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something-tofightfor · 1 year

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Black Days 1: Sure Don’t Mind A Change

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,500 (trying to keep these shorter than usual.)

Rating: M (language.)

Summary: The overnight shift at your diner is usually uneventful, but that all changes when a man you’ve never seen before walks into your section. After a few conversations with him, you can’t say that you aren’t interested in knowing more.

Author’s Note: This is Pedro Pascal and Merge Mansion’s fault.

Read the headcanon post for Tim here.

I don’t know how long this will be. I don’t know whether or not anyone cares. But here I am yet again writing for a character that has no backstory, under five minutes of screen time, and no business taking up so much room in my brain.

This isn’t smutty yet - but I promise it gets there. This is a set-up chapter.

Chapter titles will be updated with each post.

Here and here is some Tim artwork that has been in my brain constantly as I write this story. @stealyourblorbos is very talented and has encouraged me with this very much and I am very thankful. (She also made this incredible banner for me!)

The story gets its title from the song Fell On Black Days by Soundgarden.

“That guy’s back.” Micah sighed as she leaned against the doorway, both arms crossed over her chest. “I put him in your section tonight because I don’t want to deal with him.”

You frowned, closing your book of crossword puzzles and then standing. That guy? Your gaze drifted out toward the seating area. Who is she talking about? “Tell me again what the problem with him was?”

“He was an asshole. Barely looked up from whatever he was doing and got pissed when I told him that we were out of whatever it was he tried to order.” She flopped down into the open seat, reaching for the bowl of fries you’d been working through. “Good luck.”

It didn’t sound like a real reason for her to be upset, but you weren’t going to complain about finally having something to do after hours of nothing. At least it’ll be someone to talk to.

Pasting a smile on your face, you rounded the corner and headed for the only table that had someone sitting at it: the one furthest away from the kitchen. “Hi, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Is there anything I can get for you to drink?”

He was looking intently at what was in front of him - a file that was stuffed thick with papers and a notepad that you could see was filled with scribbles. He’s busy. Without raising his head, the man spoke. “Coffee. Black. Keep it coming.”

His voice was deep - slightly accented, though you couldn’t place it. When he finished, he sighed, the fingertips of one hand pressed against his forehead. Micah wasn’t kidding. “Do you need a menu? I can bring one with the -”

“No.” He set the folder down and raised his hand, removing the glasses he wore before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just the coffee. I -”

He finally looked at you then, and you were struck by how handsome he was, despite the fact that you could see the fatigue in his expression and in his eyes. Makes sense if he’s here at 2:30 in the morning with that kind of file.

“Just the coffee.” The man blinked twice and then looked back down, sighing. Alright then. After only a second or two, you turned away, heading back toward where the coffee pots were.

You’d brewed a fresh pot for the kitchen a little while earlier, and decided to use that for the man, since it was ready. After pressing the button to make a second pot for the dining room, you headed back to Micah, carrying a clean mug in your hand. “That didn’t take long. What’d I tell you?”

“He’s just tired, Em. It’s late. Hell, if I wasn’t here, I’d hope I was sleeping too.” You grabbed the pot, shrugging. “He was short with me, but it’s definitely not the worst I’ve ever had during an overnight.” She hummed and then went back to the crossword she’d started in your book, muttering the words “better you than me” as you moved out of earshot.

The man was bent back over the file and didn’t look up when you set the mug down. But he did glance at you when you started filling it, peeking up at you from behind the thick black frames he’d slid back onto his nose. “Brought you the kitchen pot. It’s a little stronger than what we usually serve customers, but you look like you could use it.”

His lips parted in surprise, but instead of speaking, he just nodded, reaching for the handle of the mug with his left hand. You assessed him with the same interest as all of the customers you served late at night, and as the man brought the rim of the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip, you stepped back. No ring.

“I’m making you a fresh pot just in case you need it, but I don’t want to bother you if you’re working, so…” You gestured to the papers on the table. “I’ll check back in a little while. We do have some pastries if you’re not looking for actua-”

“What kind of pie do you have tonight?” He straightened up completely, turning his head and tilting it up to look at you. “Last time I was in here, I asked about the Key lime, but the girl said you were out.”

“We’re out of it again tonight. Sorry.” Shaking your head, you put your free hand on your hip. “It’s a seasonal, so we only make a certain amount of it every week.” He frowned, but didn’t say anything else. “Lasted longer today than it usually does. I think we sold the last piece around midnight.”

He stared at you, lower lip pushed out slightly, and though you didn’t want to, you couldn’t help eyeing him right back. You focused on his face and the stubble that covered his cheeks - dark brown threaded with silver, the overhead fluorescent lighting catching more of the same on his head.

“Damn. Alright. Just the coffee then.” He swallowed, taking a deep breath. “And if you want to check on me every twenty or so minutes, that’d… that’d be good.”

“I can do that.” Giving him a nod, you stepped away from the table. “And the Key ime is great, but so’s the strawberry rhubarb, and the lemon zest’s not bad, either.” His lips twitched but he kept quiet, nodding once. Guess his mind’s set on that lime.

The rest of the night played out much the same as the first two trips to his table did. The man said only a few words in reply when you asked if he needed anything, but you noticed his notebook filling with ink-scrawled words and phrases as time passed.

A second table sat just before 4:30 am - three older men on their way to a fishing trip at Prospect Slough.

So you didn’t notice when the other man left until you turned to ask if he needed another refill and found only the empty table, a $20 stuck beneath the empty coffee mug along with a note that simply said “thank you” in the same handwriting that had filled the lined pages of his spiral notebook.

Weird. But at least he left a good tip. Tucking the bill into your apron, you cleared the table and checked in on the fishing party before taking the dirty mug into the kitchen.

Micah was finishing her side work and Jesse, the night cook was working on three plates of eggs and hash browns for your fishermen.

“Did he leave without paying?” She glanced over at you. “Seems like he snuck out pretty f-”

“No, actually he left a sixteen dollar tip for the coffee.” You entered it into the second register, cashing out and putting the extra bills into your pocket. “Didn’t wait for the bill or anything, but ..” You shrugged. “I can’t complain, especially after how slow the beginning of the night was.”

“You really should see what you can do about getting out of that lease so you can quit working here.” Micah put her hands on her hips. “This isn’t healthy.” I know. You think I don’t know that? “How much longer do you have?”

“Seven months.” You yawned, covering your mouth. “I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t press the subject, and when the two of you walked across the parking lot to your cars a little after 6, the man with the tired eyes that had consumed almost an entire pot of coffee wasn’t even in your thoughts.

—

But three days later, when he walked in the front door of the restaurant a little after 1 AM, your focus was immediately back on him.

It was slightly busier that night, so you were actually waiting near the main register, keeping an eye on things as people made their way in. But you hadn’t seen him park - nor had you spotted him crossing the parking lot. So when he pulled open the door and stepped into the lobby, his eyes locking with yours and a faint smile making its way across his face, it was a shock. But not a bad one.

“Hello.” He spoke first that time. The man gave you a single nod, one hand stuck in the pocket of his long, tan overcoat. “Should I seat myself?”

“You can if you want.” Pointing at the dining room, you smiled. “The table you sat at the other night is open and that’s my section. Micah’s got a couple tables to check on, so if you give me a few seconds, I can …” He waved you off, taking a breath.

“Don’t rush. Just coffee again for me tonight. Maybe an ice water with lemon, too?” The man sniffed, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “The ah, the first cup the other night was better, so if I can get another one of those, I’d… I’d appreciate it.” He shuffled back and forth for a few seconds until you laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, of course. I haven’t been in the back in a little while so I don’t know how fresh our pot is, but if it’s old, I’ll make a new one and then bring it out to you.”

He thanked you and then headed for the tables, turning to the side to let Micah pass. For the first time, you noticed the tattered briefcase he carried, his fingers clasped tightly around the handles. Hmm. I wonder if he’s going to become a regular.

You didn’t think you’d be upset if that were the case, because despite the fact that the man was quiet and a little stand-offish, he wasn’t needy.

You’d had your fair share of needy customers both during your time at the restaurant then and while you’d waited tables during high school and college. Compared to some of those people, the man that was settling into the far-off booth after shrugging off his coat and loosening his tie was a breeze. And he’s nice to look at.

Ducking into the kitchen, you saw that the coffee pot was in the process of filling, thanks to Jesse. While you waited, you turned and grabbed for one of the small carafes, deciding that because you were busier that night, you’d set the man up with his own refills. It made things more convenient for him - and it bought you time between visits to the table.

On your way to the dining room, full carafe and mug in one hand, you pulled the refrigerator open with the other and then grinned, shutting it before heading toward where the man sat. He already had the folder and the notebook open, the latter showing off a half-filled page of bullet point notes.

He didn’t look up until you set the mug and container down, the man’s eyes widening behind the lenses of his glasses as he locked eyes with you. “What’s this?”

“We’re busier tonight.” Resting one hand on your hip, you gestured around. “And I figured you didn’t want to be bothered again, so bringing you preemptive refills seemed like a good idea.” Pausing, you gestured to his papers. “That way I won’t interrupt you in the middle of something. You can work in peace.”

“I…” He blinked, frowning, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you. “That’s really thoughtful. Thank you.” Now tell him the other thing.

“No problem. And … I’m not sure if you’re interested, but …” Leaning in, you arched a brow. “There’s Key Lime in the cooler. I can bring you a piece if you want.” For the first time, you saw a genuine smile on his face as he nodded, the man’s eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Shit. Really?” You nodded once. “Yeah, I’ll take one of those, too.” I figured you would. “Can I…” He bit his lip, furrowing his brow. “Can I get extra whip, please?”

Laughing, you winked at him. “I’ll see what I can do.” Takes his coffee black but wants extra whipped cream for his pie. Hmm.

A few minutes later, you were setting the pie plate and a set of rolled cutlery on the table, careful not to disturb any of the man’s papers. “Flag me down if you need anything else, alright?” He assured you he would as he reached for the napkin, his eyes on the slightly larger than usual triangle slice of pie and two extra dollops of whipped cream next to it.

You stayed busy after that, and though you visually checked on the table a few times, you never walked back over.

So when, around 3:15, you finally stopped at his table to ask if he needed a refill and to grab his empty plate, you were surprised to see that the man was packing his things up - the notebook and folder already tucked into the briefcase. “Oh. I’ll give you your check, then. I can meet you up front when you’re ready?”

He met your eyes again, the deep brown slightly less weary that time. “Works for me. See you in a second.”

Dropping the dishes off atop the stack from your other tables next to the back sink, you headed for the register. You were surprised to see the man already waiting - and Micah nowhere in sight. Good.

“Was everything alright for you tonight?” Taking the slip of paper from him, you brought up the check in the system, fingers tapping over the keys. “The pie taste ok?”

“It was fucking delicious. You guys are the only ones that don’t put toasted coconut on it.” He hummed in appreciation as he spoke, your eyes snapping up at the sound of his voice. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“I work overnight at a 24 hour diner. I’ve heard much worse.” He chuckled at that, your stomach lurching at the sound. I’d like to hear that more. You pressed your lips together in an attempt to keep from outwardly reacting, though you couldn’t help the sharp inhale through your nose. Dammit. “But I’m glad. I don’t know how often you come in here, but you’re much more likely to have luck with the lime in the middle of the week when we’re less busy or really early in the day, when people are still coming in for breakfast and lunch.”

“My schedule’s all over the place.” He gripped the back of his neck, the sleeve of his coat pulling up to expose the band of his watch. “Can’t really plan for anything right now, so it’s … luck of the draw.”

“Well,” you continued, reaching out to take the money he offered you. “Then I guess you’ll just have to keep your fingers crossed if you decide to come back.” He assured you he would, taking his change and slipping it back into his wallet. “Have a good night, alright? Get home safe.”

“You too.” The man set his hand down on the countertop, fingertips flexing slightly. “You only work here at night?” You glanced down at his hand, taking note of the small tattoo inked between his thumb and first finger - and didn’t try to stop the lift of one cheek in a quick smile at the sight of it. A hand tattoo? Interesting.

“I do. I have a regular job, too. But my sleep’s been fu… really bad for the last six months, so I just decided that instead of laying in bed and not sleeping, I’d do something productive with my time.” You wet your lips, glancing back over at the dining room - which was empty except for a table that Micah was taking care of. “I work here three or four nights a week, depending on what they need.”

You weren’t used to telling customers so much about yourself, but you found it easy to talk to the man, especially when he was looking at you and holding your gaze. I’m not telling him anything he wouldn’t know if he came in a few more times, either.

“Well then, I’m sure you’ll see me again.” Tapping on the counter, he pulled his hand back and turned toward the door, taking a half step before he stopped, twisting at the waist to look at you again. “I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Rockford.”

“You already know my name,” you laughed, pointing at the nametag hanging from your shirt. “But it’s nice to meet you, Tim.”

“Nice to meet you too.” He nodded. “See you around, yeah?” Telling him that he would, you watched as he walked out the front door and across the parking lot, the lights on a shadowy vehicle flashing on as he unlocked it. That was… unexpected.

Stabbing the ticket on the spike next to the register, you stepped away from the counter and back toward where Tim had been sitting.

The table was mostly cleared and clean, but there was another folded napkin beneath his water glass, the cup empty except for a couple half melted ice cubes. Picking up both, you unfolded the napkin and gasped when you saw another $20 inside, along with three words slashed onto the napkin’s surface in bold, black pen.

Thank you. Again.

—

Tim didn’t come in during your next shift, or the one following that.

But when you showed up to work the following Wednesday, there was a note hanging on the back bulletin board for you from one of the girls that had worked the night before.

Unfolding it, you read through the short message, lips twisting into a frown as you finished.

Some guy was in here around 3 am asking about you. Didn’t think anything of it at first, but he spent two hours making notes at the table. I also heard him mention a case when he took a phone call. Thought you’d want to know.

“Shit.” Scrubbing a hand over your face, you let out a long breath.

