouette in the firelight of a raider camp. A shadow disappearing around a corner in an abandoned QZ. Every time, he told himself it was nothing. Just someone who looked like her. Some stranger with her same gait, her same hair.

It was easier than the alternative.

Easier than believing she had been here all along, just beyond his grasp.

Easier than believing he had lost her twice.

────୨ৎ────

The wind howled through the trees, cutting through layers of fabric and sinking deep into the bone. Joel pulled his coat tighter, keeping a hand near his revolver as he and Ellie made their way through the frozen landscape.

They were close to Jackson now.

Joel could feel it.

Ellie trudged ahead, boots crunching against the ice-covered dirt. “You ever been to Wyoming before?” she asked, breath curling in the cold air.

Joel huffed. “No.”

She kicked a rock down the path. “Think Tommy’s gonna be happy to see you?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Ellie snorted. “Sounds promising.”

She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, voice more careful this time.

“So… that picture.”

Joel’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Ellie hesitated. “The Polaroid. The one in your bag. With you and—”

Joel cut her off with a sharp look. “Drop it.”

She frowned. “C’mon, man. I saw it.”

Joel clenched his jaw, his shoulders going stiff. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

Ellie huffed. “Sure doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Because she had seen it.

The faded Polaroid buried at the bottom of his bag, edges worn soft from years of being handled. Sarah had taken it back before everything fell apart.

Joel stood in the frame, arm wrapped tight around Y/n’s waist, his head tilted just slightly as he looked at her. Not at the camera. At her. And Y/n, she had been smiling, really smiling, wide and bright. Ellie had never seen Joel look like that before, happy.

And now, he was acting like it didn’t exist.

Joel didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her. Just kept his gaze fixed ahead, hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

Ellie sighed, kicking another rock. “Fine. Whatever.”

But she wasn’t stupid.

Whoever she was, whoever had taken that picture, had captured that moment, she mattered.

More than Joel was willing to admit.

────୨ৎ────

Then snap.

Joel stilled.

Ellie went rigid beside him, both of them drawing their weapons in a single, practiced motion.

The trees loomed over them, dark and endless, the wind shifting through the branches.

Then movement.

A figure stepped forward, their boots crunching against the frozen ground. They wore a thick coat, dusted with frost, a rifle slung across their back. But it was the mask that set Joel’s teeth on edge. It covered everything but their eyes, worn, tattered, like it had been pulled from the wreckage of a life long gone.

“Drop the guns,” the figure said.

The voice was muffled, but something about it made Joel’s stomach turn.

Ellie stiffened. “I don’t think so.”

Joel barely heard her.

Because suddenly, none of this felt real.

His grip tightened on his gun. The wind cut sharp through the trees, but his body burned, his blood pounding as something ancient and wrong crawled up his spine.

He knew that voice.

His throat felt tight. “Take off the mask.”

The figure hesitated.

Then, slowly, they reached up, fingers trembling just slightly, and pulled it away.

Joel’s world stopped.

It was her.

Older, leaner, sharpened by the years, by the fight. But still her. The same eyes that had haunted him for two decades.

A breath punched from his chest, like something had reached inside and squeezed the air from his lungs.

Ellie’s voice broke through the silence, barely above a whisper.

“Oh my god.”

Joel didn’t move. Couldn’t. His feet felt rooted to the ground, his mind reeling as he stared at the impossible.

His hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach for her. To hold her. But she didn’t move.

The rifle was still firm in her hands, the barrel not pointed at him, but not lowered either.

“Y/n,” he breathed, stepping forward.

She stepped back.

His chest tightened.

She was looking at him like she wasn’t sure if he was real. Like he was something fragile, something impossible. Like if she blinked, he might disappear.

His voice wavered. “It’s me.”

She shook her head, lips parted, her breath shaky in the cold air.

Joel took another step forward.

And she took another step back.

His heart pounded as he reached for her rifle not yanking, not forcing just wrapping his fingers over it, solid and warm.

Her grip resisted for just a moment. A moment of hesitation, of silent disbelief, of fear that if she let go, this would all shatter into nothing.

Then her fingers loosened.

And the rifle fell between them, landing in the snow with a muffled thud.

Joel’s breath came ragged, his chest tight with something too big to name.

Y/n stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted. Her hands twitched at her sides before slowly, hesitantly, one of them reached up.

Fingers ghosted over his jaw, tracing the scruff, the rough lines of his face. Over the creases in his forehead, the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

Like she was memorizing him.

Like she was afraid he would vanish if she didn’t.

Joel swallowed hard, his throat burning.

“‘M real,” he rasped.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers trembled as they pressed against his skin, as if expecting them to go right through.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and her lips parted like she was about to say something, maybe his name, maybe a curse, maybe nothing at all, before she was moving.

And Joel was catching.

His arms wrapped around her, locking her against him, holding her so damn tight he could barely breathe.

She gasped softly, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, gripping desperately, as if she was afraid to let go.

Joel buried his face in her hair, squeezing his eyes shut, breathing her in.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured, voice breaking.

Her body shuddered against him. She clenched her fists tighter in his coat, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.

“I looked for you,” she choked out. “Everywhere.”

The words shattered something inside him.

Because there was pain in them. Guilt, regret, love.

And just like that, all those years of silence, of searching, of ghosts and longing.

They collapsed.

Into the warmth of her body against his. Into the way she whispered his name like it hurt.

Joel clutched her impossibly closer, afraid to let go.

Afraid that if he did, she might vanish all over again.

[xwritingdixonx]

The Lover and The Fool. | Daryl Dixon |

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Summary: As the communities struggle with a cold winter and a post-war world, they embark on help from a community unknown. And as fate decides it, Y/n and Daryl’s paths cross after thirteen years; forcing them to confront the memories and unresolved feelings of what once was.

Warnings: language, angst, arguing, sexual innuendos, situationship, slight smut, haunting the narrative, death

Word Count: aprox. 8k

Era: pre-apocalypse, post Negan war

~Anything in italics is the past~

Tags: @negansbestie

Song Suggestions: Silver Springs - Fleetwood Mac, Do I Wanna Know - Hozier (Cover), We Hug Now - Sydney Rose, The Night We Met - Lord Huron

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The aftermath of war is nothing short of a struggle. Alexandria’s burnt houses, the Hilltop’s shrunken population, and the Kingdoms soiled crops were evident of this.

The pivotal members of these communities gathered in Hilltop, spewing ideas and plans of strengthening their own survival. “We’re just gonna have to start looking harder…scavenge every corner of every town we walk in.” Rick stated. Various maps of the surrounding states and cities. “We’ve already done that Rick…there’s nothing left. We’re gonna have to start traveling farther and farther.” Maggie argued in return, her arms comfortably crossed against her chest.

Rick sighed, looking down at the map of Virginia; counting the various towns marked off.

Jesus kept himself towards the corner of the room. He knew supplies were running low and the cold Virginia winter was proving difficult for new crops. The grounds were hard and frozen, the only rainfall passing through only froze the ground more. The sources of electricity had been damaged amid war [ yet to be fixed ] leaving no room for heat lamps to be of any benefit. He played with the glove on his hand knowing his suggestion wouldn’t be taken well. “I…I have a suggestion.” He finally spoke, all eyes on him.

He took a step forward, “There’s this community in Pennsylvania that is…vast and thriving.” Jesus took a seat beside Rick at the table. “We can ask them for help. For supplies and helping hands to rebuild but…” He paused reluctant to continue.

“But?” Michonne questioned.

“I don’t know if they actually will.”

Daryl scoffed from his stance by the window. "Sounds like a bunch of greedy assholes to me." He commented chewing on the nail of his thumb. Jesus sighed deeply before continuing to speak.

“Their leader is kind and charming but she angers quickly and is prone to a grudge..” As he spoke, he pulled the map of Pennsylvania in front of himself, circling a large area. "I can get her here to talk to you, Rick." Rick himself seemed uncertain. Half of it is from pride and the other half not so ready to trust a stranger.

"This can be something, Rick. A one-time thing that gets us back on our feet." Rick deeply signed, rubbing his chin.

"Alright."

The day lay still in wait for your arrival. Though your body itself was yet to be in Hilltop, your presence could be felt from miles away. Everyone on high alert in anticipation.

Ears perked on the guards on gate duty at the sound of engines grumbling. One car drove ahead, two motorcyclists trailing closely behind. Jesus was quick to be at the gates, knowing his face was the only one you’d recognize.

As the gates slid closed behind the vehicles now within the walls of Hilltop, you exited your vehicle. Jesus was happy to greet you, "Hi Y/n." You smiled at him, "Paul."

A sly smile formed on his face. You had no problem greeting him with open arms. "You got my message." Rick approached the two of you, trying to not interrupt the reunion. "This is Rick, Y/n." Rick reached a hand out to you.

You were gentle in your touch but your defense was on high. Rick saw this in the two men you'd brought along who looked happy to take care of anything thrown their way.

Rick immediately saw the ways you were better off than anyone else here. From the gloves on your hands to the coat on your back. The coat you wore looked handmade, sewn together from various types of black leather. The hood of the coat was lined with some type of animal fur to keep you warm.

“Would ya like anything? Water…liquor maybe?” You chuckled at Rick’s offering, knowing it was in good heart. “No I’m okay, thank you though.” A polite response to hide your own un-surety. You found your eyes wondering about the room examining every detail, having only seen this historical building from the outside. You don't think you'd ever been in a place so nice unless it was a museum.

"I understand how difficult this must be...to welcome someone into your home after your latest affairs." At the beginning of the savior problem, Jesus had reached out to you first. You'd only met each other a few months before when your groups ran into each other while traveling. When you'd declined, not willing to throw your community into an unavoidable war, Jesus turned to Rick.

"It's definitely not easy," Rick admitted "We had our fair share of protests from people." You nodded your head in understanding. “Where are you from? I feel like I hear some South in there.” Rick attempted to joke, seeming to lighten the mood. You chuckled at this, “I’m from Georgia actually, I came upstate years ago for school.”

The conversation continued smoothly having something to relate to the other on. You continued to speak on the rebuilding of Alexandria and helping the communities make it through the winter. Having seemed to of formed some type of bond; Rick still awaited your answer.

A knock sounded from the double doors, Jesus peaking his head through. Rick stood from his seat, "Everyone's here now, if it's a good time?" Jesus had a nervous smile on his face. Rick turned to you for approval, "There's some people I'd love for you to meet...if you're willing?" You responded with a nod of approval. People began to walk in one by one, Rick taking the liberty of introducing them.

“This is Maggie, she’s been running Hilltop in Gregory’s absence. And Michonne, we’ve been working together at Alexandria.” You gave polite smiles to the two women.

“And this is Aaron and Daryl. Two of our best scavengers…Daryl has been working with the saviors.”

You had to look at him twice, not recognizing him the first time. You had to look past the outgrown hair and newly found broad figure. Your heart began to race, your throat running dry, wishing you’d taken Rick's offer of water. You could feel the tenseness in your shoulders soften at his mere presence.

Daryl felt himself freeze, the air disappearing from his lungs.

Rick looked between the both of you, he himself falling silent. “Do you two know each other by chance?” He’d asked innocently. His words break the stare. “Yeah…we were uh..” Daryl couldn’t find the word to say what you were, “friends…long time ago.”

Daryl watched your face change, resorting to a cold glare. The feeling in the room became stiff, every wall seeming to close in. “Yeah, we were friends.” You added in spite. He expected it, how could he forget the terms you’d left things on thirteen years ago?

Awkwardness settled, covering the room like an extremely uncomfortable blanket.

“Y/n and myself were just discussing some things.” Rick attempted to continue the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Whatever kind words exchanged between Rick and you meant nothing now. Your mood had been spoiled. Your nerves were shot and your mind scrambled with thoughts. But still, you tried to keep your composure.

Daryl examined your features intentively. Your eyes looked tired, the youthful hope they once held was no longer. 

And whether that was from surviving in a world so cruel or the years themselves, he could not tell. You had small scars on your face. One on the bridge of your nose, high cheekbone, eyebrow, and bottom lip; leaving him wondering who hurt you enough to leave such imperfections. Regardless of any flaws, you never shed your beauty. The same beauty that left him nervous and begging years ago.

He couldn't imagine the same for himself. With unruly, uncut hair, new scars all over his hands, and a solemn attitude, he wasn't much to look at anymore. This world had hardened both of you. Burning away the youthful glow and replacing it was a certain bitter maturity. 

You could feel his eyes on you, making you squirm in your chair. 

Your hair was long and perfectly upkept, growing well past your breasts. Funny, he thought. You always wanted it long.

You refused to acknowledge his curious eyes, focusing on Rick. But you could still see him in your peripheral vision. " You don't have to give us an answer now. I know this is a lot to ask." Rick chuckled nervously, finding himself in a very uncomfortable situation. "I... uhm...I just need some time to think." Rick nodded understandingly. "Give me two days to collect my thoughts and maybe I'll see you on the third."

"And if we don't?"

"Well, then you have your answer."

You heard Daryl scoff. 

Your head whipped to him in an instant. "What?"

"How can ya be so selfish?"

Rick sighed deeply. His high hopes were being squashed by the second - remembering the words Jesus had said. Quick to anger and prone to a grudge.

"Sel-? Daryl." You snickered in return, rolling your eyes. His demeanor only fueled your annoyance as yours did his. It was as if no years had passed, picking up the argument right where it had been left. 

People slipped out of the room swiftly, knowing the extent of Daryl's anger. Though they didn't know the extent of yours, they weren't willing to stand around and find out. "Do you even understand what's being asked of me?" You crossed your arms over your chest, sitting back in your chair. 

"It ain't that hard...These are good people Y/n. They deserve this." He argued.

"But do you?" Your response is full of spite. 

Daryl's face twisted. He couldn't believe your pettiness could go to the lengths you were taking it. He sat up in his chair "That ain't right and ya know it." 

You did know it but your emotions were in disarray and you didn't care what was deemed right in this moment. 

The anger that accumulated every day without him was coming to the service, burning away any fear of saying what you truly wanted. 

"What was right, D?" His nickname coming from your lips made him flinch. Your tone was pointed. You weren't talking about communities anymore. You were talking to him directly. 

“I don’t know.”

You could say you didn't know when it started but that would be a lie. You had just turned twenty-one on the sixth day of March, now having the permission needed to work in your uncle's dive bar. It had been in the family for years, your grandfather opening it in the late 1960's. Your uncle and father ran it together until your father's sudden death only five years prior. Your mother's death following soon after.

The bar stunk of cigarettes and the bitter scent of 'fresh linen Febreze' in an attempt to cover the stench. The wood floors and walls held the scent of every drink ever spilled on them. The decorations on the walls hadn't been changed in nearly twenty years. Old school pin-up liquor posters, clique Coke decorations, and stained glass lamp shades above every table.

The red spinny chairs at the bar and at every high-top had never been replaced, the red leather peeling in spots exposing the synthetic material beneath. Even the pool tables had seen the years come and go. The newest thing in this bar was you.

Daryl had only worked there less a year as a busser. 

You'd heard of him and his brother around town. But Daryl being four years your elder [and Merle even older] you never knew them personally nor cared to.

The bar was in chaos after a football Sunday, Daryl and you left behind after hours to clean up.

There wasn't much said that night, Daryl busy in the back scrubbing glass after glass. You busy in the front counting cash, cleaning any drink you'd spilled in the rush of the night.

You'd knelt down on your knees to clean a beer spill beneath a table, knowing it would turn into a sticky mess if you didn't. "Hey, hey." Daryl interrupted you, grabbing your attention by gently grazing your shoulder with his fingertips. You looked to him, eyes furrowed from your spot on the ground. "I can get under there, don't worry 'bout it." He had even offered you a hand to stand back up. 

Your first impression of Daryl was gentle and kind nothing like the cruel words he'd been called from the mouths of other townies. He spent the rest of the night interrupting you, refusing to allow you to do any hard labor; stating over and over that he'll "get it".

You were nothing more than coworkers at first. You began to tease him with flirty jokes and desirable glances throughout the busy nights. Leaving Daryl blushing and scurrying away to the back with his bin full of clanking beer glasses. You held conversations in the slow mornings having no other company besides him and a few retired men who wanted nothing more than to get away from their wives.

"I hope that love never finds me." You'd said to Daryl on one of those particular mornings. "What ya mean?" You were gazing at one of those men from your spot behind the bar, a regular who visited daily. "Spending their days here instead of home just to get away from their quote, pestering wives." You used air quotations, having heard the same story over and over again. "They loved each other once." You shook your head in disappointment. "Now all they can love is Budweiser and harassing bartenders."

Daryl watched the words flow from your lips so smoothly, trying to imagine how they'd feel on his own. "Ya know?" You grabbed Daryl's attention. "Yeah, yeah." You chuckled and shook your head, "You weren't listening."

A whiskey bottle and a pool table changed things that very night. Soon after it was as though you couldn't stray away from another, no matter how many times you said you couldn't do it again.

A closeness grew steadfastly. 

You'd come to know every inch of him. And every second of his life. As he did you. He'd opened up to you about his mother's death and his complicated relationship with his brother. He'd say he hated them.. but felt an obligation to love them because they were merely family. His father on the other hand was dead to him, being the way he put it. You related on this certain despair, few blood relatives left for you. It was just your sister, you, and your uncle. Your uncle never married and never had children, having put too much of his devotion to the bar.

The loneliness the two of you shared was apparent, finding solitude in this newfound company of one another. 

What you were doing didn't have a name. It wasn't in the rulebook of relationships. Maybe your loneliness made you desperate. Maybe it was nothing at all besides two horny twenty-something-year-olds craving the touch of another.  But what you did know was that he filled a hole within you, a hole that had been carved when you'd lost your parents. 

Your sister wasn't very fond of it. She'd tell you that you deserved to be loved openly and freely, not only within the sheets [or bent over a pool table.] 

The days turned into weeks, then months, and then it was approaching a year.

A soft moan fell from your lips quickly being stifled by the lips of another. You ground your hips against his determinedly, chasing the high you so desperately craved. The liquor is your system making your head fuzzy, the words he gently spoke to you only adding to your daze.

He muttered words of encouragement through his own pleasure, edging you closer and closer. It hit you like a wave, abrupt and full of adrenaline. His own hitting him the same, head dropping into the crevice of your shoulder.

You could feel his heartbeat against your own. You drearily brushed his back with your fingertips, “Daryl?” You asked innocently. “Hm?” He didn’t move from his position. “You okay?”

Daryl began to kiss your neck tenderly, “Course m’okay.” The kisses didn't earn the reaction they typically did. He lifted from his position, seeing as your eyes stared up at your ceiling. "Are ya okay?" He repeated the question back to you. "Have you ever thought about leaving this place?"

Daryl shifted off of you alleviating his weight. "Like leavin' town? or leavin' Georgia?" You shifted in the bed, "Either." You lay on your stomach and propped your elbow up, looking at him. The room was dim but you still saw Daryl's face contort to a kind of discomfort.

"Where would ya go?"

"We can go anywhere." You made sure to include Daryl in this. Making sure he knew he wasn't trapped here. "But the Upper East Coast has some really good schools for culinary...I think I'd like to do that." Daryl reached over beginning to rub delicate circles on your bare back. This gave you a sense of reassurance. A gentle reminder that he wasn't mad at you for desiring such a thing.

"Could be nice. Ya know I love yer cooking." Daryl looked at you with a dreamy gaze. He didn't allow himself to relish in such fantasies often. Typically keeping a certain, expect the worst and you'll never be disappointed, headspace to himself.

But something felt different tonight. Perhaps it had been the gentle, I love you, you'd whispered against his lips earlier in the night. Or the way he’d said it back. When he’d brought himself to his knees for you as his lips were stamping kisses on the delicate skin of your inner thighs. Muttering those three words before slipping his tongue where you needed it.

Daryl was working pre-open shift at the bar; cleaning up various glasses and sweeping cigarette butts beneath every booth and table. He enjoyed mornings like this, they were quiet, the only company he had to endure was that of his own. Motorhead played quietly through the radio behind the bar. Daryl lost within the beat of the song, he'd completely missed you walking in the door. 

"Hey D." His head whipped around. You smiled at him gently. He greeted you with an equally gentle good morning. "What are ya doin' here?" Though you'd disrupted his morning, he'd never complain. "I had to see you...I have to talk to you about something." The seriousness in your tone unsettled him. He turned the radio off and leaned his broom against the bar.

You could feel your heart beating against your chest making you feel as though you could vomit at any given second. Your mouth unintentionally hung slightly open as you grasped for words.

This only made Daryl more uneasy. He viewed you as a confident person, that spoke openly about anything. He rattled his mind for any possibility that could, quite literally, leave you speechless.

“Are you uh…pregnant?” Your eyes widened, “No! no.” You quickly rejected this giving him a moment of relief.

“So then what is it Y/n?” You fiddled with the ring on your right hand.

“Do ya not wanna do this anymore?” Daryl’s anxiety grew.

“Delilah is moving.” You blurted out quickly. “She wants to go live with that guy she met online...and I’m gonna go with her.”

Daryl shifted on his feet. “Where?”

“Massachusetts.” This made his heart plummet.

“Why?”

“I wanna go to school D.” Your words were meant to be firm but the unsteady tone of your voice made them sound nervous. Daryl’s silence unsettled you, he avoided your gaze, opting to look at the wood floor.

“There’s not much for me here.” A pitiful attempt to justify your decision.

“I’m here.”

You sighed deeply, averting your gaze to the floor, unable to look at the frown drawn on his face.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Your teary eyes looked to him for an answer. “Hm?…You think it’s easy for me to leave my home? To leave where my mom and dad are buried? To leave you?”

“So don’t go.” Daryls voice was only above a whisper.

“Come with me.” It wasn’t a question. You said it as though it was a statement, demanding him to follow. “What?”

It had been a thought in the back of your mind for days. You had been finding it difficult to plan your own future states away without him in it. “I’m asking you to come with me.” Knowing he had no words for you, you continued on. “I can't live with Delilah forever, we can find a place together...You can get a job anywhere up there. You’re great with your hands D, you can do anything.”

It seemed as though he debated your offering. "Come on." You tried to encourage him. "We talked about it months ago. What's changed since then?" You took a step closer trying to ignore the step he took back in return.

“I can’t just up and leave Y/n. I can’t leave Merle.”

The scoff that you gave in response irritated him, knowing your pronounced dislike for his elder brother. “Merle’s in jail, Daryl.” You said it as if he didn’t know. “You’re just gonna wait till Merle gets his shit together to start living your own life?” The conversation was quickly turning bitter.

Daryl swallowed his pride though an argument was never something he backed down from. “Gotta get back to cleanin’.” He stated dryly. You watched in shock as he grasped up the broom and turned his back to you.

“Wha-Daryl.” He ignored you, sweeping the emptied peanut shells into a small pile. “Daryl.” Again, nothing. “Daryl please.” You grazed his back with your fingertips, testing to see if he'd allow your touch. "Please talk to me.” You whispered once more as you wrapped your arms around his torso and laid your head on his back. He radiated a warmth all too familiar.

Daryl stopped his movements allowing his arms to fall loosely at his side. It felt as though he'd stop breathing for a second trying to hold back the sobs that heaved his chest. This shook your body with his. You only gripped your arms tighter and began dragging your hands up and down his chest almost as a way of comfort.

Daryl shoved your arms from him, spatting at you to get off. “Go on! Go on get!” He snapped in an instant. His words made you feel like a mangy dog begging for food. His eyes were still red from his tears, and the pale complexion of his cheeks was now red and inflamed. Daryl threw his arm to the door dramatically, “Leave just like everyone else!”

“That’s not fair! You can’t put that on me.”

“Why not? You ain’t making it any better!”

“I’m asking you to come with me!”

“Oh that’s just so nice of ya Y/n!”

Daryl took a step towards you.

“Here!” Daryl shoved the broom into your hands, leaving you bewildered. “Give it a little kiss and then beat me with it why don’t ya?!” He shouted sarcastically. “Oh my god, really?!” You threw the broom to the ground, wood clattering. “You’re ridiculous.” You spat in his face.

“How so huh?! That’s exactly what yer doin’!” Daryl’s face was mere inches from your own. Though his words were full of anger, it didn’t cover up his eyes full of tears.

“Wether I stay or go yer leavin’ anyway.” His voice broke. He quickly pulled away from you, unable to look at your pouting face any longer without he himself falling apart.

You had no words for him, knowing there was truth in what he said. The tears finally broke past your water line, "I'm sorry Daryl, I'm-" "Get out Y/n." His venomous tone seeped deep into your skin, unsettling you to your core. Daryl had always been gentle with you, he never dared to take a tone so cruel.

"Okay." You agreed trying to give him his space. You turned to the door, stopping before touching the handle. "I'll still be in town till next Monday." As you swung open the door, you looked to him, “I’ll see you soon D.” You left thinking you could circle to the conversation later in the day after he’d collected his thoughts.

You never did see him again. He'd disappeared after that day. You spent your remaining days in Georgia trying to hunt down the man you'd spent almost every day with for the past year and a half. You asked around but no one knew. You even went as far as talking to his dad. An hour of your life wasted, the air you breathed taken up by whiskey breath.

The phone call you made to Merle also proved futile. He'd asked you for money in his commissary in exchange for information. The phone call ended in a plethora of curse words.

Daryl had shown up back in town sometime after you'd gone, acting as if nothing had happened. He never returned back to work at the bar, having found work at a local body shop. He wouldn’t dare face your uncle. And he couldn’t return to the spot that reminded him so much of you. He forced himself to have no desire to hear anything about you nor return to any spots where you’d graced. But unfortunately for him, that was almost every where in a town as small as this one.

He never saw the bar again, opting to drive a town over to get drinks. He’d heard from other locals that the new bartender didn’t make drinks as good as yours anyway. He struggled to go to the local diner. With it being a place you frequently got breakfast together, especially after one of your long nights, having worked up such an appetite. Merle dragged him there when he was released as a celebration meal. He felt inclined to order your favorite dish just to feel a bit closer to you. Biscuits and gravy with a side of over easy eggs and hashbrowns.

He continued to run from the grief of losing you until it crept up on him in the middle of the juice aisle of the grocery store, unable to buy the same orange juice brand he always had simply because it was your favorite too. Daryl found it difficult to go about his routines without your ghost grabbing him by his throat, dragging him down into a pit of regret.

Daryl never did escape that town. Not until the world forced him out of it on foot. And he never escaped Merle. Even when his blade ended his brother's life mercifully, he never felt as though he escaped his shadow.

The argument with Daryl raged on. Neither of you cared to hear the side of the other. At this moment both of you were right, both were justified in the stance they took. Despite the fact that there was a regret imbedded in both your hearts.

You were right for leaving even if every second of your life after was a well of loneliness.

He was right for staying even if every waking day in that town was misery.

"Where did you even fucking go?" You cursed.

"The hell you talking 'bout?" He cursed back.

"That day...you just fucking vanished." The volume in your tone diminished yet you still demanded an answer. "I- I stayed at the cabin." Daryl shamefully admitted.

Your eyebrows furrowed, "Cab-? Oh my god." You put your head in your hands, feeling a wave of frustration hit you. It sounded so ridiculous you almost laughed. It was the one place you failed to check. His grandfather's old hunting cabin. Technically abandoned yet still in his grandfathers name, it was a place Daryl ran to when he needed to escape, especially from the wrath of his father.

“M’sorry…it was just too much for me to see ya leave.”

“Oh please!" Your head shot up not in the mood for apologies. “You just didn’t want me to try to change your mind!” You argued. “You lived your life with Meryl just as you wanted it and I spent thirteen years waiting for someone who would never come.”

“What are ya talking about?” Daryl’s tone was nothing short of disbelief. “I never came? What about you huh? Ya never called, never wrote, never visited.” Daryl shouted. Your face scrunched in confusion, staring at him. “Ya just…” Daryl’s breath hitched as he could feel his chest begin to hurt. “Just walked out that day and never came back.” His voice cracked, attempting to blink away the tears in his eyes.

Your anger diminished though your heart still raced with adrenaline. “Daryl, what are you…?” Your confusion was too strong to find words. “What are you talking about?” The two of you stood opposite the other, equally confused.

“ I…I sent letters all the time. I sent postcards from anywhere I went. I sent Christmas cards and birthday cards with gifts and money…” You stuttered over your words, your hands frantically moving about. “I visited three times and made a fool of myself driving around town, asking people about you.” The frantic way you spoke made your chest heave.

Silence followed, each of you trying to digest the words of the other. “You know this.” You stated firmly. “Please tell me you know this.” The anger that once filled the room was replaced with sorrow. “No…never got no cards…ain’t nobody ever said anything to me about you visitin’.” Daryl responded.

You scoffed, muttering a quiet of course. The tears you had been trying to avoid, fought their way to your waterline. You weren’t sure why you had expected anything more from the people of that town; nor why you expected more from his father. The countless amount of letters you’d poured your heart into, thrown in the trash. And your money stolen; only to be used on liquor and cigarettes.

“Why did ya send me money?” Daryl asked abruptly, as if though it insulted him.

“Really? That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“Wouldn’t have taken your money Y/n.”

You bickered back and forth.

“This isn’t about the money, Daryl!” You snapped. Daryl was taken aback by your sudden outburst. You muttered a curse beneath your breath and stood from your chair; helping yourself to the bar cart. Opting to drown your frustration in liquor.

The whiskey poured into your glass smoothly.

Daryl sat silently in his chair. You had never yelled at him in such a manner before. “What happened to yer accent?" Daryl asked. You licked the liquor from your lips, turning to face him once again. "What?" He stood from his chair, meeting you at your level. "I only hear it when ya say certain words or when ya yell..." His words sounded as if he was hurt by this, “Ya don’t sound like I remember.”

You stumbled over your words for an excuse but found none. "It just faded after time, I guess." You knew the truth behind it, you’d been ashamed of your pronounced southern accent. Feeling as though you should’ve been herding cattle instead of running a kitchen.

Daryl was standing close to you. The closest he’d been in a long time. This made your throat run dry, seeing how little space was between the two of you. Suddenly, you became conscious of how long you'd been in this room. "I have to go." You grabbed for your jacket on the table. "Come on, don't." Daryl stepped in your way, blocking your path.

This only frustrated you more. "Daryl, I've been here long enough." You were pleading with him to let you go, becoming overwhelmed with your own emotions.

You began bickering over each other, words blending together all at once.

"We used to dance together. You and I." The abrupt sentence stopped the bickering. Your bottom lip quivered, teary eyes looking up at him. "In the bar late at night, once everyone had gone and the only thing they played on the radio was old love songs." It was a memory Daryl had tried to forget. A feeling he'd shoved so far down within himself that only you could pull it back to the surface.

If he dwelled on it long enough he could still feel your body pressed against his, head resting on his shoulder. The way your arms grasped onto the other, softly swaying to the music that hummed statically through the radio.

"We could've had something together Daryl." The tears brushed against your lashes, rolling down your cheeks. "But you didn't want it." You finally snuck around him, snatching your jacket from the table.

"That ain't true." His voice broke.

A frustrated sigh left you, "It doesn't matter now, it's too late." You angrily shoved your arms into the sleeves of your jacket.

"Y/n." Daryl reaches for you.

You ripped your arm away from him at the feeling of his fingertips brushing against the skin of your hand. "It's too late Daryl." Once your coat was on, you made for the door. No hesitation to leave him behind this time.

The sound of your boots against the wood floors echoed through the building, followed by the slam of the door. He stood there aimlessly, his eyes mapping out where you'd once stood.

Sleep didn't grace Daryl for those two days. He laid awake, tossing and turning, you on his mind. His daily tasks at the sanctuary were interrupted constantly by his own anxiety, leaving him irritable and antsy. 

Daryl wondered what you were doing at any given moment. He wondered if you were thinking of him just as much. Spitefully hoping you were just as restless as him. Hoping the mere thought of him ruined your day and left you sleepless. But when his spite wore away he found himself in a pit of despair.

On the third day, he made sure to be in Hilltop on wait for your [potential] arrival. 

The thought that you might not actually come made him sick. Every hour that passed left him more and more hopeless. 

Daryl, please go rest. Rick tried to coax him, knowing he'd been up before the crack of dawn. But he wouldn't, refusing to leave the spot on the porch he'd made his own.

A low rumble vibrated Daryl's eardrums. The recognizable hum of a bike. Of multiple bikes even. Then came the heavy tires of a truck, bumping along the dirt road, causing its chains to smack against the metal exterior. 

The metal gates rolled open smoothly just in time for the vehicles to pass through. 

You rolled the busted black pickup truck to a stop. The two bikers returned, putting their kickstands into the hardened ground. The white cargo van behind you came to a halt, the words 'Tony's Bakery and Deli' still painted on its side in red cursive. 

The bed of the truck you drove was covered with a blue tarpe, the ropes wrapped around the top kept the tarpe from flying away. 

Daryl watched you hop out of the truck, a sly smile poking at your cheeks. There was a different essence to you. Your presence itself felt lighter like a weight had been lifted. Rick and Maggie were first to greet you bringing a group with them to begin unloading.

Daryl couldn't keep himself from the crowd, strolling over to begin helping. He watched as you immediately jumped into guidance, instructing everyone on what was what and where to put it. You'd pulled down the bed of the truck, hoping atop to begin passing out the milk crates of food. 

Daryl had never seen you work like this. But he couldn't be more proud. You caught his eye from your stance atop the bed of the truck. You gave him a small wave that he returned. A heat rushed through him. That's when he averted his eyes, turning his attention to work of his own. 

The door of the cargo truck was slid open, metal slapping at the top. Daryl was first to gladly climb into the back, passing down boxes to the people beneath, proudly taking on the weight of the cargo. 

The people from your community that you brought as helping hands collaborated with the people of the Hilltop. They worked together unloading the trucks, dividing things into piles by community. Conversations were going on between many people, and the hum of delightful chatter filled the cold air.  

"I've given what I could for each community, I hope it'll be enough to at least make things comfortable for a little bit." You stood with Rick, taking a break having been unpacking for well over an hour. “It's more than enough Y/n. Thank you." 

You smiled to yourself, trying not to feel guilty about how much you enjoyed the praise for yourself. "We can continue conversations of reconstructions later on. We have plenty of ex-construction workers, and carpenters, and well… just men who can't wait to get their hands dirty again." A soft laugh came after your words, Rick chuckling as well. 

The feeling of someone approaching broke the conversation. You turned your head, grateful it was who you'd hoped. 

Rick glanced between the two of you, quietly walking away. 

"Ya look nice." Daryl complimented. You glance down at yourself, cocking an eyebrow at him. The same leather jacket you wore days before fitting your figure, black leather gloves covering your hands, and a thick brown scarf wrapped around your neck. "I've looked better." 

Daryl swallowed harshly, unsure of how to continue. "I have something for you." You continued for him. You nudged your head in the direction of your truck, insinuating for him to follow. 

"This is for you." You pulled a piece of clothing from the front seat of the car, closing it after. "It's uhh.." You presented the clothing to him. a black leather poncho with a hood, a soft brown fur lining it. "A lady at the community makes them." The poncho passed from your hands to his. Daryl looked at you flustered unsure of what to say. "Come on, let's try it." A hopeful smile beamed on your features. He reluctantly slipped the poncho over his head, the soft interior brushing against his face. "Hmm...it's nice."

Yeah, you whispered. 

"It's uhm, it's..." Before you could explain yourself, you took a step closer, finding yourself adjusting the garment as it was meant to be. 

"There we go." You pointed to the car window where Daryl could see his reflection. "It gets colds up here for a southern boy, gotta keep you warm." You joked. Your hand rested on his arm longer than intended but you couldn't seem to remove it.

Though the thick material of the poncho blocked your true touch, Daryl could still feel it. It radiated a warmth through the material. 

When your eyes met his in the reflection of the window, Daryl saw a lifetime with you flash before him. A lifetime he could have never known. You didn't pull your gaze. Thirteen years of longing looked back at you, a certain sorrow burrowed beneath those eyes. Your heartbeat quickened and the smile slowly faded. You swiftly removed your hand, taking a step away. 

"Thank you."

"Course."

You nervously played with the material of your glove. With the large scarf around your neck, you felt like a turtle sheepishly pulling itself back into its shell. "Ya wanna go sit somewhere with me?" A sigh of relief left you. "I'd love that."

Daryl had guided you to a wooden bench by the building, still in eyesight of the unloading cargo. You watched Rick with his clipboard and pen taking inventory. You sat atop the bench, planting your feet where someone would typically sit. You stretched your back, a small crack following due to sitting for a consistent four-hour drive.

"I packed some of that soap you used to like, the pine one? IrishSprings...I would suggest claiming it before anyone else does." Daryl nodded with appreciation. "Thank you for doing this." You were no fool to the topic Daryl and you were gently dancing around. "I forgive you." The forgiveness spewed uncontrollably from your lips.

Daryl didn't give you a response to this, not because he didn't want to but because it was so sudden it startled him. "I've spent a lot of years being alone and angry. And I..." You paused, "I don't wanna be like that anymore especially not towards you."

"I forgive ya too, Y/n." A deep shaky breath shook your body, finally hearing the words you'd longed for come from his lips. "And I'm proud of ya." You laughed at this. It was the only way to avoid tears. "Really. I am. Ya got out, you were a chef. You started a whole goddamn community. You got everything ya wanted." Your glossy eyes met his. "Well, I didn't get everything." You nudged his knee with your own.

The blue of his eyes didn't shine the way it used to.

He broke your gaze, looking down at his feet. “Were you ever ah..with, ya know someone else?” Daryl asked the question he’d been itching to ask. His possessive nature desired to hear a no. But he couldn’t be so selfish.

“I slept with people but nothing ever serious.” You admitted truthfully. No man or woman ever filled the hole he left behind. Everyone you ever met you compared to him in some way. No one had his charm. They never understood you the way he did. Never touched you the way he had. You eventually gave up trying to find something else, opting to throw yourself into work; figuring you couldn’t care for relationships if you were too busy in your career.

“Did you?” You turned the question to him. “No.” He scoffed sarcastically as if it was ridiculous of you to even suggest such a thing.

You felt ashamed to admit that his answer slightly pleased you. “I hate when you do that.” You commented with a shake of your head. “Do what?” Daryl replied gently. “Put yourself down so much…You’re handsome, D…Always have been. Anyone after me would’ve been more than lucky.”

Daryl was unable to articulate a reply to such a statement. You turned your head towards him, “Don’t look so surprised.” You cheekily teased.

You’d sat on the bench until your bum had fallen asleep and gone numb. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have plenty to catch up on. He’d lost Merle just as you’d lost Delilah. He asked you questions about work and what it was like to be a chef; you’d shown him all the little scars you’d acquired on your hands from your knife.

“I uhmm…I had some dishes in the restaurant that I made after you.” You’d never admitted that to anyone, never dare dwelled into the lore behind a simple dish. “Really?” You nodded to him a tad shamefully though a smile poked at your cheeks.

“It was a sirloin steak basted in butter, garlic, rosemary, thyme, and pine…” You swallowed harshly before continuing. “That was paired with a peach cobbler that came with a cinnamon whiskey ice cream for dessert .” He’d looked to you amused, wondering how you could perfectly emulate a person into one meal.

“I bet it was great.” He complimented.

You shrugged your shoulders, “It was a simple dish.” You said downplaying your work.

“Yeah but it was great ‘cause you made it.”

And there it was, that small ache deep within your chest.

“Anyway,” You continued in an attempt to ignore the feeling, “it was a special we only ran on Sunday’s.” Sunday’s had simultaneously become your most dreaded day but most looked forward to. Every Sunday service you’d spent gazing through the window of the kitchen, hoping to see him sitting at a table. Hoping a local told him he had to go taste the Sunday special and you’d be reunited again.

Daryl scoffed slightly, “I was the Sunday special?” He joked. “You were the Sunday special, yeah.” You laughed through your words. Your wide smile crinkling the skin at your eyes. No sound was as sweet to him as your laugh. Daryl allowed himself to have his own chuckle, the two of you joking and giggling like twenty years olds again.

You could’ve sat there and talked to him until the sun set and rose the next day.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Rick interrupted.

“That’s okay.” You dismissed, standing from the bench, trying to ignore the numbness in your limbs. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just wanted to come tell you that we’re all wrapped up.”

The horn of a car caught your attention and interrupted Rick. One of your men reached into the truck and his free arm waved you over indicating they were ready to go.

"It probably is best if we start heading out." A deep sigh followed your words. "Ya just got here." Daryl responded quickly. An airy chuckle left you at his hastiness. "It's been a long morning. We've been up since before the sun prepping everything and then the drive..." Your words trailed off watching Daryl's face droop into a frown. 

Daryl nodded his head in understanding, preparing himself for yet another goodbye. "You're welcome to stay." Rick offered. "I mean we could use the help distributing everything to the other communities...I'm sure everyone would love to meet ya and say thank you." Rick looked at you sincerely. "We can make room for everyone to sleep tonight."

You could sense Daryl's eyes looking to you for an answer, practically pleading for you to say yes. "I- I don't.." You looked over your shoulder at your group. "They'd worry back at home too much. It was only meant to be a day trip." Dary's disappointment was apparent. "Well, you're welcome anytime," Rick muttered another thank you before making his exit. 

You avoided Daryl's eyes, not needing to feel more guilt for your answer. "I'll be around, there's still so much to do here and in Alexandria." Your words were an attempt to mend the wound you'd created.

"Are you okay with seeing me again? And again...? And again...?" You were picking fun at him, a teasing tone in your voice. He couldn't hide the smile that poked his cheeks, "Course I am." 

"Good." A cheeky smile formed on your own face. Hearing the sounds of engines beginning to rumble brought you back to reality. “I’ll see you soon, D." You gently touched his arm before turning away.

Daryl shoved his hands under the poncho into the front pockets of his pants, his gaze following every step you took.

You looked back to him, tasting the words on your tongue, the same way they tasted thirteen years ago. Come with me. But you wouldn't, the fear of being rejected yet again silences you. Go. Daryl formed the word bittersweetly, nudging his head. He gave you the permission you needed to turn away. 

Daryl didn't move from the spot he stood. Even as everyone else's attention turned away, it was his love for you that kept his feet glued in the dirt. His eyes didn't leave until the last inch of the gate had been closed.

A lump formed in your throat. You threw on the brave face of what you thought a leader should be, forcefully swallowing it down. But the sorrow that made your heart empty only grew the farther the car drove. Hot silent tears rolled down your cheeks. You sniffled the snot that dared leak from your nose, forcing it down the back of your throat. This made you feel sick, wanting to throw up the mucus.

You kept yourself in this continuous loop for miles, your free hand clutching at your stomach as you whimpered like a wounded animal. You thought that if you kept on the feeling would eventually go away. But still, it persisted.

Daryl made his journey to Alexandria, offering his hand in aid to deliver the supplies. He'd returned back to what was his home in the community, though he couldn't recall the last time he'd stayed here.

No sleep would greet him that night, he was sure of it. He had too many thoughts of you floating aimlessly in his mind to lay to rest. He sat solemnly at his kitchen table, fiddling with making new arrows for his bow.

Your feet guided you swiftly through the unfamiliar streets of Alexandria, following the directions Rick had given you at the gates. You repeated them to yourself over and over. Make a right, pass two houses, make a left, house on the corner.

You saw the house in the distance, Daryl's bike parked in the large driveway. The adrenaline pumping through your veins voided any anxieties.

You gently knocked on the door and awaited a response. You looked around the exterior trying to see any signs of life. The subtle orange glow of flames could be seen through the sheer curtains. Impulsively you grabbed the door handle allowing yourself entry.

Daryl stood up in an instant on high alert at the sound of the door. When your figure came into view through the darkness of the hallway, his tensed shoulders dropped. The only light was that of the various candles he'd lit amongst the kitchen.

"Y/n?" Daryl tossed the rag he'd cleaned his hands with on the kitchen table. "What are ya doin' here?" Your cheeks were puffy and cold from being in the harsh winter air for so long. The tip of your nose was frozen, completely cold to the touch. 

"I turned back. I went to Hilltop but Maggie sent me here.” You stutter over your words, “I had to see you." You walked closer to him slightly out of breath from your brisk walk over. Daryl's heart pounded against his chest. The warm glow within the darkness gleamed against your glassy eyes.

"I always told myself that if I ever saw you again, I wouldn't leave. That...I'd figure something out to make this work." 

Your lips formed together but you were reluctant to continue. 

"I wou-"

"Wha-" 

You cut each other off, words piling up together. 

"M'sorry." Daryl apologized, gesturing for you to continue. 

"I know I said it was too late but...I would like so much for us to have a second chance." 

Daryl swallowed harshly. Your expression goes from seeking to wary in a second at his silence. "I would like that too." You allowed yourself to breathe, a chuckle of relief leaving you.

You stepped toward him, practically collapsing into his arms. A sense of relief washed over you. You moved your arms to place them around him. Daryl had grown more broad than you'd seen him last, filling your outstretched arms so perfectly. You felt whole once again.

Daryl felt his body melt into yours. The tension he’d felt so heavily on his shoulders diminished. You welcomed nothing but the silence and the warmth of his body. It was as though neither of you could pull away, melting into one.

Daryl only pulled away to look at you when he felt your chest vibrate, examining if it was from laughter or tears. It was a mixture of both. He gently brushed your hair from your face, "What's wrong?"

You felt foolish for your disarray of emotions, wiping at a tear that tickled your cheek.

"You smell of pine."

Music played through the radio behind the bar, the radio station you’d flicked on was currently on a Fleetwood Mac streak. You were behind the bar with your notepad, taking inventory of the bottles for the week. Daryl was sitting at a nearby booth, polishing up whiskey glasses.

“We’re gonna try something new and start to slow things down for any of those late-night lovers out there.” The radio host announced after the last song came to an end.

You cocked an eyebrow at Daryl, who returned your confused expression. “Well, that’s new.” You laughed making your way from behind the counter.

Daryl hummed an agreement.

You listened intensively trying pinpoint the familiar tune that began to play. You smiled to yourself, Put Your Head On My Shoulder, began. It was a clique song that anyone and their mother would recognize but you couldn’t deny the catchiness of it. From your seat across Daryl, he watched you gently mouthing the words. You were too busy going over your notes to see him stealing looks at you.

Daryl smiled to himself. The dim lighting of the bar cast a shadow on your features. The scowl on your brows showed your deep concentration. Daryl admired the way your nose was casted perfectly to fit your face. He traced the outline of your lips as they moved with the lyrics. He swooned at the thought of you being no one else’s but his.

“Do you wanna dance together?” Daryl raised an eyebrow at you. “What?” You placed your notepad on the table, an amused look on your face. “I don’t know how to do that.” You chuckled, standing from the booth. “You don’t have to do much.” The song on the radio faded into, When a Man Loves a Women.

You held out a hand to him, edging him to follow. He reluctantly did so, calling you crazy.

You were unsure yourself how to dance. But something compelled you to try.

You placed your feet in front of his. You instructed his movements, directing him to hold your right hand up and place his other on your waist. You did so as if you had any idea what you were doing. You were merely repeating the stance you'd seen in so many movies. "Now just kinda sway."

Daryl awkwardly moved his body. You giggled to yourself, "You look stiff as a board." You teased.

"You kinda gotta move your feet too, like this."

The wood floors creaked beneath your moving feet. Daryl felt the way your hips glided beneath his hand. Daryl seemed to ease into the unfamiliar rhythm of this dance. He was unsure if this was really a "dance" but wether it was or wasn't, it didn't matter. Because it was yours and his.

Your chest began to feel heavy, an overwhelming sense of emotion hurdling toward you. With a heavy heart, you moved closer and took your chance to rest your head on his shoulder. He welcomed this, resting his own atop yours. Being so close to him now you relished in his scent. "You smell nice..." You complimented. The sweet smell of pine greeted you on his skin.

You couldn't complain about the fresh scent but you'd grown used to his scent typically being cigarette smoke and whatever soap was on sale at the market.

"Thanks...got a new soap 'n took a bath."

"A bath?" Your laugh vibrated Daryl's chest. You pulled your head from his shoulder meeting his eyes with a joyful gleam. "Yeah so?"

Your bodies swaying to the rhythm of the song didn't falter. "Was it a bubble bath?" You sniffed him again, "With some very manly scented bath salts?" Daryl rolled his eyes at your jest. "Yer not funny." The smile creeping on his face said otherwise. You found yourself lying on his shoulder again, the scent of pine greeting you once more.

The songs continued on the radio but no matter how many came and went, you couldn't seem to unlock your arms from him. You'd fall asleep right there if humanly possible. "Is it okay if I say I love you?" Your voice was meek like a timid mouse. Daryl placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"It's okay."

Daryl and you had eleven years together almost making up for the thirteen missed. You'd "married" in the Spring of the second year when Daryl surprised you with a flower field he'd come across while hunting; a ring for you safely hidden in his back pocket. It was a gold ring with three lavender-colored gemstones, and tiny pearls scattered around the stones imbedded in the band. He'd chosen a basic gold band for himself. The antique store had the set priced at $3,150 [before tax]. But it was his for free.

You met your demise on a sunny day in what was presumed to be March; when the sun shines warmth but the wind still provides a shiver. It would've been only days after your forty-seventh birthday.

We'll find each other again. You'd reassured him through your own pain.

People told him he was lucky to have been there to hold you a final time. But he didn't feel lucky. And he felt even less when he had to put that blade in your skull, preventing you from turning.

Daryl would never find another and he never left the home you'd built together. But this time, instead of running from the memory of you, he was able to embrace it. He'd read through the recipes you'd written and even tried to cook some. Though they never tasted how he remembered. You had something special in your cooking, a taste he could never replicate. I pour all my love for you into it, You'd joke when he'd ask.

He wore your ring on his pinky every day and wore nothing but black clothing as if always in mourning for you.

He never deemed himself someone who walked toward death but some days he found himself welcoming it, desiring nothing more than to be with you again.

Daryl knew he'd spend the rest of his time on this morbid earth in torment until he was to see you again.

[feyhunter78]

When the Night Turns

Description: The night before your husband leaves for battle, he tells you of his aspirations for the throne. You in turn confess your fears.

“I spoke with Cole, told him it is time for someone better to sit on the Iron Throne, and that will be me. Obviously.” Aemond says, his head resting on your thigh, his silver hair splayed out against the light blue fabric of your nightshift.

You say nothing, only continue combing your fingers through his hair. To speak in agreement with him would be treason, to speak against him would be your undoing.

“That this is where my reign begins.” He continues, the one arm around your waist tightening as he looks up at you, expectant.

You know what he desires, but you cannot give it to him, not here where Aegon is still King, where you do not have a dragon or an army of your own to keep you safe from accusations of treachery. Not when it is so clear that Aemond had no qualms about directing his anger at those closest to him, you cannot count on him or his dragon.

So, you choose the safe route. “Here, My Prince? I am no strategist, but I cannot say I believe my chambers to be the most effective place for anyone to begin their reign.”

Aemond hums in response, his good eye closed, his sapphire one glinting in the low candlelight.

You bite the inside of your cheek, stomach churning as you digest Aemond’s words. Of course, you believe him better suited for the throne but…

“I can sense the wheels in your mind turning issa prumia, speak, let your king ease your mind.” His voice still has that low, smooth tone to it, a gentleness to his words that you remember from when he said his vows, in the Great Sept. He promised that you were his, and he was yours, that none shall tear you asunder.

You smooth your thumb across his forehead, admiring the shadows his eyelashes cast upon his cheeks. “I wish you would take more care with your words. Your brother is the rightful king; it is what this war is all about, and I do not wish to see another conflict spring up when all of your focus should be on defeating the false queen.”

“And her craven of a husband.” Aemond says, unable to let any mention of his uncle go unsaid.

You nod, though he cannot see, and caress the curve of his cheek, fear flicking in your chest. “Yes, and that butcher.”

You shiver at the memory of the screams, of the rage and grief that echoed through the Keep after Jaehaerys’ death.

Aemond’s grip tightens on you once more, there is no need to speak, the consequences of Blood and Cheese’s actions weigh heavily on him, and you. They had been tasked with killing Aemond, but could not find him, Daemon did not know you and Aemond kept separate chambers, did not know your husband spent half his nights in your bed the other half in his own.

If they had not come upon Helaena first, if they had gone a few rooms down and found your chambers it may have ended differently, Aemond would have been able to stop them…

“I will not mourn when the Stranger comes for Daemon Targaryen.” You cannot keep the venom from your voice, even as flames of fear begin to climb once more within you.

Your hand must have stilled because Aemond brings it to his lips, his gaze meeting yours.

His amethyst eye is alight, a smug smile on his lips. “I will defeat them, I will win this war, and the realm shall have a king worthy of the throne. Rhaenyra and Daemon’s heads shall adorn the gates, and I shall decorate the Great Hall with their dragons’ skulls.”

You pull your hand away, your throat tight as the smoke from the flames of fear in your chest rise up and choke you.

Aemond follows, sitting up and taking your face in his hands, his eye inspecting every inch, his expression changed, softer, more attentive. “I am sorry, I should not speak of such things to you, they are far too gruesome for your ears.”

“I am afraid, Aemond.” You whisper, your hands coming to grasp his wrists, clinging to him. You know Vhagar is strong, that Aemond is smart, but you cannot help but be afraid, afraid that his pride will be his undoing.

“Do not be. Have faith in me, in Vhagar, in Cole. We are blessed, guided by the Seven.” He says, his long, lithe fingers threading into your hair, massaging the nape of your neck.

“I do, but I do not fear for you at Rook’s Rest, I fear that you will—” You cut yourself off, you cannot tell him you fear his pride will drive him to act foolishly, you are not the Dowager Queen, you cannot speak your mind so freely. “You are right. I will have faith.”

Aemond’s grip on you tightens, his gaze hardening. “Speak, y/n.”

You cast your eyes downwards, your voice soft. “I fear that you will be blinded by your ambition, that your pride will doom you.”

Aemond releases you with a sigh, and slips from your bed, his back to you as he gathers his things. “I expected such words from my mother. Perhaps you have spent too much time with one another.”

You follow after him, the stone floor cold against your bare feet. “I do not wish to lose you.”

He turns on his heel, eye patch in hand. “So, you think to insult me? To all but imply you do not believe I will be able to accomplish our goals, to win this war, and rule the realm?”

You take his hands in yours and press them to your heart, hoping he can feel how fervently it beats, how it beats for him, as it has since the day you met. “You asked me to speak, My King, to let you ease my mind. I did as you asked because I could not bear it if I did not speak, and you were lost to me because of the very thing I wished to warn you of.”

Your use of My King has softened him, if only a little, and he inclines his head towards you. “You think me prideful, issa prumia?”

“I think you a great man, with the largest dragon in the realm, but you are also a man who comes from hurt, whose family has been hurt.” You say carefully, as you keep a tight grip on his hands. “Your pain is real, and deserves recompense, but not at the risk of your life.”

Aemond’s eye flickers to the burning hearth, and you know you have reached him.

“Promise me, swear to me that if Daemon comes, however foolish it may be, no matter that you think he will not, promise me that you will use the aid of others to defeat him. Let that butcher gloat and preen, let him act as if he is the conqueror reborn, for we know he is a fool. And fools always reveal their weaknesses in time.”

Aemond slips his hands from yours and there is an ache in your chest, but he soothes it quickly, when he presses his lips to yours softly, his hand coming to cradle your cheek, the other settling on your waist. “My little wife, how clever you are.”

You lean into his touch, your own hands anchoring themselves in his tunic. “I must be, for how can I be the wife of King Aemond the first, if I am not?”

He smiles at your words, and pulls you flush against him. “I will have the servants move your things to my chambers, I want to return from battle to find my wife safe in my bed.”

Your heart leaps, when you first married you had hoped that you and Aemond would share chambers as your mother and father did, but he had shown little interest in the idea. In truth, it had served you and him well on that bloody night, but those routes in had been sealed, and his chambers were checked for other secret doors. It had been declared safe and for more than one reason now you could not be happier.

“You will find no argument from me, though I will need prior notice if you wish me to wear anything particular for your return.” Your voice takes on a jesting tone, though your words are true, and the way Aemond’s lips drift downwards, ghosting over the skin of your neck, tells you he hears them well.

“I have no preference, provided it is easily replaced.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering closed as Aemond’s lips find your pulse point. “Easily replaced?”

“How fond are you of this nightshift?” He asks in lieu of answering your question.

“I think it is pretty, but it is not my best one, I did not know you would be visiting me, so I did not have time to prepa—” The sound of fabric ripping accompanied by the clatter of a dagger against the stone floor and the cool air on your skin silences you.

Aemond hums appreciatively, his eye drinking in your form as he walks you backwards towards your bed. “This is why it must be easily replaceable; I cannot attest to the patience I will have when I return.”

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[the-internets-girlfriend]

Bittersweet Memories: Layers of Truth

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

There was something sweet - until it all fell apart. Years later, a viral video stirs up a past neither of them ever quite let go of. In the city where they both changed, something is quietly rising again.

warnings: soft angst, emotional miscommunication, heartbreak, swearing, slow-burn, alcohol consumption, hungover

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

series | masterlist | previous part | next part

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Part Five: Layers of Truth (2000+ words)

It’s Thursday when I run into him again.

The podcast episode went live yesterday. I haven’t listened to it. I can’t, not yet – not ready to look at him and my vulnerability. Maisie has watched it though – twice. She made exaggerated gasping sounds during Max’s love life ambush and texted me a flurry of emojis that I’m still trying to decode.

She even mentioned the chemistry that she saw between George and I – but I ignored her.

The bakery has been chaos since.

Orders are up. Walk-ins are nonstop. Someone posted a clip of George eating the jam pastry with that stupid – handsome… smirk on his face, and suddenly it’s the only thing half the city wants. We’ve been making batch after batch, running out of flour twice, and I’ve barely had time to think – which is honestly a relief.

But today is slower – and I have the rain to thank for it.

The first real storm of the season rolls in like it’s been waiting for this exact moment – thunder heavy, air thick with the kind of rain that feels personal.

It’s nearly closing – but I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon with the rain.

The bakery is half-lit, music down low, a slow hum of Fleetwood Mac playing Silver Springs in the background. I’m behind the counter, icing the last row of cupcakes for tomorrow’s birthday order, when I hear the bell jingle.

And there he is.

George.

Hood Up. Trainers soaked. A victim to the thundering rain although a sheepish grin tugging at his lips,

“Hi,” he says softly, pulling down his hood, “didn’t know if you’d be working.”

“I always work,” I reply, a little too fast.

He steps closer, but not too close – he’s stood two steps away from the counter, I know because I can just smell his cologne. “Do you have any of the… jam ones?

I blink, “the ones from the podcast?’

He nods. “Figured I owed Max an apology pastry. Maybe two.”

I should tell him np. That we’re sold out. That they’re cooling. That we’re closed. But I don’t.

Instead, I point toward the cake stand.

“Still warm.”

He reaches for his wallet, but I wave him off, “it’s on the house.”

A beat passes.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

He takes the two pastries gently, like he’s worried it’ll crumble if holds it wrong. He bids his goodbye, and heads towards the door.

A thundering sound is heard outside which stops him in his track.

The he just… stands there. Looks at me.

“Can I sit?” he asks after a moment, gesturing to a table pushed against the window of the bakery.

I hesitate. My heart thundering along with the thunderstorms. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I nod – still deeply caring for his safety and not wanting him out in the storm.

He shuffles to the stool to wait out the thundering storm.

I hum to myself as I clean the counter, preparing to close the bakery. On my way to the door, I grab the last chocolate éclair from the cabinet.

His favourite.

I slowly walk to the door, feeling George’s eyes lift from his phone to me.

I flip the open side to read closed – before taking a deep breath and placing the chocolate éclair in front of him.

I sit across from him. He doesn’t speak right away. Neither do I.

Then, softly; “You remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

He takes a bite of the dessert. “What I like.”

“Well, yeah.” My sentence gets trapped in my throat as I look away.

“You didn’t reply to the podcast.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” I answer.

“You didn’t have to. I just… I don’t know.” He exhales. “You looked at me. During that question. About your love life.”

“You looked at me first,” I defend before I can stop myself.

He lets out a chuckle at the banter – as his eyes search mine. They’re warmer than I remember, or maybe I’ve just spent too long pretending I forgot.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, “when you said you’re focused on the bakery?”

“I do mean it,” I say. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to count on.”

He nods, slowly. “And me?”

I flinch.

“I meant… back then,” he says quickly. “Was I—did I ever feel like something you could count on?”

There it is. The real question.

I breathe in, and it tastes like cinnamon and jam and rain-soaked ghosts.

“You were,” I whisper. “Until you weren’t.”

His face falls, like he expected the answer but hoped it would hurt less.

“I never wanted to stop being that,” he says. “I messed it up. I know that. But you—God, Y/N, you were home. And I’m sorry.” He finishes, running a hand through his wet hair.

“George-“ I start but am interrupted.

“I know I don’t deserve anything. But if there’s a chance – for you just to be in my life, I would be grateful.”

I smile at George, and his stressed, nervous expression changes as I nod along.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We sit for a while, just watching the rain coast the windows in silver – we speak of what each other have been up to recently, with George expressing about his holidays he has had the chance to go on and I mentioning the startup of the bakery and meeting Maisie.

No mention of a girl was stated by George – and I brighten at the observation, unaware as to why.

“People are starting to ship us,” George says finally, a wry tilt to his mouth.

My stomach flips. “Yeah Maisie showed me.”

“They think we’re strangers who have only just met and have chemistry.”

I laugh once – soft. “Imagine if they knew the truth – about us.”

He looks at me. “They don’t need to.”

And somehow, that matters more than I expect. That it’s ours. Still.

“Your fans are nice. They’ve been visiting,” I say fiddling with my apron. “Loud. But nice.”

He smiles. “They love you.”

“They don’t even know me.”

“They like who I am around you.”

That shuts me up.

I look to George, heart beating as it’s now my turn to apologise. “Sorry I never came to you events when you first started. Not back then. Not really.”

George blinks. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“I think I do,” I say. “You were doing big things. And I didn’t know how to be part of that without feeling like I didn’t belong. I was scared – back then.”

He takes a breath. “You did belong. I just… never wanted to make you choose.”

A pause.

“I’m glad you came on the podcast,” he admits.

I look at him. “Yeah?”

“I think we both needed it. Even if it was… weird.”

“Very weird – thanks Max.” I agree, grinning.

But it opened something. That much is clear.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days have passed since George and I shared the conversation in the bakery. We don’t label anything, but he starts showing up again – always with a reason.

Maisie pretends not to be obsessed with the whole thing. She fails – always bringing up the second chance with excitement.

We go for coffee one day after I close up. Walk to the canal like old times. Sit on benches until the streetlights flicker on. Some nights, we talk about the gap between then and now. Other nights, we don’t say much at all.

We talk about the video – the one that started it all. How Maisie and I had only posted it as a joke, and at one point I had almost deleted it.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” George says.

“Why? So you could storm into my life unannounced just like the first time?”

He shrugs. “Felt like the universe owed us a second take.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart agrees. Something floated in the air, unsaid, but we both understood.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

One afternoon, he helps me haul boxes into the kitchen — deliveries for the weekend market stall. He leans against the bench, watching me work like he used to, arms folded, mouth twitching with something he won’t say.

“Spit it out,” I say, reaching for the baking trays.

“You’re good at this,” he says.

“At lifting things?”

“No.” He gestures vaguely. “All of this. Building something. Staying. I used to think running was brave, but… staying’s harder.”

That stays with me. Especially coming from him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

We don’t talk about the past in specifics. Not yet. But it lingers, between every laugh. We both know what we want to say and both understand that. But every look between us was too long to be causal.

Still, we try to take it slow.

“Let’s just… be in each other’s lives again,” I say one night, fingers wrapped around my mug. “No expectations.”

“Friends,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, “Okay. But real friends. The kind who show up.”

“I’ll try,” I whisper.

“So will I,” he says.

And I believe him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next time he comes in, it’s sunny. People are queued out the door. He waits like everyone else, hood low, sunglasses on, but still spotted by a group of girls who whisper loudly behind him.

When he reaches the counter, he grins. “Sold out?”

I nod. “Maisie’s idea. She renamed the jam ones ‘George’s Regret’.”

He snorts. “Charming.”

I lean in. “You good?”

He shrugs. “Bit overwhelmed. But this helps.”

“Being here?”

He nods. “Feels like breathing again.”

Something in my chest stirs.

That night, as I lock up, he’s still there, leaning against the wall like a character from a film he’d make fun of.

“You walking me home?” I tease.

He grins. “Trying to earn back my bakery privileges.”

“You already get too many free pastries.”

“I don’t want pastries.”

I stop. Look at him.

He clears his throat. “I mean — I do. But also… this.”

He gestures between us. Whatever this is.

I tuck my keys into my coat pocket. “We’re not rushing it, remember?”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m glad we’re not pretending it never happened.”

“Me too.”

He offers his arm. I take it.

And we walk.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the end of the week, we’ve started texting late again – with the occasional call here and there. Always casual. Always friendly, but we both still know something lingers.

Some nights, I hear his voice in my ear long after I hang up. His laugh tucked into my pillow like it belongs there.

We don’t talk about what we’re doing still. No label. Just… a quiet rhythm falling bac into place. One I missed without realising.

Maisie find my phone on the bench one morning, reading aloud a message and yells, “Did George Clarke just say he’d fight anyone who insults our croissants?”

I whip my head around, icing bag still in hand. “Maisie –“

She holds the phone out of reach, dancing backwards on socked feet like a gremlin. “I mean, he used actual capital letters! Look – oh my god, he’s in love with your pastries. And you.”

I snatch the phone back, cheeks burning. “He’s just being stupid.”

A pause. Then a grin blooms across her face.

“You love him still!”

I go very still. “I do not.”

Maisie raises a single brow, crosses her arms, and simply waits.

I hate her.

But I smile anyway.

Because yes. Maybe I do.

Still.

Always.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

LOOK AT THEM! Being adults and talking about their feelings! How mature of them.

But only one part left everyone :(

I'm going to be sad to finish up this story... but I do have some things planned for them and another series to finish too, whoops.

See you next time for the last part,

mwah x

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist x

@mothersversiononly @whisperturnedecho @lovingaphroditesworld @reidyourpalms @liz140569 @swizzlemynizzle @wherethezoes-at @clarkeyzzz @swiftlyjo @madforgeorge @smzyyx @graceln4 @norrizzandpia @heyitsmefall @oliviaohanessian1 @clarkey4life @dopeysunflowers @hey-there9-its-me @ooostarwarsfandom501st @canyouseethesainz @cheesystylesig @burkayyy @mia-maybank @smzyyx @simp-hub @sundarksposts

[kisshae]

            SLOW DIVE ♡ KIM CHAEWON

⸻ fruits of my labour, heart of my home.

you don’t remember when it started—only that it crept in like rain through the cracks. quiet, slow, patient. she looks at you like she’s waiting for something neither of you can say out loud.

&&르세라핌김채원` ୨ৎ 𝑓. reader✷6052WC𓂃𓈒 angst slight fluff non idol au ─── warnings kissing skinship internalized homophobia use of slurs (yes I can reclaim it.. I'm lesbian..)

the first time you see her, she’s standing at the edge of the field. the wind is strong that day—salt-heavy, sweeping over the stone walls and tugging at her dress like it’s trying to take her with it.

she doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch. her hands are tucked behind her back. her eyes fixed on something far off, maybe the sea. maybe nothing at all.

she doesn’t look at you. not then.

but something settled in your chest anyway. like a memory you haven’t lived yet.

jeju is quiet in the spring. the air smells like oranges and seawater, and the earth feels soft beneath your shoes. children run past you with bare feet and loud voices, but their joy never reaches this part of the village—this little pocket of silence where people know how to keep their heads down, to speak in half-whispers.

where girls like chaewon are expected to marry boys they barely know, and where love—if you dare call it that—has to live in glances and silences and nothing more.

later, you’ll wonder if she knew. if she felt it too.

even then.

you try to walk away before she does—before she might turn, before your eyes meet. but your foot clips the edge of something metal and forgotten.

a loud crash. a pail of water tips and spills onto the packed dirt, soaking your shoes. the water glides across the path in thin silver streaks before vanishing into the earth. you freeze. your breath catches. and then, you hear it—her steps. slow, certain.

panicked, you duck behind the nearest stone wall, the kind that lines every corner of the village. you crouch low, heart thudding too loudly in your ears, as if you're a child playing a game you forgot the rules to.

"hello?" her voice is soft, unsure. she's closer now. you can hear the metal scrape as she picks up the empty pail, the water long gone. "is someone there?"

you hold your breath. stones dig into your palms. the air is too still.

then, a shift. chaewon leans over the wall, fingers curled around the edge for balance. her eyes catch yours—wide, curious, not afraid. "...who are you?" there's no accusation in her tone. just surpris. maybe interest. "i've never seen you around before."

you stand too fast. dirt clings to your clothes, your pride even more. "it doesn't matter," you mutter, brushing at your pants like the gesture will erase everything. you turn from her before she can ask anything else and start down the narrow path that winds towards home. your steps are too quick, unsteady.

and then—

your foot catches on a loose rock, your body tilts forward, and before you can stop it, you're falling. the world tilts. your hand scrapes the ground, your cheek catches the edge of something sharp.

pain blooms. warm. thin.

you sit up, dazed. fingers pressed to your face. they come back red.

chaewon is there before you can move again. kneeling beside you. the pail still dangling from her hand. she sets it down and reaches out, her fingers just hovering—not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the question in them.

"you're bleeding," she says softly.

like it matters, like you matter.

you flinch at the sting before you even feel it.

her fingers are light, careful. she's holding a pale yellow handkerchief against your cheek, the cotton already streaked with blood. she presses it there, gently, like she's afraid you might break.

she's too close. you don't know where to look.

her eyes are brown—deep and sharp like wet bark after rain. and she smells like spring. like wildflowers and soap and something softer beneath it all. it's the kind of scent that makes your throat feel tight. make your heart twist with something you don't want to name.

this isn't how it's supposed to feel.

not with a girl.

not like this.

your fingers twitch against your pants. you're too close. too much. you want to pull away, but you can't move, not when her gaze is steady on you. and when she brushes the handkerchief against your cheek again, a soft, breathless motion that sends a shiver you can't stop, you feel heat rise in your chest.

you reach up without thinking. your hands wraps around her wrist—lightly, but firm enough to make her pause. "i'm fine," you say. your voice quiet, but it sounds too loud in the hush between you. "you don't have to.."

you don't finish.

chaewon doesn't move. her wrist rests in your grip, her eyes still on you. there's something unreadable there—not surprise, not concern, something else. something quieter.

"you're bleeding," she says again, like that's reason enough.

you release her wrist. she doesn't move away.

"if you don't clean it properly, it'll get infected," she adds after a moment. and then she stands, smooth and effortless, scooping the empty pail back up by its handle.

you open your mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to thank her—but she's already turning, walking back the way she came, steps steady along the dirt path. you sit there in the silence she leaves behind. the soft press of the handkerchief still clinging faintly to your cheek.

the wind brushes against you, light and cool. the sea murmurs below the hill, its voice distant and low. jeju always feels like it's holding its breath—half-asleep, half-listening.

you stare out across the rocks, your hands folded stiffly in your lap. there's nothing else to do. nothing to say. just the slow pulse of your heartbeat in your cheek and the warmth she left behind, lingering like the start of a fever you don't want to name.

you sit for a moment longer, hands still in your lap, the sea whispering just below the rocks. wind threads through your hair, pulling gently at the strands. the handkerchief lies on your knee, pale yellow streaked with red.

her red. your red.

you don't know what to make of it.

she said she'd be right back. she said it like a promise.

you could wait. you probably should.

but your chest feels too tight, like your ribs are curling inward. something hot and sick is blooming behind your throat. it's not the pain. not the sting on your cheek or the scrape on your palms.

it's the way she looked at you.

like she cared.

you shift forward slightly, hands brushing against your knees, and rise to your feet. your legs are a little unsteady, but you don't stop. you don't look back.

the handkerchief slips from your lap and flutters to the dirt. you don't pick it up. you leave it behind.

the path home winds between low stone walls and narrow fields, all quiet and wide in the late afternoon sun. you walk fast, head down, like the wind might carry you off if you don't stay grounded. you cheek throbs with each step.

you press your fingers there. the blood's dried now, tacky against your skin. you should have waited. it would've been smarter. easier.

but you couldn't.

you didn't know what you would've done if she came back and looked at you like that again. like she saw something you were trying so hard to hide.

like she knew.

your fingers curl into fists. you've never been good at letting people close. not like that. not when it starts to feel like something sharp. something dangerous. you reach the edge of the field before the houses start. the wind shifts. you can still smell the sea. and under that, almost like memory: wildflowers. soap. something soft and clean.

you breath in and it catches in your throat.

you keep walking.

it's been weeks since you last saw her.

you thought the feeling would fade—whatever it was that settled in your chest that day, heavy and unsure. it hasn't. not really.

you've kept busy. everyone does, this time of year. there's water to carry, baskets to weave, fires to keep burning. some days you help your grandmother wash the vegetables she brings back from the fields, bent over a wooden basin, hands cold and pruned from the water.

your hands are deep in the water, fingertips pale and pruned. the chill of the basin has long since sunk into your bones. cabbage leaves float like torn cloth, tugged gently by the current of your movements. you try not to let your thoughts drift. but they do.

they always do.

back to her.

your grandmother sits across from you, bent at the waist, pulling weeds from a basket of radishes. her movements are practiced, deliberate, but today there's a slight stiffness to them. a hesitation.

you watch her for a beat before asking, "grandma... do you know the girl who moved here a while ago?"

she doesn't look up. "what girl?"