It was nice of Nicki to let you know that someone had asked about you, especially taking the end of the message into consideration. But if it was Tim, then … Rolling your eyes, you sighed and then started your shift, trying not to think about the implications of Tim being the one to ask about you - and it potentially being related to a case he was working. But why would… it makes no sense. What does he do that he’d have cases?

You had very little time to think about it during the first half of your shift. There’d been an event that night that had let out late, which meant extra tables to take care of. When you finally got a break a little after 2, you glanced over to the far corner of the restaurant. Oh.

The man was bent over his table, the fingers of one hand supporting his forehead as he stared at the papers in front of him. You could almost feel his stress, even from twenty feet away. It’s not my problem. Turning back toward the kitchen, you took a few steps and then stopped, tilting your head back and looking at the ceiling. Don’t avoid it. You don’t even know if Nicki’s right.

You approached the table slowly, keeping your eyes on Tim. When you were only a few feet away, he looked up, his brows rising in surprise. “Hey.” Tim straightened up, pushing everything to the side. “Finally getting a break?”

“Were you watching me?” Crossing your arms, you tilted your head to the right. “Because -”

“Not watching.” He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest, too. “When the other girl seated me, I saw that you had a couple tables in the other section, that’s all.” Tim licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Something wrong?”

You hadn’t wanted to lead with an attitude, but you couldn’t help it. “My coworker said you asked about me last night, and I guess I’m just wondering why. I’ve worked here for five months and hadn’t ever seen you before two weeks ago. Now you’re asking people about me when I’m not here, and I just -”

“Whoa.” He held up a hand, shaking his head. “I did ask about you, but it was only because I didn’t know if you’d get in trouble for giving me kitchen coffee, and I didn’t want to rat you out.” Oh. You took a breath, blinking as Tim reached up and removed his glasses, folding the arms closed and then setting them down on the table. “I didn’t even think about how it might sound, to be honest. I apologize. I -”

“No, I’m sorry, Tim. I just…” You rolled your eyes, trying to decide what you wanted to say. “It’s been a rough year, and I guess I’m not exactly ….” Trailing off, you covered your face with one hand. Don’t. Lowering your hand, you gave him a tight smile. “Nevermind.”

He stayed quiet for a few seconds and you did too, the two of you looking at each other intently.

He was studying your face, the man’s eyes roving over your features, deep lines etched between his brows. You used the opportunity to stare back at him, focusing on the patchy place in his beard and on the way the tanned skin of his upper chest was visible thanks to his top few buttons being undone. He was tapping one finger on his bicep, and the longer you looked, the worse you felt about your outburst.

But I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t because … “Um.” Head shaking back and forth, you sighed. “I’m technically on my break, and I know you’re not my table, but is there anything I can get you? We’re out of the Key lime again, but I can go and brew you some coffee if you want the good stuff.”

“I’m actually going to head out.” He glanced down at his watch and then looked back at you, smiling sadly. “I have a long drive tomorrow morning so I have to try and sleep for a couple hours.” He pointed at his almost empty mug. “I’m even drinking decaf tonight.”

You laughed at that in spite of yourself, taking a step back. “Tim, I’m really sorry about -”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled again, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “Can I ask you something?”

“I… yeah. Sure.” Stepping closer, you dropped your arms to your sides. “What’s up?”

“You said you have a second job. I’m assuming that it’s during the day.” Nodding to confirm, you cocked your head to one side. “Do you … have a day off?” A day off? Is he…

“I do.” You were wary, the second part of Nicki’s note in the forefront of your mind. “But -”

“I’m going to be direct, alright?” He shifted on the bench seat, scooting closer to you and gesturing with one hand. “I would like to take you out to dinner. I noticed you don’t have a ring on your finger, so I don’t think you’re married. But if you’re seeing someone, just tell me, and we can forget I asked.”

“I’m not dating anyone.” Is he really saying this to me? “And I get my schedule for this place two weeks in advance.” You don’t even know him. You don’t know what he wants or if you can trust him or - “You said your schedule was all over the place and that’s why you can’t get here earlier in the day, so how -”

“I have every Tuesday off unless they really need me.” Tim wet his lips, his eyes still on you. “I came in last night because I wanted to talk to you, but you weren’t here. Does that mean you also have Tuesdays off?”

“From here, yeah.” Heart pounding, you opened your mouth to say something else, but Tim cut you off, his smile growing.

“Good. Will you let me take you to dinner next Tuesday? We can go early. You pick the place. I live in Willow Creek, so I can meet you just about anywhere.” Willow Creek? For real? Tim reached for his notebook and pen, flipping to a clean page and scribbling a number onto it before he tore it free, folding it over. “Here’s my number. Think about it. Let me know what you decide.”

He stood and you stepped back, the man reaching down to pull his jacket on. “Tim, I don’t usually… I don’t date customers. It gets -”

“Messy? Yeah. I wouldn’t ever date anyone I met through work either. I get it.” He swallowed, picking up his glasses and sliding them back on before he turned to look at you. “But I hope you make an exception for me, because I’d really like to talk to you for more than a couple minutes at a time while you’re bringing me coffee.”

You didn’t know what to say.

He was being more direct than you’d expected, and his declaration that he didn’t date people he met through work gave you pause. It means that even if he is working some sort of case, it has nothing to do with me. Unless… unless he’s trying to throw me off. “I’ll think about it.” Ducking your head, you closed your eyes and let out a short laugh. “I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

“I know.” He was packing the briefcase, the man’s back to you as he worked. “I wasn’t even sure I’d get the chance to say anything, but…” Turning to face you, he shrugged. “I wasn’t about to pass on it, even if you end up saying no.” The man wrinkled his nose, his grip on the handle of his briefcase tightening. “But if you do say no, I’m going to have to find another place to go when I can’t sleep, and I’m pretty sure Denny’s doesn’t have what I’m looking for even on a good day.”

He could have meant the pie. He could have meant the coffee or the quiet. But I don’t think that’s what he means. At all.

“I’ll let you know, Tim.” He held the folded paper out to you and when you took it, the man winked at you, his smile widening. “Get… get home safe, alright? It’s late and I’m sure there are assholes on the road.”

“I will.” He threw a couple bills on the table and then looked at you from over his shoulder again. “I always am.” The man said your name as he moved past you and toward the door, nodding twice. “Have a good rest of the night.”

He was gone before you could reply, and even though you knew that you probably looked like an idiot, you couldn’t help staring after him, your fingers tightening around the folded piece of lined paper in your hand.

You were going to call him - and you knew it… the only question was how long it would take you to actually pick up the phone.

—

Tag list reblog coming soon.

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #merge mansion fic #tim rockford x female reader #tim rockford: black days #black days masterlist #tim rockford masterlist #pedro pascal masterlist #detective tim rockford #masterlist #black days

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jinisnuggets · 6 months

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мαѕтєяℓιѕт ℓιηкѕ!

ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ

ʜᴀɪᴋʏᴜᴜ

ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʙᴜᴛʟᴇʀ

ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ꜱʟᴀʏᴇʀ

ᴛᴏᴋʏᴏ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇʀꜱ

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smolwritingchick · 4 months

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The Bangtan Gal Masterlist Part 2

Author's Note: I'm writing too much lol. This is Part 2 of The Bangtan Gal's Masterlist.

In this Masterlist we are starting from the end of BTS in 2016 and onward!

I'm also on Wattpad and Archive of Our Own

The Bangtan Gal Masterlist Part 1

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Chapter 94- MAMA Awards 2016 Part 1 (Big Jungkook fluff! One of my favs!)

Part 2 of Mama Awards 2016 (One of my favs!)

-----

Coming soon:

Chapter 95- BTS GAYO Episodes 10-15

Chapter 96- BTS Run Episodes 10-19

Chapter 97- BTS 3rd Muster

Chapter 98- BREAKING!! BTS' Jennie & Jungkook dating!?

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yuyinesque · 6 months

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𝓘CHOR'S 𝓩EALOTS! — welcome! as insinuated in the title, these are my loyal people, but in simpler terms, ichor’s original characters! these characters are ichor–originated and ichor-cultivated, therefore, unless you follow ourolite, you will not see any characters like such. anyone who possesses the notes of these individuals are performing an act of plagiarism; do me a favor and let me know if such occurs. aside from that, however, enjoy them! they’re quite the esoteric bunch. you’re welcomed to ask questions about them and they will happily answer. you mag also request reader x oc prompts despite some of the listed ships being canon! the requests are open. i must warn you, disturbing topics such as homophobia, transphobia, yandere themes, murder, swearing, drugs, disorders, paraphilias, and so on will be mentioned in a casual manner. if this list concerns you, let alone the list located in my byf, you’re free to leave! if you’re into that kinda stuff, ya freak, then sit back and peruse; you've caught their attention, after all.

✗. INDIGO ! ~(=^‥^) 〰 “And here I believed that my breed was known for their stamina. Am I not immune to the woes of the world? No, no one is. Therefore, I’ll continue stretching my sugar intake until I reach the whole world. Will I die during my journey? Ideally, yes, I will. There’s no more to it.” maneki-neko teaser. indigo’s relationship hc’s. character ai.

✗. ILLŪNIS ! (¬_¬") 〰 “It would be impossible to find a body in the desert. If it were up to me, I would sever your body into little pieces and hide them in dunes. Heh, they will never stop locating your body.” rusalka teaser. illūnis’s relationship hc’s. character ai.

✗. EUN BYEOL ! (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) 〰 “At times, memories are as intricately ethereal as your palms, but as tormentingly jaded as the skin embued on the back. Tell me, has there been a memory that describes your whole hand? Would you relay it some time to me?” neptunian teaser. byeol’s relationship hc’s. character ai.

✗. ZOLENE IRENE ! (✷∇✷) 〰 “How to spell—Huh? Constellate? Yeah yeah I know wh—it’s uhhh… Con. Stell. S-T-E-L-L—Gotta feelin’ that there’s two L’s, heh, might take one of them after this—Okay, and ATE. Like hungry ate not numba eight. Got it?” demi-god teaser. zolene’s relationship hc’s. character ai.

✗. SENCHA VILLOSA ! ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡ 〰 "Spring is arrived... The sun is very happy itself..." xipe’va teaser. sencha’s relationship hc’s. character ai.

yuyinesque | translate with permission & peruse without theft.

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beelicious-and-fictitious · 2 years

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Joel Kinnaman Character Masterlist

Main Masterlist

This is a collection of my all of my fics written as pairings for Joel Kinnaman’s characters. All NSFW fics are marked as SMUT!

***all unfinished series/ fics are on hiatus***

Original Character Fics

Ruby Moon Sunflower Seeds (unfinished series) | Teaser One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Face Cast

Rick Flag X OC Kaia Castle. He’s a soldier, she has superpowers, and there’s something there between them. More than he knows: until one day he’s fucking around with a new job and alien tech and discovers that she had his baby... and his girls in danger.

Reader Insert Fics

Detective Stephen Holder from The Killing (tv show 2011-2014)

Royal Flush | 3k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | you play strip poker with your buddy Stephen

Can’t Stay Mad At You | 3.3k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | your boyfriend Stephen is late because of work (again) and he tries his best to make it up to you

Just Ask | 5.3k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | your boyfriend Stephen thinks pussy eating is fake and you show him how wrong he is

Every Little Step (unfinished series) | [on old Masterlist]

Stephen Holder X Mom! POC! Reader. Stephen meets you, a fellow detective at Seattle Police Department and recovering alcoholic. He falls for you and your adorable daughter instantly.

Colonel Rick Flag from DCEU Suicide Squad (2019)/ The Suicide Squad (2020)

French Lace And Silk Stockings | 2k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | 1950′s AU where you try on some lingerie your husband Rick bought you

Safe Harbor | 6.5k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | Rick can’t seem to depressurize from the horrors of the latest mission but you can help with that

Silver Ghosts | Drabble Challenge: less than 1k word limit | Written for the March 2022 GFS Drabble Project

Tamagotchi | Drabble Challenge: less than 1k word limit | Written for the April 2022 GFS Drabble Project

Think You Can Handle That Much? | 1.4k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | My one and only fic request! You (can be read also as OC Kaia Castle) are freaking out about the wedding and your fiance Rick knows just how to calm you

Twelve of Thirty-One Kinktober 2021 Prompts | *word count is tagged at the beginning of every fic* 🔥SMUT🔥 | Prompts completed for Rick are as follows numerically: 5-10, 15-17, 20, 23, & 25. More info in Kinktober 2021 Masterlist (linked above)

Takeshi Kovacs (Ryker Sleeve) from Altered Carbon

Rose Venemum | 4.3k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | You ask Tak to help you with a mission and discover a new kink or two

Two of Thirty-One Kinktober 2021 Prompts | 1.5k + 2k words 🔥SMUT🔥 | Prompts completed with Takeshi Kovacs were “Day Fourteen: Temperature Play/ Bath Shower Sex” and “Day Nineteen: Impact Play”

Erik Heller from Hanna (tv show 2019-2021)

A Southward Breeze | Drabble mode: less than 1k word limit | Written for the May 2022 GFS Drabble Project

\\Return to Main Masterlist for more fics by yours truly//

#joel kinnaman #joel kinnaman character fiction #heresathreebee masterlist #rick flag x female reader #takeshi kovacs x female reader #stephen holder x female reader #erik heller x female reader #black reader insert #original character insert #bee's archive of fiction

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ourolite · 6 months

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𝔏ite 𝔏ore! the links below should apprise you of the intricate references, research, and definitions of ourolite's original characters. any queries or urgent messages may be directed to our ask box; we might inadvertently miss comment notifications or get to them a lil' late, so try this instead!

prelude: mentions all characters. may include homes, occupations, family, a few notable non-main characters, potential backstories or general history and possibly relationship notes, notable hobby info, race + ethnicity information (culture, languages, etc), relevant locales, pets, neighbors, ourolite original mythical creations, and canon events. many/most links are via Google docs, so please download the Google docs app for the best possible display and remain with a dark mode setting as you explore. if you're unable to do so at this time, no worries, but we do apologize for the iffy presentation! thanks for clicking, enjoy.