"chaewon," you say, quietly, like the name might do something if you say it too loud. "I think that's her name."

another pause.

your grandmother's hands still just for a second. then, with a long exhale, she resumes peeling the radishes. "you'd do well to stay away from her," she says.

you blink. "why?"

"because she's one of those."

the words come sharp. clipped. and even though you don't know exactly what they mean, your shoulders tense anyway.

"one of what?"

"girls like that," she says. "quiet. strange. doesn't look boys in the eye. always off by herself. always watching." she doesn't say it with curiosity. it's not wonder or confusion in her voice—it's something colder. thinner. something you've only heard in whispers.

you don't speak. you let the silence press into the cracks.

your grandmother reaches for another radish, then adds, as if it's nothing: "a dyke, they say."

and the word drops like a stone in the basin. you flinch—not because you understand, not entirely. not yet. but because of how she says it. like it's a bruise. like it's a curse. you don't know what the word means in full. not in the way she wants you to understand it. not in the way that's meant to shame.

but it stays with you. it clings to your skin. it echoes somewhere behind your ribs, in that strange part of your chest that still remembers the way chaewon touched you—gently, like you were made of something soft.

and you think: she didn't feel dangerous. she didn't feel wrong.

she felt like spring.

like wildflowers and warm hands and something you didn't have a name for yet. your fingers sink deeper into the basin. your cheeks burn, and not just from the cold.

"don't talk to her again," your grandmother says, voice quiet now. final.

you nod. not because you agree.

but because you don't trust your voice to stay steady.

the basin ripples with your movement. one of the leaves slips beneath the surface and disappears. and all you can think about is how her hand had cupped your cheek. how she didn't flinch when she touched you.

the rest of the day moves like fog.

you help bring in the drying herbs. sweep the floor of the storehouse. tie bundles of rice straw with tired fingers. everything smells like sun and soil, but it all feels dull—like the air's gone too thick to breathe properly.

you don't say anything, not even when someone asks if you're feeling alright. you just nod. smile, even. but it doesn't quite reach.

you eat dinner in silence, the soup going cold in your bowl. your grandmother hums softly as she folds napkins beside you. it's like nothing happened. like those words didn't stick to the roof of your mouth like ash.

and when the stars come out and the air cools, you don't go to bed.

you walk.

the path by cliffs is quieter at night. the wind tastes like salt, and it pulls at your sleeves like it's known you've been keeping something in. the moon hangs heavy above the sea, stretched wide over the waves like a secret. and you keep walking, boots dragging along the dirt, heart pulling you toward something you won't name.

you don't mean to look for her.

you don't.

but you round the bend past the shrine tree, and there she is. far off. just a glimpse. like something the island's conjured up on its own.

chaewon.

she's by the water, standing barefoot on the rocks with her shoes tucked neatly beside her. her white skirt flutters with the breeze. her arms are loose at her sides, fingers brushing the air like she's feeling for something she can't see.

you freeze. your breath catches. you're too far to call out, and even if you weren't, you wouldn't know what to say. not after everything.

not after that word.

not after how your heart had twisted when she touched you.

so you just stand there.

watching her.

and you don’t understand why your chest aches the way it does. or why the sight of her—so still, so quiet, so there—makes your throat burn.

you should turn around. you know that.

but your feet don’t move.

she steps forward, just slightly, like she’s testing the tide with her toes. and for a second you wonder if she knows you're watching. if she can feel it. the way your gaze keeps catching on the curve of her spine, the way her shoulders rise and fall like she’s sighing through her whole body.

and you think: maybe she’s lonely too.

you should walk away. you know you should. your grandmother's voice still lingers like smoke in your lungs—don't talk to her again—sharp and bitter, something final tucked beneath her breath.

but chaewon turns around, when her eyes catch yours through the blue dusk, the whole island goes still. she raises her hand in a soft, slow wave. like it's the most natural thing in the world. like she knew you'd be here.

and for a moment, you hesitate. your feet rooted in place, heart tangled between guilt and want. the sea crashes behind her in a steady rhythm, and it sounds like it's calling you closer.

you take a step. then another.

and before you can think better of it, you're standing beside her, close enough to see the wind tugging at the loose strands of her hair, the curve of her cheek lit by moonlight.

she turns her head towards you. her expression is unreadable, soft around the edges. "didn't think anyone else came out here this late."

you swallow. "I was just...strolling."

she lifts a brow. "strolling?"

“mm.” you nod, eyes flicking out to the ocean—anywhere but her. “just needed some air.”

chaewon doesn’t say anything right away. she just tilts her head, studying you. and then— “you were watching me.”

you blink. “what—no, i wasn’t—”

“you were,” she says, voice light, almost amused. “i felt it. before i even saw you.”

heat crawls up the back of your neck, your hand already reaching to rub at the skin there like that’ll ground you somehow. “i wasn’t watching you,” you lie, and it’s a bad one. “i was watching the sea.”

chaewon hums. “must be a very captivating sea, then.”

you risk a glance at her. she’s not smiling exactly, but there’s a curve to her lips that feels dangerous anyway. the kind of look that makes your chest ache. the kind that unravels something slow and tender inside you.

“you always this jumpy?” she asks, gently nudging your elbow with hers.

“only when i’m being accused of stalking strangers by the ocean,” you mumble, which makes her laugh—soft and real and sudden.

you don’t know what to do with that sound. so you tuck your hands into your sleeves and look back out at the horizon, heart knocking against your ribs like it wants to escape.

chaewon lets the quiet settle again. the wind brushes past both of you, smelling like salt and memory. and even with the whole island between you and home, this moment feels closer than anything has in weeks.

finally, she says, “you left pretty fast last time.”

your breath hitches. “you were bleeding,” she adds, “and then you weren’t there.”

you don’t know what to say. you think of the way your fingers had curled around her wrist. the look on her face when you said you didn’t need help. how she’d come back for you and found nothing but an empty wall and a stain on a handkerchief.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, because it’s the only thing you can give.

she nods, slowly. “you don’t have to be.”

but you are. for running. for feeling. for wanting her in a world that told you not to.

she looks over at you again, and this time her gaze is softer. searching. “does your cheek still hurt?”

you touch the spot without thinking, fingers ghosting over the place where her hand had been. it’s healed, mostly. but it’s not the wound that aches anymore.

“no,” you say. “not really.”

and she just nods again, eyes drifting out to the water, like she’s letting you keep your quiet. like she already understands the parts of you that you’re too afraid to name.

the two of you fall quiet again. not the kind of silence that begs to be broken—but the kind that stretches. holds.

the sea roars below, steady and endless, but it fades beneath the thrum of your pulse, the heat of her shoulder a breath away from brushing yours. and when you glanced sideways, you catch the way the wind lifts a strand of her hair, sweeping it across her cheek.

without thinking, your hand twitches—like you might tuck it back for her.

you stop yourself. you dig your nails in your palms and look away. "this place feels different at night," you say, just to say something. anything. "lonelier."

chaewon hums beside you, like she knows what you mean. "sometimes I like the quiet," she says. "it makes things easier."

"easier?"

she nods, eyes still fixed on the dark line of the sea. "when it's quiet, people leave you alone. they stop asking things they don't really want the answers to."

you don't say anything to that. because you understand. you understand more than you want to.

"they talk about you, you know." you say before you can stop yourself. "the others."

chaewon doesn't flinch. her mouth just presses into a line. "I know."

you bite your lips, feeling suddenly cold despite the breeze. "they don't know anything."

she turns to you, really looks at you. "do you?"

the question stuns you. it's not accusatory—it's quiet, careful. like she's offering you a way out, if you want. but you don't take it. you can't.

"no," you say, voice soft. "I think I'm still trying to figure it out."

chaewon nods. doesn't push. just lifts her eyes back to the sea, the wind picking up around you both again. "I don't mind if you don't talk to me," she says after a beat. "if that's what they want. I won't take it personal."

your throat tightens. "but I want to."

the words fall before you can catch them, soft and breaking. and she turns to you again, slowly—like she's trying to see past everything you're not saying. you can't hold her gaze. not for long. but when she nudges your shoulder this time, it's gentler. like a promise.

"then stay." she says.

just that. simple.

you don't move. not yet. but your throat feels tight again, and your heart is stammering in your chest.

you clear your throat. "you—shouldn't say things like that."

chaewon lifts an eyebrow. "like what?"

"like that." you gesture vaguely, not trusting yourself to look at her. you turn your face toward the wind instead, hoping it might cool the heat rising under your skin. "people might get the wrong idea."

there's a pause. just for a second. then she exhales, a soft laugh tucked into it. "or maybe the right one," she murmurs.

you glance at her, startled. she's already walking, stepping towards the edge of the rocky shore. the water glints in the fading light—silver and deep and cold.

“what are you doing?” you ask, voice sharper than you mean it to be.

she glances over her shoulder, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “getting in.”

“it’s freezing. you’ll get sick.”

“so?” she wades in a little deeper, letting the water lap against her calves. “it’s only cold if you think about it.”

you scoff, but it’s half-hearted. “that’s not how it works.”

chaewon turns fully then, water swirling around her legs, hair dampened slightly by the mist. she smiles at you—something teasing and quiet and too beautiful for how your chest is aching.

“come on,” she says, holding a hand out toward you. “just for a minute.”

you shake your head. “i’m not like you.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you bite the inside of your cheek. everything. it means everything, and nothing you can say out loud.

instead, you just mutter, “i don’t belong here.”

chaewon doesn’t move. doesn’t drop her hand. “neither do i,” she says. “but that’s not always a bad thing.”

the wind gusts again, lifting your hair, tugging at your sleeves. her hand is still there. still waiting.

and for a moment, just a moment—you want to take it.

you almost do.

but then you think of your grandmother’s voice. the way she wouldn’t say the word but meant it all the same. she’s one of those.

you take a step back instead. not far, just enough.

chaewon doesn’t say anything this time. just drops her hand and turns back to the sea.

she doesn't wait for you to answer.

one moment, she's standing in the sea—water lapping around her knees, wind pulling at her shirt, eyes glinting in that almost-dusk-light—and the next, she's coming back around toward you, steps splashing and certain.

"what—chaewon," you start, already stepping back, "I said no—"

but she's grinning now, something wild and soft in the corners of her mouth. "come on," she says again, like she didn't hear you, or maybe just doesn't care. "just live a little."

"you're going to get me in trouble," you say, voice sharp but breathless.

"you're already in trouble," she replies, reaching for you.

you don't get the chance to step away. not really. she catches your wrist and tugs, and suddenly you're stumbling forward, feet slipping on wet rock, shoes half-sinking into the sand—everything off-balance and dizzy and real.

the water is cold, sharp as glass where it touches your skin, soaking through the hem of your pants as you wade in, but her hand is still wrapped around yours, grounding you, holding you steady.

you laugh. you don't mean to.

it's startled, breathless, the kind that bubbles out before you can stop it—and chaewon's smile breaks wide when she hears it.

"see?" she says, tugging you a little deeper. the water's at your thighs now, salt clinging to your skin. "not so bad."

"you're crazy.' you mutter, but it's without bite. you're still holding her hand.

chaewon shrugs, eyes catching yours again. "maybe."

the two of you just stand there for a moment—waves swaying around your legs, the sky going darker, the air thick with the smell of seaweed and something warmer beneath it. her fingers tighten slightly around yours, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you she's there.

you should let go. you know you should. but your hand doesn't move. and neither does hers.

"I haven't seen you around lately," she says, voice softer now.

"i've been busy."

"avoiding me?"

you look down. the water swirls around your knees. your shoes are ruined, and your heart is loud in your chest.

"no," you lie.

she hums. not like she believes you. but she doesn't push.

"you looked cold." she says instead, brushing a strand of hair from your face with her free hand. the touch is gentle, almost reverent. "now you're freezing."

"thanks to you."

"you needed it." chaewon's smile slips a little, turns quieter. "you're always so tense. like you're scared of yourself."

that makes you stiffen. your fingers twitch against hers—but you still don't pull away.

"you don't know anything about me."

"maybe not." she glances out toward the open water, where the waves curl soft against the rocks. "but you're still here."

your breath catches. because she's right.

you are.

standing in ankle-deep in cold sea foam with her hand in yours and your heart in your throat and nothing makes sense, not really—but it's the freest you've felt in a long time.

maybe ever.

chaewon doesn't say anything else. she just lets the silence hold. and even when you finally let your hand slip from hers, even when you turn toward the shore again, something lingers. salt, warmth, the ghost of her fingers brushing yours.

something you're still too afraid to name.

it's late afternoon, and the heat hasn't let up.

the sun hangs low but heavy, turning the air syrupy. the cicadas have been screaming for hours, and even the breeze has gone still. everything feels so slow, sweat-drenched, endless.

you and chaewon sit on the wooden steps just outside her house—shoulder-to-shoulder, legs side by side, your knees barely not touching. the popsicles drip down your fingers faster than you can eat them. hers is lime. yours is strawberry.

neither of you is really talking.

the cicadas fill the silence. so do the birds. so does your heartbeat.

your shirt clings to your back. the back of your neck is damp. you can feel the warmth of her thigh brushing yours every time she shifts, just slightly, like she's trying not to move too much. and still—still—you feel it.

chaewon brings her popsicle to her lips again, and when her tongue flicks against it, slow and absentminded, your throat goes dry. “hot,” she mutters eventually, licking a bead of melted juice off her wrist. “think i’m melting.”

you nod, eyes trained on the red stain creeping toward your own knuckles. “you get used to it,” you murmur. “summer’s worse.”

“i like summer.”

“why?”

she shrugs, that same easy kind of smile tugging at her mouth. “i like things that feel like they’ll never end.”

you glance at her then, and immediately wish you hadn’t. her skin glows under the sunlight—bronzed, freckled, a little dewy—and her eyes are on the sky now, squinting just slightly. like she’s not saying what she really means.

you swallow. your popsicle drips onto your skirt. you don't wipe it away.

"people talk too much in the summer," you say quietly. "they get restless. say things they shouldn't."

chaewon's gaze flicks to you, but she doesn't say anything right away. just lets the silence stretch again. lets it simmer. and when she finally speaks, it's barely a whisper.

"do you think they're right?" you don't ask who she means.

you already know.

you keep your eyes on the dirt path in front of you. you don't trust yourself to look at her. "I think people are scared of what they don't understand," you say. "and they call that wrong."

she hums. "what if it's not wrong?"

you don't answer. you can't.

not when the world feels like a burn on your tongue. not when your grandmother's voice still echoes in your ears. not when chaewon's arm is brushing yours and your whole body is humming with it.

you finish your popsicle. toss the stick into the bushes.

chaewon doesn't move.

"you're quiet again," she says after a while.

"I don't know what to say."

"you never do."

that should sting. but it doesn't. not coming from her. not when her voice is still soft. not when she's still sitting beside you like this—close enough to touch, close enough to ruin you. the cicadas scream louder. a bird calls out somewhere in the trees. and you wish, not for the first time, that you were someone braver.

you don’t realize how long it’s been since either of you spoke until chaewon shifts beside you, the wooden step creaking beneath her. you glance over, and her face is already turned toward you, eyes soft, unreadable.

her hand brushes against yours—the one you’d left resting behind you for balance. just a touch. barely there.

but it sends a pulse up your arm, hot and startling.

you go still. you can’t help it.

“can i…” her voice trails off before she finishes the question. but she doesn’t have to.

you know what she’s asking. she’s closer now. and it’s all over her face.

that question you’ve been too scared to ask yourself. that possibility you’ve buried, over and over again. and yet— here it is.

you stare at her. then, slowly—so slowly—you nod.

she doesn’t move right away. just looks at you like she’s waiting for the earth to split open beneath you both. when it doesn’t, she leans in. her hand grazes your cheek first—gentle, trembling—and then her lips are on yours.

it’s soft. almost too soft.

like she’s still afraid you’ll pull away. like she’s still afraid you’ll break.

you freeze—not because you don’t want it. not because it’s wrong. but because your body doesn’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness. not from a girl. not like this.

and still—

her lips taste like lime. like sugar. like summer, sweet and dizzying and too much all at once.

you feel the gloss she reapplied earlier, sticky-soft against your mouth. her hand is cradling the back of your neck now, steady, sure. like she’s trying to make it okay. like she wants this to be okay.

you don’t remember when you closed your eyes. you just know that, when the kiss deepens, you’re still there.

still kissing her back.

still chasing the warmth of her lips and the way she breathes into the space between you. still pretending—for just a second—that this could be simple.

when she finally pulls away, your heart’s still beating in your throat. chaewon doesn’t say anything. just rests her forehead against yours, breath caught in the space between you both.

you don’t say anything either. you can’t. because whatever just happened—it’s cracked something open. and you don’t know if you’re ready to look at it yet.

chaewon's breath hitches in her throat just before your lips meet again, and this—you're not scared. this time, you lean in fully, almost hungrily, drawn to her warmth like you've never been before. she tastes like lime again, but it's different now—deeper, softer. her fingers curl at the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if she's trying to hold you in this moment forever.

just as your lips press together, something sharp stabs through the air—footsteps. heavy. fast. angry.

chaewon tense, pulling back in an instant, her eyes wide, confused. and before you can even open your mouth to explain—your grandmother's there.

you freeze.

her gaze locks on you both, eyes hard and fierce like a storm waiting to break. the wind seems to stop, the world slowing down in that dreadful moment.

you don’t even have time to react before she’s storming toward you—her hands like iron on your arm, pulling you away from chaewon as though you were nothing more than a doll she was yanking around.

“what is this?” her voice is sharp, demanding. it’s not a question—it’s an accusation.

you stand frozen, caught between the warmth of chaewon’s touch and the suffocating grip of your grandmother’s. your throat goes dry. your pulse pounds in your ears. you feel your heartbeat in your fingertips and your knees. and you want to speak, to explain—but your voice feels locked in place.

chaewon’s face falls. you can’t look at her.

your grandmother pulls you further away, forcing you to walk backward. her grip on your arm doesn’t loosen, and every step feels like she’s dragging you away from something you can’t even name.

“answer me!” she snaps, her voice shaking with fury. “did she force you into this? did she make you—touch her like that? did she—”

“no,” you whisper, the word slipping out without thinking, like a lie that’s meant to numb you. “no… she didn’t.”

chaewon’s eyes are wide with hurt, confusion—betrayal. and you can’t stand it. you can’t stand it, but you keep nodding. keep lying.

no—she didn’t force me. but this is the lie that’ll keep us safe.

"you're not okay," your grandmother growls, her voice low and furious now. "she’s no good for you. you’re not to see her again. do you understand?"

chaewon’s lips part as if she wants to say something. but the words don’t come.

she doesn’t speak. she just watches you, standing behind the wooden gates of her house.

and it hurts. hurts in a way that makes you dizzy.

you want to look at her. you want to apologize. you want to scream that it’s not her fault. that she never did anything wrong. but instead, you keep your gaze fixed on the dirt path ahead, barely able to breathe through the lump in your throat.

“you’re not going back there,” your grandmother continues, her grip never once loosening. “not to that girl.”

you nod again. again. because that’s the only thing you can do.

chaewon doesn’t fight it. she doesn’t try to follow. she doesn’t call after you. but you can feel her eyes burning into your back as you’re pulled further down the path.

and you don’t know how to make sense of any of it.

the first snow falls quietly.

thin at first—just dust on the rooftops and the rocks—but it thickens as the wind picks up. the village is quiet now. quieter than usual. it's a kind of silence that makes every sound louder than it is. your boots crunch on the frozen dirt path as you walk, arms pulled close to your body, scarf pulled up to your nose. the cold stings at your cheeks. your breath fogs in front of you.

you hadn't meant to walk this way. you tell yourself that every time.

but your feet always know where to go. even after all these months.

chaewon’s house sits at the top of the hill still—except it isn’t hers anymore.

the gate is left open, swinging with the breeze. the windows are shuttered, the porch swept clean. nothing lingers of her. not the pale blue blanket she used to hang out to dry. not the little pots of wildflowers. not her laugh echoing off the stone.

just the house.

just the memory of her.

you stop at the gate, hands buried deep in your coat pockets. your eyes linger on the steps where you sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder. where she kissed you with lime on her lips. where you let her believe you didn’t want her at all.

you can still hear her voice sometimes. “then stay.” like it had been so simple. like the world would’ve let you.

the guilt twists somewhere low in your stomach, slow and familiar. it hasn’t gone away. it probably never will.

you don’t know where she went.

you’d heard whispers—that her family left for seoul. that they couldn’t stay here. not after everything. not after you.

your grandmother never spoke of her again. and you never asked. you don’t know what you would even say if you saw her again. sorry doesn’t feel like enough. it never did. you take a step back from the gate.

snow begins to collect in the creases of the stone wall beside you. this was the first place you saw her. the first place she looked at you like she knew.

and now it’s just empty.

your fingers curl into fists in your pockets. your breath hitches, just once. then you turn. you keep walking. you don’t look back. but god—you wish she hadn’t left.

you wish you had said something. anything. held her hand a little tighter. kissed her like you meant it. let yourself stay.

but you didn't. and now winter has taken her place. your footsteps fade into the snow, slow and steady. the cold bites at your skin, but you don't flinch. not this time. you keep walking, one foot after the other, like that will make you forget.

you never said goodbye. maybe that's why it still hurts.

maybe it always will.

[two-white-butterflies]

silver spring | coriolanus snow

Description: Coriolanus Snow knows that he shouldn't have ended up this way. He knows that he was destined to be something better. The woman sleeping beside him is a testament of his reckoning, Lucy Gray is a ghost that he tries to forget. (Snow and Reader's marriage told through the cold beliefs of Coriolanus.)

Pairing: young-president!coriolanus snow/wife!reader

Warning: childbirth, major character death, angst, snow is haunted by lucy gray's memory.

"Time cast a spell on you But you won't forget me." - Fleetwood Mac.

[...] He was glad about the erasure. It was just another way to eliminate Lucy Gray from the world. The Capitol would forget her, the districts barely knew her, and District 12 had never accepted her as their own. In a few years, there would be a vague memory that a girl had once sung in the arena. And then that would be forgotten too. Goodbye Lucy Gray, we hardly knew you.

"Are you alright?" you cleared your throat seeing him in deep thought. There was always something mysterious inside the man that you married - he was always deep in thought. "You came to visit?" he seemed disinterested in what you had to say. "I-they told me that you didn't eat dinner yet," you managed to choke out.

He was very clear and precise. He told you that he couldn't stand you - that he hated you, and it was the very reason that you were wed.

An amused chuckle exits his mouth. "Aren't there more important things to have your attention?" he raised an eyebrow, staring at you up and down with that incredulous stare.

You seemed to amuse him - to some extent.

"- like running our household or gossiping with your friends." he mused, returning back to his paperwork. His statement made you feel awry, you were never the one to listen to gossip - the suggestion that you should do that only cemented the fact that he didn't know you - didn't bother enough to know you. "I was worried that you'd starve without dinner." you took another step forward.

He shakes his head.

"I will not die without dinner." he scoffed - dismissing you.

It was late at night when Coriolanus stumbled inside your room. By then, he could hardly make out the outline of your body on the bed.

He couldn't believe that the woman he hated - had finally become his wife. "Coriolanus," you mumbled - eyes trying to adjust with the dim light. "Did I wake you?" he removed his jacket, surprised at his tone. "N-No," you stuttered. A meek prey against him.

You moved slightly, leaving him enough space to lay beside you.

Coriolanus was surprised that you slept that quick - though, perhaps he was also thankful. He didn't want to create a reason for small talk. Your purpose in his life wasn't to be loved - it was to create children, and to strengthen his political prowess.

The moment he set his eyes on you - he vowed to never love or care for you. He couldn't afford to love again. He knows what love feels like - Lucy Gray manipulated him, both body and soul. Until now he doesn't know if she is truly dead. He wishes that she is.

He is snapped away from his thoughts again.

This time, you wrap your arms around him. His eyes widen in surprise, he opens his mouth to speak but he relents seeing your sleeping figure.

He may hate you, but it does not stop him from finding you beautiful.

It was a few months later when he sees you again - this time with good news. "They tell me that our child is the size of a small ball." you smiled, reaching for his hand and placing it on your stomach. This was one of the few moments where he showed his love. You were sat on his lap, almost inhaling his scent at the proximity.

It was all for show, you thought. He had guests in the courtyard, and they could see you from the window.

"I've thought of names, but I wanted you to choose too." you continued, licking your pink lips. Oh, Coriolanus wanted nothing than to kiss those lips right now - but alas, his ambition ruled him. "What are they?" he continued rubbing your belly.

"Brutus, if it is a boy and Lucy-"

"No, not Lucy. Something else." he demanded, interrupting you. "Josephine," you quickly replace and he nods.

"- but if there are other names that you prefer, you may choose." you stared deep into his eyes. "You bleed, you decide." he whispered, his hands trailing up to your neck. "Kiss me," he suddenly demanded.

"What?" your eyebrows merged into each other.

"There's people watching, kiss me."

And you obeyed him.

"As pure as the driven snow," you mumble while soothing the pain in your stomach. "What did you say?" Coriolanus raised an eyebrow. "Our child is as pure as the driven snow," you repeated - almost seeing his face in a dream. "Where did you come up with that?" he chuckled, slowly used to your company.

"You mumbled it in your sleep." you responded, continuing to write on your journal. "Well, I can't remember saying that anymore." he shrugged, feeling paranoia gnaw at his bones.

Lucy Gray, let me live.

"It sounds familiar, it's from that tribute - I watched her then, but its been so long I can't even remember." you chuckled, Lucy Gray Baird, the songbird from District 12.

You were enamored by her - intrigued by her voice. Your husband seems to be the same. "Is that why you wanted to name our child Lucy?" he questioned, her name tasted bitter on his tongue. "No, of course not - you'd never approve." you scoffed.

"Why wouldn't I? I don't know Lucy Gray personally." he lied once more, maintaining his narrative. "You told me that the Games were created to remind the Districts of what they are - animals." you remembered, not fully believing his speech. "You would hate me if I named our child after an ... well, someone that you hate."

"Good, and don't mention Lucy Gray ever again." his eyes narrowed.

part two >>

[lilystyles]

no strings attached.

this series is completed!! a @lilystyles series.

y/n and harry have always known each other and been in each other's lives, but harry's rapid rise in fame causes a drift between them. what happens when they find their way back to each other and act on the feelings they have always had?

or y/n is a virgin and she doesn't want to be, and harry is an old friend who doesn't mind helping her out.

virgin!reader x friendswbenefits!h

* * * * *

old friends

harry and y/n are old friends who reunite and quickly pick right back up where they left off. new tensions arise and a deal is struck up. (5k)

song for this chapter 'Old Friends' by Simon & Garfunkle.

watermelon sugar, highhhh

harry found a new muse for a new song. it's called watermelon sugar, dedicated to the sweetness between y/n's thighs. (5k)

song for this chapter 'Watermelon Sugar' by H.

comfort

y/n calls harry drunk and scared, harry picks her up and helps take care of her. the next morning y/n worries she'll scare him off, but of course, harry eases those worries. (4.5k)

song for this chapter 'Back to the Old House' by The Smiths.

bloom

y/n and harry go to dinner and something stronger blooms between them. (11.6k!!)

song for this chapter 'Hungry Eyes' by Eric Carmen.

rock the boat, baby!

y/n and harry are reminded of their teenage years and take a trip down memory lane on a camping trip. (8.7k)

song for this chapter 'Rock the Boat' by Hues Corporation.

one of us

karaoke night leads to a run-in with paparazzi. y/n's face is splashed everywhere, and harry doesn't know what to do. (5.3k)

song for this chapter 'One Of Us' by Abba.

stuck in the middle with you

y/n is the maid of honour and harry is the best man, what happens when they are forced to share a room? do they reconcile their issues or are they too far gone? (10.6k)

song for this chapter 'Silver Springs' by Fleetwood Mac.

* * * * *

blurbs for nostrings!H

can be found on my blurbs masterlist right here

more blurbs are coming soon upon request! please use my asks box.

just leave me a prompt or idea - maybe something you want to happen or thought about happening with nostrings!H :)

thank you for reading, this was my first ever series on tumblr love my babies sm 🫶🫶🫶🫶

so many more fics are coming soon i pinky swear! love u all so muchhhhhhh

[youmistme]

Just for today, can I say I love you? HTS

pairing: friends elder cousin!Han Taesan x Y/N Pinewood. A bit of Cigar. Vinyls. Turntables. The ring. The smile. The eyes. Him.  “Look at you, Y/N still listening to The Beatles and following me into the record store.”  warnings: a bit of swearing a bit of crying 'das itttttt words: 4k

This is for my onedoor friend who is so dear to me💕 hbd!

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧

Spring. 2025

The shabby record store in the quiet neighbourhood of Gwangju is somewhere you find myself reverting to whenever the wind of life takes turns too strong. Your hands trace the doorknob as you push the door open, letting yourself in.

The first thing you  notice is the first thing you  always notice here. Pinewood. Mixed with a subtle drag of a cigar coming from Mr. Choi’s chapped lips. The walls were covered with all sorts of records, rock, hip-hop, ballads, indie: you name it, he had it. The colourful walls bring you back to the summer of last year. 

 Your eyes habitually train back to the turn table on the corner to the right. You see a shadow casting near the shelves, the back of a figure switching a vinyl. Before your curiosity escalates, Mr. Choi huffs with a huge grin, setting his cigar down. 

“Y/N! Ah, you finally came to visit eh? How’s college been treating ya?”His old frame wobbled out from the front desk and towards you. 

“Mr. Choi! I missed you…college is well, you know, college,” you thrust a bag filled with the fruits my mother packed for him. “Mom and Dad say ‘Hi’ too!” 

“Young-ins these days, enjoy your college time, yeah? Already complaining about it tsk tsk.”

I roll my eyes playfully as I settle down near the front desk. He gives me a light side hug and the pinewood cologne from his shirt deepens. You let out a sigh. 

“This was my favorite place throughout high school… I could listen to whatever music I wanted and feel the music with whoever I wanted…” Mr. Choi chuckles, already peeling the tangerines I got for him.

 “No customers today, look through whatever song ya want, kiddo. It’s on the house.” 

He pats my head before tossing a slice of the tangerine into his mouth, and walking out of the door- probably to smoke again. 

You start looking around the shop, it has been here all my childhood but I only gravitated towards it when You turned freshly fourteen. You remember following Woonhak’s cousin into the store. Your mind drifts back to the hazy yet fresh memories of the previous summer. You wander near the shelves picking up a vinyl when your eyes catch the figure from earlier, it is a man with black hair. 

The vinyl drops from my hand, and you yelp. As you go to grab it, another hand picks it up first. A hand with a thin silver ring with the shape of two cat ears. A ring you can recognize anywhere in the world. Your eyes slowly flicker up to the man's face. He blinks before chuckling.   

Pinewood. A bit of Cigar. Vinyls. Turntables. The ring. The smile. The eyes. Him. 

“Look at you, Y/N still listening to The Beatles and following me into the record store.” 

Dongmin. Han Dongmin. The boy who leaves your heart dangling at the edge of a cliff with curiosity. 

A boy who was neither my friend nor a foe. Someone who treaded on the line of ‘what if’.

A boy you always noticed, even when the world didn’t care to. 

Summer. 2024

“Can you pass the freaking controller to me already, Y/N! You’re losing…” I swiftly kicked Woonhak on the shin. This boy's nagging did not stop. A plate with half eaten pizza sits a little stale from your never-ending gaming. 

“Ahhhhh it’s my controller dude, can I just play this round and-” another kick, this time a little above. “You bi-” 

“Ya! Are you calling your Noona a bitch? Where did you learn these bad words from?” 

“You are NOT older than me Y/N I’m ‘06!” 

“Says who?” 

“Says me.”

“My ass. I’m March and you’re December. Pipe down, child.”

“I’m not a childddddddddd!” You sigh once again, why were you friends with this absolute fool again? All he has done in your ten-year-long friendship is eat sand, eat your hair, eat his homework, and now progressively eat your snacks. And, maybe sometimes be a little kind and ward off other annoying kids. 

As you frantically fiddle with the controller buttons with deep focus, finally you are victorious in your 20th attempt at Mario Kart. “Yes!” You yell in giddiness, Woonhak joining in in the celebration. 

“So… you been doing music lately, Woonagi?” You pick up the acoustic guitar from the couch while Woonhak begins playing his round. The guitar looks used up and slightly familiar, the wood having slight scratches that you trace around with your finger. 

“Hm? Oh yeah, Hyung is back in town so I asked for some music lessons. He gave me his old guitar too!” 

“Hyung who?”  You stare blankly for a second before your brain rewires and your eyes widen. You flip the guitar around and see the all-too-familiar letters on the bottom. Scratched unprofessionally onto the wood: HTS. 

“Dong-” 

“DONGMIN IS BACK?” you shriek a little too loudly for what you’d like to be considered nonchalant. Woonhak raised a brow and eyed you for a solid second. 

“Yes. He is. Since when do you care? You know actually, I always found it weird you followed Hyung to Mr. Choi’s store whenever he was back in t-”

“I just really like listening to vinyl, you know?” you defend yourself without looking him in the eye. 

“Sure, dude.” 

Without sparing your friend another word, you take your jacket off and put your shoes on. You huff contently, glad you wore a nice T-shirt that day instead of your usual rags. Woonhak does not bother looking back, he already knows you are out of breath, running to the record store. Eagerly, he takes a bite out of your neglected pizza slice with a knowing smile. 

You were nine years old when you first met Dongmin, it was purely by fate, you like to think. Among all your neighbourhood friends, this slightly taller and shy-er boy always seemed to be around yet never actually play with you and your friends. While playing tag, as everybody ran around, the boy would be found under the slide or near the seesaw, quietly looking at them yet never joining- never. He came and went with Woonhak and soon little you learned that this was his cousin. 

As the years flew by you saw less and less of Dongmin until he started visiting in the summers again. The air was warmer and the days were longer. Your naive eyes that perched into the pool of adolescence could not wait for summer to arrive. 

Every day at 5 pm, like clock-work you walked to the record store. Hair up in a pony tail, a few strands down, some stolen lipgloss from your sister smeared on your lips. A heart that beat so fast and cheeks that flushed so dearly- all for the boy in the record store. You convinced yourself that it was simply a physical admiration and nothing more. 

Once again you’re here, entering your sanctuary called the record store. You spotted a mop

of black hair peeking from above the shelves. He was holding a guitar, it seemed new- you remember Woonhak’s words. He was wearing a pair of black baggy jeans and a band T-shirt, headphones secured around his neck. You stare a little too long at his hair, an oreo mixture with white and black streaks. 

“So how many more years is it going to take for you actually to tell me you’re back for the summer?” 

He doesn’t look up but you can see his lips perk up into a smile. 

“You always seem to find me though.” He replies with a lightness to his voice. His legs are jittery and if you knew any better, you’d say he’s excited to see you too. 

Before you can say anything else, he drags another chair and places it beside his. You look at it for a moment and he stares at you expectantly. You sit down. 

He hands you an album, “Wanna listen to this? I remember you love Nirvana, don’t you?”

“Not really. I just like it because you do.” His eyes avert, his cheeks and ears get slightly pink. His hand trembles a little, fidgeting with the vinyl. “Oh…I-”

“Let’s listen to beatles instead.” you pick on his stead, he smiles and nods. “You and your beatles obsession.”

“Hey! They’re really good.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I only like ‘em ‘cuz you do.” 

Your face crunches into a light scowl, but internally, your heart thumps the fastest it ever has. “Real smart, using my words on me, Dongmin!” You playfully nudge his side. “The hair colour is a look,” you add after a moment of silence. Dongmin bites his lip, flustered. “You like it?” 

“Sure. Black suits you best, though.”  

There are many reasons you come here annually, and you cannot help but feel a little grateful that you get to see this side of him. The shy smiles, little head scratches and all the things he likes. The four walls of this store just transform you two into a different world. 

To everyone else, Dongmin might seem aloof but you could see a whole new side of him- a side only he ever showed to you. A little world with just the two of you. A world where you can notice him with all your might. 

You lean into his neck a little, sniffing. “You smell different…?” 

“Ah, it’s a new cologne…”

Your eyes narrow, sniffing even closer to his neck. You feel his body stiffening up, but he doesn’t pry you off of him either. “It smells familiar. Where have I smelled that before?”

He sighs a little dramatically. “Fine. It’s Mr. Choi’s.”

“He let you use his cologne?” 

“No… I sorta didn’t ask…”

You try not to laugh, “So what I’m hearing is you stole his?”

He bites his lips and looks away, “Ugh, didn’t you say last time you liked the smell of  Pinewood? Why’re ya complaining?”

“Why? You put this on ‘cuz I like it?” you say, fluttering your eyes at him and his face turns into a gradient of pink and red. “Well, if you hate it so much-”

“Who said I hate it? Next time just buy one on your own, silly!” 

You both burst into fits of laughter, Dongmin smiling widely as he looks at you and back at his guitar. He looks at your smiling figure and his heart tugs, his body gets warm. “Also…I think I’m gonna be a musician, Y/N… I want to be one so badly.”

You stop laughing, a gentle smile replacing your lips. Dongmin who didn’t dare let anyone crack his firm walls, was opening up to you. Slowly shedding his fear and letting you in. 

“I- I’m glad you told me this. Did you tell anyone else?”

“No”, he sighs deeply with down cast eyes. “I don’t know how dad will react to it. B-but music, Y/N- I-I i feel so alive when I do it.” His eyes widen and his hands move around, emphasizing. 

“I wanna write songs and sing and produce! I wanna do it all, you know?” He continues before you speak. “I even have a stage name all planned out, Han Taesan! My friend Donghyuk and I decided on it a-

 You gingerly place your hand over his and look into his eyes. They're round and wobbly, a sheen of moisture over them. You can see his sincerity and passion. You pull him a little closer, fingers intertwining with his. 

“I think you should go for it. And I know that you’ll do well, too, Dongmin. I just know it. Or should I say Mr. Han Taesan?” 

“Oh stop…do you really mean it though?” you nod again. 

The scent of the stolen cologne fills your senses, his breath drawing closer and closer to your face. Now he’s just an inch apart, his long nose almost touching yours. His eyes droop down, looking at your lips. Instinctively, you lick them. Taking a deep breath in, he holds both of your clasped hands up. 

It was him who pushed himself onto your frame further, sealing your lips with a haste kiss. The sensation burning you down, from your lips to your toes. You both look at eachother with hushed smiles, your lips touching again- this time more tender and soft. Like, he was trying to savour the moment of your sensation. The rising temperature of your body as his cold hands slipped behind your neck, pushing you close.

The rush of blood propells you two, stumbling down the chairs and ontot the floor. A thin beem of sunlight peeking through the blinds, recohetting over Dongmin's face. He had not looked anymore handsome than he had then, sharp eyes with a softness of a tear strand tirckling down, lips trembling ever so slightly. His gaze stuck on you, fingers gripping your T-shirt, he doesn’t want to let go. 

This haven that he found between your arms and within your words, its a blanket as soft as a cloud. 

“I-” you start. 

“Sor-” he continues. 

“That was my first kiss!” you both yell together, faces like two cherries with embarrassment. 

“Glad to know I was your first…” you smirk a little as a response and pat his shoulder. 

“Thank you for confiding in me, you know? I’m so glad that you trust me.”

He smiles, lips curving to the right a little more- another quirk you have habitually noticed. 

The phone in his jean pocket rings thunderously, breaking the serene moment. His smile drops. “It’s dad.” He goes to cut the call. 

“It’s okay, just pick it up and tell him where you are. It’s okay, Dongmin…”

He contemplates before swiping to the green button. You can hear all sorts of yelling from the other side of the line. Dongmin doesnt say a word, no, he looks down at his shoes and then to his guitar and then at you. You stay puzzled with his ambiguous expression, trying to touch his hand and mouthing “It’s okay” 

He still stares and he stares. The call keeps going without him muttering much. 

He slowly retreats his hand away, standing up. He doesn’t look at you anymore. The blanket of clouds that shrouded him now suffocates his very respiration. 

“I’ll be back” he half-whispers half-shouts from over his shoulder. You nod eagerly. 

You pity with time by watching the hands of the clock tick by, one by one. The sun’s rays have stopped intruding through the blinds, last glimmer of light getting tucked away as the sun sets away for the day. Yet, you keep waiting and waiting. Clinging on to the ambiguous phrase that is, “I’ll be back.” 

By 8pm, Mr.Choi comes back, gasping at the sight of you sloutched over, not moving. It takes another hour for your mother to pick you up, a concerned plead over her face to know why her daughter’s eyes were bloodshot red, an apathetic mask. 

You want to whine. You want to wait. But, for whom should you stay waiting for? The boy who already left the town? Summer’s endless breeze washed over your sweat ridden body, you carelessly wiped it away hoping it would wipe the memories of this day with it. 

Spring 2025

You walking haparzardly in your dorm room, nearly tripping over your own undone laundry. 

“I’m telling you, this is NOT a drill! I’m gonna jump out this window.” You want to rip your own scalp out. 

Harin stares unfazed, “It’s only three stories, you’ll hardly break a few bones.” You glare but solemnly nod in agreement. “So, what’s this guy’s deal again?”

“I SAW HIM!” you roar out. 

“Okay. Like we haven’t established that in the past two hours, girl. Whom did you see? An ex?”

That strikes another nerve, “NO! He’s not an ex. Infact he never dated me! HE.JUST.KISSED.AND.DASHED. UGH!” Your hands move, emphasizing. 

“Sounds like an asshole, should I ki-”

“No.Harin. We talked about this. No killing boys.” your friend sulks down on her bed. 

“What’s his name and where did you see him?”

“As I said, Han Dongmin and the record stoe near my childhood home.”

“There is no Han Dongmin that I know of. I doubt he goes to our college!” 

“Hm…”

“Infact, just forget about him.”

“Not after I threw a vinyl on his face and rushed out the store this morning!”

Harin whinses in return, “Poor guy.” You side eye her. “Not so poor guy!” 

You can only pray to the almighty that you don’t see him around again. You spent a good year not seeing him, you like to say to yourself. Feelings of distress and grief replace themselves as time goes on. Hurt turns to remorse and anger turns into melancholy. With the changing seasons and entering college, you decided to put your big-girl pants on and move on. 

Near the campus court yard, you and your friends chat on about recent drama as one does. You try to pay attention but the events of this morning weaver your thoughts away. 

“Are you even listening, Y/N?” one of your friends nudge your knee. 

“I am!”

“What did she say then?” You stare blankly before giving a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry… just have a lot going on in my mind right now.”

“Yeah, Harin told me about your kiss n’ dash boo.” You laugh at the nickname. 

“As i was saying, some new kids from Gwanju National University are transferring here. Mostly theatre, music and art kids.”

“Yeah! Ohemgee, did you see the ones in the band? I think they’re Junior years. So hot.”

Band? Since when did your school start caring about bands. 

“Y/N weren’t you super into bands in highschool?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Grew out of it. Not my thing anymore.” 

“Well it looks like it’s going to be again.” she wiggles her brows suggestively. 

You scowl confused. 

“Don’t look back but one of the guys from the band is standing there with his guitar and all and he’s been staring you down for the past 10 minutes. He just won’t stop looking!” 

“What?” You are ready to turn back but your other friend stops you. “Shush no!” 

“Isn’t that the Taesan guy?”

“Yeah I think so too, he’s the one the freshmen girls have been oogling over!” 

“WHAT!?” you stand up abruptly, your drink spilling down. You can feel other groups of people pause to stare at you. Your friends look at you with sheer confusion too. 

“Girl sit the fuck down, what’s up with you today.” Harin drags your arm down with her. 

“Did you just say… Taesan?” 

“Yeah… Han Taesan from GNU? Many music majors transferred here, including him. I’m surprised you don’t know this guy since he’s all everyone's talking about- him being so handsome and all.” 

You can’t believe your ears. 

With a shiver down your spine and a simple prayer to God that you hope it isn’t who you think it is, you turn down- craning your neck uncomfortably. There he is. 

Han Taesan. As everyone calls him here. Girls flocked near him, not daring to go too close but still close enough to ogle at him. He was only a few days here and already had a “fan club” established, much unbeknownst to him. 

He still wears those baggy clothes and that headphone swung around his neck. 

His hair is black again. You frown. He takes a step back when he notices you looking back at him. Sighing for the nth time that day, you drop your bags- not caring about your spilled drink or your surrounding peers. You don’t want to see him- just the mere thought of him brings you back to that day. The warmth, the kiss, the songs and how he just didn’t come back. 

You spent all these months mending the wound only for his presence to rip the bandaid open! You turn back, rushing down the stairs at the same speed you used to run to the

record store. 

“Y/N- W-where’ya going?”

“Just- I don’t wanna be here.”

“Is it because of Taesan?” 

You cringe. “That’s not even his name!”

Behind you, you feel foot steps approaching in a quick pace, slight huffing, and then a thud of something heavy falling. You eye the body of the guitar from your peripheral that was on the ground now. 

“Will you please stop ignoring me, Y/N?” a voice pleads from behind you. A voice you know all too well. Your eyes scattered, seeing a crowd form around you. You can hear the freshmen whisper, and the seniors look worried. A snap from a phone shakes you back as you face him angrily. Someone took a picture. 

“Listen, seeing you today morning was enough. Can you leave me alone? I don’t like this, okay? Not after what you did.” this part hits him deep. 

“Y/N- no-please- I- just hear me out once. Let me confide in you one last time.”

“...”

“Then I’ll go. I won’t bother you!” You feel foreign moisture swell up in your eyes, looking at Dongmin’s state. The same Dongmin who didn’t ever bother correcting people about him or what others thought about him. The same man now stood like a boy with desperate round eyes pleaded before you. 

“She played him… didn’t she?” a whisper emerges from the crowd around you two. 

“Yeah she always thought she’s better than everyone else anyway!” another anonymous voice spoke. You couldn’t tell who it was, the cluster of people hiding them away. The voices continued to rise, many voicing their opinions on a matter that did not even concern them. 

You could almost feel the teardrop fall down, you wanted to hold it in. 

“Fuck- Dongmin? See what you’ve done? Now I’m the next rumour…!” you yell at him. He looks even more dejected. 

“Dongmin? Who’s Dongmin…? 

“Y/N’s probably got a nickname for the new guy or something..”

“Was she always such a slut, though?” 

“Enough! You guys are crazy. I will not stand for someone treating Y/N like that.” His eyes grew darker. “Who do you even think you are?” he stares down at a particular girl in the crowd that you don’t know. 

Without wasting another second, he grabs your hand, pitifully dragging you away. Gasps emerge, yet you only look down, right where both hands meet. His fingers interlock with yours. 

He comes to an abrupt stop, cornering you in the area under a flight of stairs. 

“I was scared. Please. I was so scared. I had never been so vulnerable a-and when I kissed you back then, Y/N I swear I felt so crazy. My hands were going to burst- you made me feel so special. Then my dad called and he found out I wanted to pursue music- it was a mess… I couldn’t handle you breaking my heart too I just left and I’m so so sorry I left you I-”

You crash your lips onto his, whincing when it lands on his teeth instead, but you don't budge- you still press on. He deepens the kiss and closes his eyes. A teardrop falls and melts onto your cheek. You get deja vu. After a few seconds, he gently angles out of it, chest heaving. You look at him puzzled. “Just one sec” 

He reaches into his pocket to take out a cassette tape, it looked like it was straight out of the 90’s, a thin wired headphone attached to it. “Pfft. Where did you even get that thing?” 

You take the cassette in your hands, the date March 31st, 2024 scribbled on it with a sharpie. 

“I was gonna give it to you that day.”

He places the vintage-looking headphones over your head. You listen curiously as the tape starts playing. The lyrics have you smiling from ear to ear. 

 How pathetic

Yeah, I've got it bad

It's not like tomorrow I'll wake up as a brand new person

And to use my memories

To write another song

I just hate it more than dying

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧

a/n: UNEDITED BECAUSE I LIVE LIFE ON THE EDGE

okay im not a onedoor so this might be ass I'm sorry LMAO hope the taesan lovers like it

#oneurmaniloveyouaisheiterusaranghae

[driedposies]

If you climb into a saddle, be ready for a ride

Summary: You were never one for taking in strays, but when you discover a wounded man hiding in your barn... well, you've never rejected another helping hand.

Warnings: gun violence & the gore that comes with it, smut implications (18+), wild west period, robbery, sexual harassment, minor character death, small dose of angst (sorry, i had to)

Word Count: 12.1k

Song inspirations: "Short Change Hero" by The Heavy & "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac

Notes: I went to my very first rodeo, and I've been ✨ inspired ✨

Part I, Within the Whale's Underbelly

The land of Kansas, as you first knew it, was a tapestry woven with the gold of prairie grass and the deep umber of earth, stitched together by the ceaseless wind that howled like a lonesome coyote at dusk.

The sky stretched wide and unbroken, a bowl of blue so vast it threatened to swallow the world whole, and beneath it, the sun baked the land until it cracked and yawned, thirsty for rain that seldom came. This was the world into which you were born, a world both cruel and wondrous, where every sunrise brought with it the promise of hardship and the hope of survival.

Your earliest memories are painted in the hues of hardship. Your father, a man of sinew and grit, taught you the language of horses and the art of silence. He was not a man of many words, but his hands spoke volumes; callused and steady, they could gentle a wild stallion or mend a broken fence with equal care.

Yet even the strongest oak may fall to the axe of fate, and so it was that your father’s life was snuffed out over a neighbour’s claim to a stallion as black as midnight, his blood soaking into the Kansas soil as if to nourish the land with his sacrifice.

After his death, your mother and you became shadows slipping through the tall grass, your hearts heavy with grief, and your eyes wary of every stranger. You left behind the only home you had ever known, your footsteps muffled by sorrow as you both made your way to Hays, a fledgling town born of ambition and desperation, its streets little more than muddy veins pulsing with the lifeblood of pioneers and outcasts.

Hays was a place where hope and despair clashed together in the dust. The town rose from the prairie like a mirage, its wooden buildings standing stubborn against the wind, their facades painted in the faded colours of dreams long since surrendered.

Saloons and brothels flourished like wildflowers after a spring rain, their doors swinging open to welcome miners, drifters, and men with the haunted eyes of those who had seen too much. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, whiskey, and gunpowder; a perfume as intoxicating as it was dangerous.

Your mother, ever resourceful, set her sights on the business of horse propagation. She was a woman of iron will and gentle touch, able to coax life from the most reluctant of mares. But the world was not kind to women alone, and so you were pressed into service as soon as you could reach the counter and pour a shot of whiskey without spilling a drop. The saloon became your second home, its smoky haze and raucous laughter a constant backdrop to your days and nights.

The men who frequented the saloon were as varied as the stars scattered across the Kansas sky. Some came seeking solace at the bottom of a glass, their faces etched with the lines of a thousand disappointments.

Others came to gamble away their meagre earnings, their eyes glinting with desperation and hope. There were men with hands stained black from the coal mines, men with silver-tipped canes and gold teeth, and men whose names were whispered only in the shadows, for fear of drawing their attention.

Marriage was a distant dream, a luxury for those with time and means to court. Suitors came and went—a coal miner with a heart as heavy as the stones he hauled, a saloon owner with a tongue as slick as an oil lamp, a wanted man whose smile was as sharp as the blade he kept hidden in his boot. But for nineteen years, your mother and you managed to keep food on the table and a roof over your heads, and in the Wild West, that was more than most could claim.

The arrival of the railroad changed everything. The iron serpent slithered its way through your young town, bringing with it a flood of new faces and fortunes. Goods arrived in wooden crates, stacked high and left unguarded, tempting even the most honest of men to consider a life of crime. The sound of the train’s whistle became a lullaby and a warning—a reminder that the world was changing, and not always for the better.

With prosperity came peril. Lawlessness flourished in the shadows, and the streets of Hays became a stage for violence and vice. It was not uncommon to hear the crack of gunfire echoing through the night, or to see bodies dragged from dry wells, their stories ended by greed or vengeance. You learned to keep your head down, to mind your own business, and to wave away trouble with a practised smile.

But fate, ever capricious, had other plans for you. In the year 1871, your world shifted once more. Your mother, worn thin by years of toil and heartache, passed away in her favourite chair, her hand still clutching the cup that had held her final comfort. The loss was a wound that would never fully heal, a hollow ache that echoed through the empty rooms of your home.

Left to fend for yourself, you traded three horses that year, unable to care for more than a handful of wild and unruly beasts. The money went to repairing the fence, a futile gesture, perhaps, but one that gave you purpose in the face of grief. The small spit of land, once alive with the sound of hooves and laughter, became a place of quiet solitude.

And then, as if guided by some unseen hand, Harriet entrusted her newborn daughter to your care. Harriet, who had once been your closest friend, revealed herself to be as insubstantial as a desert oasis. She sought escape with another man, leaving behind her child as if she were nothing more than an unwanted burden.

Em became your new salvation. She was a creature of light in a world grown dim, her golden curls and honey-brown eyes a daily reminder that beauty could still exist amidst the ruins. She clung to you with the fierce devotion of a child who has known too much loss, and you loved her as fiercely in return. She was more yours than Harriet’s, a gift you had never expected but could not imagine living without.

The years passed in a blur of hard work and quiet joys. Em grew strong and clever, her laughter ringing out across the fields like the song of a meadowlark. You taught her the ways of horses and the secrets of survival, preparing her for a world that would not be kind to a girl alone. You knew that one day, suitors would come knocking, drawn by her beauty and spirit, and you could already imagine shooing them off with a rifle to boot.

But happiness in the Wild was always fleeting, balanced on the edge of a knife. Trouble found you in the form of Luis Curry—a man whose name was spoken with equal parts fear and contempt. Luis was a creature of shadow and smoke, his eyes cold and calculating, his smile a mask for the rot beneath. He prided himself on his reputation as the best train robber in Kansas, a title earned through blood and betrayal.

Luis took an interest in you, circling like a vulture drawn to the scent of death. He saw in you a challenge, a woman who would not be easily broken or bought. His words were honeyed poison, his touch a threat disguised as a caress. You learned to watch for him in the corners of the saloon, his presence a dark cloud that threatened to blot out the sun.

Yet even as danger loomed, you refused to yield. The West had forged you in fire and sorrow, and you would not be cowed by the likes of Luis Curry. You kept your rifle close and your wits closer, determined to protect Em and the life you had built together.

The days stretched on, each one a battle against the forces that sought to drag you under. The wind whispered secrets through the cracks in the walls, and the stars watched over us with cold indifference. But in the quiet moments, when Em curled up beside you and the world seemed to pause, you found a measure of peace.

You forced yourself to remember your father’s lessons; the strength of silence, the power of patience. You remembered your mother’s resilience, her ability to carve out a life from the unforgiving land. And you remembered that even in the West, where life was cheap and death came swift, there was still room for love, for hope, and for the promise of a better tomorrow.

Part II, Eternity in an Hour

Dust motes danced in the shafts of dying light, swirling with each gust that barged through the batwing doors. The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat, old wood, and the lingering tang of spilled whiskey—a perfume as familiar to you as the lines on your own palm.

By late afternoon, the place began to fill with the regulars. Farmers with hands like gnarled roots, faces browned and cracked by sun and wind. Coal-streaked miners, boots caked with the black blood of the earth. 

Ranch hands, drovers, and drifters, each man bearing the day’s labour in his slouch and the dust on his hat. They’d shuffle in, boots thumping hollow against the plank floor, voices rumbling like distant thunder as they called for beer and company.

You worked the bar, sleeves rolled, arms moving in a rhythm as old as the land itself—pour, wipe, pour again. The kegs were warm, the beer flat, but nobody much minded; thirst in these parts was a beast that cared little for quality. Every so often, you’d glance down the bar to where Em sat perched on her stool, legs swinging, nose buried in the battered copy of Peter Parley’s Tales About America and Australia. She’d read it so many times the spine was near broken, but she never fussed, just turned the pages with a quiet patience that made your heart ache and swell all at once.

You caught yourself smiling, soft and secret, as you watched her. She was the one good thing you’d managed to keep safe in all this wild, ragged world.

A voice cut through your reverie, rough as gravel and twice as unwelcome. “What a pretty smile you’ve got, lamb.”

You looked up, cloth pausing mid-swipe. There he was, Luis Curry, leaning over the bar with that crooked grin, the scar on his lip twisting like a snake in the grass. His cattleman hat was tipped back, shadowing eyes that missed nothing, with a breath that smelled of tobacco and trouble.

You dropped your gaze, set your jaw, and scrubbed at a stubborn ring on the counter. “Can I get you somethin’, Curry?” You asked, keeping your tone flat as a dry creek bed.

Luis leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him, the edge of his voice curling around your ear. “Oh, I reckon I’d like a whole heap of things from you, darlin’. But two fingers’ll do for now.”

You didn’t rise to the bait. Just fetched a glass, poured him two fingers of whiskey—no more, no less—and slid it across the bar. He wrapped his hand around it, knuckles white and scarred, and watched you with that wolfish look, waiting for something you weren’t about to give.

After a long moment, he chuckled low and took his drink, sauntering off to a table in the corner. Your silence was answer enough, for now.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, glancing back at Em. She was still lost in her book, oblivious to the interaction. You prayed she’d stay that way, at least a little while longer.

Old William, the saloon owner, sidled up behind you, moving quietly as smoke. “Want me to run that snake off for good?” he rumbled, voice deep as a well. “Got a rifle out back. Ain’t too old to put the fear of God in him.”

You smiled, small and grateful. William was a bear of a man, broad-shouldered and sun-browned, with a stare that could freeze a rattler mid-strike. Folks said he’d once stared down a whole gang of Jayhawkers without so much as blinking. Even now, pushing fifty-odd years, he was a force to be reckoned with.

“No need, Will,” you replied, shaking your head. “I ain’t a woman to be trifled with, and he knows it.”

William grunted, lips twitching in approval. “That’s the truth, missy. Still, you holler if he tries anything. I’ll have his hide nailed to the barn door, see if I don’t.”

You laughed, the sound brittle but real. “Appreciate it, but Luis Curry don’t take kindly to threats. Best let sleeping dogs lie, for now.”

William nodded, but his eyes lingered on Curry, hard and watchful.

The saloon buzzed with the easy chaos of evening. Glasses clinked, dice rattled, and the piano man in the corner coaxed a tune from the battered keys, his fingers nimble and sure. Laughter rose and fell, punctuated by the occasional curse or shout. Outside, the wind carried the lowing of cattle and the distant whistle of the evening train.

A pair of ranch hands bellied up to the bar, hats in hand, faces red from sun and drink. “Evenin’, miss,” one drawled, voice thick with prairie dust. “Reckon we could trouble you for a coupla beers?”

“Comin’ right up, boys,” you replied, filling their mugs and sliding them across. “Y’all keepin’ outta mischief?”

The taller one grinned, showing a gap where a tooth used to be. “Ain’t no mischief left in this town since you started pourin’, ma’am. You scare it all off with that mean look.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “If only that were true, I’d be outta work by now.”

Em giggled from her stool, peeking over the top of her book. “Mama’s got the sharpest eyes in Kansas,” she piped up, pride shining in her voice.

“That she does, little miss,” the ranch hand agreed, tipping his hat to her. “You listen to your mama, now. She’ll keep you outta trouble.”

Em nodded solemnly, returning to her book.

The evening wore on, the saloon filling with the music of voices and the clatter of boots. You moved through it all like a ghost, hands steady, eyes alert. Every so often, you’d catch Luis watching you from his corner, his gaze heavy as a storm cloud. You ignored him, pouring drinks and swapping jokes with the regulars, but you could feel his attention like a brand on your skin.

At one point, a miner with coal-black hands stumbled up to the bar, slurring his words. “Miss, you got anythin’ stronger than this piss-water beer?”

You poured him a shot of rotgut whiskey, sliding it over. “This’ll put hair on your chest, Hank. Or burn it clean off, dependin’ on your constitution.”

He laughed, a rough bark. “You’re a peach, darlin’. If I were ten years younger, and a sight less ugly, I’d ask you to marry me.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “If you was ten years younger, I’d still say no.”

The bar erupted in laughter, the sound rolling through the room like thunder. Even William cracked a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

As the sky outside deepened to indigo, the mood in the saloon shifted. The laughter grew louder, the tempers shorter. A card game in the corner turned sour, voices rising.

“You callin’ me a cheat, you son of a—?”

“Easy, boys,” William warned, stepping from behind the bar with the slow, deliberate menace of a man who’d seen his share of trouble. “Ain’t no need for gunplay tonight. Take it outside, or leave it at the table.”

The men grumbled but settled, cowed by William’s presence.

Luis Curry, meanwhile, nursed his whiskey, eyes never leaving you. Finally, he rose and sauntered back to the bar, boots thudding slow and purposeful. He leaned in, voice low and lazy.

“Y’know, girl, you got a way about you. Tough as old leather, pretty as a prairie rose. I like that.”

You met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “You like a lotta things, Curry. Don’t mean you’re gonna get ‘em.”

He laughed, the sound sharp as broken glass. “Maybe not. But I ain’t one to give up easy.”

“Suit yourself. Just don’t mistake stubborn for smart.” You shrugged, pouring him another shot.

He downed the whiskey in one gulp, setting the glass down with a thunk. “You ever get tired of this place, you come find me. I could show you a world outside these dusty walls.”

You shook your head, lips curling in a half-smile. “The world’s plenty big right here, far as I’m concerned.”

He studied you for a moment, then tipped his hat. “Suit yourself, darlin’. But the wind’s always blowin’ somewhere new.”

With that, he turned and strode out, the doors flapping behind him. You watched him go, tension draining from your shoulders.

“You all right?” William sidled up again, voice low.

You nodded, glancing at Em. “Long as she’s safe, I’m just fine.”

He squeezed your shoulder, rough hand warm and reassuring. “You’re tougher than an old boot, girl. Don’t let nobody tell you different.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of the day finally settle in your bones. The saloon buzzed around you, alive with the wild, untamable spirit of the West. Outside, the stars began to prick the sky, cold and bright.

Em looked up from her book, eyes shining. “Mama, will you read to me tonight?”

You brushed a curl from her cheek. “Course I will, sugar. Soon after I give feed to the horses.”

She grinned, swinging her legs. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

The prairie night was a velvet shroud, stitched with the silver thread of a waxing moon. The last echoes of the saloon’s laughter faded behind you as you and Em made your way home, boots crunching over the hard-packed earth. The air was cool and sweet, carrying the scent of wild sage and the distant promise of rain, a rare blessing in these parts. 

Your small property sat at the edge of town, a modest clapboard house with a lean-to porch and a barn crouched behind it like a faithful old dog.

Em skipped ahead, her book clutched to her chest, curls bouncing in the moonlight. You watched her with a weary tenderness, letting her joy be your lantern through the gathering dark.

“Hurry on inside, Em,” you called, voice low but firm. “It’s late, and the coyotes’ll be yowlin’ soon enough.”

“Yes, mama!” She chirped, darting up the steps and through the door, the lamplight inside painting her silhouette gold for a heartbeat before she vanished. You listened for the click of the latch, the familiar rattle as she checked it twice, just like you’d taught her.

Turning away, you let your gaze drift to the barn. The horses would be restless, their bellies rumbling for the evening feed. You crossed the yard, boots silent in the grass, the night alive with the chorus of crickets and the far-off hoot of an owl.

The barn loomed ahead, its weathered boards silvered by distant firelight. You slipped inside, the familiar scent of hay, horse, and leather wrapping around you like an old shawl. The horses nickered softly, ears pricking as you moved down the row, murmuring their names; a litany of comfort for both them and yourself.

You reached for the pitchfork, muscles moving on memory, and began to toss hay into the stalls. The rhythmic scrape and toss, the soft thud of hay hitting the ground, the gentle snorts and shuffling hooves, it was a ritual as old as your grief, as steady as the rising sun.

But tonight, something was off. A prickle ran up your spine, the hairs at the nape of your neck standing alert. You paused, pitchfork in hand, and listened. At first, there was nothing but the usual barn sounds, the shifting of hooves, the creak of old wood. Then, beneath it all, a ragged breath, sharp and wet, like a saw biting through green wood.

You set the pitchfork aside, moving slow and careful toward the haystack at the far end of the barn. Your hand found the handle of the old revolver you kept tucked in your apron pocket, a habit born of necessity, not fear. You stepped around the pile, heart thumping, and there he was.

A man, half-buried in the hay, his clothes smeared with dust and blood. He looked up as you approached, eyes wild and bright in the moonlight. His hand went to his throat, where a makeshift bandage, torn from a once-white shirt, was stained dark and glistening. The wound was ugly, puckered and raw, the kind of hurt that spelled trouble.

He tried to sit up, but the effort made him gasp, his face twisting in pain. “Don’t shoot,” he rasped, voice barely more than a whisper. “Ain’t lookin’ for trouble, ma’am.”

You kept the revolver steady, jaw clenched. “You picked the wrong barn to bleed in, mister. Who are you?”

He coughed, wincing. “Name’s Cassian. Got myself in a mess, is all. Just needed a place to lay low for a spell.”

You studied him, weighing his words. He was maybe not much older than yourself, but the lines around his eyes spoke of hard roads and harder choices. His boots were worn, his coat patched and threadbare. The gunshot wound at his neck was ugly, but not fresh—he’d been running, and running hard.

“Who shot you?” you asked, voice flat as the prairie.

He hesitated, eyes flicking to the door. “Didn’t catch his name. Fella on the road, wanted what little I had. Guess he weren’t a good shot.”

You snorted, not bothering to hide your skepticism. “Folks don’t usually get shot in the neck by strangers for nothin’. You runnin’ from the law, Cassian?”

He shook his head, wincing again. “Ain’t no outlaw, ma’am. Just unlucky.”

You considered your options. You could send him packing, let the coyotes and the cold finish what the bullet started. Or you could let him stay, patch him up, and risk bringing trouble to your door. A risk you couldn’t afford, not with Em sleeping just yards away.

Cassian must’ve seen the calculation in your eyes, because he spoke again, voice raw and pleading. “Please, ma’am. I ain’t got nowhere else to go. Just need a night, maybe two. I’ll be gone by sunrise, swear it.”

You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a saddle on a green-broke colt. The West was no place for mercy, but you remembered the cold bite of loneliness, the way the world could turn its back on you and never look back.

You lowered the revolver, just a fraction. “If you so much as breathe wrong, I’ll put a finishing bullet in you myself. Understand?”

He nodded, relief washing over his face. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

You knelt beside him, inspecting the wound. The bandage was filthy, the edges of the cut angry and red. You’d seen enough injuries, on horses, on men, to know infection when you saw it.

“This’ll hurt,” you warned, pulling a rag from your apron and dousing it with whiskey from your flask.

He gritted his teeth as you pressed the cloth to his neck, the whiskey hissing on raw flesh. “Hellfire, woman, you tryin’ to kill me?”

You snorted, but not unkindly. “If I was, you’d know it. Hold still.”

He obeyed, jaw clenched, as you cleaned the wound and wrapped it with a fresh strip torn from your petticoat. When you finished, he sagged back against the hay, breath coming easier.

“Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse.

You stood, brushing straw from your skirt. “Don’t thank me yet. You bring trouble to my door, you’ll wish you’d bled out on the road.”

“Understood, ma’am.” He managed with a weak smile.

You turned to go, pausing at the door. “I’ll bring you some water. Don’t move.”

He nodded, eyes already drifting shut.

You stepped out into the night, the weight of your choice settling heavy on your shoulders. The prairie was silent, the stars cold and indifferent. You crossed the yard, glancing back at the barn, half-expecting to see a posse riding up, guns drawn. But there was nothing, just the wind and the endless sky.

Inside the house, Em was curled up on her cot, book clutched to her chest, eyes heavy with sleep.

“Mama?” she murmured, half-awake.

“I’m here, sugar,” you whispered, brushing a curl from her forehead. “Go on and lay back down. I’ll be right back.”

You fetched a tin cup and filled it with water from the pump, your mind racing. Who was Cassian, really? A drifter, a thief, a man running from something worse than the law? Or just another soul chewed up and spat out by the West?

You carried the water back to the barn, the revolver remaining tucked in your apron, just in case. Cassian was still where you’d left him, eyes closed, breath shallow but steady. You set the cup beside him, watching as he roused and drank, the water dribbling down his chin.

“Thank you,” he said again, voice stronger.

“Don’t thank me,” you repeated, softer this time. “Just rest. You can stay the night. But come morning, we’ll see what’s what.”

He nodded, settling back into the hay.

You lingered a moment, watching him. There was something about him, something familiar, maybe, or just the echo of your own hard luck reflected in his eyes. You turned away, closing the barn door behind you, and made your way back to the house.

Inside, the lamp flickered low, casting long shadows on the walls. Em was asleep, her breaths slow and even, unable to fight the sleep in favour of your reading. You sat beside her, smoothing the blanket over her small form, and let your thoughts wander.

The West was a wild, hungry thing, always looking to take more than it gave. You’d learned that lesson young, and you’d taught it to Em with every story, every warning, every night spent listening for trouble in the dark. But mercy was a rare and precious thing, and tonight, you’d chosen to offer it.

You sat in the quiet, listening to the night, the horses shifting in the barn, the wind sighing through the grass, the distant yip of a coyote. You wondered what tomorrow would bring, what new dangers or blessings might find their way to your door.

But for now, you had done what you could. You had chosen kindness, even when it cost you sleep and peace of mind.

The dawn crept over the Kansas prairie, slow and golden, brushing the world with a gentle hand. The sky was a pale wash of lavender and rose, the kind of morning that made even the hardest days seem possible. You woke to the familiar sounds of the house settling, the soft sigh of the wind through the cracks, and the distant nickering of horses eager for their feed.

Em was still asleep, tangled in her quilt, her hair a golden halo on the pillow. You paused a moment, watching her breathe, the peace on her face a balm to your tired soul. Then you slipped from the bed, pulling on your boots and shrugging into your work-worn dress. The day waited for no one, least of all a woman with mouths to feed and fences to mend.

You moved through the kitchen, lighting the stove and setting water to boil, the motions as familiar as breathing. The memory of last night lingered, a wounded stranger in your barn, the sharp tang of fear and the heavier weight of mercy. You wondered if he’d be gone, as promised, or if you’d find trouble waiting in the morning light.

You stepped out onto the porch, the boards creaking beneath your feet, and scanned the yard. The barn stood quiet, its weathered boards glowing in the sunrise. You could hear the horses, restless and hungry, and, fainter still, the sound of a man’s voice, low and soothing.

Curiosity prickled at your spine. You crossed the yard, boots crunching in the dew-wet grass, and pushed open the barn door.

Inside, the horses were already nosing at their feed troughs, the air thick with the sweet scent of hay and the warm musk of animals. And there, moving slowly but steadily, was Cassian. There was an evident pallor to his tanned skin, the bandage at his neck stark against his throat, but his hands were sure as he filled the troughs, murmuring to each horse in turn. At full height, he was the largest man you had ever seen.

You watched him a moment, arms folded, suspicion and gratitude warring in your chest.

He looked up, catching your gaze, and offered a crooked smile. “Mornin’, ma’am. Hope you don’t mind—I figured I’d get a jump on the chores. Least I can do, considerin’.”

You studied him, noting the stiffness in his movements, the way he favoured his left side. “You oughta be restin’, not workin’. That wound’s liable to open up again.”

He shrugged, scooping another forkful of hay. “Ain’t the first time I’ve been shot, and likely won’t be the last. I’m no good at sittin’ idle, ‘specially when there’s a debt to be paid.”

You snorted, unable to hide your amusement. “Debt, huh? You sound like a man with somethin’ to prove.”

He grinned, teeth flashing white in the dim light. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I just don’t like owing folks, ‘specially not folks with kind hearts and quick hands.”