♡ INDIGO ( maneki-neko! oc ) spider-kitty: spider-man au. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♥︎ ILLŪNIS ( rusalka! oc ) antisocial personality disorder research. deaf research. anomaly: spider-man au. cornus lamya: selenic shrine. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♥︎ FRANKINCENSE ( churel mother! oc ) schizophrenia research. dominican culture research. ___: modern occupation. abodes: various au’s antecedents.

♡ YASHMI-NOIR ( angel daughter! oc ) relationship with cookies. tree house. antecedents.

♥︎ XĪN’YUÈ ÀN ZHŌNG ( billionaire ceo! oc ) ànzhōng: universal business. maju + blumei: puppy daughters. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♥︎ CIRCE YUÈ'LI ( vampire! oc ) yìzé and babydoll: pet dogs. chinese and senegalese culture research. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♡ JIHANE MEILĖ ( metaphysician djinn! oc ) ___: universal shop. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♥︎ J'ŪLILI ANÉO LĀPAKI ( plutonian bunny! oc ) sao glace: selenic shrine. modern occupation(s). maxixe: pet polar bear cub. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♡ YÚYĪN ÀN ZHŌNG ( emhalo xipe’va! oc ) anomaly: spider-man au. xipe’va: mythical race (leman originated). abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♡ MÉLIOR VILLOSA ( amoisa xipe’va! oc ) kpop idol career: modern. tea: multiple personalities. xipe’va: mythical race (leman originated). abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♡ MAKA GALILHAI ( autistic swordsman! oc ) anomaly star-spider: spider-man au. japanese culture research. autism research. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♥︎ EUN BYEOL ( mute neptunian! oc ) selective mutism research. selenians: mythical race (neso originated). abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♥︎ ZOLENE IRENE ( demi-god! oc ) attention deficient hyperactivity disorder research. sun-spider: spider-man au. ___: food truck. ___: family restaurant. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

♥︎ TIDA-BITUIN MIYAGI ( blind prodigy! oc ) okinawan japanese research. blindness research + prodigy citations. abodes: various au’s. antecedents.

⑅ leman productions. all rights fucking reserved, do not plagiarize.

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cottagecheese1 · 2 years

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oneshots: What about me? Series: [nothing yet] blurbs: [nothing yet]

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 1 year

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A: The Characters, Pt 3

#placeholder tag #A #Black Female Characters Masterlist #tags masterlist #black female characters #A Pt 3 #A-Z #blackfemmecharacterdependency #April Darker Than Black #Arabella #Ashley Banks #Aunty Entity #Ava Coleman #Ayo

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fukingyolo13 · 10 months

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Master list

Smut=❤️

Fluff=☁️

Angst=🥀

Minecraft story mode:

https://www.tumblr.com/fukingyolo13/735833213027647488/sink-or-swim?source=share (Lukas x Jesse) 🥀☁️

South Park:

Pokemon:

Violet/Scarlet:

https://www.tumblr.com/fukingyolo13/737018574245347328/pok%C3%A9mon-violet-and-scarlet-oc-name-connie

Sword/shield:

https://www.tumblr.com/fukingyolo13/737069941503705088/pok%C3%A9mon-sword-and-shield

Black/white:

and more will be coming.

#scream movies #scream #minecraft #minecraft story mode #dcu #gotham #masterlist #reader insert #female reader #fanfic #fanfiction #slashers #horror movies #horror character #petra mcsm #pokémon #pokémon scarlet and violet #pokémon sword and shield #pokémon black and white

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humanpurposes · 3 months

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Nightblooms

It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely? // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death

Words: 9.7k (she's a bit of a monster)

A/n: my humble offering of another Aemond brothel fic. I hope you like :) You can also read this on AO3 if you feel so inclined.

He remembers the bed, the thin curtain draped around it, the slight breeze that drifted in on the night air and made it flutter. The throw was richly decorated, red, black and brown, and he picked at the thin threads of embroidery with his fingertips until his skin was red and white.

The heat in the room was unbearable, the stench of wine, incense, his own sweat clinging to his bare skin. He was weary to breathe the air in, to tarnish himself any further than had already been done.

He flinched as the door opened. The madam was back, now wearing a gown and all her gold jewellery. A silhouette stood behind her, he couldn’t see them properly, concealed in shadows.

“You are shivering, my Prince,” she said.

He could feel it, his knees brought up to his chest and his arms clinging around his legs. His clothes were neatly folded in a corner, his eyepatch atop the pile, he just hadn’t managed to reach for them yet.

“Have some wine if you like,” the madam said.

The silhouette stepped into the flickering candlelight. In years to come her face would fade from his memory, but she was young, perhaps as young as him. She was dressed like the other whores, in a loose gown of blue silk that exposed glimpses of her skin, her shoulder, her thigh through a slit in the skirt. She held a pitcher of wine and a cup in her hands.

“She is undertaking her own education,” the madam said, noting how long Aemond’s eye had lingered on the girl. “She’ll help you bathe and dress.”

He made no sound of protest. The madam took the pitcher. He could smell the sour scent of the wine as she poured it. Already a few cups deep, the numbness of alcohol was starting to wear off and a pulsing pain was blooming in the back of his head. The madam placed the cup on a table and then she left.

The girl took a single step towards the bed. She lifted her arm, holding out her hand to him, as if he were some street dog to be tamed.

He scowled. His left eyelids were sewn shut back then, his wound mostly healed after three years, but still hideous enough that people would stare in shock at the sight of him, the ailing King’s maimed son. The Lords and Ladies of the Red Keep averted their eyes when they saw him. His mother looked at him with tears in her eyes. His father… the last time his father must have looked him in the eye was on Driftmark.

But this girl looked at him unabashedly.

If he had his wits about him he might have scorned her. Smallfolk like her should know their place, they should revere their Princes. He shouldn’t inspire pity, he should inspire fear and awe.

His stomach was turning. Anger coursed through his blood. His eyes were hot and stinging but he would not allow any tears to fall. And he was restless. It was all familiar to him, the frustration, the humiliation. He couldn’t bear to sit on the bed anymore, cowering like a child.

“I have a bath drawn,” the girl said.

He had heard her, but he could not find the will to move, not for a few moments at least, moments which felt like hours.

“I have some cake as well. I find it helps me regain my strength… afterwards.”

He felt his head nod.

“It’s lemon, do you like lemon cake?”

“Yes,” he muttered into his knees.

He watched her fetch a robe from the back of a settee by the fireplace, draping it over her arm. “We only have to go to the next room, not far at all.”

He blinked as he looked at her. He felt the dampness on his cheeks, the stinging cold left in the trail of his tears as another breeze swept into the room.

All the faces around him this night were unnerving. Aegon had been far too delighted with his so-called “gift”. He’d entered Aemond’s chambers with a snarling smile before he’d gripped him by his shoulders and dragged him through the stairways used by servants to stay out of sight. “You are a man now, Aemond. Time to get it wet.”

The madam had a calm gaze, soft lips and small eyes which considered him intently once she had taken the purse of coins from Aegon. The scent of her perfume was sharp and he could still smell it in his nostrils. His stomach lurched again.

“Come,” the girl said.

Hers was the only face he found any ease in, and he could not explain why that was.

She held out the robe for him and asked before she secured the tie at his waist. She went to a small door in the corner of the room which he had not even noticed until then. It led into another chamber where the air was hot and humid but not as suffocating.

A basin stood in the middle of the room. She took out two small brown bottles and let a few drops of oil fall into the water, filling the room with a gentle, fresh scent. “Lavender,” she explained, “and rosemary. They are meant to be calming.”

He stepped into the water, glad to find it just below scolding.

The girl kneeled by the basin, gently pouring cups of water over his hair, running it through with a sweeter smelling oil. She took his hand and allowed him to settle, scrubbing his skin with sugar, cleansing it with an amber soap.

When it was done she rested her chin in her hands at the edge. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

He’d stopped crying now, his limbs felt steadier, more his own. He nodded.

“I don’t feel myself until I’ve washed it all off. It makes me feel as though my skin is truly mine again,” she said.

He felt his hands over his arms, the sweat and the fluids rinsed away, the dead skin scrubbed smooth.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was thick, unnatural in his own throat.

“Do not thank me yet,” she said with a small smile, and suddenly jumped up to her feet. She walked out of his sight, past his blind spot, but she soon returned with a small wooden box. She kneeled beside the basin and opened the lid to reveal three small cakes, dusted with sugar and topped with thin slices of candied lemons. “Take one then,” she said.

He bit down on the inside of his lip to hide his amusement at her impertinence. He did as she told him and ate half of one cake in a single bite. A pleasant sourness burst on his tongue, not like the wine, sweeter, zestier. She was right, his mind was starting to feel a little less numb, the life flooding back into him with every breath he took, lavender, rosemary and lemon.

“You have one too,” he said.

“I’m not meant to,” she said, “they’re for the patrons.”

Aemond lowered his chin to look at her. “Take one.” Now it was his turn to deliver the orders.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting between him and the cakes.

“If anyone reprimands you I’ll feed them to my dragon.”

Her expression ignited. “Alright,” she said with a sly smile.

They devoured the rest of their cakes and shared the remaining one. She insisted that he should have the other candied lemon.

“Do you really feed people to your dragon?” she asked, wiping the crumbs from her mouth.

Aemond licked the sugar from his fingers. “I’ve not done it yet.”

She seemed stunned at his answer, then she giggled. “Yours is the big one, isn’t it?”

“Vhagar. She was Queen Visenya’s mount during the Conquest.”

“I see her sometimes, flying over the city.”

“She is too large for the Dragon Pit,” Aemond explained, “she nests along the shore of the bay.”

“And roams where she pleases?”

“Never too far from me.”

“No,” she said, her voice wilting, “of course.”

He suddenly wondered what this sad, sweet girl kneeling beside him would do if she had a dragon. He could picture her on Dreamfyre, the mount of his sister. Helaena adored flying and would often guide her dragon to glide above the waters of Blackwater Bay and the hills surrounding King’s Landing. This girl would take her dragon further, he thought, she would soar up above the clouds. Perhaps she would take her dragon over the seas, to Essos, to the Summer Isles, to the far corners of the world.

He did not flinch from her when she offered him a towel and patted his skin dry. She fetched his clothes from the other room, the awful room where he could not breathe, buttoning his shirt with swift fingers, doing up the buckles on his jerkin.

She was not much shorter than he was. She stood close enough that he could smell the lemon cake on her fingers, and there was something sweeter and richer underneath. It made him think of fresh fruit and vanilla, rose petals and nightblooms.

Her eyes drew slowly up from his collar to his face, to the wound slicing through the space where his eye once was.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

He was no stranger to pain. It had persisted since the incident itself, stinging and shooting through his skull. It once made him cower like a child, but of late it had lulled into more of a passing irritation. Had the extent of the pain subsided, or was he simply used to it now? “Sometimes,” he said.

“How did it happen?”

The years had passed quickly since then. He remembered the joy he felt flying before the moon and the stars over Driftmark on Vhagar, the faces of his nephews and cousins in the dark. He spat cruelties at them. They shoved him, punched him, kicked him. He remembers the taste of his own blood, the crack of Lucerys’ nose under his knuckles, the dust in his eye and then a pain like fire piercing through to his brain.

Three years and he still felt clumsy in his movements. He would often lose his balance or misjudge his steps. He would miss objects as he went to reach for them, and he was still not quite used to turning his head so that he could see past his blind side.

He’d never had to say it out loud before, not all of it. It had been enough for Lord Commander Westerling to find his face covered in blood and the remains of his eye. He had told his father he had been attacked, but it went unheard to the pleas of innocence by the bastards and their mother. The maesters studied his wound. Cole told him he could regain his strength if he worked for it. Everyone else tended to avert their eyes altogether.

She was looking at it, trailing her fingertips over the edges of his scar and the twisted flesh of his eyelids.

“It was the night I claimed Vhagar. I was returning to Hightide and they came at me, Jace, Luke, Laena’s daughters–” he suddenly realised these names meant nothing to her, but she did not seem discouraged.

“Go on,”

“Rhaena, well, Vhagar was her mother’s dragon. She wanted her, but I claimed her first. I was not afraid of them. Baela struck me first. Then Jace and Luke came at me, and Jace had a knife.”

She breathed a small gasp.

“Luke took up the knife. It all happened very quickly.”

“They did that to you, over a dragon?” She said, trailing her touch lower, over his cheek.

He remembered the cool surface of the rock in his hand, hovered over Jace’s head. One of the girls shook her head, begging him to stop. And he did— or he was going to stop…

That’s when Luke had slashed the blade at him.

“I was weak,” he said, brushing her hand away from his face. “It’ll never happen again.”

She tilted her head at him. Her eyes were glassy, like she might cry. Guilt tugged in his chest. He had not wished to upset her.

Then she took a quick breath and went to take up his cloak and his eyepatch. He placed them both on, covering his silver hair with his hood.

She beckoned him to follow with her fingers. They weaved through the close corridors and the few women and men they passed, some fully dressed, some wearing nothing at all. It felt ridiculous and somewhat unbelievable to see how unashamed they all were, women with their breasts out, men with their cocks hanging between their legs.

His stomach turned again.

He reached for the girl’s hand. Her head whipped around and she held onto him, firmly. He didn’t want to lose sight of her, he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in this place.

Neither of them let go when they reached the doors. People were passing though so they kept close to the wall, face-to-face.

“Can you find your way back to the Keep from here?” she said, only having to whisper.

Aegon had long since disappeared. Aemond had rarely been out into the city, save to accompany his mother to the Sept, or his siblings to the Dragon Pit. He was alone now, no guards, no wheelhouse, but the Red Keep with its turrets, battlements and flickering lights in the windows would not be difficult to locate. He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?”

“For what happened to you.”

His stomach turned again, less nauseating, more unsettling, uncertain. He supposed this would be the last time he saw her.

“Will you be alright, here?” he said.