You shook your head, but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Suit yourself. But if you keel over in my barn, I’ll have to haul you out to the well, and I ain’t got the back for it.”

Cassian laughed, a sound roughened by pain but genuine all the same. “Reckon I’ll try to spare you the trouble.”

You moved to the nearest stall, checking the water bucket and running your hand down the mare’s flank. The horses were calmer than usual, their eyes bright and curious as they watched Cassian work. Animals had a way of knowing a person’s true nature, and you trusted their judgment more than most men’s.

Cassian worked in silence for a while, his movements careful but competent. He handled the horses with a gentle touch, speaking to them in a voice low and steady. You found yourself relaxing, the tension in your shoulders easing as the barn filled with the quiet rhythm of morning chores.

When the last trough was filled and the stalls swept clean, Cassian leaned against the back stall, wiping sweat from his brow. “You got a fine herd here, ma’am. Strong stock. You raise ‘em yourself?”

You nodded, pride warming your chest. “My mama started the herd. I kept it goin’ after she passed. Ain’t much, but it’s honest work.”

He nodded, respect in his eyes. “Honest work’s hard to come by these days. Folks’ll do near anything for a dollar.”

You studied him, curiosity getting the better of you. “What about you, Cassian? What kind of work do you do?”

He hesitated, gaze dropping to the dirt floor. “Whatever needs doin’, I suppose. Been a hand on ranches, driven cattle, even tried my luck at the mines. Trouble seems to find me, no matter where I go.”

You considered that, weighing his words. The West was full of men running from something; past mistakes, lost loves, the law. You’d learned not to ask too many questions, not if you wanted to keep your own secrets safe.

A sudden commotion outside caught your attention, the sharp, panicked whinny of a horse, the crash of wood splintering. You exchanged a glance with Cassian, both of you moving toward the barn door in unspoken agreement.

The fence at the far end of the pasture had given way, a section sagging where the posts had rotted through. One of the younger colts had slipped through the gap, now prancing in the tall grass, tail high and eyes wild.

“Damn fool animal,” you muttered, grabbing a coil of rope from the wall. “That fence’s been threatenin’ to go for weeks.”

Cassian stepped up beside you, rolling his shoulders. “Let me help. Two sets of hands’ll get it done quicker.”

You hesitated, eyeing the bandage at his neck. “You sure you’re up for it?”

He flashed that crooked grin again. “I ain’t dead yet. Besides, I owe you.”

You relented, tossing him a pair of work gloves. “All right, but if you drop, I ain’t carryin’ you.”

He chuckled, slipping the gloves on. “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

Together, you crossed the pasture, the grass whispering around your boots. The colt danced away as you approached, tossing his head and snorting.

“Easy, boy,” Cassian called, his voice calm and steady. “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.”

You circled wide, rope in hand, moving slowly and deliberately. The colt eyed you warily, muscles bunched to bolt. You crouched, holding out your hand, murmuring soft nonsense the way your father once had.

Cassian moved to the flank of the colt, hands out, his presence quiet and unthreatening. The colt flicked an ear, torn between flight and curiosity.

“Now,” Cassian said, nodding to you.

You tossed the loop, catching the colt’s neck in one smooth motion. He reared, fighting the rope, but you held firm, muscles straining.

“Easy now,” Cassian called, moving in to steady the colt. Together, you soothed the animal, your voices blending in a low, steady hum.

After a tense moment, the colt settled, sides heaving. You led him back through the gap in the fence, Cassian following close behind.

“Good work,” you said, breathless.

Cassian grinned, sweat shining on his brow. “Teamwork, ma’am. Always works better.”

You tied the colt in the shade, turning your attention to the broken fence. The posts were rotten, the rails splintered and sagging.

“Gonna need new posts,” you muttered, eyeing the damage.

Cassian nodded, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll dig the holes, you cut the rails?”

You hesitated, but his determination was plain. “All right. But take it slow. That wound of yours ain’t healed.”

Cassian winked. “Yes, ma’am.”

You fetched the axe and saw, setting to work on the nearest fallen tree. The rhythm of chopping and sawing filled the air, the scent of fresh-cut wood mingling with the prairie breeze. Cassian dug the holes, muscles straining, sweat darkening his shirt. You worked in companionable silence, the only sounds the rasp of the saw, the thud of the post-hole digger, and the distant calls of meadowlarks.

When the new posts were set and the rails nailed in place, you stood back, surveying your handiwork. The fence was sturdy, and the gap was closed.

“Not bad,” you said, wiping your brow.

Cassian leaned on the fence, breathing hard but smiling. “Oughta hold, at least ‘til the next storm.”

You nodded, pride and relief mingling in your chest. “Thank you, Cassian. You didn’t have to—”

He cut you off, shaking his head. “I did. A debt’s a debt. Besides, I ain’t had honest work in a long time. Feels good.”

You studied him, seeing the truth in his eyes. The West had a way of grinding a man down, but it could also build him back up, if he let it.

The sun climbed higher, burning away the last of the morning chill. You led the colt back to the barn, Cassian trailing behind, his steps slow but steady.

Inside, Em was awake, watching from the porch with wide, curious eyes.

“Mama, who’s that?” she called, voice bright.

You smiled, waving her over. “Come say hello, Em. This is Cassian. He’s helpin’ out today.”

Em approached, shy but curious, her gaze flicking from you to Cassian and back. “Did you get hurt?” she asked, pointing to the bandage at his neck.

Cassian crouched to Em’s height, offering a gentle smile. “I did, little miss. But your mama patched me up right as rain.”

Em beamed, clearly pleased. “Mama’s good at fixin’ things. She fixed my doll, too.”

Cassian laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I can see that.”

You ruffled Em’s hair. “Go on inside, sugar. I’ll be in soon.”

Em nodded, skipping back to the house, book clutched to her chest.

You turned to Cassian, gratitude softening your features. “You hungry? I got some beans on the stove, maybe a bit of bacon if you’re lucky.”

Cassian grinned, rubbing his stomach. “I’d be much obliged, ma’am. Been a while since I had a real meal.”

You led the way inside, the warmth of the kitchen wrapping around you like a blanket. You ladled beans into bowls, slicing bacon and setting out bread. Cassian ate with the hunger of a man who hadn’t seen a meal in days, pausing only to thank you between bites.

Em watched him with wide eyes, clearly fascinated. “Where you from, mister?”

Cassian swallowed, considering. “All over, I suppose. Texas, mostly. But I like it here. Feels…honest.”

Em nodded, satisfied. “Mama says Kansas is the best place in the world.”

You smiled, ruffling her hair. “That’s ‘cause it’s home, sugar.”

Cassian finished his meal, pushing the bowl away with a sigh of contentment. “Thank you, ma’am. That was the best breakfast I’ve had in years.”

You shrugged, trying to hide your pleasure. “Just beans and bacon. Nothin’ special.”

He shook his head, eyes serious. “It is to me.”

The day stretched ahead, full of chores and small comforts. Cassian insisted on helping, mending tack and hauling water, his movements growing easier as the hours passed. You found yourself grateful for the company, the easy camaraderie that grew between you.

As the sun dipped low, painting the world in gold and shadow, you sat on the porch with Em and Cassian, watching the prairie come alive with the songs of crickets and the distant call of a whippoorwill.

The night settled around you, soft and peaceful. Quiet enough to make you realise your new predicament.

"You said you ain't got nowhere else to go," you start, staring down at Em's soft expression. You're only reminded how strung thin you are. "You seem to know horses pretty well. And... well, I hardly got the time to always be lookin' after them, let alone tame them into something rideable."

Cassian was watching you now, waiting for you to lay down your offer.

"Til' that wound of yours has healed over, I'll let you stay in my barn and have a plate at my table in return for your work," you state, firm, nothing else you're willing to give than that.

"Well," Cassian starts, a grin pulling at his stubbled cheeks. "I ain't never one to turn down such an honest offer of work."

Part III, One Life with so much Consequence

Hays stretched endlessly under a sky bruised purple with twilight, the air thick with the scent of sage and impending rain. Cassian’s silhouette cut a sharp line against the horizon as he mended the corral fence, his movements steady but guarded.

You watched him from the porch, Em’s voice drifting through the open window as she practised writing her letters. The rhythm of your life had shifted these past weeks, a stranger’s presence now as familiar as the creak of the windmill.

Even after Cassian had long ditched the linen that wrapped around his neck, you’ve grown to have little intention of reminding him of his impending leave, marked by the healing of his wound. And by his returning silence, it seemed he shared your similar sentiments too. 

Part IV, No Place to Call Home

The night pressed close, thick as molasses and twice as heavy, the hush broken only by the restless sigh of wind through the cottonwoods and the distant, lonesome wail of a coyote. The barn was a shadowed cathedral, beams arching overhead like the ribs of some ancient beast, and Cassian sat hunched in the straw, sweat slicking his brow, the rusted spur gripped in his fist as though it might anchor him to this world and not the one that haunted his sleep.

You stood in the doorway, lantern trembling in your hand, the golden light trembling across his haunted face. “Cassian?” you called, voice softer than a moth’s wing.

Cassian jerked, wild-eyed, the whites showing stark in the gloom, but then his gaze found yours and the storm in him ebbed, just a mite. “Just dreams, darlin’,” he rasped, voice gravelled and raw as a dry creek bed. “Ain’t nothin’ but ghosts gnawin’ at my bones.”

You stepped closer, the straw crunching under your boots. “Ain’t never nothin’ when it comes to dreams like that,” you said, kneeling beside him. “You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head, jaw clenched tight as a trap. “Ain’t fit for decent company, what’s in my head.”

You reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, then let out a breath, the tension bleeding from him slow as sap from a wounded tree. “Ain’t no shame in carryin’ scars,” you murmured. “World’s full of folks actin’ like they ain’t never been cut.”

He managed a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “You got a way with words, I’ll give you that.”

You squeezed his shoulder, then stood, the lantern light flickering between you. “Come on. Air’s cool out, and the stars’re worth seein’.”

Cassian followed you out to the porch, the night wrapping around you both like an old quilt. He lit a cigarette, the ember flaring in the dark, and you sat beside him, listening to the hush between your heartbeats.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The prairie stretched endless and black, the sky a river of diamonds overhead.

Then, out of nowhere, Cassian’s voice broke the silence, rough and uncertain. “You ever regret choices you made?”

You turned, the moonlight painting his scar in silver, the lines of his face etched deep by sorrow and time. “Every day,” you answered, honest as the dawn. “But regret don’t feed horses, nor get tips pourin’ whiskey. All you can do is keep movin’, one foot in front of the other.”

Cassian huffed a laugh, bitter as burnt coffee. “No. It don’t. But sometimes it feels like the past’s got claws, draggin’ me back every time I think I’m free.”

You watched the smoke curl from his lips, drifting up to join the stars. “Ain’t a soul out here don’t know what it is to be hunted by their own mistakes, Cassian. But you’re here now. That’s somethin’.”

He looked at you, eyes shadowed but searching. “You ever think about runnin’? Leavin’ all this behind?”

You shook your head, the wind tugging at your hair. “Ain’t nowhere else for me. Kansas dirt’s in my blood. Besides, I got Em to think of. She’s my whole world.”

He nodded, silent for a spell, then said, “You’re braver than most. Braver’n me, that’s for damn sure.”

You snorted, a smile tugging at your lips. “Ain’t bravery, Cassian. Just stubbornness. World keeps knockin’ me down, I just get up meaner.”

He grinned, the first true smile you’d seen from him in days. “Mean suits you, darlin’. World could use more women like you.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Careful, or I’ll start thinkin’ you’re sweet on me.”

He flicked his cigarette into the yard, the ember winking out. “Maybe I am,” he said, voice low as thunder. “Ain’t had much to believe in, not for a long while. But you… you make a man wish he was better.”

You felt your cheeks burn, but you held his gaze. “We’re all just tryin’ to be better, Cassian. Some days, that’s all we got.”

He reached for your hand, rough and calloused, and you let him, the warmth of his skin grounding you both. The night stretched on, the two of you side by side, sharing the silence and the scars, the wind carrying your secrets out into the wild, wild dark.

The truth came on a Tuesday, the sky a bleached bone-white, heat rippling off the prairie like a curse. You’d sent Cassian to town for nails, and he’d returned quiet as a shadow, his eyes avoiding yours like a sinner dodging the pulpit. The sack of supplies sat heavy on the kitchen table, and there, nestled between hammerheads and coils of wire, was the Dodge City Times—its ink smudged, its edges frayed, its headline screaming like a bullet through glass:

“WANTED: Cassian – Bounty Hunter Turned Traitor?”

The sketch beneath was crude, all harsh lines and shadow, but the eyes, those hard, haunted eyes, were his. The article spat venom, each word a barb: Cassian, once a respected bounty hunter, implicated in the robbery of the Santa Fe payroll. Suspected of collusion with the Red Canyon Gang. Armed and dangerous. Reward: $500 dead or alive.

Your hands trembled, the paper crinkling like dried leaves. Outside, Em’s laughter floated through the open window, sweet and bright as a meadowlark’s song. The sound sharpened your fear into something jagged, something that clawed up your throat.

You found him in the barn, brushing down the chestnut mare with slow, deliberate strokes. Dust hung in the shafts of sunlight, and the air smelled of hay and horse sweat and the faint tang of gun oil. Cassian hummed low under his breath, a tune you didn’t recognise—something mournful, something old.

“You lied,” you said, voice colder than a winter creek.

The brush stilled. Cassian turned, slow as a rattler coiling, and his smile died when he saw your face. “I didn’t—”

“Bounty hunter. Traitor. Criminal.” You flung the paper at him, the page fluttering like a wounded bird. “You brought your war to my door!”

Cassian caught the paper midair, his gaze skimming the words. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped—you saw the raw, flayed thing beneath, the man who’d been hunted longer than he’d been free. Then his jaw tightened, and he crumpled the paper in his fist. “It ain’t like that. The Red Canyon Gang set me up. I was trackin’ ’em, but they turned the law against me. That bullet in my neck?” He jerked his collar down, revealing the puckered scar. “Came from a sheriff’s gun, not some two-bit outlaw.”

Em’s laughter rang out again, closer now. She darted past the barn door, chasing a barn cat with a ribbon of sunlight in her hair. Your heart squeezed. “Get out,” you hissed, stepping closer, your voice a blade. “Before trouble follows you here. Before they come for her.”

Cassian flinched, hat crumpled in his hands, his knuckles white. “I’ll go. But know this,” he met your gaze, his eyes burning like coals in the dim. “I’d sooner die than let harm come to you or that girl.”

You followed Cassian to the porch, the sun hammering down like a blacksmith’s fist. He slung his saddlebags over his shoulder, his movements stiff, his back to you. The wind carried the creak of the windmill and the distant lowing of cattle.

“You think I wanted this?” he said suddenly, voice rough as a saw blade. “You think I woke up one day and said, ‘Hell, I’ll be a wanted man’? They took everything. My name. My reputation. My—.” He broke off, throat working.

You crossed your arms, the wood of the porch rail biting into your palms. “And that gives you the right to drag your mess into my life? Into hers?”

Cassian turned, his face a map of old pain. “Ain’t about rights. It’s about survival. You of all folks oughta understand that.”

The words hit like a slap. You thought of your father’s blood staining Kansas dirt, of your mother’s hands, cracked and bleeding as she gentled wild horses. Of nights spent listening for the click of a lock, the creak of a floorboard.

“Survival ain’t the same as trust,” you said, quieter now.

He stepped closer, the scent of leather and sage sharp in your nose. “You think I don’t know what I am? What they say about me? I’ve seen the way folks look at a man with a price on his head—like he’s rabid, like he’s already dead.” His hand hovered near yours, not touching. “But you… you looked at me like I was whole.”

Cassian mounted his horse, a rangy bay with eyes as wary as his own. The prairie stretched behind him, endless and indifferent.

“They’ll come,” you said, voice fraying. “The law. The gang. They always do.”

Cassian adjusted his hat, shadowing his face. “Let ’em come. I’ll lead ’em so far from here, they’ll never know this town existed.”

Em appeared at the corner of the house, her cheeks pink, hands full of dandelions. “Mister Cass! Look what I found!”

Cassian’s breath caught. For a moment, you saw the man he might’ve been, the one who could’ve knelt in the grass and named each flower with her. 

Then he nudged the bay forward, tipping his hat. “Keep your rifle close, darlin’.”

You watched Cassian ride out, dust rising in his wake, until he was nothing but a speck on the horizon. Em tugged your skirt, her voice small. “Where’s he goin’, mama?”

You knelt, brushing a curl from her face. “Where the wind takes him, sugar.”

But the wind, you knew, was a fickle thing. And the West had a way of circling back.

Part V, Crowded in the Absence

The heat that day was a living thing, coiled in the saloon’s shadows like a rattler ready to strike. Sunlight sliced through the gaps in the storeroom’s warped planks, painting Luis Curry’s face in jagged stripes as he crowded you against the shelves. His breath reeked of rotgut and decay, a sour cloud that made your eyes water. Barrels of pickled eggs and sacks of flour pressed into your back, their familiar scents drowned by the stench of his intent.

This was always going to happen, you think. A man with such pride never takes silence for an answer.

“Been waitin’ for this,” Luis slurred, his words thick as tar. A drop of sweat slid down his temple, cutting through the grime on his skin. His fingers, calloused and dirt-caked, brushed your waist. “Ain’t no one to play hero now. Just you ’n’ me, darlin’.”

Your hand closed around the neck of a whiskey bottle behind you, glass slick with condensation. “Touch me,” you said, voice low as a blade being drawn, “and I’ll split your skull like a melon at a harvest fair.”

Luis barked a laugh, the sound echoing off the jars of preserves. “Feisty. I like—.” His grip tightened on your wrist, yanking you forward.

The door exploded inward in a burst of splinters and sunlight.

Cassian stood framed in the wreckage, revolver steady in his hand, his silhouette sharp enough to cut glass. The light haloed him, dust motes swirling like gold dust around his boots. “Let. Her. Go.” Each word was a bullet chambered, his drawl colder than a Colorado winter.

Cassian’s face was enough to shock the fear of God out of you, like he were a ghost come back to life. 

Luis’s sneer twisted the scar on his lip into a serpent’s grin. “Or what, Cassian? You ain’t nothin’ but a washed-up bounty hunter with more bark than bite.” His thumb dug into your pulse point, a mockery of a caress. “Hell, I heard the Red Canyon Gang’s still laughin’ ’bout how you tucked tail and—”

A whiskey bottle connected with his temple in a shower of glass and amber liquid. Luis crumpled like a puppet with its strings slashed, his grip falling slack. You staggered back, shards crunching underfoot, the tang of spilled whiskey sharp in the air.

Cassian was on him before Luis hit the floor, a knee planted on his chest, revolver pressed to the soft hollow beneath his jaw. “You look at her again,” Cassian growled, the sound reverberating deep in his throat, “breathe her air, think her name, I’ll bury you so deep even the crows’ll starve tryin’ to find you.”

Luis wheezed, blood and whiskey matting his hair. “You’re… dead… Cassian,” he spat. “Law’s coming. Heard ’em in Dodge City… sniffin’ your trail.”

Cassian’s thumb cocked the hammer. “Let ’em come. I’ll save ’em a bullet with your name on it.”

The saloon’s piano music stuttered outside, patrons oblivious to the scuffle in the storeroom. You pressed a hand to your racing heart, the other still clutching the bottle’s jagged remains. “Cassian,” you breathed. Not a plea—a lifeline.

He glanced at you, his gaze softening for a heartbeat before hardening again. “Fetch the sheriff,” he said, voice rough. “This gutter snake’s got a date with a cell.”

You hesitated, your boots rooted to the floorboards. “He’s right, ain’t he? The law’s coming. For you.”

Cassian stood, dragging Luis up by his collar. The man sagged, half-conscious. “Ain’t the first time,” he muttered. He met your eyes, the storm in his own momentarily still. “Go on. I’ll handle this.”

You fled, the taste of copper on your tongue. The saloon’s main room blurred, faces of regulars, the glint of shot glasses, Old William’s brow furrowed as you flew past. The sunlight outside was blinding, the street a blur of dust and distant shouts.

By the time you returned with Sheriff Hayes, Cassian was gone. Only Luis remained, slumped in the corner, wrists bound with baling twine, a bloodied bandana stuffed in his mouth. The sheriff spat tobacco onto the floor. “That Cassian boy do this?”

You nodded, your voice trapped somewhere beneath your ribs.

Hayes chuckled, hoisting Luis up. “Reckon he saved me the trouble. Red Canyon’s put a bounty on this one’s head, too.” He tipped his hat. “You tell that boy… I ain’t forgettin’ what he did here. But the law’s the law.”

That night, you found Cassian on your porch like he belonged there, his profile etched against the indigo sky. The scent of sagebrush and gunpowder clung to him.

“You didn’t have to run,” you said, leaning against the rail.

Cassian didn’t turn. “Ain’t your trouble to bear.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the cry of a nighthawk.

“Why’d you come back?” you asked, the question hanging like smoke.

Cassian finally looked at you, his eyes reflecting the stars. “Told you I would. Ain’t a man who breaks his word.” A beat. “The Red Canyon Gang’s comin’. They’re plannin’ to hit the railroad shipment Friday.”

Your breath caught. “And you aim to stop ’em.”

“Aim to try.” Cassian stood. “But I need you to take Em and ride north. Just ’til it’s over.”

The fear surged; sharp, familiar. But beneath it, something warmer flickered. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

Cassian moved towards you, towering over you, his scent of leather and gunpowder dizzying. “Maybe. But I’d rather die clean than live like a ghost.”

Your hand found his, calluses grinding. “Then we fight this together.”

Somewhere, a coyote yipped. The wind carried the promise of rain and the faint rumble of thunder.

The days that followed were a fragile truce, uncertain and strained like a taught fiddle string. Cassian’s presence was a shadow at your heel, steady and sure, yet never quite within reach. He moved through your world with the quiet grace of a man who’d spent too long watching his own back, but in the golden hours between chores and dusk, you caught glimpses of something softer beneath the grit.

He taught you to shoot, and not just for show. 

“Ain’t no sense in pointin’ iron if you ain’t ready to use it,” he said, voice low as thunder rolling on the horizon. He’d stand behind you in the pasture, the scent of gun oil and grass thick in the air, his hands guiding yours. His palm settled on your shoulder, steadying your aim, and the heat of his touch burned through your dress like wildfire.

“Keep your elbow up, darlin’,” he’d murmur, his breath grazing your ear, “and don’t blink. World don’t wait for blinkers.”

You squeezed the trigger, the Colt bucking in your grip. The tin can atop the fencepost spun off into the grass, and Cassian’s laughter—warm, surprised—rippled over you.

“Well, I’ll be. You got a mean streak when you want it.” His eyes crinkled, the harsh lines of his face softened by pride. “Remind me not to cross you come supper.”

You tried to hide your smile, but it bloomed anyway, wild and bright as a prairie rose.

At night, Em would chatter at the supper table, her voice a river of stories and questions, while Cassian whittled a scrap of pine into a horse. His hands, so sure with a pistol, were gentle with the knife, and you watched the shape emerge, a proud little steed with a flowing mane and a crooked mouth. He handed it to Em with a wink, and she clutched it to her chest like treasure.

“Thank you, Mister Cass!” she beamed, and he ducked his head, a flush creeping up beneath his tan.

“Just a bit o’ nothin’, little miss. But every cowgirl needs a trusty mount.”

You watched them, something aching in your chest, a longing for a life you’d never dared to dream.

The evenings grew heavy with the scent of rain and the promise of summer. One night, as you scrubbed the supper dishes, Cassian’s reflection swam up in the window, ghostly in the lamplight. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

“You’re a hard woman to figure,” he said, voice soft as a lullaby and twice as dangerous.

You didn’t turn, scrubbing at a stubborn bit of gravy. “And you’re a fool to try.”

He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. “Maybe I like fools’ errands. Gives a man somethin’ worth failin’ for.”

His breath warmed the back of your neck, and your hands stilled in the soapy water. The bowl slipped from your grasp, splashing in the sink with a sharp, final note. You flinched, heart thundering, and he reached for you, fingers brushing your arm.

You jerked away, the memory of his touch searing your skin. “This ain’t… I can’t—” The words tangled in your throat, thick with fear and longing.

He held up his hands, palms open, voice gentled. “I know. I ain’t askin’ for what you can’t give. But when this is over…” He let the promise hang between you, heavy and bright as a lantern in the dark.

You fled, the screen door banging behind you, the night air sharp in your lungs. The barn loomed ahead, sanctuary and prison all at once. You pressed your forehead to the rough wood, breath coming fast, the echo of his words chasing you through the shadows.

Inside, the horses shifted in their stalls, their soft nickers a comfort. You buried your face in the mane of your old mare, the familiar scent of hay and sweat grounding you.

“Fool woman,” you whispered, stroking the horse’s neck. “Ain’t no sense wantin’ what you can’t keep.”

The wind rattled the eaves, and somewhere out in the dark, a coyote called, a wild, lonely sound that made your heart ache. You thought of Cassian’s hands, steady and warm, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world.

You stayed there until the moon climbed high, silvering the prairie and painting your troubles in softer light. When you finally slipped back to the house, Em was asleep, clutching her wooden horse, and Cassian’s boots were by the door, a silent testimony to the man waiting for a tomorrow you weren’t sure you could promise.

But as you lay in the hush of your little house, the memory of his touch lingered, hope and warning, sweet as honey and sharp as whiskey. And you wondered, not for the first time, if maybe, just maybe, there was room in this wild, unforgiving land for a second chance.

You slipped through the door, boots silent on the worn floorboards, the hush of midnight pressed close about your shoulders. The lamplight in the kitchen cast long shadows, pooling gold across the battered table. There, as if conjured by longing itself, sat Cassian, hat in his hands, elbows braced wide, head bowed as though in prayer. The muscles in his forearms flexed beneath sun-browned skin, and the lamplight caught the gold in his curled hair, turning him half-myth, half-man.

He didn’t look up when you entered, but you felt the pull of him all the same, a gravity as sure as the moon’s. You hovered in the doorway, heart tripping, the silence between you thick with all the things unsaid.

Cassian finally glanced up when the wood beneath your foot waned. You met his gaze, throat too tight for words. You crossed the room, each step slow, deliberate. The air between you shimmered, charged with something wild and dangerous.

He watched you move with eyes that had your heart skidding like a stone over a lake, the colour of sunshine and whiskey, rimmed in weariness and want. “You look like you've seen a ghost, darlin’.”

You managed a crooked smile, nerves jangling. “Maybe I have. Or maybe I just seen a man too stubborn to quit waitin’.”

Cassian huffed a laugh, the sound soft, almost reverent. “Ain’t nothin’ else worth waitin’ for in this world.”

You stood at the edge of the table, hands twisting in your skirt. The hush stretched, taut as a wire. Cassian watched you, every muscle in his body drawn tight, like a wolf scenting blood.

Finally, you spoke, voice barely more than a whisper. “You meant what you said?”

Cassian nodded, slow and sure. “Ain’t never been one to say what I don’t mean. Not to you.”

Your hands trembled, so you pressed them flat to the table, anchoring yourself. “I’m scared, Cassian. Scared of what I want. Scared of losin’ it, too.”

He pushed his chair back, the scrape loud in the hush, and stood. “Ain’t no shame in bein’ scared. World’s a mean place. But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without.”

He crossed the space between you in three strides, boots scuffing on the boards. He stopped just shy of touching you, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes searching your face like a map to salvation.

“Tell me to go,” he said, voice raw, “and I’ll walk out that door, never look back. But if you want me to stay—if you want me, even a little—just say the word.”

You looked up at him, the ache in your chest blooming into something fierce and bright. “Stay,” you whispered, full of conviction.

He reached for you then, hands gentle but sure, rough palms cupping your cheeks. His thumbs brushed away the tears you didn’t know you’d started to shed. “You sure, darlin’? Ain’t no goin’ back from this.”

You nodded, breathless. “I ain’t never been more sure of nothin’.”

Cassian’s mouth found yours, slow and searching at first, as though he feared you might vanish if he pressed too hard. But you met him, hungry and desperate, pouring all your longing and loneliness into the kiss. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, and you melted into his heat, the world narrowing to the space between your bodies.

He tasted of whiskey and smoke, of promise and regret. His hands slid down your back, tracing the curve of your spine, anchoring you to the earth. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, needing more.

Cassian broke the kiss, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “You’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart.”

You smiled, wild and reckless. “Maybe I wanna burn.”

He laughed, a sound torn from deep in his chest, and kissed you again, harder this time, all teeth and tongue and need. You clung to him, the two of you swaying, lost in the storm you’d both tried so long to deny.

He lifted you, easy as breathing, and set you atop the table, dishes clattering aside. His hands found your waist, thumbs tracing circles through the thin cotton of your dress. You arched into him, gasping as his mouth trailed down your throat, teeth grazing your pulse.

“Goddamn, woman,” he growled, voice thick with want. “You got no idea what you do to me.”

You fist your hands in his shirt, pulling him closer. “Show me, then. I ain’t made of glass.”

Cassian grinned, wicked and soft all at once. “That so? Reckon I’ll take you at your word.” He kissed you again, slower now, savouring every inch of you. His hands roamed, reverent and rough, mapping the planes of your body as if memorising you for the hard days ahead. You shivered beneath his touch, every nerve alight.

Cassian murmured your name, a prayer and a promise, and you answered with a gasp, your own hands hungry and bold. You tugged his shirt free, fingers splaying across the hard muscle of his back, feeling the scars beneath your palms. He pressed you down, the table cool against your back, his body a shield against the world’s cruelties. He worshipped you with his mouth, his hands, every inch of him singing with need. You gave yourself to him, fierce and unafraid, the two of you tangled in the golden lamplight, the night wind singing at the window.

Part VI, By love, With love, In love, For love

The night had been restless, the air thick with the scent of sage and the uneasy hush that settles before calamity. The Kansas grass, silvered by moonlight, whispered secrets to the wind, and every creak of the old homestead seemed a warning. When dawn finally bled across the horizon, it brought no comfort, only the silhouettes of ten riders, their horses frothing and wild-eyed, their faces shrouded in dust and bandanas, as if the very land itself had conjured them from shadow and vengeance.

Cassian stood by the split-rail fence, boots planted in the churned mud, your Winchester cradled in his arms. His silhouette was etched against the pale fire of morning, broad-shouldered and unyielding, a lone sentinel before the tide. The riders fanned out, horses snorting, breath pluming in the chill. Their leader, a man with eyes like flint and a voice rough as gravel, reined up close, the iron of his revolver glinting in the half-light.

“Last chance, Cassian!” The gang leader barked, his words slicing the hush. “Hand over the woman’s deeds, and we’ll make it quick.”

Cassian spat into the dirt, the gesture defiant. “You’ll get nothin’ but lead, you snake-bellied bastard.”

A hush hung, thick as molasses, before the world exploded.

The leader’s pistol barked, sharp and merciless. Cassian staggered, a crimson bloom spreading across his shirt, but he did not fall. Instead, he dropped to one knee, teeth gritted, eyes blazing. 

You screamed, the sound torn from your throat, and fired from the porch, the Winchester’s report echoing across the yard. The shot went wide, splintering the fence. The gang surged forward, a pack of wolves scenting blood.

You worked the lever, heart pounding, but the hammer fell on an empty chamber. Click. The sound was a death knell. One of the riders, a brute with a scar twisting his cheek, vaulted from his saddle, knife flashing. He loomed over you, shadow long and cold, the blade raised for the kill.

Then Cassian was there, moving with the desperate strength of cornered prey. He tackled the man, both of them crashing to the ground. Blood soaked Cassian’s shirt, but his fists were iron, his resolve unbroken.

You dropped the empty rifle, hands scrambling for anything, anything to fight with. Your fingers closed around the handle of a pitchfork, its tines rusted but sharp. As another outlaw lunged for the porch, you drove the pitchfork into his thigh. He howled, crumpling, and you wrenched the weapon free, the taste of fear and fury bitter on your tongue.

Inside the house, Em’s wail split the air, a sound of pure terror. Through the open door, you saw her, small and wild-eyed, as a bandit seized her by the arm and dragged her toward the yard.

“NO!” Cassian roared, his voice raw and ragged. He lurched to his feet, revolver in hand, and fired. The bandit fell, dropping Em, who scrambled free and ran to you, her arms flung around your waist, sobs wracking her tiny frame.

The remaining outlaws, seeing their leader dead and their numbers dwindling, broke. They turned tail, spurring their horses, leaving behind two of their own sprawled in the dust and the scent of gunpowder thick in the morning air.

Cassian staggered to the well, collapsing against the stones, his face ashen. You knelt beside him, pressing your frayed skirts to his wound, hands trembling.

“You idiot,” you choked, tears streaking your cheeks. “You stubborn, reckless—”

Cassian caught your face in his bloody hand, thumb smearing crimson across your cheek. “Worth it… to see you… fight like hell.”

You kissed him then, salt and iron mingling on your lips, the taste of survival and love and loss. Cassian smiled against your mouth, breath shallow.

“Knew you’d come around,” Cassian murmured, his voice a rasp, but his eyes bright.

The wind carried the scent of blood and gunpowder, the sun climbing higher, indifferent to the carnage below. You pressed your forehead to Cassian’s, your breath mingling with his.

“Damn you, Cassian,” you whispered, voice thick with tears. “Ain’t no sense in dyin’ for a fool’s cause.”

“Ain’t no sense in livin’ if you ain’t got somethin’ worth dyin’ for, darlin’.” Cassian grinned, teeth stained red.

Em clung to your skirts, her small hands shaking. “Mama, is it over? Are the bad men gone?”

You gathered her close, voice gentle. “They’re gone, sugar. Ain’t no one gonna hurt you now.”

Cassian coughed, blood flecking his lips. “Reckon I’ll need a new shirt,” he drawled, trying for levity.

You snorted, tears and laughter tangled. “Reckon you’ll need a new everything, you mule-headed fool.”

Cassian squeezed your hand, eyes soft. “Long as I got you, reckon I’ll make do.”

The sun rose higher, painting the world in gold and crimson. The bodies of the fallen lay still, the silence broken only by the soft sobs of a child and the laboured breaths of a man who had given everything for love.

As the day stretched on, you and Em tended Cassian’s wound, binding it as best you could with trembling hands and whispered prayers. The land, scarred and bloodied, seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see if you would endure.

Cassian drifted in and out of consciousness, his hand never leaving yours. Each time his eyes fluttered open, he smiled, stubborn and sweet.

“Don’t you go leavin’ me, you hear?” you whispered, fierce.

He chuckled, weak but unbroken. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’. Got too much hell left to raise with you.”

The breeze sang through the grass, a mournful, hopeful tune. The homestead stood battered but unbowed, a testament to the grit and stubbornness of those who called it home.

When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fire and ash, you stood on the porch, Cassian’s arm around your shoulders, Em nestled between you. The world was changed, marked by violence and loss, but you remained.

Together, you watched the stars blink to life, each one a promise that the night would end, that dawn would come again, and that you would meet it together, unbroken and unafraid.

“Ain’t nothin’ in this world worth havin’ that don’t cost a piece of your soul,” Cassian whispered, voice soft as the dying wind. “But I reckon you’re worth every drop.”

And you believed him, with every beat of your stubborn heart.

[kidicaruslover911]

Chapter 9: Mournful Whisperings

Mizu x Fem!Reader

summary: Over the course of your travels, you and Mizu find ways to relax around each other.

You finally meet with your master- mother (?) again and it's not pretty.

*inserting devious grinch smile* alone time with mizu????

abit angsty and very very messy afterwards but it gets better, i promise.

LONG ASS CHAPTER AHEAD AND LOTS OF INFORMATION i actually had to cut it in two and rewrite it again bc it's so damn long bro i was in the zone.

est. wc: 18.8k  I think I’m a little insane but its whatever

story on AO3

2 am and interestingly enough, you happened to have had the place all to yourself, which was an extremely rare occurrence when resting in the plain conditions most establishments had to offer.

It had to be the second or third day of your journey towards Yunjing's humble abode and between the constant walking, training and horse riding, you had yet to find some time to properly wash yourself and neither did Ringo or his master.

Although you did try your best by stopping by any hot spring you could find on your way, unfortunately, there weren't many.

The more you got to think about it though, the more you guessed that Mizu wasn't planning on washing herself either way, given the fact that there weren't any occasions around this time and sneaking past the female owner of the inn really wasn’t an option either. 

It almost made you feel itchy and did end up leaving you as the only one to enjoy the sento, giving you the opportunity to wallow within a very limited personal vice of yours.

Nicotine and its calming effects.

To smoke peacefully and away from prying eyes.

'Yikes.'

You stretched your arms, joints popping during the process, warm water enveloping your body, sinking into your muscles and soothing the tension you hadn't realized you had been holding for the longest time.

For the first time in days, you felt the knot in your shoulders ease, the constant hum of stress that had clouded your thoughts fading into the background.

You leaned back against the wooden tub, eyes half-closed, arms spread out against the edges of the wet wood, small and silver kiseru pipe resting in your right hand while letting the heat soak deep into your bones.

That pipe, you had always kept it on yourself which often did not fail to bring back lonely memories to your mind, of bygone ages and memories in which you were doing ten times worse than now.

You had randomly told Ringo before, (for once not dodging his questions) that you weren't a chain smoker but for reasons you didn't feel like elaborating on, you decided that once in a while couldn't hurt, at least that’s what you said.

Especially in your case, your guilty pleasure had to die down eventually a bit if you were hoping to live just a tad longer.

'Never get a vacation, you find ways to take one...'

And the brothels didn't really help either, it’s not like you were the most grounded person in those spaces and the rumors showed it.

Those gossipy prostitutes had struck once again yet somehow you couldn’t seem to care less.

If there was one thing you knew, it was that over the course of the years, you had absolutely bettered yourself and you were the only one to congratulate on that.

Whether one believed it or not, there was indeed a timeline in which you smoked two to three pipes a day, cause of constant stress and anxiety, waves of depression and mania and the nicotine burning instrument had grown to have seen rougher days from which you subtracted it down to once every two to three weeks, mainly because of your health and because you were getting closer to one of your main goals.

You did hope for your addiction to come to a halt soon.

There were no signs of promises though.

Speaking about coming to a halt, your short lived moment of solace was accidentally interrupted by the semi loud creaking from the bathrooms sliding door, causing you to pause the inhalation of your next drag, small clouds of smoke lazily dissipating from your lips as you proceeded to set the kiseru aside before craning your neck back to get a better view of the intruder.

Fact was that you really hadn’t expected to see anyone with the need to wash themselves that deep into the night and yet here they were.

The sound had hit you like brick and if you didn't know any better, you'd have let out one hell of a gasp.

Your stupefaction died down pretty fast too.

"Oh-" The cheeky grin on your face said it all and you had yet to expect it.

A blow of hot steam mixed with the thick scent of soap hit Mizu's face, her eyes skillfully avoiding to look anywhere she shouldn't which made you rotate your head a bit more at her, slightly confused but not bothered by it in any type of way.

It actually made you unbelievably happy a nd she was fast too, one second Mizu was undoing her chignon and the next she had already soundlessly slid into the small bath with you, right before you'd have the chance to make out any significant parts of her nude body amidst the rather heavy steam. 

That and the burning water were the only things covering up her and she liked it that way, regardless whether it was you she was bathing with or not.

It made things more or less…’difficult’ for her and you never missed an opportunity to mess around with her for it, not that you ever meant any of the things you said but as always it was just fun to poke and prod at the samurai for your own amusement.

Then again this was only the second time she wordlessly allowed you to witness her like this  and didn't bother asking why.

If she felt comfortable enough around you or if it just truly was the tremendous need to clean herself, you’d be the last one to complain about.

After all, you grew to think of it as a privilege of its own, to see Mizu… unraveling herself from that stoic vagabond persona she so well portrayed, even just for a moment, presenting herself as honest and sensible as she’d allow herself to be around you.

And that in itself was…something.

The water almost reached up to her clavicle and by the looks and sounds of it, she needed this bath just as bad as you did, a similar sound of contentment gracing your ears.

'Hm.' You mindlessly bit at the inside of your cheek.

You weren't children anymore and so you couldn't have felt more honored and just a tad shy (you'd never let her know) at the fact that she did end up deciding to wash and decompress herself in your presence, you couldn't help but smile.

The context was different, yet this was the second time the samurai was intruding on you while you were trying to cool off, enjoy a moment of rest and it seemed like she just couldn't help herself, always breaking in on at the 'wrong time'.

Not that any of you seriously minded.

Seriously, what about you had she not seen at this point?

You had been inside of the bath for about thirty minutes by now so naturally, "I would've expected you'd already be done-"

She started with a more breathy voice, eyes averting your gaze while she tried to ease up her shoulders and back a bit, making the sides of your lips turn upwards instantly.

You still were in a public Onsen after all.

Steam rose gently from the surface of the bath, curling around her slender form like a soft, comforting blanket.

The flickering oil lamp in the corners of the room casted a soft, golden glow, its scent of lavender mingling with the steam and a faint whiff of nicotine.

’She smokes…?’

The cobalt eyed woman didn't comment on it since, one, she never actually thought about it or expected it and you were grown.... and two, health issues put aside, from the short instant she had caught you handle that pipe, she effortlessly thought that it suited you…unbelievably well. 

Not catching herself thinking beforehand once again she thought that the silver in your hand  made you look...important and chic, very sore to the eye as always.

It made her skin crawl in confusion and guilt.

"Alrigggght, I get it now, Mizu" Pushing a bit back in the water to give her space, your voice sneered at her, a teasing tone meeting her ears which simultaneously painted themselves red.

"..." It was the waters heat.

"You sure this isn't about you really wanting to see me naked?"

There she was and she immediately went to suck her teeth, rolling her eyes only to return them at you, staring you down and seemingly not amused at all.

It almost didn't sound like a question and the woman should have pinched you by now. 

Maybe she didn't need to take a bath that badly after all, she pondered but at the end of the day, you were both women, and that, well, it made almost everything simpler, and many times all the more difficult.

Not always but...your bodies, stripped of adornment, of any need to mask or hide, never carrying the weight of complete judgment between you ever since you had found one another again.

Comfortable, and even though she tried not to, your situation turned out a bit awkward, especially with some moments you choose to joke around with her.

After all, Mizu didn't show herself completely bare to you, the last time you had stopped at a hot spring you had covered your eyes for her to get undressed until she had set herself in the rejuvenating waters. 

Simply shaking her head, she cocked an insensitive brow at you, "I'd rather not" while throwing off a breathy chuckle and eyeing you a second later, Mizu was at a loss for words and just a bit…lost.

‘Just what is it with her-…’ She didn’t dare finish that thought, she didn’t need to and the feeling was absolutely not wanted.

You were sitting on the other side of the hot tub now, right in front of her and her response made you cock a brow, not taking her words personally while you threw your head over your shoulders, humming in a curious manner as a response.

Funny.

"A lot of lying today,"

Nonchalance dripping from your tongue, you scoffed. Like usual, you were just toying with her and she didn’t always exactly know how to handle it.

Your attitude and…’humor’.

Not that she completely hated it. It was just...bold, tickling and it never completely ceased.

Another unsure look. "If you prefer, I can leave right now?" You heart almost skipped  a beat.

No.

No, it didn't, you had simply gotten shivers from the wet skin area that had been slightly exposed to the damp air.

It made you shiver, that was all.

"No..." You murmured, head rolling back up to look at her.

Properly holding eye contact with her this time, you shamelessly drowned in her image, quenching your thirst for a few moments until you realized once again, that this actually was your first time seeing her so...easygoing?

Serene.

That was it.

You liked it and  you weren't that full of yourself either. 

Obviously enough you didn't want her to leave.

Not when you had her all to yourself like this, l ike a rare flower that only bloomed once every full moon in the dark of the night with two striking patches of blue adorning her core.

A girl.

A very pretty girl.

That and the more...subtle yet still apparent reliance that grew whenever it was just the two of you.

It was unspoken and as much as Mizu tried to refrain herself from showing it too much, you could tell.

It wasn’t really a secret anymore.

Your friend was always very straight forward and mostly truthful with you, but you felt as if tonight she was just a bit more open, a bit more indulging and not, or almost not on guard mode at all.

She was bare and it made you fall silent just for an instant which passed by way too fast for you to take any notice of it.

‘She looks very pretty like this.’ You thought for the Xth time and it had turned into an indisputable fact for you by now.

From the way she spoke, to her mannerisms and down to the way she presented herself most of the time, masculine or not, she was hypnotizing.

The more you watched, the more she fitted your nocturnal flora description, h er hair cascading around her, a dark river of ink that spilled down her swan like neck and over her collarbone, curling gently at the edges as it floated on the surface of the water.

For a moment, you were drawn to its depth, the way it seemed to merge with the warm embrace of the bath b ut before your gaze could wander any further, remembering who it was you were ogling at, you pulled it back, focusing on what she was saying and the now sheepish expression resting on her face.

Her eyes were a drawn a little wide, brows raised in slight surprise with her mouth agape in a quiet breath.

She was sitting pretty next to you like this, like a painting. The person next to you.

Right.

That person was your friend.

And that same friend only rasped with a small pinch on your neck which made you crack up in a small hiss, playfully bumping her shoulder in response.

"Just because I look like a man, doesn't mean I have to smell like one?" Mizu scoffed playfully, making a chuckle erupt from your chest.

"Obviously. Mizu, I was joking." She hoped you were??? 

You wondered and soon enough asked about how she even managed to pass by that old and noisy lady?

The proprietor of the establishment was an elder woman whose husband had died not too long ago, finally leaving her with an entire guest house to manage on her own.

Seemed like that granny had nothing better to do than to start a small talk with every single passerby, which soon enough turned into an insufferable series of pushy questions, directly shooting unruly assumptions about you and your friend.

Not like the lady even tried minding her own business when you first asked for three separate rooms, she immediately assumed that your 'husband' had angered you in some type of way, making you want to sleep away from him for the night.

People's perception of you two was definitely...interesting and you guessed that it was most beneficial to keep it that way.

It took everything in Ringo for him to keep his lips closed and let the moment pass by as the owner of the inn went on and tried to dig deeper into why you didn't want to share a room with your 'husband' at the moment, which you simply cut short by saying that you didn't want to talk about it, swallowing down a ridiculous grin at your 'husband's' indifference at the lady's rambles.

Being too curious isn't always an...adequate trait, you might add. 

Yet you were a woman and well, for legal reasons you needed your dear husband as your chaperone, right?

Gods, you hated small talk.

'Men will be men' The older woman had tapped your shoulder in as a consolating gesture. 'You shouldn't be too hard on him' was her last piece of advice to you when all you could do was share a dumbfounded stare with your navy friend who only shrugged, not adding anything else to the discussion.

'Men will be men.....' Right.

Not your ‘husband’ though…

"Let people believe what they want to, you're my very angry 'wife' after all, remember?"

And you could’ve sworn that you heard a faint layer of pride and downiness in that fake statement of hers, closed eyes while slightly turning towards you, keeping a respectful distance between the two of you at all times.

At the sight of it, your own confused gaze softened, slowly transforming into a wry, lopsided smirk.

Little did this madam know that if it actually came down to it, if the circumstances were different and if she truly were a man, Mizu would have at least tried her very best to keep a wedded life pleasurable for her 'wife', and refrain from angering you in that sort of way.

It made no sense.

Happy wife, happy life, no? 

Makes no sense...

"Of course...my my, then I must the luckiest woman in the world, right?"

You cupped your cheeks for dramatic effects, ducking a bit deeper into the water as you spoke and while you didn't know when or why it happened, it was barely visible and yet, she was simpering and after letting out a chuckle of your own, for your own good, you tried not to read too much into it.

‘This woman...’

Soon enough there was another long silence, the soft flicker of oil lamps dancing across the walls, casting long shadows that swayed gently in the quiet.

The air felt thick, heavier than it should have been, as if every breath the both of you took carried the weight of things unspoken. 

Things that weren't necessarily bound by vengeance or infected with murder and the both of you knew it.

It was unspoken and the two of you stood by it.

Whatever unspoken topics you held back, both of you didn’t dare to ruin it all and decided to keep it on edge.

Feeling the water levels shift poorly again, you anticipated Mizu's barely opened lips preparing to speak before abruptly, shutting closed tightly, a small wince escaping her, expression tight as you watched her turn to the side a bit more, one hand covering her mouth while the other had a finger roaming in it, searching for some sort of relief.

"Ah ..." Almost pained, the finger seemed to search deeper and deeper for the intruder, and after a few more seconds, she found it.

This went on for a minute or two and you were hesitant at first but moved closer to her, carefully tapping on her shoulder before completely placing your hand on the higher part of her back.

She didn't react and it made you let out a sigh of relief that you didn't even know you were holding but you'd digress.

"Something bothering you?" You asked, voice gently laced with concern.

Whatever was hurting her, it didn't look pretty.

"Stubborn teeth. Nothing serious but..."

Mizu had to speak a bit more slowly now but from what she explained to you, when she had just started her quest of revenge, she had happened to have fought some vagabonds after trying to gain information about the white men she was looking for.

She lost the battle, got stabbed and thrown out like some piece of shit. 

When she got thrown, she had fallen onto her face and that's when one of her back teeth chirped, leaving her with something akin to a minuscule knife tearing up the inside of her cheek whenever she tried to talk and though it had been a few years already, it still happened from time to time.

"It is not very pleasant." It took you back to when you were younger, you remembered how your master had the same problem and Asano's solution was always pretty simple.

He had learned to soothe his wife's pain in an almost gentle and painless manner which consisted in rubbing down onto the concerned tooth with extremely moderate pressure in order to less irritate your mother and every time he'd be done, she claimed to feel better...

So?…

Blink blink blink.

Blinking once, then twice and then a third time again before you opened your mouth again, à short exhale fanning against your friends skin before it then finally hit you.

Silence but…

You wanted to help.

While the slender woman was practically still scratching her teeth into oblivion, you tenderly took the liberty upon yourself to remove her hand from her mouth, meeting momentarily resistance and a suspicious glare.

"I fear that you scratching it won't make it feel any better..." You returned an assured expression, sitting right next to her now, skin touching underwater which you ignored at the instant.

And she did too.

"It does the job for me." 

Meeting her with an exasperated sigh, you only shook your head further before your fingers hovered near Mizu's humid jaw, her hand shooting up to grab at your wrist out of reflex, keeping your hand at bay, she squeezed, the sudden yet quiet vulnerability of the moment settling over her like a weight, blood shooting towards her ears for no specific reason.

You two were already awfully close and her watchful eye didn’t help. 

This wasn’t one of your senseless tricks and games, she knew she could trust you this time.

Or did she really?

"What do you think you're doing?" She snapped at you in an instant, not in a mean way, she just didn't expect it.

"I know what to do. My master had the same issue when I was younger." It took her about a good ten seconds until you felt her hand slide down from your wrist down to your elbow, settling there.

An exhale.

She didn't know what to expect but this placement felt the most...acceptable.

You didn't flinch.

Your tone was low and serious yet still filled with a certain air of care.

"....Don't try anything stupid..." An undeniable warning.

Whatever she meant with that, you’d respect it either way and e ven if she glared halfheartedly, she trusted you.

You knew she did.

You didn't want her to hurt and your tone surely didn't help her to keep up her guard...

"Let me handle this for you." Now kneeling upwards, you tilted her head back up towards you with your fingers, rising out of the water to get a better view of her mouth and simultaneously revealing your bare and defined upper body’s muscles to her, which again, she avoided staring at like an awkward teenager.

Her hand progressively relaxed, until it was barely caressing across your elbow for support, surprisingly letting you guide her through this while you simply stuck to the task at hand.

You felt her cold and slippery digits tense up at your elbow. Immediately, you went to reassure her.

You were a doctor after all.

"Don't worry, I promise, I'll be gentle." Staring right past her azure globes and ignoring the sudden heat in the back of your neck, your fingers softly brushed against the curve of the samurai's cheek.

(doctor doctor, i wasn't familiar with your game-)

The bathwater lapped quietly at the sides of the tub again as you reached toward your friends mouth, her hand growing warm and steady despite the nervous flutter in her own chest as you leaned down closer to her face, your thumb now sliding over her lower lip, silently asking for permission to enter.

"You'll feel better, just… trust me,” You said, the words meant to reassure again, though you could hear the edge of nervousness in your own voice.

”May I?…”

Mizu glanced at you for what felt like an eternity, eyes wary but trusting, her lips slightly parting as she waited for your touch.

’You may.’ She didn’t have to say it, neither did she really want to.

Mizu was…

Obedient to say the least.

At least for this brief moment.

You handled it like stroll in the park. At least you'd like to think.

Pressure? What pressure?

You calmed your breathing pattern, feeling the warm air slowly getting to your exposed breasts and its peaks hardening at the slight shift of the temperature, which you knew Mizu didn't mind because she was just the same as you.

You just didn't really care as long as it was a female individual. 

But she still noticed.

Slowly, you extended your finger, the tip gently brushing over the woman's swollen gums, moving carefully toward the back of her mouth, where the sensitive tooth had been causing all the discomfort.

Mizu tensed up for another moment but then sighed, her hold on your elbows tightening for a short instant before the pressure of your thumb led to a strange kind of relief, though the discomfort still lingered.

You continued to move your finger in small, deliberate circles, applying just the right amount of pressure, as though trying to coax the stubborn ache to let go. 

She focused on your breathing, the slow and steady rhythm of your continuously rising and falling glittering bust, shortly becoming her center before she mentally averted herself.

You were insane.

Eyes looking up, back to the side, back up, maybe if she looked to the side.. the rain in her irises kept swaying back and forth, unable to decide.

Mizu's ears were on fire and it didn't help that the proximity between the two of you gave her no other choice but to stare, as much as she tried to act unbothered which at least to you, she did a pretty good job at.

You were insane.

And her eyeballs couldn't help but wander because of your gorgeous complexion, suave eyes, that nose with its inimitable wings, those lips with such well-defined contours, the intricate softness of your features undoubtedly eclipsed even those with the most stunning faces.

Your beauty that had withstood so many physical and mental corsets, so many constraints, absurd prohibitions, sadism, conspiracies and humiliations -

It was your doll like face, your scarred and toned waist and the softness of your bosom you so mindlessly exposed with the way you looked down at her, fiercely concentrated and not to be deterred...and then all of a sudden, the tilt of your own head and a breath of your lips that revealed a simple treat she had yet to discover.

You were insane and it would've been a matter of time until you'd have heard your friends heart thudding in her chest, feeling the delicate nature of the moment, of the trust she placed in you just because and without too much hesitation whatsoever... 

Those small circles you kept rubbing into her mouth, Mizu unconsciously replicated them gently onto the edge of your elbow, and it took you every muscle and willpower in your being to not cup her entire face-

What were you doing? 

Naked, thighs slightly touching with another woman,  with your thumb in her mouth and your eyes blurring at the feeling of her lips around you...

Her lips around your thumb…with her hooded and heavy eyes looking up at you.

Digging deeper and deeper into your core as if she had long understood…

The wetness of her tongue tingling at the side of your digit…

You were insane.

Soaked all over, (literally) warmth radiating out off of your sculpted bodies onto one another, breaths fanning over each others glowing faces…

A fine line between unknown insanity and practiced restraint.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… the both of you were doing an amazing job at keeping it casual and it showed. 

Your mission seemed to come to an end when you noticed Mizu’s quietness and lack of reaction, slowing down the rhythm of your finger within her mouth, naturally keeping up with her intense gaze that had been burning a hole right through you, her fingers caressing you and still tightening, scraping right across your skin whenever it was too much...

But she never made you stop. Almost didn't want you to.

She followed your every move down to the raise of your brows until she felt something akin to a harsh slip. 

It hurt but it was over soon and still, you didn’t hesitate to apologize immediately…

The last rub was the most intensive one, to the point where your aloof 'husband' let out a small gasp combined with a much more intense grip on your forearm which you decided to ignore for the sake of your own sanity.

You had turned sloppy towards the end and Mizu was convinced.

You were insane.

What the hell was going on? 

You stopped, checking on last time before removing your thumb from her at once, heavy eyes on you while the back of your fingers grazed her cheek.

To make sure she was doing  well and the pain was all gone.

It was an accident.

"There, all done..Feeling better?" 

You were insane.

”I suppose so. Thank you.” A nod.

You had to be.

”You’re welcome.”

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

Ever since that Heiji Shindo guy first mentioned it, you felt like the two of you had reached at point in your journey where people automatically assumed that you were married, a samurai couple, since you still walked around with your faithful katana bound to your hip and honestly, none of you felt like going out of your way to say otherwise.

Mizu had already found her way to navigate around it all and weirdly enough, it didn’t really surprise you.

When it came to acting and playing an acceptable role in the eyes of society and to its fullest extent as well, neither of you were to be underestimated.

And again, it showed. 

"Oh and...You should've listened to what the lady was saying earlier, it's a mixed Onsen, Y/N. So there was no need for me to sneak around her or anything of the sort." Mizu was talking about the old woman from earlier again.

People really were gullible, or it was just the two of you, being born as excellent actors.

Either way, you would have expected the granny to eye Mizu more intently and to ask her more about her ‘quarrels’ with you, holding her up and acting as insufferable as ever…but the woman didn’t.

Apparently.

The more you thought about it the more it would’ve been a way to give her even more false ideas...

"Plus, it's very late into in the evening,  so I doubt that any more people will be gracing us with their presence tonight."

At least the owner of the inn had assured her and therefore she felt just a little more comfortable to wash herself up for the short time being.

She didn't want to push her luck too much after all.

Right.

Like you had concluded earlier, you did have the place for yourselves with Ringo being knocked out right after he got into his room and Mizu disappearing into her own, you felt favored by the gods.

And now she was here with you.

You sunk deeper, chin almost touching the clear surface with your arms wrapping around your body underneath the water while your mind turned a bit fuzzy, your eyes felt compelled to plainly watch, an intrepid compliment lingering on your tongue.

Her.

It was apparent that it had been too long since she'd allowed herself something like this—

She’d been too busy, always rushing through the country on her pursuit of the remaining three men, barely able to catch her breath.

But now, here she was.

She let out another slow, contented sigh, her fingertips tracing the edge of the tub, the water rippling softly in response.

Your words came out in a whisper, almost like a forbidden spell. "Then I'm glad."

And you knew she was listening, sinking yourself even deeper until it was only your nose and eyes staring ahead of you, the rest of your body drowned in warm comfort.

'I get to see you like this.' you repeated in your consciousness, a tickling sense of courage taking over your mind. It wasn’t calculated, nor was it a joke and there wasn’t much struggle either.

She was attractive…to you.

Your type even. 

In a friendly way of course, and even then you thought you'd let her know.

There was no shame in it.

"Believe it or not, I think you're very...satisfying to look at Mizu. Very pretty. "

Her characteristics… they complimented each other well, never failing to steal your attention.

Yet you still had to be careful with the way you sounded, even when you let your heart speak.

Seriousness with the blend of a soft treat mixed in your tone, and you didn't just mean that now, the thought actually came to you pretty often lately and right now you had no intentions of hiding that from her.

It is ok to find your friend good looking, right?

You said it casually enough either way and her true emotions had unraveled for just a moment.

"..."

In hopes to not scare her off with your comment, you tried your best to make it sound as amicable as possible and not some sort of sick joke as you caught a part of her relaxed state stand stiff at your words.

Shocked?

Taken aback?

Azure eyes shot open again, not necessarily feeling the need to face you just yet.

Her already quiet demeanor stood still...a bit too still, silence creeping up your back as if the whole room was holding her breath with her.

Oh no...you saw her look downwards, seemingly towards where her chest was hidden by the waters and steam, feeling your stomach sink for just a moment and her prolonged quiet didn't help.

"I…I didn't mean to offend-" What demon had possessed you to say something like this again?

"Huh..." the woman started out, before slowly all too carefully as if not to spill any more water, turning to look at you in your entirety.

Her gaze lingered, distant and yet still so close, cerulean irises tracing the edges of your face, searching not for answers but something...more elusive, tender and honest.

Why would you lie to her like this, knowing what she had faced on a daily basis?

Why would you do something like that?

Or maybe, staring more intently now, you weren't lying?

Well, with you, one could never really tell.

”Pretty?…”

Another short silence until she broke it with a barely audible scoff.

"I don't get it...." Mizu replied slowly, small timid waves moving along with the way she spoke to you, full of honesty and respect.

She meant every word that left her mouth, "but you're very beautiful yourself. I hear people telling you all the time. They see it and naturally it's only the truth." She breathed shortly and her words almost pinched your heart.

You didn’t think of yourself as ugly per say but, ever since he happened to have been out of your life, you avoided mirrors and other such things that threatened to reflect back at you.

He completely destroyed the way you saw yourself and whenever you thought about the situations your looks, character and naivety had ended up putting you in at the time, you wished you were born a bit less fortunate in that sense.

With a different mouth, or a bit more lively skin, or a bit less distance between your front teeth, a smaller nose…

Anything that did not remind him of her.

He married you because of her-

And you, young, unexperienced and dumb as you were, lived cluelessly, transgressing and questioning your own grasp on reality.

The short lived union practically left a sealed perception of men and their most sinful motives ingrained into the deepest parts of your consciousness, always keeping you at edge.

It was a nicely decorated trap with no exit in sight except for death and finality itself with you, a bewitching mannequin, a replacement, a 'consolation price' at the heart of it all.

From a bright and promising soul to the devil and all its perverted fantasies himself...w hat good use was beauty when you couldn’t even recognize who you truly were from within anymore?…

Innocence, was it?

That privilege has been ripped from away from you a long time ago, like  a ripe fruit with parasites feasting at it from the inside, slowly spiraling into whatever name you had become…

The things men would call you…

Men will be men.

Fiend, Demon, Beast…Men would always be regular men and their fury was no different.

A man’s wrath was one thing… but the Damsel’s was another.

Men would always be regular men, but the Damsel of Devastation was the devil.

So they said.

The devil…that was what your line of work turned you into, because you let it.

A woman’s wrath…

Word on the street said it was explosive, brutal and vile, the injuries found on the bodies sometimes looking more akin to animalistic ripping and stabbing rather than anything else really, since most of the time, you were unable to keep what was left of your emotions under control and ‘work’ was practically the only way to let it all out.

And it was all true, your recent encounters with Taigen only serving as a pre taste of what you usually let yourself into.

And that same dark spot within you helped in convincing you that there was no reason to feel bad about it at all either.

Your hurt and short temper, pretentious arrogance and lack of self control at ‘work’ and even before.

But…

You weren’t always like that though, there was a time where you tried to erase yourself from men’s radars, to be kind and docile, non problematic and truly willing to try and bend yourself to societal norms.

To bring honor to your family, to marry, to quit swordsplay and to bear his children even when it felt wrong and unnatural to you.

Soft on every single level.

That was a long time ago though and your encounter with himhad taught you differently.

But what did that mean to you?

Cleansing was far too insufficient for you by now and you had no intentions of redeeming yourself whatsoever, that was out of the question.

The damage this bond had done to your soul irreversible.

It was all a bad dream, a facade, things you had left behind but that never ceased to plague your mind at the end of each passing day, when you worked had finally become nothing, his mark still on the back of your neck, something you had long enough considered to cut off and out your skin once and for all.

And yet you couldn’t, never had the courage to do so even after all those years.

The ‘Damsel of Devastation’ and the red ‘crane’ on her back…an irremovable thorn forcefully blown into the shadows of your nape.

 A restless wandering corpse, with an unquenchable thirst for more foul blood to spill, to punish and to keep it going…

Except that you didn’t decompose half as fast as one would have expected you to by now, no, you were more defiant.

That thing that had been burned deep into you…you’d never forget.

But Mizu could not know, she didn’t have to.

You didn’t really want her to.

And you’d try to keep it that way. 

Poison.

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

Now that your heart had climbed back to its usual spot, you could breathe again only to ask yourself two seconds later if you the one that was dumb or just stupid.

What was  there not to understand in what you were saying?

The quiet that reigned now wasn't awkward or heavy but it definitely left you confused and without thinking, you shifted slightly, carefully inching closer, letting the warmth of the water guide you forward.

You wanted to be closer to her again.

You wanted to understand, you..."Mizu...I don't understand what you don't understand.." And her answer hit you like a gut wrenching punch.

How could you forget? How could she forget?

Did she still think she looked that awful? 

"I don't understand what you're calling pretty." Right. 

To be unsightly in a man’s world, wasn't that comparable to death itself?

Death of one's own...but not in your eyes.

You dared to answer with no filter whatsoever.

“You.” It was fearless and the intensity of your voice muted your friend in a moment of awe and something else, something deeper…more rooted.

And yet she only scowled, brows raising once again.

You should’ve known better.

“Really...Let's just say that no one has ever used that to describe me...” To her you were always pretty and ten times more alive than the others.

“No one?”  To the rest of the world, what was she?

You should’ve known better.

Not even her own husband had dared to compliment her and there you came spouting such nonsense from your lips.

Unless the words ‘You’re not as hideous as I expected’ were supposed to count as a compliment.

It was the closest thing he ever said concerning her appearance. Her husband’s words, not yours of course.

And then there was you…

"...but thank you.” It came out as a whisper and Mizu slid back up a little. It was sincere.

Your head tilted at her, straightening your back which minimally revealed your chest to the damp air. Her thanks meant enough, it answered your question more than it should have but...

"Not even men- Oh uhm...right"

The more you spoke, the more brainless and sorry you felt for her and she went back to closing her eyes along with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Nope. Not their cup of tea I'm afraid." It made you break a scoff. Men will always be men, right?

'Mine neither. The men part.' You thought casually, " Oh actually you'd be surprised."

And again, you meant what you said, causing her storm-like eyes to flutter open again, frowning at you with an attitude.

After all, as far as you knew, same sex relationships between men had always been quite frequent, if not even rampantly accepted and welcomed by the Japanese society, especially between daimyos and within the ranks of the samurai...it was practically a norm.

Honorable even.

Although for women, it was ultimately more rare, questioned and borderline looked down upon.

Unorthodox.

(did my research ppl in the edo period were legit like ‘lmaoo yeah being gay is honorable ok but wlw? why should that exist??? of course it wasn't forbidden but it was definitely more lowkey!)

But what did that matter to you?

"You're already unbelievably handsome during the day and then you turn even prettier when you're....like this...at night?  If I were a man, I would've already been courting you, no questions asked." 

You stared back at her with nothing else but meaningfulness, while she was not entirely sure to have heard you right. 

You were insane and she felt like splashing you to keep you from blabbering such nonsense.

You were 'the Damsel' after all...

"You don't know what you're saying..." Except that you did and right now, she didn’t exactly know how to handle it.

'What an odd thing to say...'

You had to be insane, there was no other way.

You threw such strong words into the conversation and Mizu's jaw tightened and yet, before she could rethink about it, "Have you ever even been courted before?"

Leaving you a bit confused and tucked into a corner by now.

'What the hell??'

Mentally face palming herself, she cursed and didn't know what she was even expecting to gain from t hat.

What did she care if you had already been pursued? And even if you did it could've hardly been-

It's not like it was any of her business and besides-

"Yes" Your answer was nasty and short but quite simple in the end.

You didn’t seem to recall it fondly though.

"....By a man?"

The question rolled off naturally with a bit too much disappointment and yet before she could 'correct' herself, something in the air had shifted, like the playful tug of a hidden spark.

Mizu noticed it first-

Your hand, just beneath the surface, moved slowly, like a quiet invitation. A mischievous glint flickered in your eyes as you glanced at the woman besides you, a faint smirk pulling at the corners of your lips.

"Wait no...forget I ev-"

Before Mizu could react, you flicked her wrist, sending a sudden splash of warm water towards her, the droplets hitting the woman's face with a soft splash, the water tickling her skin as she gasped in surprise.

You had beat her to it, h er eyes widened, and before you could stop herself, you laughed—a bright, surprised sound that echoed against the walls.

Your hand covered up a bit of your sunshine like smile before lowering it just enough to bite your index a little, in an attempt to calm your laughing down only to finally reveal the treat the samurai had caught a glimpse of earlier, back when you helped her soothe her pain. 

There was a small gap between your two front teeth.

It was precious, it was what caused her smile right after you and she didn't care enough to curse herself for it right now.

"Oh…” No matter what you always seemed get bolder and bolder the more time you spent with her, she couldn’t get enough of the beam that would present itself whenever you tried to annoy, tease and get reactions out of her.

Now was one of those moments again.

And she enjoyed it.

”You’re going to regret this Y/N…” 

”Is that a promise? Or just an empty threat?”  The small gap between your front teeth showing itself once again.

You were giggling like a child.

“You do that again and I can promise you that you will be dealt with…” Her gaze was unmistakable, glimmering with malicious intent.

”Properly.”

The last word reached your ears with an incredibly dangerous tone and you wished nothing more than for her to back up her threats with her actions.

”Hm.” No hesitation whatsoever.

You repeated the same action again with much more force which Mizu semi managed to dodge while you backed away right before she could get back to you, your singsong laughter resonating all over the place once again, completely forgetting you were still in a public space.

"Well, I didn't know getting courted by women was a thing now...Is there something you aren't telling me or am I the one missing out?"

Coming back at her question, you wished for it in silence, watching her expression shift to an unsure one before regaining composure.

“Tsk...you know very well this isn't what I meant” Mizu said shaking her head at herself, her voice a mix of amusement and sheepish disbelief.

She wiped her face, still smirking, but your eyes sparkled with challenge.

You could only return her almost self assured expression.

It wasn't? 

Really?

"Then what is it that you meant?"

You were Y/N after all.

(me x yn when lowkey???)

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

Not everyone could be fooled as easily by your antics as you liked to think.

But then again she wasn't just 'everyone'. Or anyone.

"What was the last thing I said to you?" You tried to justify yourself but she wouldn't let you.

"Master I-" You were trapped, quick and short answers without much space for arguments of your own, raspy counterattacks and that infatuating smell of her kizami. 

You’d force yourself to speak, you couldn’t let her suffocate you like this. Even if you knew better, you’d still try. 

It wasn’t smart but it was also something close to a once in a lifetime opportunity, to speak to your mentor again and to die once more.

After all it was better to speak than to run away and die. Even if buried alive.

Right?

She'd eat you while you were still breathing, chewing your puny little self up and your hidden faults before spitting you out to leave you bare and you knew it.

She wasn’t just anyone, she wasn’t just everyone.

Even if your main focus was Mizu and helping her a bit with the whole revenge mission, she primarily served as an excuse to drag yourself here in an attempt...

You wanted to fix things before your eventual demise and as if your situation wasn't already at it's worse...(it wasn't), Ringo had accidentally found out about your illness one fateful morning when Mizu was still tight asleep.

There was no need to deny it. You were getting sloppy and you didn't like it.

You had been executing your usual meditating and exercising routine when out of the blue your complexion turned even more lifeless, transparent and you felt your lungs tighten again.

The exact thing you claimed to handle so well and had proved yourself quite formidable to have hidden for so long, going unnoticed.

You suddenly broke down to your knees, coughing a hefty amount of blood which ended up tainting your white undergarment and flooding your hand with the ruby like liquid.

Ringo had been strolling through the crystalline woods that day, searching for mushrooms or berries like he usually did and with luck (or not) came back to you at absolute random, humming a tune which quite literally felt like a stab wound the moment he saw you.

You looked like you could hardly breathe, fighting an already lost battle and the man thought he’d felt his heart fall to the soles of his feet dropping his fruitful bounty at the nauseating sight.

You tried telling him that this happened from time to time, nose bleedings, coughing up blood, it was all because of the levels of stress, that you could handle it.

It was funny because you were the one that tried to change his mind on joining Mizu on her quest and there you were, your respiratory system overstimulated by everything little thing.

“Not a single word of this goes to Mizu.”

You didn’t even have to threaten him that seriously.

At least for now you had made him swear to you to keep it between him and the gods, threatening you’d make him eat loads and loads of eggplants if even a single syllable of this reached the ears of your blue friend.

You still couldn’t grasp how one could be so absolutely scared of a vegetable but it served you well.

Ever since, Ringo always made sure to stop by markets or pharmacies whenever you’d pass by a city or hamlets in hopes to find anything that could soothe your nerves even throughout this tumultuous journey.

You said it were your nerves but that was merely a theory...and you didn’t even try to believe it.

You had always had mixed feelings about it but the apprentice insisted he was your guardian Angel now the same way you always defended him and made him feel seen and protected despite the short amount of time you had known each other.

You were surprised how well he had been able to keep his lips sealed and allowed yourself to relax a bit more whenever you’d leave him with your cunning friend.

In other words, you had things to do before it was too late and being able to sort things out with your master was one of those.

It had to be done or else you’d be turning in your grave for the rest of eternity.