She took in a sharp breath and she frowned as though she were in pain. “Yes. The madam is good to me. She keeps me fed and clean.”

But the things they must make her do…

“Go, return to your royal castle and your servants,” she said with a grin. “Far better that I am here and not starving in some gutter.”

So he did. He slipped through the door, his last memory of her being obscured by shadows, perhaps that’s why he could not recall the details of her face.

Walking through the streets of King’s Landing, he had never felt so aware of his body, his skin under his clothes, shifting over his bones. His limbs felt slightly numb, his feet moving of their own will while his mind… was clouded. His head felt heavy and the noises around him were distant. No one paid any mind to the boy trudging over the dirt and cobbles, but he felt the eyes of the gods on him and it made him shiver. They had seen his sins. What if his mother knew where he had been, the things he had done? He imagined her brown eyes, filled with disgust rather than grief.

He could not look at Aegon for weeks afterwards. He shied away from his mother’s touch, especially on his legs, his knees. In the Sept he begged the gods to forgive him. He begged to forget it.

Years went by. Some nights when he felt a certain tension in his stomach and a stirring in his breeches, he’d think of it, the heat and sweat and incense. And after there was no relief, just an emptiness in his chest.

He could wash it all away, with drops of lavender and rosemary oil in his bath, with sugar scrubbed into his skin.

If there was one thing he wished to remember of that night, it was her. He still thought of that girl, a face obscured in shadow, when the servants brought out lemon cakes after supper, when Helaena insisted on walking through the gardens at sunset and the air was sweet with nightblooms. She pointed them out to him, the silvery white flowers growing in the leafy green bushes lining the path, their petals like little moons in the foliage.

“How curious are these,” Helaena had said one evening, “they retract in sunlight, but in darkness they flourish.”

Daylight dies with a golden sunset and night blooms with a sky of red and indigo clouds.

The King’s body is now ash. Sunfyre had the honour of being the dragon to do it. It was a hasty affair, in the hours after Aegon’s coronation, when the chaos at the Dragon Pit still had their family and the Small Council stunned to silence. Aegon wore the steel crown as they stood on a cliff over the bay, waiting for him to give the order. The heads of his mother and his sister hung heavy, but Aemond did not avert his gaze from the flames. He felt the heat on his face, seeping through his skin.

At long last, his father is gone. Aemond has not wept for him, nor does he feel a desire to. His father was once a young man, well loved, so he is told, but to Aemond he was always a frail old man. Save for the few times he ever proved his strength, and even then his strength was only ever resolved for his dearest child.

Rhaenys will have made it to Dragonstone within a matter of hours, and Aegon’s ascension will not come without consequence.

On the morrow he will fly for Storm’s End and secure the allegiance of Lord Borros Baratheon. His mother has assured him this will be a simple enough feat, swords for a marriage pact with one of the Baratheon girls, but a crucial one. His brother will not hold the throne long without Lords to uphold his claim and men to fight for it.

He wonders if the Stormlands will live up to their name; how dull the entire affair will be if it only amounts to flying Vhagar through a downpour of rain. This is the war his mother and grandsire wish to fight, with letters and diplomacy. He is sure the dragons will become restless soon enough. Rhaenyra has been steadfastly sure of her own importance her entire life, and with Daemon at her side, she will not bend the knee without a challenge.

And what of Aegon, is he ready to fight for his crown?

When Viserys breathed his last and the pieces were all finally in play, Aegon had not been where he needed to be. Not in his rooms, not within the walls of the castle. He was squandering his duties, evading the position he was born to, as he always has done. Aemond himself was the one to drag him from the streets of King’s Landing to the Red Keep. Cole had spent hours with him, convincing him to take up the crown rather than fleeing on a ship across the Narrow Sea, to Pentos, to Yi Ti, some far corner of the world where the burden of being their father’s son would not weigh so heavily on his shoulders.

The first place Aemond had thought to look for his brother proved to be a fruitless endeavour. The establishment was a familiar one, and with every step he took along the Street of Silk his memories phased into reality. The knocker on the door was the same. The madam was the same, the same long, auburn hair, the same gold jewellery, the same knowing smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes.

“The Prince is not here,” she had said. “His tastes are known to be less discriminating.” Of course. Aegon could pay for the most expensive, sweetly perfumed whores in all of King’s Landing, but instead he sullies himself with the scum of Fleabottom, rolling around in the dirt like a pig.

The madam’s gaze then turned to Aemond. She remarked how he had grown. It felt an obvious thing to say. He was no longer the child he was when Aegon first brought him there.

While he and Cole wandered the city in search of his wastrel of a brother, a thought passed through his mind. He thought of a face in the shadows of the brothel, steam rising, gentle hands, the scent of lavender, rosemary, rose, nightblooms…

She could have been there, on the other side of the door, within the walls of the establishment. She would be a woman just as he was now a man. Or she might have left years ago, to a better life, or perhaps a worser fate. Are the lives of the smallfolk not meant to be brutish and short?

A hollowness settles in his chest, restless and hungry, like it’s writhing under his skin. He paces his chambers, reads until the hearth has died and the sky beyond the windows is black, but sleep will not come to him.

In the hour of the wolf, he dons a cloak and retraces his steps.

Men are all the same. They strut into the establishment like peacocks, with an ego that outweighs their purse. They flash a few coins and ask for wine rather than ale, a symptom of refined taste. They run their hands over her body, her waist, her hips and her rear as though she should be grateful for their attention. They tell her uninteresting stories while they drink themselves into a stupor. They convince themselves that it is their charm and decent looks that have her leading them to a bed in a quiet corner of the pleasure house, or falling to her knees and undoing the laces on their breeches. The truth is that she will do what is asked of her, so long as they have gold. It is only motions of the body, and afterwards she can wash it all away.

Until the next night… and then the next… and then the next…

Madam Sylvi has promised her to a Lannister tonight, a man of Lord Tyland’s household, no doubt paid well by the family he serves. He is supposed to be waiting for her but first she must pretty herself for him. She wears a gown of blood red that bares her back and her arms, that will easily fall away with the undoing of a clasp at her neck. She lets her hair fall freely and tints her lips and cheeks with rosewater. Finally she dabs her perfume into her wrists, her neck, on the insides of her ankles, a scent she has worn for years, sweet, rich and floral.

She descends the stairs by the door. At the darkest time of night the pleasure house is alive. Music hums over the laughter, the moans, the cries. The air is thick with the sourness of alcohol and the smell of sweat and sex.

A man with silver hair stands in the entrance hall, Sylvi beside him. They speak with their heads close together, as familiars? As lovers? Sylvi strokes his arm affectionately, with a look glinting in her eye that means she intends to bleed this Targaryen of all the gold he has.

It does not sink in until he looks up, his single eye meetings hers. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye, dark leather obstructing his hair and pale skin.

The eyepatch… it cannot be…

Sylvi had always said men come here to take their pleasure on their own terms. This had not seemed to be the case when last she laid eyes upon Prince Aemond. She had seen them enter, the young Princes, one taller, merrier, with purple wine stains in the corners of his mouth. The other was solemn faced and unsure, ushered into the arms of the madam before she led him upstairs. Sylvi had other patrons to attend to once the deed was done, leaving the burden of caring for the young Prince on her equally young shoulders.

She still remembers him hunched over himself and shivering, the distant look in his eye, frozen in a single moment of time. The most she had been offered after her first time was a cup of moon tea and an order to change the sheets for the next patron.

It was a single night, such a trivial moment, two children sharing lemon cakes in a brothel, but she has not forgotten it. He will not recognise her, surely?

“Her,” the Prince says, “I will have her.”

Her heart drops. She has reached the end of the steps and freezes, looking to Sylvi for instruction. Anticipation stirs in her gut, somewhere between terror and curiosity.

“I’m afraid she has been spoken for tonight, but I would be glad to–”

“I will pay double what any other man has promised,” Aemond says with an air of finality. This is an offer that cannot be refused. Perhaps the minor Lord will be disgruntled, but he will be compensated generously. Defying a Prince is treason.

While Sylvi has gone to deal with the outbidded Lord, her legs carry her down the last few steps until she is face to face with Prince Aemond.

He is taller for a start, at least a head above her. His hair is longer, his face is slimmer and sharper, his lips are settled into a slight pout. He carries himself differently, proudly. Her eyes move over his leathers under his cloak. She is not meant to admire the men who seek her services. She is meant to take their coin and fulfil their desires.

“Some wine, my Prince?” she asks, nodding towards the inner chamber, the heart of the pleasure house where the musicians play and bodies mingle out in the open or behind drawn curtains.

He offers her a cryptic “hmm,” and follows her inside.

One of the other girls stands in a corner, carrying a tray of full cups. She passes one to Aemond, his fingertips brushing over her skin as he takes it.

The Prince studies his surroundings like a hunter looking for quarry, lips quirked, jaw tight, somewhat amused but silent. Something tells her he has not returned to the pleasure house in the years since his first visit. This is all unfamiliar to him. He sips his wine and takes a slow breath. No doubt he will prefer somewhere a little more secluded.

She takes his hand and weaves through the room, to one of the adjacent chambers lit by candlelight, large enough to fit a bed and little else.

With the curtains drawn the other sounds fade into nothing. She takes Aemond’s wine and sets it aside, coming to stand before him.

She keeps waiting for him to lean into her, to grab greedily at some part of her flesh, to claim her lips with his. Instead he stands stoically, his chest rising and falling from underneath the thick leather of his tunic.

“Are you not awfully warm, my Prince?” she says in a honeyed voice, one she has practised for years that usually feeds the lie she actually wants what’s about to happen. She trails her fingertips over the shiny silver buckles that conceal him from her, his body stiffening under her touch.

She takes a breath to steady the erratic beat of her heart and the wanting stirring in her belly. It is not often that her own forwardness seems out of place.

She remembers the boy with silver hair. She remembers the scowl on his face, how it melted into confusion and fear. He had needed patience then and she was happy to give it. Because she was ordered to. Because she pitied him. Perhaps because she recognised something in his expression and the way he seemed unsure in his own skin.

She places a hand on his shoulder, testing the waters of how close she can get to him. He does not protest. His nose twitches as he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “Perhaps we should make ourselves more comfortable?” she says.

He places his hand over hers, guiding it to the top buckle at his collar. His expression is stern, his face bathed in golden candlelight and the shadows caught in the angles of his face. His eye is somehow soft but intent.

Undressing him is not to be rushed. She takes her time with every buckle on his jerkin and pushes it slowly from his shoulders. She untucks his undershirt from his breeches and he pulls it over his head. His skin is smooth, mostly unmarred, save for a small scar in the crook of his elbow that had not been there the last time they met. He is all muscle, lean and lithe. She places her palms at his chest and lets them drag down his abdomen, to the waist of his breeches.

He holds her wrists to stop her.

She looks to his eye, terrified that she might have overstepped.

Instead he kisses her. It’s gentle and chaste, his hand against the bare skin of her back, pulling her against his body. When she teases his tongue with hers he chases it, only for the kiss to become messy and clumsy. She cannot bring herself to dislike his inexperience.

“Wait,” she says, pulling away, putting her hands on either side of his jaw. “Follow my lead,” she whispers, leaning in to capture his lower lip between hers. They find a rhythm then. She shows him to move slowly, to be firmer. As their kiss deepens she allows herself to melt into his arms. Her hips are rocking against his, his hand trailing over her skin until he finds the clasp of her dress. The material falls away as simply as it should, leaving her bare before him.

He studies her the same way he studied the room. How many men have laid eyes on her since she came to this place? Too many to count, insignificant men, who have no names or faces in her memory. She has no shame in her nakedness, but there has never been any doubt in her mind that those men found her desirable. Being under Aemond’s scrutiny makes her tremble. She wonders if the sight of her pleases him. He has enough gold and enough pride to be selective.

He had asked for her though. Why?

He’s staring at her. “They crowned my brother today,” he says.

It is not what she was expecting to hear. “I saw.”

“You were there?”

“No.” The gold cloaks did not empty the whorehouses when they were ordered to fill the Dragonpit with witnesses for the King’s coronation.

Aemond’s attention is on her body now. He reaches for her arm, tracing circles over her skin with his thumb.

She had not seen the King himself but she had seen the crowds flocking. She had heard the tremendous noise of crumbling stone, people screaming, a dragon’s screech. “I saw the dragon. People say it is an omen.”

Aemond’s face darkens but his attention is still on his own hand, now at her waist. With the other he pulls the eyepatch from his head and tosses it towards his discarded shirt. She does not get much of a chance to refresh her memory of his maimed eye before he leans into her again. His lips are at her shoulder, then her neck and it leaves her utterly weightless.

“Your perfume is the same,” he mutters into her skin.

He remembers.

Aemond seems content enough following her lead. He lets her slip his breeches past his hips and take him into her mouth. He lets her sit atop him and grind her core against his hardened cock until her peak washes over her, blissful and warm.

When he starts to buck his hips and dig his fingertips into her hips she decides to give him respite. She sinks herself onto him with a soft sigh. It is a rare opportunity to chase a feeling rather than letting herself go through a rehearsed set of motions.

His eye moves between her face and the space where their bodies meet, as if he cannot decide which is more fascinating. She is pleasantly surprised when he places his thumb at her pearl and circles over her sensitive flesh.

She loses herself in it, how deep he reaches, pleasure rising and tightening until it releases suddenly, violently. She falls forwards on her hands to steady herself.

Before long Aemond lifts her off his cock, finishing himself with a stuttering groan and his seed dripping through the folds of her cunt.

He holds her close, caging her in his arms and bringing her into his chest. There’s a numbness that follows pleasure and she cannot bring herself to care that he is crushing her ribs. It doesn’t matter. She basks in the heat of his skin and the smell of him.

He makes good on his promise of payment. The purse of coins he leaves on the bed before he leaves is worth ten nights with any other patron.

There is less pretence the next time he visits her.

It is only a day later. He comes in the middle of the night, his hair, coat and leather gloves soaked, but there is no rain in King’s Landing. They tear at each other’s clothes and kiss like starved dogs devouring scraps. Aemond holds her by her jaw and her neck. When she draws his teeth over his lip he grins.

Once he is bare she realises his skin is cold and he is shivering.

“You should sit before a fire and warm up properly–”

“No,” he insists, “I just want you.”

She chases her pleasure once more, Aemond’s hands bruising into her hips as he thrusts up to meet her, the coldness of his palms seeping through her skin. This newfound urgency is thrilling and she finds herself curling over her body as her peaks tears through her.

Aemond is not finished with her yet. He positions her beneath him, spreading her legs apart with two wide palms before fucks her with a brutal precision, and he does not stop until he has reached his own end, painting her belly and the tops of her thighs.

After, he takes her into his arms, positioning them both so that he lies under her arm with his head nestled on her chest, between her breasts. She strokes her fingertips through his damp hair, over his skin, all the places where lovers touch each other, his cheek, his neck, underneath his ear, his shoulder. With his arm draped over her stomach he clings to her like he may never know such intimacy again. His skin is still cold and yet she holds him close, determined that she will draw some warmth from him.

Hours pass. Days could pass and she’d be content to lie with him.

“The dragon was an omen, you said,” he mutters.

It takes her a moment to rouse herself. Her eyes had closed, her mind half asleep. “That’s what people are saying. A coronation marred by death must surely only lead to more death.”

She feels his arm tighten over her stomach.

“You’re cold,” she says.

“I was instructed to fly to the Stormlands.”

“Why?”

“To secure the support of Lord Baratheon. He has pledged his banners to my brother’s cause and in return I am to wed his daughter.”

His state suggests to her that he has not yet returned to the Red Keep.

“Is there to be a war?” she says.

He remains frozen for a few moments.

“I believe war may now be inevitable,” he says. She feels his lips brushing over her skin.

“How so?” she says on a quiet breath.

“A boy is dead because of me.”

The coldness of Aemond’s body has decidedly taken root within her, like a fist closing over her heart and throat.

“Lucerys was there, at Storm’s End. Lord Borros shunned him from the hall but I… it wasn’t enough. I pursued him on Vhagar. His dragon is nothing to her, they didn’t stand a chance.”

She is not sure she wishes to hear of this, but a new kind of stillness has settled over her. She is too afraid to move, to disturb him.

“He is the one who took your eye,” she says.

Aemond hums. “He never paid for what he did to me. My father was more concerned with the slanders against my sister than he was with me, with my blood spilled by my own kin.”

She closes her eyes, imagining the little boy from all those years ago is curled up in her arms. She runs her fingers through his hair, undoing the knots and tangles. She cradles his head in her arms so he knows he is not alone.

“His debt is paid now, I suppose,” Aemond says.

It is in the early hours of the morning when he finally leaves, the first glimpses of sunrise chasing night from the sky. She helps him dress and fastens his eyepatch over his head. He leaves another purse in her palm, a more than generous amount.

He comes to her nightly. He is an unhurried lover and fucks her slowly, hovering his lips above hers so that they share the same air, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together as if he wishes to smother her, or else crawl under her skin. She’d let him do it.

It is not simply her body he wants. When they are done he wants to be held, and then his thoughts slip from between his lips.

He had not expected to return to the Red Keep a hero for slaying his nephew, but now he says his mother can hardly look at him. His grandsire, the Hand of the King scorns him for his recklessness, for his impulse for violence that now means the false Queen may strike at any moment. Vhagar circles the city during the day, she sees the dragon when she goes to the market. Aemond insists that his dragon could make short work of destroying any other who would seek to oppose her, but Rhaenyra has dragons to spare. He sits in meetings of the Small Council and watches in despair as the Hand and the Dowager Queen advocate for patience and diplomacy.

“We should be marching,” he says one night, tracing his fingertips over her stomach. “We should secure the support of the Crownlands, adding their numbers to our host. Rhaenyra is isolated enough on Dragonstone, but we could cut her off from her allies completely.”

“And none would stand against you and Vhagar,” she says. Assuring him has become a learned skill these last few weeks.

“Alicent wishes for me to remain here, to deter an attack on the city.”

“That is sound logic,” she says. “The people of King’s Landing will be grateful for your protection.”

Aemond hums irritatedly.

“I for one would despair at the loss of our Prince,” she adds, ghosting her lips over his cheek, where his scar cuts through his skin.

For a little while he entertains her, turning his head to kiss her properly. She slips her hand between their bodies, taking hold of his hardening cock. He melts into her, chasing his pleasure as she strokes him.

“I am ready for more,” he says breathlessly. “I’m ready to fight.”

“As you have proved,” she says, coming to kiss his throat.

In a single breath he is above her, pinning her hands by her head. He positions himself against her, rocking his hips so his leaking tip pushes against her pearl. He knows this about her now, how to draw her pleasure from her body. “Storm’s End was no battle,” he hisses into her ear. “Luke was a child. I want fire and blood.”

“Your time will come,” she says, her voice catching in her throat as he quickens his pace.

“The war must be inevitable,” he pants, “the realm will realise it soon enough. Aegon is the King and yet he is hostage to those with weaker wills.”

“You are his brother,” she sighs as Aemond slips lower to her entrance. “You can convince him to act–”

“Not now,” Aemond says, pushing into her with one sudden thrust. “Just take it, that’s it…”

He fucks her slowly, deeply, with his face buried into her neck. His desperation fuels her own desire, his hot breath against her ear, his pants and his groans. When he is finished he does not leave her wanting, trailing his lips and tongue down her body, her chest, her stomach, driving her towards her own peak with his lips and tongue.

“My grandfather takes my aspirations as insolence,” Aemond mutters to himself as he dresses. “He thinks me weak. He thinks I am still a child.”

“Then he is a fool,” she says, still buried beneath the throw on the bed.

“My mother and grandfather seized the throne, now they will not do what needs to be done to hold it.”

“Perhaps they fear what a war might bring.”

Aemond tuts. “The first blood has been drawn.”

“Do you not…” she pauses when he looks at her, his eye wide, anticipating something he will not wish to hear. “What if Rhaenyra comes for you? What if she seeks vengeance for her son?”

Aemond smiles like he has a secret and stalks slowly towards the bed, her stomach tightening in anticipation.

In some ways, Aemond terrifies her. He has a presence of danger and bloodlust which fades away when she peels away the layers of his leathers. Without his eyepatch, in the warmth of the candlelight, he is the picture of Valyrian beauty, a man who belongs in histories and legends, not the living, breathing realm she exists in.

He leans into her, taking her chin between his fingers to kiss her. She relishes it for as long as she can, knowing it won’t be enough to charm him back into the bed.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket for a purse of coins. “Let her try,” he says as he places it beside her, “but I will not be easily ended.”

The girls all share chambers, bedrooms and a washroom with basins and baths. She rises early in the morning to bathe, to drop her lavender and rosemary oils into the tub and scrub away the remnants of last night. Before, she would not allow herself to fall asleep until she was clean. Lately she finds an odd sense of comfort in the reminders of her royal patron. Her skin is littered with love bites and bruises, her neck, her collar, her breasts. It shouldn’t be like this. Usually she does what she can to forget the men she has been with.

They share their duties. This morning she is to help wash the bed linens, and find cheap grain and cuts of meat from the markets.

The clothes she wears are modest, covering her arms and her neck, unflattering to her figure. Some people still eye her with disgust, with hatred. You can always spot a whore. What can strangers know of her? Can they see through her skin and see her sins as the gods judge them all from the seven heavens? It was not as if she had chosen this path for herself out of an endless number of possibilities.

Sometimes she remembers the life she had before, a woman’s laugh, a particular taste on her tongue, a tune humming in the back of her mind she can’t quite piece together. She used to think the gods had forsaken her, but now she thinks they do not concern themselves with the lives of people like her. So she finds little point in looking to the past, of imagining a future for herself. She survives and that is enough.

Summer is nearing its end. There is no warmth to be found in sunlight obscured by clouds. People walk quickly, keeping their belongings in deathly grips. A woman with a babe in her arms begs the baker to accept one copper instead of five for a loaf of bread. A man despairs that the apothecaries cannot offer him a medicinal herb from Lys for his sickly daughter. The shipping lanes are blocked by the Velaryon Fleet holding the Gullet, and no ship can get in or out of King’s Landing. A woman cries for her son, a rat catcher, his body hanging from the walls of the Red Keep.

She gets what she needs to, grain she will bring back to the kitchens for the cook to turn into plain tasting flatbread. A butcher sells her tough cuts of beef for a reasonable price to go into a stew. He worries that there have been no imports of salt or sugar. How is the city meant to preserve food for the fast approaching winter?

“It’s the fucking war,” he grumbles, “why can’t the King just burn the ships so the rest of us can eat?”

In the distance she hears drums, the clatter of horse hooves against the cobbles. She keeps her basket tightly on her arm, not stopping to make eye contact with the people she passes, past the stalls, mules, the buckets of sewage and dirty water falling from windows above her head.

As she emerges from one of the side streets her way is suddenly blocked by masses of people. She had guessed some sort of procession was afoot. This is no celebration, it is lamentation. People weep and wail around her, a mass mourning that she does not understand, and yet she feels it in her chest and behind her eyes, an urge to cry.

Over the sea of bodies before her she sees two women in an open carriage, richly dressed with black veils over their faces. Petals fall from windows and footbridges. People cry the name of Queen Helaena and Dowager Queen Alicent.

She finds a small ledge to lift herself onto at the base of a statue. What she sees could stop her heart. This is a funeral procession. Queen Helaena’s carriage follows the body of her son, wrapped in a green and gold shroud, with flowers woven into his white hair. For a moment she tells herself the boy is an effigy, that he could be made from wax or porcelain.

“Behold the work of Rhaenyra Targaryen!”

The whispers follow her as she scurries back to the pleasure house. The Prince was slain in his sleep. Two assassins cut his head from his body. They made his mother and twin sister watch.

Bile rises in her throat as she hands cook the cuts of meat, blood seeping through the wrappings. She swallows it down.

When Aemond comes to her that night he is more subdued than usual. He pulls her into his arms and she strokes her hand over his hair.

“My nephew is dead,” he utters. He sheds no tears, he seems confused more than anything.

Rhaenyra’s retribution had come then, swift and brutal, a son for a son.

She undresses him but he leans away when she tries to kiss him. They lie back on the bed and Aemond settles his head on her shoulder.

“My brother is in a rage and wants Rhaenyra dead. My sister has not left her rooms; I tried to go to her but she would not speak to me,” he says.

“How did it happen?”

“There were two. One was a gold cloak. They found him at the gate of the gods with Jaehaerys’ head in a sack. He confessed the other was a rat catcher.”

Now the bodies of a hundred men hang by their necks, though only one of them is guilty.

“Daemon sent them to kill me,” Aemond says, “but I was out.”

She rests her fingers at the pulsepoint on his wrist to remind herself his heart is still beating. “You were with me,” she says. She feels the guilt weighing in her chest. While she and Aemond had kissed and fucked and held each other, a boy had a lost his life, the very body she had seen paraded through the streets.

“In truth I am proud that he considers me such a foe, that he would seek to murder me in my bed.”

She cannot tell if she admires him for it or not, to gamble with life as though it means nothing.

Aemond is watching her, his hair loose and framing his face. “Do you think he fears me?”

She has never seen Aemond wield a blade. She’s never seen him ride his dragon, not up close. She’s never seen him fight with his fists. She’s never seen him slur his words and throw away threats in a drunken argument. He is always composed. He is always softly spoken, and in a way that terrifies her more than it should. They say the blood of the dragon runs hot. Aemond’s blood does not seem to burn, rather it simmers under the surface of his skin.

“Perhaps he fears what else you might be capable of.”

Aemond is the closest she has ever seen him to tears. His eyelashes are damp and heavy, his seeing eye vibrantly blue and glassy. “You think me a monster,” he utters.

She could never say it, could she? But this is a man who took the life of his own kin as a reparation for his eye. Violence is carved into his face, beautiful, set with a gemstone, but it is there nonetheless.

She brushes her fingertips over his cheek and plants a delicate kiss to his lips. After only a few moments he shrugs her off and repositions himself, curling into her lap like a child, clinging to her limbs and the fabric of her gown.

“I lost my temper that day,” he says. “I should have known Vhagar would not relent. I am sorry for it.”

Her blood runs cold. Should she be glad to hear he is remorseful? He may not be a cold hearted killer, but destruction lives at his fingertips.

She reaches for his hand and he takes it. His touch is gentle and hesitant. “There was no justice in what happened to you,” she says, “blood has paid for blood…” but where does it end? With Lucerys? With Jaehaerys? With the next?

Aemond says nothing. She feels his tears slip onto her legs, his fingernails forming crescents in her skin.

Remorse will not return Rhaenyra’s son to her, it will not bring back the little Prince paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

She clings to him, hoping she can ease whatever torment plagues him, and banish what darkness consumes him.

She never tires of the sight of him. His body bare, his hair tied away from his face, the uneven edges of his sapphire glinting in the lowlight, laid out beneath her. She runs her hands over his chest, tracing the lines that are familiar to her now. “I want to taste you,” she says sweetly, knowing he’ll already be desperate for her.

He hums quietly to himself. By the slight smile threatening to break in the corners of his mouth, she knows he is content.

“On your knees then,” he says, and positions himself to sit at the end of the bed.

She runs her tongue over his length first, finishing with a teasing lick at the tip where he’s already weeping. She takes him into her mouth gradually, pushing a little deeper with every bob of her head. He is her Prince, he takes his pleasure from her and holds her hair from her face but it is she who sets the pace, who revels in his moans as his mind lulls.

But he pulls her head away by her hair before he finishes. Suddenly she’s on her back and he’s kneeling over her with his fist moving furiously over his cock. He reaches for her breast and squeezes. In the morning when she bathes, she’ll look at the bruises and remember how he touches her. Her own had slips between her legs, tracing circles over her pearl at the thought.