Well, that and unbeknownst to everyone here she genuinely craved to see you as well, despite her harsh words and unwavering stubbornness.

To think that she was the one that had raised you, before you had to keep raising yourself…

You still longed for her, the ache in your chest growing deeper with each passing day, week, month, year...

In the quiet moments, your mind would drift, consumed by the impossible hope that Yunjing might somehow take you back—

To at least acknowledge you as the apprentice, the daughter you once were to her, before you chose that thing over her-

Carving such a great wound in her, she believed it would never heal.

It took you a few agonizingly long seconds to make up your mind, but when you did, you decided you didn’t care who was watching.

Whether it was Mizu’s cold glare, slicing through your fragile composure behind her glasses, or Ringo’s eyes painted wide with concern, this was your last chance, and nothing else mattered truly anymore.

You were at everyone's mercy, some might even say that you were pitiful, what were you even doing?

This was unlike you and it definitely did put your friends in an awkward position, Mizu soundlessly watching the scene unfold in front of her with Yunjing’s infinitely patient form digging into doorway.

At this specific moment, Mizu’s fixing gaze was driving you insane one could only imagine what everyone was thinking.

“…” Ringo and Mizu…

They could both sense the guilt that now plagued your conscience, reluctantly reclaiming a truth you had long buried away with a myriad of complex emotions, even if the process was painful and arduous.

You were small now, and anxious and tired and you were a mess... in every sense of the word.

So what?

They wouldn't dare hold this against you. They didn't even fully understand the situation, nor did they know the extent of your quarrel with the lady.

Despite keeping her unreadable and apathetic like visage on the both of you, Mizu was...surprised to say the least. 

During the last few days she had spent traveling with you, she did notice that whenever Ringo tried to pry a bit more about your master and her whereabouts, what she was like or how you two last interacted, you always seemed more than evasive about the topic and went mute.

She could have never guessed that it was that serious though.

"So when was the last time your master and you have spoken?" 

"You mean in person?" He nodded.

"...About 4 or 5 years ago?"

"..." Mizu was training but it didn't stop her from eavesdropping either way, accidently or not.

It wasn't really eavesdropping because the two of you were literally at a ten meter radius from her, she was concentrated at her task at hand yes, but she really couldn't help but keep an ear open.

"Oh....that's uhh...that's a lot of time." No shit.

"Hm. You think so?" you humored him dryly, binding your tasuki sash back up against your upper arm. 

Of course you knew that it wasn't normal per se but the current circumstances really didn't make things any easier for you, it didn’t give you much room to try.

You valued Yunjing's words and respected her every wish, no matter how absurd or hurtful, you always took her seriously.

And the last time the two of you had spoken she had made herself abundantly clear.

Now you could only hope enough time had past to try and be reasonable again, now that you had grown out of your teenage years and she had (you hoped) properly mourned her husband.

"Oh! I know-"

A nd you prepared yourself for another one of his breathless rambles, automatically tuning it out a bit while you shifted your focus onto the woman that was all blue, who undoubtedly had been immersing herself within her own ruthless fantasies for about an hour now, whirling her weapon around, fueling her footwork, dodging and cutting through frozen trees and leaves taking short breaks only when needed.

You had already trained that morning, for an almost equal amount of time yet less intensively due to Ringo begging you to let him watch you closer which you quite reluctantly accepted under the conditions that he stayed put and quiet.

Either way Mizu didn’t want him near her when she exercised because in her own words, ‘A simple breeze can throw a crane off course.’

Ringo was a typhoon.

You scoffed at her but it was no use arguing with her, something along the lines of how she’d like to avoid a maximum of distractions if possible.

She couldn’t focus with him around, she needed quiet and peace and so did you but you were honestly more open to the idea of taking on the role of someone Ringo would not feel like a total nuisance to most of the time.

You had accompanied him with his shopping in the small village of Miyama to give the samurai her space and much needed tranquility and it seemed like the both of you had just come back in time.

It had been around ten minutes and  after all that slicing and meditating, Mizu’s workout seemed to have finally come to an end for the day.

You weren't crazy.

Ringo’s bouncy voice kept ringing your head with his prying questions ever since you left up until your arrival and Mizu had heard it all, jaw tightening at the thought of your eventual discomfort.

She knew you could speak up for yourself, she knew you probably already told him off and she also knew how forgetful Ringo could be by now.

She was sure enough to have warned him though?

"You ever tried to send her any letters? You're good at calligraphy and your stories are..interesting! I heard older women love reading mukashi banashi-"

"It's not like that"

You flatly spat at him, according him a few seconds of your attention again for him to leave the subject alone which soon enough ringed a bell.

Mizu had mouthed him crucial advice a few days ago just when the three of you had started your journey towards the east of the country for the sake of pursuing your own advice.

It was brief and discreet but right after abandoning Taigen, when she found her apprentice already asking a bit too much about Yunjing, she slid a small whisper into his ear all while making sure you weren't listening:

'For now you should leave the topic of her mentor alone. She doesn’t like it.’ Depending on what aspect he asked you about.

You seemed pretty proud, full of admiration and nostalgia when talking about your younger years with her, but whenever Ringo would ask about any recent interactions, you’d grow serious in deep thought, heavy aura shining through with dry answers.

Right.

It wasn’t very appropriate and Ringo never wanted to purposely put you in any uncomfortable situations.

He was being too invasive with your personal relationships for his own good and after you bit back with that snappy tone of yours, he was quick to catch on but he was a bit late to the party.

Eventually you’d open up on your own.

You didn’t fail to apologize instantaneously but Ringo had long forgiven you, telling it wasn’t right on his end.

Only problem was that now you were borderline scowling, energy levels laying low with the mention of Yunjing and your complications with her…

And it really didn't help that Mizu noticed it right away despite  her supposedly dedicating her entire focus on her exercising only, and frankly….

She hated herself for it.

What?

It had been a month now, almost a month and a half since you, her charming warrior, assassin, doctor friend had joined her (with her approval might one add) and gods help her…

She couldn't stand it.

It made her feel even more confused and disgusted with herself really..

You frowning, you being sad, you being frustrated, angry, whatever negative emotions you displayed, she always tried her best to ignore, to turn a blind eye one them because at the end of the day, it wasn’t her center.

You weren’t her center, friendship wasn’t her center, your laughter and unnecessary bickering wasn’t her center.

You holding out food to her in offering and her leaning down without much thought to rip a chunk out when Taigen was quick to call her a dog wasn’t her center. 

Why was she like that? 

Seriously. 

It didn’t matter much because the food came from you and with that new haircut of his you were just as fast to compare him to a baboon’s bottom.

It did make her bite her tongue.

She huffed, holding back a cackle yet this wasn’t her center.

Blowing into your ear to make you spasm and annoy you wasn’t her center, using her agility to act like a gymnast and entertain you in silent hopes to see you grin wasn’t her center either.

Her newly found friendship with you wasn’t her center.

She barely knew you anymore. You weren’t her center.

Revenge was and she hated how often she had to remind herself of that within your presence.

Still, that damn scowl really wasn't a good look on you and she was on the verge of grinding her teeth to dust if she didn’t find a way to fix it within the next 5 minutes.

She guessed this was what friendship did to a person and she hated it.

You weren’t insane.

Stealing a few glances her way every now and then and you could have sworn that even if minimal, she'd reciprocate them here and there, always careful of course.

She didn't want to give you any wrong ideas after all.

Right.

Neither did you, of course...?

What was there to misinterpret?

You only looked her way to study her body's abilities and limits, reflexes, the way her feet swayed and how her chest would rise and fall frantically whenever she'd go and breathe a little harder because of her efforts and constant concentration.

Catching her asleep, drinking up her peaceful image from the crease of her eye bags to the small gap between her lips and the softness of her small breaths.

It was a rare occurrence.

Or how she would smirk at herself whenever she'd successfully cut through whatever tree she had designated as her training dummy, her signature raven lock falling to the side of her temple while her brow would raise with pride and cockiness, the accentuation of her cheekbones and nose not going unnoticed by you.

It was rare to see her wear anything close to a smile on her face so you made sure to take a mental picture before she could go back to her typical frown which you gave up scolding her for.

That was practically her default face really.

Mizu and her training made you feel...exclusive?

Exclusively honored, yes!

You meant lucky. Lucky to have found someone to match your intensity in combat. 

You really had to admit that she did occupy most of your undivided attention right now, in a friendly way of course, while Ringo kept going on about what he would have written to his own mother if she was still alive, it pained you to conclude that you had not heard a single word of what he said, your rival friend here being far more interesting to look at and it almost made you feel terrible.

"Miss Y/N?" Not right now Ringo.

You had fought her once and she was good.

She was really good and you knew that if it wasn't for your stupid mistake, you would've given her a harsher time.

So it was only natural for you to take notes for the future duel she promised you.

She didn't exactly promise but she did keep it in the back of her mind, so it was going to happen eventually.

Her movements came to a halt and you were far too intrigued to even see yourself.

Of course you couldn't.

You were staring and staring and before you knew it the navy clothed woman whipped her head into your direction, her orbs strictly piercing your way as if she had been sensing your insisting, dare she say longing eyes on her.

’Oh-‘

You were so taken aback that you didn’t even notice Ringo telling you about how he was leaving to pee and promised you not to get lost but that if he did, he’d probably be chilling with a family of tanukis for a bit but he’d try his best to find his way back to you no matter what.

”What?” He had already left.

Little did you know, she did exactly the same when you weren't watching. 

Studying you, didn't matter if you trained or not actually.

She didn't even know she was doing it and Ringo would always be seconds away from addressing her new found habit. 

The woman never gave him the chance to.

Mizu simply had better chances at not getting caught and her reasoning was sort of the same as yours.

She had to study you if she wanted to win your next battle, even if it was only in second position of her worries.

You were still quite the unusually interesting individual and she somehow couldn't come to terms with it. 

How could she?

It was sisterly affection, she was sure of it. (i cried writing this💀 useless sapphics-)

The way you'd keep rolling your eyes at her, backing it up with confident yet sheepish snicker, whenever she'd deliver a sarcastic remark at your own sassy antics, pretending to hate it.

More often than not holding eye contact with her, or whenever you'd talk about martial arts and you'd exchange combat skills and tactics, executing your deadly techniques on her with upmost gentleness, knowing you would never do anything to actually hurt her.

And she did the same.

You could handle each other, that was the point.

Or when you'd insist on teaching her more advanced calligraphy whenever you weren't training, eating, sleeping or on the road in general, speaking to her ever so understandingly and guiding her brush with her having a hard time to ignore the burning feeling in her ear...

Or when night would fall and you'd help her change her bandages, always respecting her boundaries such as her bandaged chest and the sight of her open hair.

She didn’t know how to react to it, second thoughts always invading her mind whenever she’d enjoy your company a little too much.

Second thoughts about this friendship of yours.

Seriously, you were a problem and she had to thank the tint on her glasses for covering her fleeting gaze at all times or else she would've gone insane with the amount of times she'd catch herself (and the amount of time she wouldn’t) searching for your eyes, your company, your proximity.

It made no sense.

You were a woman and here she was acting like some moody awkward teenage boy, confused by your person.

What was happening? Why was it happening?

Sisterly affection it was.

But she'd digress.

She caught you, stretching a bit by reaching her hands to her feet in the negative temperatures, momentarily looking up towards you, she knew that if you’d decide to turn you’d catch her, and this time she didn't have her glasses.

She stopped but then it didn't even take her a minute and there she went again, staring at you from the corner of her eye, like a sphinx ...four, five, six seven-

Bingo! Oh no..

You lost! You turned too soon and luckily for her, it made you seem like the creep in this situation.

Mind you, she lost no time.

"What is it?" Mizu broke your trance swiftly and you almost stumbled upon your words trying to act unbothered by the fact that you had quite literally just been caught gawking at your friend while still looking bothered because of Ringo’s choice of topic.

What the hell were you thinking again?

Right, Ringo went to take a piss, you were a bit pissed and so it was only the two of you, once again.

Either way you weren't gawking, you were taking mental notes..!

You shrugged your shoulders fast. A bit too fast actually.

"I don't know, I'm asking you.." You singsonged at her, quickly thinking of another one of your jokey remarks before she'd nail you alive. 

She’d definitely nail you alive. Mizu only raised her brows, chuckling for a second as she shook her head.

"You think I don’t see it but you keep staring at me..And I asked you first." Oh really?

You mentally ran laps and cursed at yourself again.

What a time to irritate her a bit.

Your favorite game and pass time after all.

You shifted on the floor, giving her a confused air and view of your face but she knew better by now.

Whatever was about to leave your lips would put her in an awkward position, you were always so quick.

And she was right.

"Oh...You've got it all wrong Mizu...I'm not staring at you" Was your tone ever not dripping with confidence and...everything else?

The woman only tsked at you, sheathing her blade briefly before making her way towards your sitting form, suddenly arming herself with an unreadable expression on her features.

So this is how you wanted to do things?

"I was simply..." You started, an awkward beam on your lips while you tried your best not to laugh already.

"You were simply?..." She mimicked in her rough tone, inky brow cocking at you while searching your eyes for any indicators of another one of your infuriating answers, her voice a bit lighter than usual, ever so softening whenever she spoke to you.

It was like a reflex at this point.

"The posture in your forms was off all along and I’ve only been back for 10 minutes now" You lied straight through your teeth as you scrunched your nose in order to avoid snickering too fast.

This was a friendly insult.

The word ‘insult’ was an overstatement.

It was hard not to keep your eyes on her when she was now towering over you with her lanky frame and signature frown combined with a small pout as you were struggling to read her next move.

She was already close and  you were heating the fuck up.

You felt her shift towards you with the same puzzled expression on her face as she slowly but steadily started lowering her face to meet yours, almost closing the gap and you'd be lying if you said that despite the numbing temperatures, you didn't feel anything rise between the two of you.

She had bad posture, it was a fact and she knew that but on that day she was in an unusually good mood which made her entertain you a bit more actively.

Not only that but it did in no way make her forms look any less better, perfection honestly.

So?

You had to keep yourself grounded and shot her a defying glare, the one Taigen failed to resist, the one that usually left your blue eyed friend so silent.

"Hm. Is that so?" she muttered barely audible and you almost stuttered...again.

So this was how she was going to be?

"Yeah..." You felt her large hand sneak its way up your arm but didn't react to it because she was commanding your attention with her eyes, indifferently removing some of the tiny loose strands hovering your face.

What was even happening right now?

You two were friends, she was allowed to do that.

Of course only she could do that.

She was watching you and she wanted your eyes on her, it was undeniable.

It was unnecessary.

It was stupid.

"Yeah?..." You felt her warm breath fan against your cheek and you almost wanted to die from the heat rushing to your ears.

Gods be damned what was wrong with her? 

What was wrong with you?

"Oh, absolutely.” You reciprocated courageously. It was final.

What was wrong with the both of you?

”…” Damn her.

“I mean...How could I not watch?" You shook your head dramatically as you bit your lower lip, the ends of your mouth twitching in anticipation.

She’d eat you alive if she could.

"So you're not denying it anymore?" Fuck her.

"Well yes because it was just that bad." You quickly saved yourself with a short breath leaning back a tad while Ringo’s bell alerted you that he’d be back any minute now.

That guy could probably only wonder if he was interrupting you two in the middle of ‘something’.

Wait- You two were women…How would that work again?

"Like reaaal bad posture." Her fingers tracing closer and closer to your neck, your body warmth radiating onto her, gods this was pathetic and you were itching for her to see through her actions this time.

"Mhm." Her voice was barely above a whisper, dropping an octave lower and if it wasn't for you already being seated, you would have too, that woman just couldn't keep her hands to herself…

Of course. 

You were already halfway there, what was the point  of backing out now?

”I see.” 

That’s it, you were done for. Her hand was caressing the side of your nape with the back of her fingers, you almost couldn’t feel it until-

"You know, you should try andAH-"

Your tone emphasized and shrieked, breaking the glass ceiling.

And before you could add more onto the plate and egg her on any further, you were met with a squatting Mizu, feeling your train of thought being interrupted by the shuddering feeling of her long and frosty fingers finding their way onto your exposed collarbone, proudly pinching into the crook of your neck just enough to shock you but nowhere hard enough to actually hurt you.

But they were seriously so FUCKING COLD what the-

And she kept going.

"Is that all? No, don’t hold back, princess...Anything else you want to add?" HOW DARE SHE?

Oh and how this shitty nickname rolled off of her tongue, this woman, of course she had you right where she wanted.

Just this once.

"OW! NO NO NO NOSTOP AH-  MIZU PLEASE AHA-" How did she even-?

It was a mix of pinching, squeezing and caressing all over your neck with her frozen digits which didn't really matter because in the end it was her and she had you squealing all over in no time, holding back a laugh or two.

"And just where exactly do you think you're going?" It made your heart jump and Mizu cackle for just an instant.

You couldn't run, you were at her mercy even in such an unserious argument and she'd take advantage of it and at the same time it had made your frown disappear.

That was all that she wanted.

She didn’t catch herself thinking but to her, you wore a smile better, taunting her, you could practically hear the malicious grin spread on her face while you couldn't help but squirm for your life.

You could've undone yourself from her grip easily. But at this very moment, you just didn't want to. (sisterly affection MY ASS-)

"OW OW OW OW OW- MIZU! MIZU I'M SORRY I WAS JOKING, I WAS JOKING  SERIOUSLY, PLEASE GET THEM OFF!!" You cried out laughing, stomach fluttering with bubbles and butterflies as you couldn't help but feel like a teenage girl being bullied by her boyfriend.

Ew.

To cheer you up when you were down…to make sure you weren’t doing too bad when confronted with unsettling things, to be gentle with you whenever she could, it wasn’t her center.

She later justified her actions by saying that you had an insect clasping onto your neck. So she tried to remove it and you would’ve been a fool to ignore her ironic tone when she said so.

That’s what friends are for, no? 

"MIZU STOP I’M GONNA PEE!-”

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

It was safe to presume that the woman thought you had died.

That night, that argument, the shouts, the rain, the deception, the slap that left a trail of crimson, like a bridge connecting your stinging nostril and upper lip down to your chin, like a zipping thunderbolt.

Well, there were a lot of thunders that night, you just realized.

It was the first time she had laid a hand on you, achieving the unthinkable. You pushed her to her limits.

You two weren’t strangers, besides Asano, no one knew you better than her. You regretted it but it also made you glad that it was her after all.

1 825 days, 43 826 hours, 261 weeks, However one would like to count it.

You longed for her, the sight of her dark hair confined within strict hairstyles and still very faint strands of grey, the sound of her even throaty voice snickering and advising you, the feeling of her numbing hands on your forehead when you’d feel down at times, the bearable smell of her pipe and it’s contents…

The two alternately colored planets residing within her eyes. Like chestnuts and greens.

And they had missed the sight of you too, empty of any compassion.

She had flicked your forehead, Mizu’s pupils dilating directly just for a bit, lip separating in a small ‘o’  as she realized who this woman was. 

Somewhere in the deepest parts of her mind, realized who this woman truly was.

Whose sword she had forged all these years ago, the you now wore on your hip, the one Master Eiji refused to refine any further despite her complaints and his rectifications, because of the nature of her spirit.

She didn't think she’d ever get to meet her ‘training partner’ ever again, especially not under the current circumstances.

It was the middle of the night and Yunjing’s stance was relaxed but firm and her left arm was circling her waist, the right one supporting her infamous pipe, brown tinted glasses scanning over your friends briefly before returning to you.

As if they had tried to unmask each other, but not right now.

There was no need. 

She had all the time in the world for such games later. Now it was all about you and what you had to say to her.

Now or never truly.

It clicked and you couldn’t take Yunjing’s silence anymore.

There was hesitance and discomfort at first, sweaty pearls slipping down your temples not going unnoticed by your friends and your mentor before it happened.

‘Bam’ . Resonance.

It took you a few agonizingly long seconds to make up your mind, but when you did, you decided you didn’t care who was watching. Whether it was Mizu’s seemingly cold glare, slicing through your fragile composure behind her glasses, or Ringo’s eyes stretched wide with concern, this was your last chance, and nothing else mattered truly anymore.

You were at everyone's mercy, some might even say that you were pitiful, what were you even doing?

So what? 

They wouldn't dare hold this against you. They didn't even fully understand the situation, or the extent of your quarrel with the lady who was clearly expecting somme sort of response from you.

What an awkward situation for any bystander, let’s just get this over with.

They could both sense the guilt that now plagued your conscience, reluctantly reclaiming a truth you had long buried away with a myriad of complex emotions, even if the process was painful and arduous.

You were a mess, you sat there trembling, strands of hair sticking to the side of your face, hands fiddling with the tissue of your hakama and it wasn’t pleasant.

A mess in every sense of the word.

Ringo’s eyes blinked hastily and nervously while navy clothed woman kept her silence.

Right now it wasn’t their place to intervene, sort of like a personal challenge of yours.

You got this.

A loud thud resounded throughout the wooden staircase, the brief pain slowly climbing your kneecaps as you uncomfortably knelt in front of her.

All of this was temporary, all of this would pass when all would have elapsed.

And she kept standing, statuesque as ever, daring to speak first, you had a heavy heart, one slip up.

She could tell.

Not your mentor but your mother.

Not the Red Soldier from the Mountains but Tan Yunjing.

Not Tan Yunjing but ‘Mama.’

You were kneeling like a beggar, like a follower, distraught as ever, as Y/N, not the Damsel of Devastation but in fact like the grown woman that you were, crying like no other little girl should, throwing your dignity aside until your head lowered near enough to kiss the ground. 

Your hands reached for her kimono, gripping it tightly, making Ringo share a worried look with his stone faced master.

Oh you had a lot of explaining to do.

Whenever there is a meeting, a parting shall always follow.

But that parting does not need to last forever.

At first, your slightly opened mouth made no sound but you pushed yourself, a wave of something delicate washing over you-

"Please…” Your voice was so insecure, it was…unfamiliar to anything anyone has ever heard before but Yunjing didn’t seem to care.

Whether a parting be forever or merely a short while…in your case it was entirely up to you.

She had tried but you had rejected her.

“What was the last thing I said to you?” crickets sang throughout the darkness of the night, a small source of light illuminating your face from within her house, memories swirling up to the surface of your brain again.

"Foolish girl, you are no apprentice of mine. Get out of my house Y/N, I want you out by morning."

Where were you?

“Master I-” Water threatened to spill and the only thing protecting you was your back, faced towards the people you cared about the most.

Seeing you like this, Mizu decided to keep her indifference for her own good. It wasn’t her place to speak. It wasn’t her place to speak, you could handle yourself…she kept on repeating to herself.

This wasn’t her center.

“Don’t make me deny you twice.” Your master wouldn’t budge.

“Mama…” the endearing title, the one you used whenever you felt at peace with her, whenever her presence made your heart feel content, the one that reminded her of who you truly were. 

No, the one you truly still are.

Oh you were desperate, pleading, rummaging through your brain, you couldn’t even think straight.

It didn’t matter anymore how many times you had played this scene out in your head in advance, right now you were bare, you were helpless and your friends were being called to hold their breaths and let you handle this on your own.

But at least you didn’t recite, you spoke from the heart, that much Ringo and his master knew.

Of course Yunjing did as well. It was complicated.

Right now, you weren’t doing this for Mizu, or Ringo but you were indeed doing this for yourself.

How were you supposed to let her know?

This place had always been a haven of your own serenity until you spiraled and you didn’t want to hear a thing after your adoptive father had been killed, Yunjing’s husband, Asano.

A good man, really.

Something within you died at that time and you tried to find it again within that thing, it wasn’t your fault.

That thing really did leave a hollow place inside of you. 

You had to admit it and until this day, she still blamed herself and how poorly she handled it all.

But you couldn’t understand-

Money could never replace one’s presence but at least you tried to make up for your errors.

After you left, you never stopped sending her money, lots and lots of it. 

You wanted to clear yourself and after you disappeared, you felt like you owed it to her, this was the least you could do.

Hell, with all the jobs you had taken on she could’ve bought herself an estate, you knew that she knew.

And it still wasn’t enough.

“Mother, I have given you my life and rightfully so-” You gritted through your teeth, hands squeezing the fabric even tighter it almost looked as if you were about to grip the flesh of your madams thighs through it.

“With all due respect…After Asano left us,  who helped you pay for the rice in your bowl, the silk on your back, the kizami in that damn pipe of yours?” you grimaced. 

You supported her from afar, clearing yourself from any monetary debts.

Ringo and Mizu thought they had misheard you.

It wasn’t your place and at the time Yunjing  had told you that there was no need, but you had hurt her in unfashionable ways.

You were a failed investment.

You had found a way to pay all these years of hard labor back to her, at least financially. The entire sum of money she had spent on you from the very moment she had laid her eyes on you to the day you decided to leave in the heat of an argument.

You could've sworn that it wouldn’t have taken her anything more to throw you onto the streets with that attitude of yours.

It was bloody money nonetheless since you refused to take in any money for your healing jobs.

It was ‘dirty money’ but it felt good knowing that you helped her somehow.

She didn’t need it but that didn’t matter.

The guilt never stopped eating at you.

You paid it all back during your years of absence as a silent apology and of course, it still wasn’t enough.

“WHO?” You barked, silent tears rolling down your cheeks and chin. She simply didn’t want to understand the choices you had made, the ones she so desperately tried to protect you from.

She could’ve done more, knowing who she was. The woman took another deliberately long drag of her pipe, shifting her weight onto the other leg as your poor condition reflected itself within her glasses.

You were directly looking at her and that for the first time in this whole conversation. Your eyes were soaked.

Mizu’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t her center.

“Yes, that is true,” Yunjing exhaled, pausing briefly, drinking both of your friends' expressions once more.

It was clear to her that you hadn’t spoken a word of this to them. She cocked her brow and shrugged, the action making her chest rise dramatically.

“Only to thank me with your impudence, leaving me to deal with your arrogance and that foul temper of yours” she hissed through her teeth, followed with a dark chuckle, venom spilling from her lips to which Ringo decided that he had to say something.

This wasn’t fair, it made no sense.

“You wouldn’t dare-” You were 17 at the time, she had no idea what you had gone through afterwards and you didn’t know any better.

You were foolish, yes. You still felt ashamed and guilty, you truly weren’t proud about it.

It was your biggest shame if there was any about you.

But she wouldn’t dare.

“Don’t exaggerate now!...Tsk, what was his name again?” No, she wouldn’t dare, dashing up your feet your puppy like stare changed into something much harsher.

If anyone wanted to hurt you, this was the last place they should reach to achieve that.

After a short sigh, she gasped lightly, “You chose that no good joke of a man, sneaking through your window at all hours of the night-” At the mention of a man, Mizu unconsciously bid her tongue. She had no idea. 

She actually thought you were joking back in the bath house, but then again, what else were she to expect?

After all, it was what made the most sense in society's eyes-

Right? You were different.

Yunjing didn’t need to continue, the unshakable disgust in your face said it all. 

‘Please don’t.’

Yunjing chose to finish her sentence either way, the topic you had meticulosly avoided so much, and she just ripped the band aid off.

“Not like an apprentice of mine but…”

Not like there was ever one to begin with.

“Like a-” A man's voice raised itself. 

"StOp" Yunjing blinked, unfazed.

This was unacceptable, you were trying to be the bigger person right now, to right your wrongs and all this woman had to do was to constantly cut you off and not take any of your words seriously.

It made the two planets within your master's eyes glimmer.

Who would’ve known? 

You had good taste in friends after all, she’d guess.

It wasn’t his place but he couldn’t watch this any longer, “Ringo-” the sapphire eyed woman barely had any time to react, to get a hold of his arm, before he stepped forward, adding onto the loudness of the previous sound, smoke soon enough seeping through Yunjing’s teeth, a joyful jet shocked combination guarding her face.

The man didn’t let her finish. Whatever dirty title she was going to give you, he wouldn’t let her.

This wasn’t what you deserved.

“YOu CAn’t sAY Things LIke that.” He forced himself to speak just above a whisper, knowing how loud his voice could be.

It was dead in the night after all and he had no idea if your mother had any other people sleeping inside her house. 

You couldn’t believe your ears. What was he thinking?

“Ringo this isn’t your-” He didn’t care about any further consequences, and at this exact moment, he strictly cared about you.

“LISten.” And she listened, surprisingly enough to which Mizu’s eyes only bulged, meeting yours for a second.

Your mother had let a man raise his voice at her, and didn't flinch?

Was he in his right mind? This didn’t have anything to do with her or him and yet he still pushed himself to support you in this trial of sorts.

“I’M rInGo and I’m Am one oF  yoUR DauGhterS FriEnds. I hAveN’t knOwn Y/N foR too Long-”  Your bald friend started, clearing his throat thoroughly.

“I’m entitled to do as I choose.” Her words seemed final. “ Young man, you’re standing on my property as we speak.” 

This wasn’t how you expected things to go. In a moment of despair you let go of Yunjing but Ringo had no plans of stopping now.

“It’s alright, we’ll leave at this very moment”

As if the situation wasn’t already tricky enough, you heard Mizu declare that she’d be leaving, already turning to get her horse. 

What a waste of her time. But her apprentice stopped her, he just needed a minute of Yunjing's precious time.

He persisted and she…waited. Mizu and her thick head, she actually waited just a bit more for you.

“I don’t agree with what you’re doing right now. I don’t know what she possibly could have done to anger you like this but she’s trying her best to make up for it. Truly. She’s here now apologizing in every way she possibly can and you, you’re just walking all over her…”

From what he gathered, you paid her literal money for years, knelt in front of of her trying to prove how serious you were about regretting your actions and this lady still wanted to put on a tough fight.

It made no sense for her to battle her kid.

He understood that she wasn’t someone that could be easily swayed but this wasn’t right, you were visibly at your breaking point.

And she didn’t care?

“What kind of mother does that to her child?” He was brave and Mizu glared daggers at her apprentice in disbelief, her gaze morphing into a troubled one. 

You didn’t do any different.

For the first time that night, Yunjing’s lips pressed into a straight line, smoke escaping her nostrils now.

She was actually listening and let your friend speak, never cutting him short.

“I don’t have a mother anymore but if I were given the chance see her or to speak to her again I’d be a fool not take the chance so immediately. And Y/N shares that sentiment” Despite your reluctancy to do so, he knew you did.

When Ringo started talking about his mother, you could sense Mizu’s attitude shift drastically, even more quiet than before and less prone to objecting to whatever the man had to say.

It made her feel…uncomfortable and it was as if all the nerves in your body alerted you of her...regret.

You turned to look at her “I can’t even imagine what I would do if my own mother rejected me in my worst times of need.” He was hinting at your unstable health, you needed solace even just for a short period of time, he was sure it could help.

This was the only home you had left.

You’d forever be grateful to Yunjing, she knew that.

Ringo’s mention of his deceased mother had Mizu’s irises shining a melancholic grey behind her orange lenses and of course her change of mood radiated off onto you almost instantly.

While Ringo was doing gods work, you subtly slid your pinky towards her index without saying a thing, keeping a straight face, interlocking them underneath her coat for just about ten seconds.

It felt secretive and delicate but honest. Just like when you touched her hand before your encounter with Heiji Shindo.

She didn’t say anything as you didn’t let her see your face during that action, it would not have been a pleasant view and either way you didn’t want her to see you like this, eyes puffy and dried tears of buildup anger and unrequited shame, your message came through nonetheless.

I’m sorry about your mother…and I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I’m a bad friend, I know.

Before she could reciprocate anything you let go.

You were hoping to make things easier for Mizu in her quest today and instead, you had put her in this strange position which had nothing to do with her.

To say you felt horrible was an understatement. You purposefully hid things from her because they were just too painful to talk about, you knew she’d understand eventually.

Now your mother was fuming. 

Literally.

Your chef friend felt like this had to be cleared up once and for all, even if he didn’t know all the details.

You could talk to her in private but he couldn’t stand seeing you this hurt anymore.

At least for tonight.

“Madam, she is your daughter. She’s done bad things but you should still try and treat her as such.”

Silence, complete utter silence. The kizami in her pipe had burned itself up down to the last weed and right now her main point of focus seemed disoriented.

Sort of like you, Ringo noted that the both of you were truly unpredictable. Like mother like daughter. A tragedy almost.

You had nothing else to add, your round friend had stolen all of your words by now and all of you waited for Yunjing’s reaction, a movement, words, anything really.

You were her daughter and Ringo was determined to make Yunjing forgive whatever faults you had committed, Mizu deciding to opt for silence on her end once more  while thinking that maybe she really did want to spent more time looking for information on her own rather than like this.

But she couldn't help but remember the ‘joke of a man’ your master had been talking about in such a nasty tone…

The words wouldn’t stop haunting her mind…

And she knew that she wouldn’t really have any business asking you about it but she still couldn’t help but wonder…

You had someone courting you once?

A man?

Even the thought- with your character and your rather...questionable ways, you and a man courting, marrying or anything of the sort-

A man could never handle you, disrespectfully.

'...'

It didn’t take long for Ringo to apologize with you, “Please accept my apologies for intruding alongside hers, I mean it. She means it.” You were mute.

The path of death and destruction you shared with Mizu really wasn’t his call and yet here he was defending with all the volition in his heart.

You didn’t even know if she’d let you in after the stunt you just pulled but that didn’t stop the apprentice at all and he was serious about it.

He kept going.

“I can help around your house, I can cook, I make the best soba in the world, I’ll help you clean anything you need, I can sew, I’m big and I’m strong and I can carry things for you but please don’t be mad at Y/N like this anymore.” Another long silence followed.

Hell at even Mizu lowered her head at your mother, she didn’t need to but she still did.

“My sincerest apologies once again, Lady Yunjing.” She simply uttered and it made ask yourself why the hell these two were going through with this. 

Right now you felt as if this wasn’t completely about revenge anymore.

What were they even apologizing for?

They didn’t need to know the details, they just did it. You felt like your legs were about to give out but of course, Mizu noticed before she could catch herself doing so. 

What mattered right now was you and your unstable self, the dark haired woman didn’t like seeing you like this at all, it made her feel anxious which she didn’t like either.

Seeing you unwell made her ache and she couldn’t stand it. 

And right now it didn’t matter.

You almost wanted to gasp when you felt her light hand on your shoulder, like a grounding stone. It was light and the action was short lived but it spoke very loudly for itself. 

Hang in there. She didn’t question herself for caring about you this time either.

She just did.

And suddenly, there was a crack. Not an audible one but there was a crack.

A crack in that witty mask of hers, that unattainable persona Yunjing executed so well.

The shield she had developed in times you weren’t even born, unbreakable but at this specific moment in time, it cracked open just a bit.

You were sure she’d laugh at him, right into his face but to everyone’s surprise, she simply sucked her teeth lightly, something akin to a fox’s grin.

And seconds later her beam softened again. She was genuinely smiling, pleased with…something?

Her hands fell her sides and with no warning, she stepped to the side. She was eyeing your blue friend who failed to speak this entire time.  

And yet she knew, she had a feeling Mizu needed to talk to her. 

It really came out of the blue.

Letting out a small huff the woman’s voice commanded.

“Why if it isn’t Mizu, I’m assuming you’re the one looking for a nice long heart to heart chat with me?” She disregarded your state and no one could have prepared you  for her drastic change of heart. Just what was she thinking this time?

Uhm...

The air was thick with filtered confusion on your end and something close to shocking embarrassment on Mizu’s. 

‘How the hell…’ You bit the inside of your cheek, but before you could ponder any further the woman’s responded politely, the faint disbelief in her voice making you frown.

“There’s nothing more I’d like than that…but right now might not be the right-“ Your blue friend being interrupted and she could only sigh.

“You can raise your head at once, young man.” Yunjing’s wish was simple “It’s late now”

Cutting Mizu’s already short answer even shorter, the older woman didn’t add much onto what had just happened, she minutely wore a neutral expression now, explaining that there were two free rooms, Mizu and Ringo being men should have no trouble sharing one and you could sleep in your old one.

'This makes no sense'...to you, none of this made any sense. Mizu had just met the lady, how did your mother know her name?

Whatever spell Ringo had laced into his words, you would have to thank him later in the morning.

”The three of you must be exhausted. Get washed up quickly and then go to bed. Tomorrow is another day…”

She was avoiding your gaze now and it was clear that the large man's words made her...well, you'd pick up on this tomorrow.

Like she said, it was late and right now none of you had the energy to continue this conversation, if you could even call it that.

”We’ll be able to talk and discuss further all that you want. Or that you need to know.”