This pleases Aemond. His brow hardens and his jaw falls. “Fuck, are you going to finish with me?” he whispers.

She nods in reply, her breath catching as a whimper in her throat.

His grip on her breast tightens. She winces at the pain and it only fuels her own pleasure. She succumbs to her senses, chasing the feeling in her gut that only wants for release. Her fingers work frantically over her wet and wanting cunt.

“Make yourself come for me, that’s it,”

She obeys him with a cry, her body reduced to a shaking, dazed mess as Aemond reaches his own end. She watches his seed spurt from his cock, warm as it paints her skin.

He has habits, she’s noticed. He does not spill inside her. Of course, with the nature of the establishment there is no shortage of moontea, but she never questions him when he removes himself. He prefers to see it on her skin.

Targaryen bastards are not uncommon in King’s Landing, commoners with silver hair. It is said Prince Aegon himself has sired many on the women of Fleabottom. Perhaps the idea is distasteful to Prince Aemond. He is discreet. He does not bring drinking companions with him to the pleasure house and he keeps his hood up as he enters and exits.

He takes a cloth and wipes his seed from her skin. She bites back another jolt of anticipation in her spine. She would take more from him, but instead he lies beside her, curling into her embrace, tucking his head into her chest.

He could fuck her quickly and be done with it, it would be more efficient. He could take a different girl each time. He could have one brought up to the castle. Yet since the day of the King’s Coronation he has found his way into her arms to her each night. In these quiet moments she lets herself think there is a reason for it.

They trace their fingertips over each other’s skin and he tells her things she shouldn’t know, that the King has named a new Hand in Ser Criston Cole, that while Queen Alicent seeks to avoid open war, Aegon wants to fly headfirst into it.

“It’s not his place. He’ll not stand a chance against Meleys or Caraxes.”

The names are strange to her. Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke, a reminder that some Silk Street whore is not meant to understand the realm he exists in. Other times it feels like an honour, like he’s gifted her a part of himself, a glimpse into his mind.

“He is no warrior, but he wishes to live up to his namesake. He wants for glory alone; it is a reckless pursuit but he would risk his life for it.”

“He is the King, is it not his war to fight?” she says.

“He is not capable of it,” Aemond says, “but I…”

It is not a thought he dares to finish.

King Aegon wears the crown of the Conqueror, or so people say. She’s never seen a real crown. She’s seen paper ones worn by the mummers in the square, and she’s seen girls wearing wreaths of flowers on their heads for the festival of spring. They are only delicate things. Real crowns are made of gold, silver and steel. As Aemond’s eye flutters shut he looks divinely peaceful, but unsettled where his sapphire continues to stare at her. She pictures a crown of spring flowers fashioned from steel and imagines it upon her Prince’s brow.

Footsteps thud upon the stone floor, too close to the curtain, closer than anyone should dare to come near. She lifts her head as it’s drawn back.

It takes a moment for them all to realise what’s happening. Several faces stare at her– at Aemond. One of the men has silver hair, shorter and choppier than Aemond’s. He bares his teeth as he grins.

She sees a flash of fury in Aemond’s face as he turns to face them.

The silver haired man starts to laugh, the sound shrill and unpleasant. His friends do not join him. “Aemond the fierce!” he cries, pointing, staring.

Ameond parts himself from her instantly. He retreats as far as the edge of the bed, hunched over himself, his knees in the crooks of his elbows. He keeps his head hung, not looking at the men and the leader of their pack. He does not look at her, he does not look at anything.

She sees the child he once was, frightened and confused.

The man staggers towards the bed, clearly half out of his mind by the smell of wine drifting from him when he perches on the bed. On instinct she covers her breasts, devastated to realise her robe is out of reach.

“And here I thought you were as chaste as a fucking septon! You know,” he says to his companions, “I brought him here for his first too. And how far you’ve come, curled in the arms of a whore like a greenboy!”

There’s a bite to his– the King’s words, a cruelty that only makes Aemond shrink further into himself. Her heart aches for him, that she cannot help him.

“Are you tired, brother? Did you fuck her like a hound?” An idea he emphasises with an impersonation of a hunting dog.

Aemond doesn’t move or speak.

Still in hysterics, Aegon turns his gaze to her, unashamedly lingering on her chest and her legs. “Hard luck for your squire, Ser Martyn,” he says, drawing his tongue over his lips, “as pretty as this one is, she is very much occupied.”

His laughter is the only sound in the chamber and it pierces her skull.

Aemond starts to shift. Helplessly she reaches out her hand, unsure of what it is she intends to do. He doesn’t take it. He doesn’t even look at her.

He stands before the King and his companions. His humiliation has melted away. In the place of the boy is a man who speaks calmly and clearly. “Your squire is welcome to her. One whore is as good as another.”

He strides from the chamber and she is entirely forgotten.

Or so she wishes that were true. There are still four men in her midst. And she is still, for all the hours she has spent in Aemond’s company, a whore in a pleasure house.

I've kinda given up on taglists, sorry <3

A/n: I'm quite happy with this! I've been playing with the idea in my head for a few weeks, then I saw episodes 2 and 3 and it just had to happen. Would be very cool if you wanted to let me know what you think :)

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen smut #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x oc #aemond x ofc

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something-tofightfor · 1 year

Text

Black Days 2: Seize The Day (Pull The Trigger)

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,900

Rating: M (language, mention of prior terrible relationships.)

Summary: Tim gave you his number - but will you use it? And if you do, are the answers to your questions the ones you hope for?

Author’s Note: The response to the first chapter of this story was overwhelming. I never thought that anyone would care so much about a mobile game ad character ... but that’s what Pedro does, I guess.

Thank you all for reading!

Chapter title comes from “The Day I Tried To Live” by Soundgarden.

Masterlist / Chapter 1

The answer turned out to be almost two days.

While at home between the end of your main workday and your shift at the diner, you were laying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Your shift at the office had drained you. Your only goal was to go home and get a quick few hours of sleep before you had to go back to work. But once you’d changed into a pair of shorts and a worn t-shirt and climbed between the sheets, you doubted that sleep would come. At least not right now.

When you turned onto your side to look at your bedside table, you chewed on your lower lip, thinking. The folded paper was right next to your phone, exactly where you’d set it the morning you brought it home. The longer you waited, the more anxious you got - and you didn’t know why.

He’d approached you. He’d asked you out, and told you that it was your decision. He’d made his interest clear, and reiterated that what happened next was up to you. So why am I waiting? You knew the answer, even though you didn’t want to admit it. But there’s only one way to know for sure.

Reaching for the phone and the paper, you dialed the number and then rolled onto your back, holding the device over your face. Maybe he won’t answer. Maybe he’ll ignore the call since he doesn’t know my number.

So you pressed “send” and then lowered the phone to your ear, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting. If he doesn’t answer I’m not going to leave a message. I’ll just…

“This is Tim.” He picked up on the fourth ring, his tone clipped but not angry, and after a short pause, you cleared your throat. Here goes nothing.

“Tim? Hi. It’s -”

He cut you off and said your name, his tone softening. At that, you relaxed against the mattress, feeling yourself smile. “I’m glad you called.”

“Are you?” He agreed, the line going silent. “That’s good to know.” Bending your arm and putting your free hand under your pillow, you tightened your grip on the phone. “I don’t want to keep you for too long because I’m sure you’re at work, but …” Wetting your lips, you nodded. “I want to say yes to dinner, Tim. It sounds like a lot of fun, but …”

“But what?” You heard noises on his end of the line - the sound of people talking in the background, the squeak of what sounded like an office chair - and for a few seconds, you wondered what his workplace was like. But that’s why I have to ask.

“But I need to know a little more about you first. You said you live in Willow Creek, and I know your full name, but … what do you do Tim? What kind of job regularly keeps you out until the middle of the night with a folder that size?”

“I was hoping to be able to talk about this at dinner, but…” He cleared his throat. “Let me go outside.” You waited for almost a minute, the sound of the man’s breathing through the speaker loud in your ear. Outside? Why does he need to go outside? “You still there?”

“Yes.” Your heartbeat quickened, eyes fixed on the ceiling directly above your bed. “I’m here.”

“Alright, so…” He sighed, the sound loud in your ear. “I figured it’d come up in conversation in person. It’s usually easier that way, but …shit. I’m a detective.” A cop. He’s a cop.

“Oh.” You frowned, closing your eyes. “I guess it makes sense, with the files and the notebooks and the weird hours.” Just ask. Just get it over with. “Did you choose my restaurant for a specific reason? A case?” For me?

“No, I chose it because of the pie, I told you that.” He laughed, the sound short. “But seriously, it’s close enough to my place that I can go there if I can’t sleep, or when I get out of the office before I go home. It’s quiet. The coffee’s good, though it’s been better than usual the last couple times I’ve been in.”

“Tim, I -”

“I work for the Sacramento Police Department.” He said your name, pausing. “I have for the last seven years, which is about how long I’ve been a detective. Before that, I worked in San Francisco. Was there for about 10 years, and then decided to move back home because my mom was still here.”

You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, loosening your grip on the device in your hand. “You’re a detective? Not a PI?”

“No, not even close.” There was another pause, and when Tim spoke again, you heard interest in his voice. “I don’t work for myself and no one seeks me out independently, though a couple people have tried.”

Ok. This is … this is good. This is … “Tim?” He hummed, waiting. “If you’re still interested, I can explain why I was so curious over dinner next Tuesday.” You trusted what he was telling you, because it would be easy enough to look his name up and find out whether or not he was being honest. And he knows that, too.

“I’m interested.” He said your name and then cleared his throat. “Very interested. And I know it’s cliché, but there’s a really good Italian -”

“Yes.” You agreed almost automatically, a warmth spreading through your body along with excitement - something you hadn’t experienced in months. “Italian sounds great, Tim.”

—

You didn’t see him that night at work, but on Saturday, you were busy wiping down tables when you heard someone say your name. Turning your head toward the sound, you grinned at the sight of him - coat draped over one arm and his fingers curled around the handle of his briefcase. “Hey, Tim.” Pointing with one hand, you continued. “Your table’s open. I can bring you a cup of coffee to start, but you’ll have Nicki afterward.”

“Why’s that?” He rested one hand on his hip, tilting his head to one side. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No, actually…” You finished what you were doing, folding the damp towel you held. “I got cut early. There’s no one in here, so I’m going home. Nicki and Jesse are going to handle things.”

“Oh.” He frowned briefly and then nodded, taking a step closer, though there was still plenty of space between you. “That means you get to go to bed a couple hours early tonight, right?” That would be great, wouldn’t it?

“Mmmhmm.” Smiling brightly, you hoped that he hadn’t seen the brief flash of uncertainty on your face. “It’ll be nice to -”

“Or,” he interrupted, drawing his lower lip back and between his teeth, his eyes on you. “Or we could both leave, and we could go grab a coffee from somewhere else right now.”

It was late at night, and you barely knew the man, but you wanted to say yes. “What about Tuesday? I thought -”

“Oh, I’m still taking you to dinner.” His smile grew, the man’s eyes wide and bright behind his glasses. “But what I’ve got to work on can wait until tomorrow. I just figured … I’m not even sure what I figured, but …”

“I live about fifteen minutes away from here. North of here, so that would be the direction that we’d have to go in, because -”

“Ever been to the 49er?” He raised a brow, waiting. “That was my go-to before coming here, but since it’s a truck stop, it’s nowhere near as quiet.”

“I have been. Their bar is pretty convenient.” He laughed at that, agreeing. “And it puts us both pretty close to home, so… want me to meet you there?”

“Yes.” Tim’s smile grew, his eyes darting away from you and toward the kitchen. “I’ll head out now, how long do you think you’ll be?”

“About ten minutes? I have to count out my -”

“Go. Before a group of fifteen walks in and they decide not to let you leave.” Someone’s excited.

Biting back a laugh, you told him you’d see him in a little while.

When the man turned and headed back toward the lobby, you made your way to the kitchen, dropping the rag into one of the dirty towel baskets. “What was that about?” Nicki was standing next to Jesse, the girl’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the guy from last week. You two were -”

“Yeah, it’s all good. He was working on a case but it had nothing to do with me. We talked about it.” Waving her off, you smiled. “It’s all fine, I promise. He’s actually really nice.”

“If you say so.” She glanced past you, eyes on the dining room. “Are you heading out?”

“I am.” You closed out your shift on the screen, counting down your tips and then doling out a few dollars for Jesse, the rest going back into your pocket. “If you’re sure you can handle the rest of the night.”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Morning shift gets here in a couple hours, no big deal.” She eyed you warily, but didn’t say anything else. What is there to say? When you looked at Jesse, though, you saw the man was positively giddy, his eyes gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. Don’t even say a word.

“Have a good night.” He winked. “See you Monday?” Yeah. You will.

A few minutes later, you were crossing the parking lot to your car, keys in hand. The drive from work to the diner was an easy one, and at a little after 1 am, you knew that there’d be no traffic.

You weren’t nervous as you headed north on I-5, but as you passed the Garden Highway exit, you realized how excited you were for the opportunity to talk to the man in a different setting. And he’s excited too, so that means…

There were a lot of things that it could have meant, but the most important was that for once, you were on the same page with someone when it came to the way you were feeling. And that’s a nice change.

Smiling as you parked the car, you gave yourself a few minutes to fix your appearance. You straightened the hooded sweatshirt that you’d thrown on over your uniform, applied lip gloss, and swept your fingers carefully beneath your eyes to wipe away any traces of smudged eyeliner and mascara. There. That done, you stepped out of the car, grabbing your bag and keys. Here goes nothing.

Tim was waiting for you just inside the doors, the man’s coat and briefcase nowhere to be seen. He was still wearing his glasses, though - and both of his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. Oh, he … wow. No one should look this good in a truck stop in the middle of the night. “You made it.”

He sounded genuinely happy, and as you nodded, the man leading you into the dining room with one hand at your elbow, you relaxed further. “I did. There was no one on the highway, so it was quick.”