The three of you muttered your most sincere thanks and without much more waiting, you stepped through the door, passing by the owner of the house and slipping off your shoes before entering the ancient place of your serenity, still processing everything that had just happened.

The only source of light was a small oil lamp sitting in the hallway of the entrance and therefore you almost couldn’t see a thing. 

Good for you.

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

"Something that the strange ronin had no way of knowing, too busy bedding and poisoning other women, was that the amanranthine woman he had come to misuse and fool over the course of the years....well...while on her quest to find him again, she had no other choice but to grow to mistrust, reject and even run away from a multitude of men."

You mused, snow crunching underneath  your feet as you descended your way downwards to the fishermen's town to go and get the ingredients for yours and Mizu's medicine. 

"And yet she never lost hope in her one and only's loyalty, the one she was absolutely spellbound with and practically ready to sacrifice herself for."

It was the continuation of an odd story but a good one and even if your freshly made acquaintance didn't understand all of it's undertones and metaphors, it didn't matter, he only wanted to hear you talk more. 

'She has a gift for story telling', was what he kept thinking to himself and your friends apprentice secretly wondered if by any chance your master might have told you these stories when you were younger, given how vividly and carefully you recounted them with no fear of saying anything wrong, still keeping a certain air of wisdom.

As if you had already lived through countless lives, these stories felt like a mirror of sorts. You had that effect on him and he barely even knew you.

That was to say that Ringo had failed to contain his curiosity about what turn the tale might have taken, he just couldn't help but urge you to continue your narrative (even after promising that he would stop talking given how early it was in the morning) and you on the other hand secretly could not have been happier than to indulge him.

It was strange, but it felt innocent, fluffy and light, Mizu's apprentice and his unconsciously tranquilizing, childlike energy, he wasn't heavy on you at all.

Though the young man probably wasn't even aware of it, you took note to tell him later sometime. It was a good trait and from the first time you had set your eyes on him you knew, you could already tell that he was truly kind and did not wish you any harm.

Hell, if he'd ever mess up as Mizu's assistant (as if), you'd be the first person he'd think of turning to. That was his first impression of you and maybe for now, it was for the best.

You honestly wouldn't recommend it though.

Like a warm welcome, you  had merely known him for a day but you couldn't ignore how easy he was to talk to and how naturally you felt at ease with him, he listened with no ulterior motives lingering in the back of his mind, his jumpy voice and constant questions sometimes echoing loudly but never truly bothering your space.

You twinkled.

"Wait- earlier you said that the pretty lady found her husband-" Right, you made it explicitly clear that the pair in the folkloric tale wasn't married, but something Ringo didn't know was that in this story, things were just a bit more complicated than what they seemed. 

Just like real life.

The young man was quick to correct himself, briefly clearing his throat before continuing.

"You said that the pretty lady ended up finding her lover with some other woman, making...uh.. making love to her like he never had never done with her. Now you're saying that he was actually 'poisoning' multiple women while he was away?" The apprentice urged, wanting to make sure he was still following your words correctly.

  You nodded.

He didn't fully understand, muttering his words out in a short breath.

A small glance over your shoulder reflected the image you had just recounted of him in your mind and the round giant made sure to step a bit closer to you, returning your kind expression.

It made you think how you instinctively thought of him like...a younger brother?

An irresistible, annoying younger brother definitely.

You had always been an only child so you had no idea what having siblings felt like, but if you were to be asked about how you perceived Ringo as for now, you would qualify him as...likable enough for you to let him 'bully' you into telling him stories.

You'd guess that that's what older sisters did, pretend to not care about their siblings wishes and needs only to succumb to them immediately later, it took you a few moments before you shortly turned your head again, yet this time you were faced with a seriously interested expression in the man's irises as his brows furrowed lower, still listening intently.

'You have good taste' Was your conclusion towards Mizu's choice of an apprentice, even when she claimed that she really did not want him around her, you were convinced that it was for the better since one didn't need to be a genius to know that she did not take care of herself as well as she should.

He wanted to learn from her and in exchange he'd watch over her well being.

So he seemed something close to a voice of reason just like your own mentor used to be for you.

Now if she chose to listen to him or not was entirely up to her and though it seemed a bit weird you were really happy that she had found a 'caretaker' of sorts.

What you did not fully agree on was him deliberately throwing himself onto a path littered with death and sin.

It wasn't his calling, you thought and on the other side you had to respect his determination and loyalty, and if this was what he desperately wanted for himself, then so be it.

Even if you felt like he didn’t fully understand what he signed himself up for, he must’ve had his reasons.

He was a grown man, he could decide for himself.

Your brows rose at him while you kept up the walk downwards the cliff's road, the fishermen's town slowly but surely making it's appearance on the far right, the half frozen lake reflecting the suns barely noticeable rays of light while the bland sky howled with heavy clouds.

You took it as a sign to get back to the matter at hand.

"The truth was...she hated men. She hated men and wanted to do unspeakable things to them, hurt them in every single way possible. Cast filth upon them, make them a spectacle." Slowing down your pace, your tone was grave, filled with an undermining layer of...pity, sympathy?

Understanding?

It was impossible to ignore.

Ringo couldn't quite shake the feeling of entering an almost secretive like atmosphere, like a confession of sorts.

He wasn't sure he could understand.

"...Oh...Really?" Silence followed.

His tone pitched carefully in contrast to your vaguely serious one, his body leaning more towards you with pinched brows anew, keeping up with your pace while you stared right past him into nothingness, somewhere his eyes couldn’t see, not even sparing him as much as a glance. 

"Why?" His breath materialized itself as a small cloud of smoke in the freezing morning light.

He didn't know you, so of course he was still new on how to deal with you as a person, your sudden changes of topics, your unpredictable sways of mood and reactions to things he’d say...

He knew better than to take it personally, after all, this story of yours did seem to resonate- Well, never mind, he thought that he couldn't really know. He didn't know.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to know and h e could only guess what you were hinting at.

You cut yourself short thinking about how you'd formulate the rest of the tale, what words you could choose.

He wasn't a child but it was...at least to you-

After a few more silent moments interrupted by the crunching of the snow underneath both of your soles, you sucked your teeth, letting out something Ringo believed to be a chuckle before answering without much hesitance.

"Because she's hurting...I guess." You guessed. Like a shotgun, the next question fell upon you immediatly.

"Why?" The apprentice faithfully pushed, feeling he'd irritate you any moment now if he wasn't meticulous with the way he spoke to you.

This time it was your turn to step closer to him, pausing shortly once again. You shot him a very direct and puzzled glare.

He didn’t budge but he did feel thrown…off.

Silence. This was really odd.

Now the chef wasn't too sure about whether he actually wanted to keep prying.

The distant crash of the lake against the shore echoed like a low, constant rumble, sending minuscule shivers through the frozen ground. Each wave hit with a soft, rhythmic thud, a stark contrast to the quiet yet intimidating tension of the moment.

The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating across the ice and snow, filling the emptiness with its persistence, until it became the only thing you could hear.

The air was so still, so thick with cold, it took you a while to get back on track, mainly because you listened to your environments noises, still thinking about something distant.

You knew this fable by heart.

Then again, without much questioning, you answered.

"She suffers constantly day and night, without letting up, no matter how much resilience she showed, no matter how much she persevered." 

A short hum acknowledged your response and you could sense Ringo's growing uneasiness. He wanted to know more but he didn't know if it was 'ok'?

"I'm sorry to be a bother but..." Why the hell was he sorry? He felt like apologizing instinctively, instantly.

But this wasn't a real story? It was a thousand year old tale that you merely happened to recount with such intense manner...so why did he-

"Because on her quest to search for her lover, she happened to have had a poisonous thorn forced deeply into the base of her spine..."

‘Yikes’…was the apprentice’s first thought.

A poisonous thorn forced into the base of a woman's spine.....

And this wasn’t even the most graphic part.

It didn’t take long for Ringo's mouth to go dry, realization first fighting against what he had heard, your last sentence reverberating within the crevices of his brain, the weight of your words undoubtably tugging at the strings of his heart.

"Against her own will." You let it sink in.

He would have never guessed. Man…Did all of your stories always take such a dark turn?

The man sighed, still unable to contain his inquisitiveness.

You didn't mind as much as he feared the story’s ending.

"Why...why didn't she ask a friend to remove it for her?" You flashed him a lazy smile, eyes rolling in frustration.

"Don’t you remember? She had always been lonely and therefore she had no friends, except for the ronin of course, he was the only one she still trusted after all that had happened to her." You heard the sound of seagulls at the base of the cliff and it didn't take you two much longer to reach the small beach, the one from yesterday’s events.

Chiaki's corpse was nowhere to be found.

One could argue that no matter how rotten a person was, everyone deserved a proper funeral. 

You let out an innocent scoff.

To each their own.

From there you had a bridge tracing its way directly to the small town just like you remembered it.

And so you went, Ringo never failing to follow your lead close by.

"But believe it or not, if she had known that someone, anyone knew the secret around her thorn and would want to remove it, she'd kill them." You announced with a semi grimacing expression, something between a jumpscare and a full on poker face.

The man only gasped, his dull wrists slapping over his mouth, surprised brows shooting into his hairline and all, he was 100% invested.

"Why?" That’s a good question.

"If one were to remove the thorn, she'd instantly suffer an indescribable amount of wounding pain sourly mixed with salty guilt and vinegary shame. Something that no one could ever imagine, even in their wildest nightmares."

"..."

"She'd rather die on the spot." With each step, the wooden bridge groaned underfoot, the planks old and weathered from years of use. 

Your feet’s rhythm did not falter once by now.

Your friend's apprentice didn't have anything else to add, speechless as he was actually still making sure he was processing everything you said properly.

The ronin had no way of knowing but during his leave, his actual lover had already tasted the pinnacle of atrocity, helplessness, fear and agony when a group of wild beasts held her down, while another one ripped the thorn inside of her...

For nothing in this world she'd want to go through this experience ever again.

a/n: i just love writing them like two ordinary non murderous girls living casually fr thank you for reading, i’ll see you in the next one, take care luv sic! again, if you're enjoying the story so far do let me know by commenting 🤎 theories, criticism or other, i'd love to read/engage with you!

Masterlist I Next Chapter

[lunette-png]

Waves of Ithaca

Interlude 6: Through Distant Stars

artwork used: ximena natzel's animatics

inspired by: "a million miles away" from belle(2021)

dividers by: @anitalenia

The olive wood bed creaked softly as Penelope lay upon it, her fingers tracing the carvings Odysseus had once made with such care. The moonlight streamed through the open windows, casting silvered shadows across the empty space beside her. It had been nearly twenty years, and yet the bed, their bed, remained untouched by any other. A symbol of a love that endured—though time had chipped away at it like the waves eroding Ithaca’s shores.

She closed her eyes, exhaling softly. Love breathes life into everything, she thought, remembering the way Odysseus had once whispered the same sentiment to her beneath a sky filled with stars. Even when it's only a memory.

The wind outside sighed through the palace corridors, carrying with it the scent of the sea. That scent had once been comforting, a promise of his return. Now it only reminded her of distance—of the miles and years that separated them.

Her mind drifted back, and the past unraveled before her.

She was young again, standing amidst the suitors gathered for Helen’s hand. Yet Odysseus had not been entranced by the famed beauty of Sparta. His sharp eyes, filled with the promise of adventure and wit, had sought her out instead.

“Why not Helen?” she had asked, her voice teasing yet uncertain.

“Because I see something in you no legend could capture,” he had replied, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face. “A fire all your own—steady, enduring. The kind that doesn’t burn out, no matter how fierce the wind blows..”

For a moment, Penelope almost believed it had been enough. But the years stretched long, filled with doubt.

"At times, I thought I wasn’t enough. That my love alone couldn’t hold him, couldn’t bring him back to me", her mind echoed.

But still, she loved him. And love, even when left to weather the years alone, refused to let go.

The memory shifted, years folding away like waves retreating from the shore. She was in his arms, heavy with child, as Odysseus whispered promises into her hair.

“No matter what happens, Penelope, I will always find my way back to you.”

Her fingers clenched the sheets. He had sworn it, and yet here she lay—alone. The promise echoed in her mind, just as it had every night since his ship had disappeared over the horizon. You will always find your way back. She wanted to believe it still.

The cries of a newborn filled the chamber, and there she was again, cradling their first child. Their daughter. Odysseus had knelt beside her, awe lighting his face.

“A captain,” he had murmured, pressing a kiss to the infant’s brow. “She will sail farther than I ever have.”

She could still see her daughter at four years old, running barefoot along the shore, her laughter carried by the wind. She had always loved the water, unafraid of the waves that crashed against the rocks. Odysseus had stood nearby, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his lips as he watched her splash into the shallows.

“She was born for this,” he had mused, shaking his head fondly. “The sea calls to her.”

The little girl had turned, dripping wet, her curls sticking to her face as she grinned at him. “Come on, Papa!” she had called, waving him closer.

Odysseus had laughed, stepping forward to scoop her up before she could slip too deep. He held her aloft, water streaming from her tiny hands as she reached for him. “Not so fast, little naiad,” he had teased, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “The sea may love you, but your father loves you more.”

It was a moment of simple joy, but one that had held a weight neither of them had fully understood at the time. The year prior, they had visited the sacred spring, and there, without ceremony but with quiet certainty, they had confirmed what had long been suspected. She was blessed. The sea had chosen her, and Poseidon’s favor was clear in her every movement, every affinity for the water.

Penelope, already pregnant with Telemachus at the time, had watched them from a distance, her hand gently resting on her swelling belly. “You know,” she had said softly, her voice full of thought, “it’s as if the gods knew before we did.”

Odysseus had turned to her with a soft smile, his eyes never leaving their daughter. “Maybe they did.” Then, with a chuckle, he added, “Perhaps they already know she’s going to be trouble.”

Penelope had smiled faintly, her eyes distant but warm. “She’s our trouble, then.” vshe’d replied, her gaze flickering to Odysseus. “And I’ll be sure to remind her of that when she’s older.”

And then, just a few months, Telemachus had been born, small and fragile, yet already carrying the weight of his father’s absence.

She could picture them both—her daughter, now four and a half, standing protectively by Telemachus’s cradle, watching over him with all the fierce devotion of a sister who already understood the burden of love. “I’ll keep him safe,” she had promised, her small hands curled into determined fists

Odysseus had chuckled, ruffling her hair. “A captain and a guardian,” he had said. “He’ll have no need for soldiers with you by his side.”

She swallowed hard, blinking away the sting in her eyes. “Memories fade,” she thought bitterly. Time erodes them like the tide erases footprints in the sand. And yet, the ache remained, hollow and unyielding. There is no one to love... The thought crept in, unbidden, and she shook her head. No. She had Telemachus. She had her daughter, (Y/N). She was not alone.

Still, the longing gnawed at her. A whisper of doubt that never left her, a question she dared not voice.

"Is this life worth living without him?"

Her mind wandered again, back to that fateful day—the day Odysseus had kissed her forehead and left for the war. She remembered standing at the shore, watching his ship fade into the distance, Telemachus cried in her arms, oblivious to the path their lives would soon take. Y/N stood beside her, small yet unyielding, her tiny hands curled into fists as she fought back the tears burning in her eyes. She did not cry, not like her baby brother—perhaps because she did not yet understand, or perhaps because she already knew. Odysseus had promised he would return, that the war would end and they would be whole again. But the years passed, and the silence between them grew.

Penelope sat up on the bed, her fingers ghosting over the carved wood as memories surfaced like echoes of the past. She remembered how she had cradled Telemachus in her arms in the quiet that followed Odysseus’s departure. The infant’s tiny hands had grasped at her, his cries echoing in the vast emptiness of their home.

“Don’t worry, my love,” cshe had whispered to him, though her own heart was heavy with fear. “We will be fine. We will wait for him together.”

As Telemachus grew, he became her rock, though he often clung to her, sensing her sorrow and confusion. He was a reminder of Odysseus, a piece of him still living and breathing beside her. And as he grew older, she saw his father's strength in him, his sharpness, but also his vulnerability—the way he yearned for a connection he could not fully grasp. At times, she could see his frustration, the way he would look out to the sea, as if calling to his father, asking why the man who should be guiding him was lost to them.

It was during those moments that (Y/N) would take his hand, offering him the protection and care he so desperately needed—though in truth, she needed it just as much. But she never reached for it herself. Instead, she gave it to Telemachus, believing it was her responsibility to be strong for the both of them. Though Telemachus often chafed under her overprotectiveness, especially as he grew older, she could see the bond between them—the way he came to her for comfort, even when he didn’t fully understand why.

And then, as the years wore on, (Y/N) grew restless. Her heart, like Penelope's, yearned for the return of the man they both loved. But she had promised Odysseus—promised to watch over Telemachus, to protect him. As he grew into a young man, the burden of that promise began to weigh heavily on (Y/N), but she refused to let it go. She couldn’t, not with her brother so vulnerable, so lost without a father’s guidance.

They both were.

The flickering light of the oil lamps cast long shadows over the library’s stone walls, the scent of parchment and ink thick in the air. Telemachus sat at the long wooden table, carefully studying a wax tablet covered in neat inscriptions. His brow furrowed in concentration as he traced the words with his fingertip, silently committing them to memory. Even at the cusp of his teenage years, he took his lessons seriously—an unspoken duty he shouldered in his father’s absence.

Across from him, (Y/N) was supposed to be reviewing the same passages, records of Ithaca’s past, but her focus drifted. A scroll lay half-unrolled before her, its inked lines forming the jagged, looping paths of the Aegean. Her fingers hovered over the map, following the twisting routes with an almost obsessive intent.

Telemachus sighed, setting his stylus down. “You’re looking at routes again.”

(Y/N) didn’t look up. “I’m studying.”

He leaned forward, glancing at the parchment she was poring over. “Not the kind Mother assigned you.”

(Y/N) hesitated before finally admitting, “Trade routes. Merchant paths.” She paused, then added in a quieter voice, “The paths a lost fleet might have taken.”

Telemachus’s lips pressed together, but he didn’t scoff or tell her to stop. Instead, he reached for the map and studied it himself.

“You think there’s a pattern?” he asked after a moment.

“There has to be.” Her fingers traced a curved route along the coastline. “Merchants adjust their paths based on storms, on safer harbors. If Father’s fleet had to resupply, they wouldn’t have taken the most direct path home.”

Telemachus hummed in thought. “If they stopped somewhere, someone would remember them.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, startled by his lack of doubt. “That’s what I’ve been thinking,” she admitted.

Telemachus tapped a location on the map. “This island. Traders talk about it often when they stop in the port. If he passed through there, there might still be stories.”

A spark of something unfamiliar—hope—lit in her chest.

“You believe me?” she asked, not hiding her surprise.

Telemachus leaned back, folding his arms. “I believe Father wouldn’t have given up. If there’s a chance he’s out there, it’s worth looking.”

(Y/N) exhaled, her grip on the parchment easing slightly.

Outside the doorway, Penelope stood in silence. She had come to tell them to rest, but their voices held her in place.

Her daughter, searching for answers where none had yet been found.

Her son, believing in his father, just as she once had.

She turned before they could notice her, retreating down the corridor.

In the library, (Y/N) and Telemachus remained at the table, their heads bent over the map, quietly piecing together a path that might lead them to the truth.

Penelope wiped a tear from her cheek as she turned back to the present, her hand resting on the wedding ring, still as unyielding as the stone walls of their home. Her breath caught as she whispered, “Come back to me. Stay by my side.”

Her voice broke, and she pressed a trembling hand to her heart. It ached, deep and unrelenting. How much longer can I bear this?

She thought of the nights spent alone, staring at the waves from the palace balcony, hoping against hope that she would see his sail at last. The world moved on without him, the suitors swarmed like vultures, and her son grew into a man who barely remembered his father’s face. Yet here she remained, bound by love and duty, waiting for a ghost.

Her fingers searched beneath her pillow, finding the ring he had given her on their wedding night. A simple band, worn by time but still gleaming in the candlelight. She held it tightly, pressing it to her chest as she turned her gaze to the heavens.

No matter how far you are, when I close my eyes, you’re all that I see.

Somewhere, across the vast sea, Odysseus stood upon the shores of an island that was not his own. The land was beautiful, yet it would never be home. The nymph’s charms could not erase the ache in his soul.

The nights were the worst. During the day, he could distract himself with thoughts of escape, with plans and schemes. But in the quiet of the night, with the stars shining down upon the endless ocean, his heart betrayed him. "Penelope..", he thought. "I wonder if you still wait for me."

His fingers curled around the ring he still wore, the only thing that tethered him to the life he had left behind. He lifted his head, gazing up at the same sky that stretched over Ithaca. A sky that carried her voice, her love, a promise unbroken by distance or time.

“I’m still reaching for you,” he murmured.

The wind rustled the trees, as if answering him. The sea whispered its own song, ancient and knowing. And though they remained separated by fate’s cruel hand, they clung to hope—

A love that even the gods could not sever.

[coff33andb00ks]

More Than Anything - Part Two

oscar piastri x pop!singer reader x lando norris (with charles leclerc)

summary: In the spotlight's harsh glare, she shattered into a million pieces, then found redemption in an unexpected place warnings: language, smut (mdni!!) notes: i still hate doing smaus but this is fun

liked by charles_leclrec, landonorris, oscarpiastri and others ynyln: Surprise!!! Lover's End dropping in 3...2...1... Special thank you to all of you, my darlings, for your unwavering love and support over the past 6 months. (I'm only gonna post about Monaco and F1 for the rest of the week)

↳ user1: 'You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart' MY JAW IS ON THE FLOOR           ↳ user2: MOTHER ATE ↳ user2: silver springs my FAVOURITE           ↳ user3: so much anger in this EP ↳ user4: it's SO GOOD

"So you'll be riding along and having a normal chat with him. Pretend like the cameras aren't there. Feel free to ask questions about anything you'd like." The assistant lowered her voice. "Other than the PR photos at hospitality later and your interview Saturday about your history of loving formula one, this is the only formal thing you have to do all week, I promise."

"Thanks." Y/N nodded as the clip mic was attached to her blouse, grinning when she saw Charles approaching on a bicycle. Muffling a giggle when he nearly crashed into the side of the Ferrari waiting for him to give her the tour of Monaco, she greeted him warmly, thinking of their friendly chatting the night before at the Ferrari dinner.

"Are you ready to see Monaco?" Charles asked once a mic had been clipped to his shirt and an assistant had fixed his hair. He immediately ran his hand through it, ruining her work, and y/n grinned again.

"Absolutely."

He drove through the winding streets, stopping to point out the more famous sites – the hotel, the casino, the harbour – telling her stories from his childhood of watching the races, seeing the grandstands being built.

"Oh, you were always rich… I can't imagine growing up in a place like this," she said as he drove past the harbour which was filling with yachts. "But I guess it was all you knew."

Charles nodded, and she noticed he looked slightly panicked at her calling him rich. "I didn't appreciate how, ah… Privileged I was until I became a man. I'll show you my school?"

"Sorry, I grew up poor so I'm always fascinated when I meet someone who didn't. I'm well aware of how different my life is, but in my head I'll always be that little girl with no money at the book fair," she babbled.

He furrowed his brow. "Book fair?"

"Oh my god they were the best thing! You'd get a flyer with all the books they'd have available and the kids would circle everything they wanted. And there'd be things like posters and bookmarks and cheap little toys? Like a little bookstore set up in the school." She smiled at the memory.

"That is why you donate money to schools, yes? To help kids like you?" he asked softly.

Y/N smiled. "Exactly." She realized she was yapping as he drove through the streets but couldn't stop herself because it was something she cared about so much. And Charles seemed to genuinely care, nodding and smiling a little as she went on an on, to the point she didn't feel the need to apologize for her blathering.

"My school," he said, parking in front of a somewhat nondescript building. "I got into so much trouble here…"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Surely they were just inchidents?"

He giggled and she saw his cheeks darken as he pulled away from the curb. A few moments later, he asked, "You've traveled around the world. Do you have a favourite country to visit?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "You know… I've been around the world twice now. But I feel like I haven't seen any of it. It's always airport to hotel to media stations to venue and back again. I rarely get back home, though. So I'll say that's my favourite place to visit." She shifted in the seat to face him. "What's your favourite colour?"

He giggled again, tugging at his Ferrari polo. "I have to say read, no?"

Y/N grinned. "Ooo, the colour of love…"

The rest of the tour was filled with laughter and reflection, and they stood near the harbour chatting once they'd finished filming, discussing music and she got the feeling he was getting around to asking her out when someone walked by and Charles laughed, turning and calling out—

"Oscar!"

The man turned and y/n felt a giddiness rise in her stomach as she recognized him. His eyes were on Charles as they fist bumped and then his brown eyes swiveled towards her, widened, and…

"H-hi," he said, and she pretended to not notice the way his voice cracked.

Smiling, she held out her hand. "Hi, so great to meet you."

His hand was warm and strong and his cheeks were turning pink. "Ah." He cleared his throat, his cheeks turning darker, his hand still shaking hers. "Great t-to meet you t-too."

She felt the urge to giggle but refrained, continuing to shake his hand as she stared into his eyes. Next to her, Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just talking about her new music," he said.

They hadn't been but that seemed to snap Oscar out of his little stupor. His eyes widened and his lips quirked up into smile. He loosened his hold on her hand and she would have sworn she imagined his shaky exhale.

"Y-yeah, I listened this morning. It's great." Oscar rubbed the back of his neck. "As always."

"You're too sweet," she insisted, marveling when the pink of his cheeks darkened more. "I'm glad you enjoy it."

Charles looked from her to Oscar and back again, and she felt her cheeks grow warm when he smirked.

Oscar stammered – Oscar stammered! she would never get over him seemingly starstruck by her – out that he was a big fan of her music and she sensed him relax while she talked about recording in secret over the past few months. "Lando's a huge fan, too," he said, his cheeks still pink and his eyes still a little wide.

"Is he? I'd love to meet him."

He was already nodding. "Y-yeah, that'd be great. Y-you can drop by the motorhome anytime."

She felt the urge to play with her hair and probably would have if Charles hadn't been watching them so closely. "I'll do that, sure. Later on, after I do some PR stuff with Ferarri?"

Oscar's shoulders sagged and he was still nodding. "Excellent." He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck again. "I'll, um, see you later then."

As soon as he was out of earshot Charles laughed.

"I have never seen him like that around a celebrity."

Y/N watched Oscar disappear in the crowd milling along pit lane. "Really?"

Charles hummed and held out his arm. "You must have that effect on people."

"I really don't know why. I'm just me," she mumbled as she slid her arm through his to walk towards the Ferrari motorhome. "Well, no, I suppose I get it. It's just… Weird to think of someone notable being flustered meeting another notable person, right?"

"So you were flustered just now?" Charles hummed knowingly.

"Stop, he's one of my favourite drivers," she groaned. "I get flustered meeting anyone."

"You weren't flustered meeting me," he sighed with a dramatic wave of his hand.

"I was," she confessed, thinking of how anxious she'd been in those first moments after meeting him and Carlos the night before. Mainly because she hated formal, corporate affairs when everyone had to be on their best behaviour.

liked by charles_leclrec, carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and others ynyln: things I've learned today: my aussie accent is shit ��, oscar hums a lot 🤭, carlos refers to me as "la pequeña niña americana" 🥰, and when I sit in a f1 car I feel claustrophobic 😬 tagged: landonorris, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari

↳ carlossainz55: Sí, mi pequeña niña americana           ↳ ynyln: 🥰🥰🥰           ↳ user1: do you even understand that?           ↳ ynyln: no but it's spanish so I'm swooning ↳ oscarpiastri: I didn't say your Aussie accent was shit?           ↳ ynyln: Lando did 😔           ↳ landonorris: it is?           ↳ ynyln: you hurt my feelings ☹️           ↳ mclaren: Lando you should apologise           ↳ scuderiaferrari: so rude           ↳ ynyln: isn't it 🥺           ↳ landonorris: wtf 😥 ↳ user2: what was Oscar humming though?            ↳ user3: probably something off the wall            ↳ ynyln: it was the oscar mayer jingle            ↳ mclaren: that was you            ↳ ynyln: 🤫🤫🤫 ↳ landonorris: I'm sorry for saying your aussie accent is shit            ↳ ynyln: I forgive you 🤗

Looking up from her phone after posting the recap of her day to instagram, Y/N smiled at Charles, enjoying the quietness of the evening. Leo was dragging his toy around, growling playfully each time Charles tried to take it away. She hadn't expected his invitation to dinner after the end of media day, but here she was in his apartment, the flavor of his thrown together pasta dish lingering on her tongue.

Charles leaned back against the couch, tossing the toy across the room for Leo. "It's none of my business…" He sighed and shifted to look at her. "But are all your new songs about him?"

She nodded. "Wrote them in a fit of rage, really. Except Flowers, I wrote that when I realized how better off I am without him."

He eased the toy from Leo and tossed it again. "I am sorry you had your heart broken."

Y/N chuckled. "Me too."

"Are you looking for someone new?" he asked after a moment. After Leo dropped the toy and flopped dramatically on the rug.

"I don't know." She lifted an eyebrow. "Why, are you interested?"

Charles laughed softly. "In a relationship, no."

She wasn't disappointed, really, but she gave him a pout. "My poor ego…"

Grinning, he moved, kneeling on the floor in front of her. "But I'm willing to…" He hesitated, finally resting his hands on her knees. "Fuck the memory of your stupid ex away."

Her eyes widened at his boldness. Before she could think of the reasons she should say no, she was nodding, moving to the edge of the couch as his hands slipped up. "I'm fine with something casual," she murmured, sliding her hands over his shoulders.

"That I can give you, cherie."

His kiss was gentle, lips and tongue working against hers until she melted. Guided by his hands, she slid off the couch as he stood, the kiss growing in intensity as he pulled her towards the bedroom. "It's been a while," she mumbled between kisses, her fingers hesitating at the hem of his sweater. "So like… Tell me if I mess up."

Charles huffed out a soft laugh, nipping at her bottom lip. "It is like riding a bicycle, hm? You'll be unsteady at first then get into the rhythm."

"Just don't expect me to ride, I'm so not into being on top," she admitted, relieved when he laughed, breaking away to peel off his sweater. His skin was warm under her fingers and she kissed him before pulling back to remove her top, keeping her eyes on his face.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, one hand cupping the back of her neck as he kissed her again, this time with growing urgency. His other hand was everywhere – at her waist, teasing the waistband of her jeans, ghosting over her ribcage, tracing the curve of her breast, flicking open the button of her jeans.

"Ah!" she gasped sharply as his fingers eased into her panties, his facial hair grazing her neck while his lips moved down. Her gaze landed on the mirror behind him and she stared at the muscles of his back as they rippled under her touch, her eyes slipping shut when his fingers began to stroke her slit at the same time his mouth closed around her nipple.

"Are you watching yourself, cherie?" he whispered against her skin, moaning when her fingers clutched at his hair.

"No… Watching you," she breathed. She opened her eyes, watching her hand trail down his back.

Charles laughed quietly, pulling his mouth from her nipple with a soft pop. "Can I watch you?"

Blushing, she gave a small nod, helping him unfasten his jeans while her heart thrummed excitedly in her chest. His lips met hers again, his hands working her jeans down her legs.

His blanket was luxurious, his sheets soft beneath her knees as he gently situated her so she faced the mirror. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he exhaled slowly, his hands framing her hips and sweeping upwards. "So soft," he breathed, eyes locking with hers in the mirror, breath hot against her skin.

Y/N could only stare at him in the mirror, feeling as though she were watching another couple entirely, the eroticism of watching his hands explore her body making her feel disconnected. Until he whispered in her ear. Gentle commands, fervent admirations that forced her to feel his touch as well as see.

His hand slipped down, cupping between her thighs, and she moaned sharply at the sight of two fingers sliding into her pussy. Reaching back, she groped at his hip, nails dragging across his skin before her hand wrapped around his cock, watching his face as he let out a ragged moan.

He spoke but she barely registered the words, already reduced to pitiful, needy whines, the live porn in front of her only adding to her desire, and when his fingers, slick, dragged to grasp her hip she leaned forward in anticipation. Still stroking his cock, still watching his face ass while she felt him shift behind her. Her thumb smeared precum over the tip of him and she was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath before he groaned into her hair, his hands nudging hers away. She lifted her hand, catching his eye in the mirror as she licked her thumb clean.

Her eyes automatically closed when he began to enter her and she whined as his hand reached up, cupping her chin and lifting her head.

"Look at your face, mon couer," he whispered.

Pure, wanton neediness. She nodded, licking her lips, clutching his forearm with both hands and forcing her eyes to stay open while he entered her slowly.

In a split second of clarity she wondered if her chin always wobbled during penetration.

"Magnifique," Charles panted against her ear, his hand sliding down to lightly rest just below her neck.

"Oh my god," she whined.

His other hand gripped her hip tight, fingers digging into her flesh. "Good?" he whispered.

She nodded, staring at his white knuckles at her hip. "So good," she gasped, shifting on her knees slightly. Suddenly keen to see more. The hand on her hip squeezed and he began a slow roll of his hips, fucking her slowly. Watching her body respond, watching the look on his face, she felt her toes curl, heat twisting deep in her belly.

Within moments the woman in the mirror was flushed. Trembling. Breasts bouncing wildly, lips parted. Charles's hand slipped up, gently cupping her throat and holding her upright and she licked her lips, hips pushing back against him, eyes rolling back each time his cock hit her spot. All she could hear was his harsh breathing and deep moans and the delicious, slick sounds of him fucking her above the sound of her own racing heartbeat.

"I'm—" She cut off with a sharp cry as the hand on her hip slid forward, fingers strumming her clit in small, hard circles. A split second later her eyes closed, back arching and a guttural moan emanating from her as she came, pushing her hips back harshly and grinding against him. Stars scattered behind her eyelids and her moan turned into a series of harsh cries as his fingers worked her immediately into another crest of bliss until she was whimpering.

"Shh shh shh," he soothed, his fingers slowing, hips still rolling against hers as he guided her down. He stayed over her while she shuddered and gasped, fingers sliding off her clit when she squirmed.

She had no idea what he was murmuring in her ear, his mixture of broken English and French lost on her as she struggled to catch her breath. But she nodded, clutching his forearm until the world around her seemed to right itself, opening her eyes to see him staring at her in the mirror.

"Très magnifique," he whispered, both hands sliding over her back as he sat upright. His eyes met hers again and he gave her a smirk that very nearly made her cum again. "Now we can really have fun, yes?"

(reblogging with taglist in like 4 mins)

[mistress-of-vos]

r/Relationships DemonKing123

Estimated audience, I (immortal male) am dating a lovely young man (23). We are exquisitely infatuated with each other, and we shall marry next spring on my palace during a full moon as tradition dictates.

Nevertheless, it seems our families despise our engagement. While my fiancee and I hold no blood ties, he happens to be the adopted son of my youngest daughter's ex partner, who is also the biological father of my grandson. My fiancee and I do not care, and we don't agree with these complaints labeling us a home wreckers.

Yet I have found myself receiving false accusations coming from my very own children, who seem to not understand biology or psychology. My fiancee and I met at Paris winters ago, both of us in a moment where family was a bitter memory and we were looking forward to be our own people. It offends me when others dare to imply we fell in love to spite our families, as if we hadn't crushed into each other under the rain and suddenly realized what was missing in our lives.

This is, my estimated audience, why I come here to you and ask: "Is it incest to marry the adoptive child of your daughter's ex boyfriend?

Is it perhaps uncomfortable if my fiancee happens to be the biological son of said ex boyfriend's new wife (my grandson's stepmother?)?

And why would my fiancee and I be wrong, yet my grandson is considered adorable when declaring he will be the one to marry my fiancee?"

SizeQueenTwink F**k your boring family. Marry your fiancee!

CatholicAvenger I believe your family might feel that your relationship holds certain "incest" due to their very own relationships. However, as you said, there are no blood ties. People are just haters, my (ex) boss almost killed me when I dated his adoptive son.

AlienPrince Wait, how did you meet in Paris if he's the adoptive son of your ex son in law??? You never knew your grandson had a stepbrother/adoptive brother??? This sounds weird dude. How old are you??? 🧐

SizeQueenTwink Who caresssssss!!! Age is a social construct. I bet your fiancee is beautiful, intelligent & would adore a big silver diamond ring for the proposal ❣️

DemonHeir Well, maybe your grandson is worthier of your fiancee than you. Have you considered that, old man?

*This conversation has been frozen by an admin*