You slid into the booth across from him, but before he could reply, the waitress appeared, asking for your order. Tim spoke first, his head turned toward the woman standing by the table. “Just coffee, please, and whatever she’s having.”

“Coffee here, too. And can I get a side of the fruit?” The waitress nodded and then made a note on her pad. She then turned away, leaving the two of you alone. “I usually snack on something about now at work, so I hope that -”

“You don’t have to explain. It’s fine.” Tim leaned back in the booth, both hands resting flat against the surface of the table. “So.” He tilted his head to the right, eyes on you. “I’m glad you said yes.”

“I’m glad you asked.” He winked, opening his mouth to answer, but your coffee arrived, along with glasses of water. “Thank you. It -”

“Your fruit’s coming. It’ll be a few minutes.” The server set a small bowl with sweetener and a container of cream down on the table, the woman not even looking at either of you. “Enjoy.” Yikes. She doesn’t give a shit about her tips. As she walked away, you looked at the man again, finding an amused expression on his face. “Is that another reason you decided not to come here anymore?”

“Yeah, the service is … not as friendly here.” He picked up his cup and took a sip, nose wrinkling. “And the coffee’s not as good, either.”

That broke the ice, the two of you starting a conversation that was little more than pleasantries. But as soon as the bowl of fruit and silverware were delivered, that changed - and Tim didn’t seem afraid to take the lead.

“You seemed surprised when I told you what I did for a living.” He reached over, grabbing a grape and popping it into his mouth. “Why?”

“No. Not… surprised. That isn’t the right word. I guess it just … threw me off a little.” You sipped your drink and then frowned. “Do you just take general cases, or do you work in a special department? I don’t know what I can ask, so if you can’t answer, just tell me.”

“This isn’t the CIA.” Tim laughed, running the fingers of one hand through his already messy hair. “I can’t talk about individual cases, but there’s nothing keeping me from telling you what I do.” He took a deep breath, never looking away from you. “I prefer to be called a criminal investigator that focuses on homicides. But the truth is that I take on a lot of other types of cases, most of the time.” Homicide? So he catches killers?

“Interesting.” You ate a piece of fruit, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s an important job, Tim.”

“For the people involved, it is.” He shrugged. “I just like helping when I can, and I’ve always been good at piecing shit together, so … why not? Why not get paid for something that I enjoy doing?”

“That’s how I feel about what I do, too. At my main job, I mean.” Taking a long drink of water, you met Tim’s eyes, noticing for the first time that he was leaning in toward you. The man’s attention was unwavering. It sent a shiver down your spine, though the reaction was a positive one, his focus something you enjoyed being the recipient of. “It’s definitely not as exciting as your job probably can be, but … I’m a project analyst, so I have to work with a lot of facts and figures. I put puzzle pieces together every day, but in most cases, no one’s trying to hide anything.”

“That sounds like a hell of a lot of work.” Telling him it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, you shrugged. I’m used to it. “So if you’re doing that, why are you also working overnight in that diner? Your day job sounds like it’s more than enough to keep you busy.”

You hadn’t thought that the topic would come up so quickly. But since it had, you were determined to keep from shying away from it the way you wanted to. Because I don’t want to lie to him.

“I just started a few months ago. Last year, I was working regular hours at my main job, but … things changed around the holidays.” Fingers closing around the end of your straw as you twirled it through your water glass, you looked down at the movement of your left hand. “My relationship ended, and even though I kicked him out, my place just seemed too empty when he was gone. Too quiet at night, and I couldn’t sleep, so … I decided to get out of the house as often as I could instead of trying to fill it with noise.”

“You picked up a second job because you couldn’t sleep over a breakup? Must have been some breakup.” You have no idea. His voice dropped lower, and when you looked up at him again, Tim’s brow was furrowed. “You said you work what, four nights a week some weeks?” Nodding in agreement, you waited. You’re not going to tell me anything I don’t already know. “So when do you sleep?”

“I catch a couple hours between jobs … and during the day on my days off, mostly.” Rubbing at your forehead, you shrugged. “It’s not so bad, though. I like being awake at night, there’s fewer people. If I have to work overnight, by the time I get home I have enough time to take a quick power nap before it’s time to go in to my main job. It gets me through the day.” Lifting your coffee, you held it out to him. “So does this.”

“I have trouble sleeping, too.” He scoffed, head shaking back and forth. “Sometimes it’s details of the cases, other times it’s just that shit’s too loud, you know? Can’t shut my brain off.”

“Cheers.” You raised the coffee mug, holding it out toward him. “Look at us, coping with our bullshit in an extremely unhealthy way by staying out all night and consuming our weight in caffeine every day.” He snorted but clinked his mug against yours, joining you as you took a sip.

“The difference with me is that I can catch an hour or two at the station when I need it. We all do it, especially when we work 12 hour shifts.” Must be nice. “And on the nights I do have free? The ones I don’t end up in a diner somewhere with my case files?” He shrugged. “There are a couple other ways that I relax and get my mind off of work.” That … doesn’t surprise me.

“Ah.” You picked up the last piece of fruit, taking a bite out of it. “So is that what this is? Are you hoping to use me to -”

“No.” His head whipped back and forth, Tim setting the cup down. “Not at all. You’ve been a nice change in my routine, but…” His fingers wrapped around the mug, eyes locked on you. “But I’m not thinking past dinner. And now that I know how little you sleep, I’m starting to think that maybe I should have suggested taking you somewhere quiet to nap instead of out to another place that reminds you of work tonight.”

“I have all day off tomorrow. I’ll get some sleep then.” You sipped your water, the ice cubes clinking against the inside of the cup. “And as soon as I can end my lease, I’ll move out of my place, and start trying to sleep normal hours again. A change of scenery is probably what I need, but until then…” This is what I can do.

“I hope that’s soon.” His words were genuine, and when Tim nodded - the almost imperceptible movement of his head accompanied by a small smile, you gave him one in return. It will be. “But I’m serious, if you’d rather use Tuesday night to relax, I understand.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, detective Rockford?” Biting the inside of your cheek at the way his eyes flashed at your address, you held back a laugh. I’ll remember that. “Rescinding your offer for dinner now that you know a little more about me?”

“No. Now I just want to make sure you get some sleep and aren’t dead on your feet for more than half of your work week because you can’t sleep at night in your own damn house.”

“That’s direct.” He nodded, his smile widening. “But no. You asked me to have dinner with you, and if I’m being totally honest with you? I haven’t been out on a date in six months, Tim. And I’m definitely not going to back out the first time someone’s asked me.”

“What?” He leaned closer, pushing the coffee mug out of the way and lacing his fingers together. “Six months? You haven’t -”

“I said it was a bad breakup, didn’t I?” Reaching up to grip he back of your neck, you lowered your head briefly. “Probably shouldn’t have let it get to me the way it did, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.”

Tim was silent for a few seconds, the man studying you intently. What are you thinking? “If I’m overstepping, please feel free to tell me to fuck off, but …” He took a deep breath. “You asking what I did, and then assuming that I was a PI when I said I was a detective was for a reason, right? Did … do you think that your ex would have sent someone to keep tabs on you? Is there something that I should know about him or about you?”

“You’re good.” You drained your coffee, staring down into the cup. “It crossed my mind for a few seconds, yes. And I wouldn’t put it past that asshole to have someone watching me, but I don’t even know what he’d be looking for. And honestly? I don’t think he cared enough to spend money on hiring someone to follow me around. He never made it seem like he did anyway.”

“Christ, are you -” He pulled his glasses off and set them down on the table, his free hand rising to rub at his forehead. “If you lived together, then it must have been pretty serious. Why would you think he didn’t care?”

“He was never physically abusive or anything like that, Tim. And I guess he wasn’t emotionally abusive, either - at least not in the way you’d think.” Taking a long drink of water, you looked away from him and out at the dining room - a few of the tables filled. I didn’t plan on talking about this, but …”He just didn’t… try, you know? Wouldn’t make any decisions, wouldn’t talk about what he wanted, didn’t really have any plans for the future, and when I got sick of it, that’s when he tried to make me believe he wanted more.” You shrugged. “It was only after I said I was done that we really started arguing over things, and he told me he didn’t want to think about me with anyone else. And then before he left for good, he told me that I’d regret ending things with him. He said he’d be around when I finally realized that I made a mistake telling him to leave, so -”

“So you thought that he might have someone else keeping tabs on you so that you didn’t notice him doing it.” You nodded, giving him a sad smile. “Well, I can promise you that isn’t what I’m doing. Light stalking isn’t in my job description, and anyone that would have someone do that to someone else is … not someone that I’d want to associate with.”

“I know. It’s dumb. But I just … I don’t know.” You rubbed at your eyes, both of them closed. Congratulations on ruining this before it even goes anywhere.

“Is that why you can’t sleep? Because you’re worried that he’s going to send someone to watch you? Or just because there are memories in the apartment, and part of you wonders if you did the right thing?”

“Both. Mostly the second thing.” Picking up your napkin, you began folding it, though you weren’t watching what you were doing. Instead, you were fixated on a point in the distance, just over Tim’s left shoulder. “Like I said, I think it was an empty threat, so it’s just that … I kind of miss having someone else around. He wasn’t always good company, but he was company, and it’s easier for me to sleep when I can hear someone else. I got used to having a roommate, and now without one, I just … think too much..”

“I have a white noise machine.” He grinned, sipping from his mug. “It only works half the time.”

“Tried that. Tried music. Tried leaving a TV on. Tried playing something called “people noises” from YouTube. No luck.”

“You need someone else there to sleep, I need something quiet to focus on… it’s too bad we can’t nap together, seems like we’d balance each other out.” He wasn’t wrong - though he hadn’t outright said it, it seemed like on the nights Tim wasn’t thinking about work, he found the company of someone to help him sleep, focusing on another person enough to quiet his mind and let him get rest.

And even though the videos had helped slightly, there was nothing that could compare to the feeling of the mattress dipping as someone shifted next to you, or the sound of them breathing in the darkness - each warm exhale washing over whatever part of you was closest.

“If only.” Wrinkling your nose, you gestured to your purse. “Aren’t there apps that let you find someone to cuddle with? Maybe there’s one for a nap partner. Like dating apps but only for -”

“That sounds horrifying.” His eyes widened. “Just inviting some stranger over to your place to hop into bed? Someone that you met through an app?”

“So you don’t use dating apps then?” You reached for the water glass, tilting it toward yourself and frowning at the fact that there was barely anything left. “Isn’t that how people hook up without having to do all the work of meeting someone by chance?”

“I never said that.” Tim held up a finger. “But there’s a difference between hooking up with someone and sleeping with them.” He wasn’t wrong, and as you returned your eyes to meet his, you opened your mouth to agree. The man shocked you, though, by continuing, his gaze never wavering away from yours. “I’m more than willing to offer myself up instead of you looking for someone random. We don’t know each other well, but uh, I’ve been told that I’m one hell of a cuddler, so -”

Do I even want to think about that? Because … it wouldn’t surprise me. Look at him.

“Oh?” Your smile widened, both hands flat on the table. “Didn’t you just say it was weird to have a stranger over? That there was a difference between -”

“I did, and there is.” Tim finished his coffee, leaning back against the booth. “But that changes nothing.” Tim angled his head and then shook it. “Maybe if dinner goes well on Tuesday, you’ll be curious enough to find out sometime.”

“Why not tonight?” It slipped out before you could stop it, and as you realized what you’d said, you gasped, shaking your head back and forth. Oh no. I shouldn’t have said that. “I’m kidding. Tim I -”

“I don’t have to go in tomorrow.” He paused. “As of right now at least. That might change, but I planned on working from my home office, so… if you didn’t want to be kidding…” Is he serious? “If you think it would help you sleep, I’m all for it.” He is serious.

“But you don’t know me. We’ve only talked a few times, and -”

“I know enough. And it’s not like I’m suggesting that anything happen, right? Just … hopefully a good night’s sleep for both of us.” He looked down, checking his watch. “It’s still before you’d be off of work, and I only live a few minutes away, so -”

“I don’t have anything to sleep in.” You glanced down, swallowing hard. Am I really considering this? Looking up again, you made your decision when you saw the slight part of his lips, Tim’s eyes wide in surprise. “I live in Harbor Oaks.” Setting the napkin down, you straightened your shoulders. “So I’m legitimately around the corner from my place right now. I can … I can go home and change, and -”

“I’ll text you my address.” He leaned forward, reaching out for you with one hand and settling it over yours. “And if you decide not to come, I’ll understand. Just … lt me know, alright? That way I’m not waiting for you for hours.”

“Ok.” His touch was light, though his hand covered all of yours - the weight comforting. “And if you decide you don’t want me to -”

“If you stay over,” he started, leaning in further and saying your name. “I’ll make you breakfast when we wake up.” He cooks? How the fuck is he single? “And I don’t mean just cereal or eggs. I mean breakfast. Whatever you want.”

Ok. Ok, so he wants this too. He … he was really inviting me over. “Then I guess I better get out of here, hmm?”

“Go. I’ll flag down the woman to pay.” He squeezed your hand and then let it go, pulling his back to his side of the table .”Don’t overthink it. It’s just sleep.” I believe him. I don’t know why, but I believe him.

You thanked him for the coffee before standing and grabbing for your bag, glancing over at him. “I’ll see you in a little while?” What the hell am I doing?

He pulled his wallet out, setting it down onto the tabletop before looking up at you. “I hope so.”

—

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peachesofteal · 5 months

Text

Simple Math / Part Thirteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort. Confessions.

The park is quiet.

You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.

It makes it easier. To look.

To watch.

To wait.

And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.

You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.

Deep breath.

The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.

Easy prey.

You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

Still, you watch. You wait.

You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.

And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.

It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.

Will he? Won’t he?

Today, the answer is he won’t.

Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away.

Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.

“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.

“Been waitin’ for you to call.”

“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.

Like Simon.

“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.

“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.

He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.

You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone.

You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect.

You’ll always be this.

Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared.

Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.

Love and family and strength.

The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.

But still so far away.

Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.

Deep breath.

Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.

“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”

“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.

His hold tightens. “What is it?”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.

“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.

“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”

There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.

It’s easier to lie.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.

“Did ye eat?” No.

“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”

“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.

He takes it all away. Every time.

“Johnny.”

“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

And then-

It stops.

He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.

“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.

“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”

“Everything. All of it… I- I-“

“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”

“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.

“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”

“Who?”

“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”

“Johnny-“

“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.

The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.

Penny’s bedroom door is open.

The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.

“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”

“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”

“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.

It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.

“In a few.”

Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.

They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.

“A movie?”

“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.

“Umm… no?”

“What’s yer favorite?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”

“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.

“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.

“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong? “Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“

“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”

“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.

You can just… enjoy it.

The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.

Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.

You don’t know who it is looking back at you.

You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.

There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.

Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.

You’re playing house. Playing a game.

It won’t last.

It can’t.

You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.

“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.

“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.

You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.

“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.

When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.

You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.

“Will you show us?” He murmurs.

“Sh-show you?”

“The scars.” Oh.

Will you?

Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.

You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.

A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”

“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.

This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more.

“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.

“No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-

Lips.

He’s kissing them.

It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your face, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.

“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.

“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.

Are you really doing this? Could you really do this?

There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.

So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.

“He liked to hurt me.”

“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.

“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”

“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.

“Yes.”

“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.

“And more.”

“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.

You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know.

You trust them.

Don’t you?

“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“

“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.

They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing.

You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.

“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.

It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone.

But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun.

And maybe it’s time to accept it.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.

The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.

“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.

“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.

Only… intrigue. Warmth.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.

“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”

The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.

The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”

“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”

“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”

“Ye said we.”

“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.

“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.

Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”

“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-

She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.

“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.

“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.

“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.

“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms.

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.

When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,

and the contents of the little black bag in the other.

You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser.

Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.

Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.

A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.

“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.

“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.

You can’t stop it.

They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand.

“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”

“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-

revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #ghost x reader x soap #johnny mactavish x reader #ghost x reader

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clumsybriar · 3 months

Text

Ghost x Wife! Reader — My Pretty Girl

Ghost x wife! Reader

Masterlist

Notes: use of (y/n), reader is female, ghost really adores his wife, fluff.

Word count: 6,858

Warnings: some swearing and bullying.

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Simon stopped in the doorway watching his wife get ready. He was awestruck by her always. She was curvy, and pretty, and her personality sold it all.

She was in his words ‘a sensitive bugger’, to which she would disagree and tell him she was in tune with her emotions and then giggle. She was so sweet and patient and was willing to try and be everyone’s friend even if she was an introvert. The deal was, they had to talk to her first.

“Pretty girl.” He uttered coming up behind her and kissing her cheek. She had her make up all done and it was natural looking. The way she liked it. Her hair was straightened and she was just trying to get dressed until Simon interrupted her.

“Si!” She whined cutely as she only had one leg in her shorts and her other one was lifted as she was trying to stick her foot in the hole. Simon had snatched it up trapping her in place.

“Don’t whine, dovie.” He smiled as he balanced her. “I love you with all my heart, I’m just showin’ it.” His deep Manchester accent boomed within the four walls surrounding them.

His words were not an understatement either. He adored her entirely, worshiped the ground she walked on. He was a man who was well in love with his wife as he should be. She was gorgeous, even if she had stretch marks, or a bigger booty, or larger breasts. How ever it was, he loved her no matter what she looked like.

“Ah, pretty girl, not this outfit.” He smiled leaving a trail of kissed down her neck to her shoulder and continuing it down her arm.

“What’s wrong with it?” She asked nervously as she looked up at Simon.

There wasn’t anything wrong with it, he loved it. Frankly he would have said that about any outfit she left the house with or were wearing around the house. Even if it was her tangled and messy bed head and a t-shirt and boxers of his. He would still slobber over it and have the same remark.

“I love it, you look so gorgeous in this outfit pretty girl.” He kissed her knuckles.

“Si-si,” she snorted. “You say that about anything I wear.”

“Can’t help it love.” He tapped her butt with his hands. “You look good in everything, and nothing at all.” He teased softly. His lips trailing down her neck again as his hands wondered her body.

“We can’t,” she out a half things frenzied attack which made up of lots of kisses and groping over her soft skin. “We said we would meet Mr. and Mrs. Price at 3:30 at the winery.” His hands still grabbed at her thighs as he tried to sneak a few subtle touches elsewhere. “And soap and a Gaz will be there with their…”

“Pay them no mind, pretty girl.” Simon hummed as he stood up straight. She was petit against him, as in he towered over her and she was just this dainty and tiny little hobbit compared to him.

“Yes lieutenant.” She giggled she was trying to fight off his large hand that gripped her in thigh still up in the air as she wanted to get dressed. He patted her butt one more time as he let her go and laid on the bed watching her as she got dressed.

“Ya’ wearin’ that devils peice of clothing?” Simon asked as he watched her turn around and change her bra. “Go no bra.” He whined slightly. It was so out of character for him to be so whiney like this, but with her he could express himself in any way. He was so comfortable with her.

“I’m wearing a bra.” She fastened the new one and made sure her breasts settled right in it. He rolled into his belly as he rested his head on his fist.

“No bra,” he grunted out.

“Yes bra!” She argued back smiling at him.

“Let me see.” He pawed at her butt. She had fasted her cargo wrap skort and turned around grabbing her crocheted black crop top that cupped around her breasts.

“Pretty lace lovie.” He referred to her bra looking the dark green and how it compared to her skin.

“Your such a tease.” She giggled.

“Can you blame me lovie.” He sat up watching her out on the crochet top. “Such a pretty girl.”

“You try to make my head big.” She hummed as she put on her sandles.

“Baby, your head ain’t ever gonna grow big enough.” He teased her some more as his hands rested on her hips. “Your a pretty girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her collar bone. “And you don’t realize it.”

“I’m not that pretty.” She said softly.

“Beg to differ.” He stood up kissing her cheek. “Dead pretty.”

“Thank you.” She hugged him softly. The two of them had been Mr. and Mrs. Riley for four years.

He met her a year prior to their marriage during a mission. She was a pretty little civilian working her ass off in a library while she tried to finish her art degree. He was a lieutenant in the SAS. And the building she was in, had a bomb located in the center.

Task force 141 had the responsibility to defuse the bomb and evacuate the building.

Ghost could remember it clear as day. He was rushing around giving orders to civilians while (y/n) was staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, unsure if she should move because they could have been a threat to her safety, or if they thought she was the threat.

Needless to say, Gaz who was surprised by the lieutenants kindness in that moment with (y/n), knew he was a love sick puppy as soon as he set eyes on this little American woman.

Everytime Gaz retells the story, he always states something along the lines of ‘havin’ a hard time tellin’ who was the deer in headlights and who was the car about to run the deer over’. Soap would often talk about how everyone in the task force and who had been under Ghost’s command were jealous that she got all his soft and friendly words and they got ordered barked at them that day.

Needless to say, the universe, as cheesy as it was, had made sure their paths crossed so the two could be together.

Though everyone knew Ghost was in love when he gave her his mothers engagement ring as her own engagement ring. It was the last thing he had of his precious mother who had been tortured and killed by Roba. When they laid eyes on the gorgeous ring that had been worn by his mother many, many years ago, they knew he had found the woman he was going to settle down and come home to everyday, especially when his mother’s matching wedding band slipped on his wife’s finger during the wedding.

The wedding was truly something else, to (y/n) and Simon, it felt like a breath of fresh air finally being able to call one and another husband and wife even if they had been for months maybe even a year prior to wedding.

Simon could remember how ethereal (y/n) looked when she appeared from behind the doors. His breath had caught in his throat, and the tears had instantly welled up in his eyes. Soap had to pat his back as Simon—for the first time—had cried in front of many people.

The task force could have sworn it would have been (y/n) weeping heavily, but on that day it was Simon. And no one judged him for it, because she had for sure been the most beautiful bride, especially if you ask simon.

“Ready to go my dovie.” Simon hummed as he wore a white button down shirt and some slacks.

“Ready.” She grabbed his hand as she admired how his tattoos were on display. “You look charming.” She said softly as her eyes met his.

He could stare into those eyes for eternity.

“Mmm,” he leaned forward and kissed her. “Thank you baby.” He kissed her again. “Not as good as you, pretty girl.”

“Stop that!” She giggled as she stuck close to him.

“Never.” He hummed. Ghost had always been so playful with her, letting her see is fun side where many others didn’t get to see that from him. He always made her feel special though that was one thing for sure.

It didn’t take long for the two to arrive at the winery as they walked to the building to see Maria and John price already sipping on wine.

“What’ya want baby?” Simon asked as his hand was gently placed on her lower back.

“A sweet cider.” She said quietly as she was shooed around larger crowds.

“Mmm, want a pear apple cider?” He asked as he started a tab.

“Yeah.” She hummed as they waited. Her hands remained on his arms as she traced his tattoos. The bartender sat their drinks on the counter as they walked out the back to meet up with Maria and John.

“Well, well, well,” John stood up and shook Simon’s hand. “How’s it goin’ Simon.” The older man asked.

“Better everyday.” Simon hummed, a simple answer to how it truly was. Fantastic everyday when he was with (y/n).

Maria cooed softly at (y/n) as she was a very motherly person in general. “Oh darlin’, yer’ youth is refreshing to m’soul.” She hummed giggling as her accent was very Irsish and thick. “A wee baby’s skin isn’t as soft as yer’ skin.” She pinched (y/n)’s cheek gently. It didn’t take long for (y/n)’s cheeks to flare up in a rosy tint.

“Hi Maria.” (Y/n) greeted softly as she kissed the younger woman’s cheeks.

“Oh Simon, I imagine she’s keepin’ ya’ young as well with all her youth,” Maria teased the man. “We’re are ya’ two keepin’ the fountain of youth, Johnny and I could go for a dive.”

“Backyard.” Simon joked as he leaned down and hugged Maria as she kissed his cheeks as well as a greeting.

“Hi missy.” John hummed as he kissed your cheeks. “Keep him better behaved, he’s been causing me trouble at work.”

“I’m sorry,” (y/n) stifled a laughed as she looked up at Simon.

“Don’t you be givin’ my wife ammo.” Simon joked.

“I think your wife has plenty of ammo, me’lad.” Maria hummed. “Yer’ a soft husband, not like m’John who goes fishin’ and leave me with the screamin’ banshees.” She referred to her kids.

“Guilty as all be.” John smiled, sweet bliss for him.

They stood around and chatted as they waited for Gaz and Soap to appear. Of course (y/n) knew the two girls would be coming along as she tried to remember how to blend in so she wasn’t targeted.

“You’ll be targeted no matter what, m’girl.” Maria said softly. “Your a pretty lady, and them boys have known you for years ‘cause o’simon.” She hummed. “Pay’em no heed. If we need a break, you and I can always turn Hyde and walk in the vineyard.”

“Okay.” She said shyly. (Y/n) always felt like she dressed too kid-ish around them even if she was dressing more for her age, being 25. She sometimes believed she was too immature for Simon’s who was 32 and well prepared for life.

“Your so sweet, and so kind.” Simon whispered to her as he coddled her close to him. “So much sweetness, Dovie.”

(Y/n) flushed red and smiled up at Simon. She enjoyed his compliments but it often made her bashful.

“Ya’ look delightful, little one.” Maria smiled as she looked at your mature but youthful outfit. “Good thing Simon knows how to fight, these men would be all over ya’ if ya’ had that ring finger bare.” Maria hummed pointing at (y/n)’s ring finger smiling.

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” She brushed it off sweetly.

“I wish for your sake I could agree with ya’ but Simon’s already gave five different men the stink eye.” John chuckled lightly.

“No one fucks with my baby.” Simon said seriously.

That made (y/n) giggle as she patted Simon’s chest.

“I hope we didn’t miss the party.” Soap hummed as he walked hand and hand with his girlfriend. (Y/n) froze up a bit as she curled more into Simon taking a larger sip of her hard cider.

“Slow down.” Simon cooed softly. “No need to rush unless you would like to hug the porcelain throne tonight.”

“Sorry.” She said softly as she looked down to make sure her cleavage wasn’t too much.

Soap and Gaz were around her age, and the two were young, and they had a habit of staring, not on purpose, but because sometimes, (y/n)’s cleavage was a bit more on show depending on the shirts she wore. And she had a god given right to flaunt it. That’s what Farrah, Alex’s wife always told her when they were visiting her cousin in America. She loved her cousin's wife, finding comfort and understanding in her.

Ghost had snapped at the two before for staring, but he also couldn’t blame them. It was a good sight to see in his eyes.

“Anne, Lilliana.” Maria greeted with a polite smile.

Both women looked so elegant and wore beautiful dresses that spoke Italian villa. (Y/n) felt so out of place wearing a skort and a crop top. Too Americanized among a group of Europeans. The sharks were out today and they were gonna get her. Those sharks were named Lilliana, and Anne.

She smiled nervously saying a soft hi.

“You look so…youthful.” Lilliana said as she leaned against Gaz. (Y/n) could tell it was a forced smile and a fake compliment. They thought she looked immature.

“She looks very lovely, doesn’t she?” Maria smiled as she swooped the girl up and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “My eldest wants (y/n) to go to the boutique with her so (y/n) can help her shop for clothes.”

“Aye, the ladies can have a day out.” Soap hummed. “And us lads can go to the pub and watch footy.”

“Ya’.” Maria nodded, smiling gently. “We’ll have to plan something out.” She said softly.

Simon watched as his wife finished her cider as she looked at Anne and Lilliana’s outfits. He could see the swirling storm in her eyes comparing herself to them.

“Baby.” Simon said softly. He wished she’d understand she was breathtaking and that she shouldn’t compare herself to other women. In his eyes, until the day he dies and beyond that, he will always think she’s the most breathtaking woman. His hands gently brushed down her hair as he looked at her deep in the eyes.

He would continue to devour her with his eyes until she understood how exactly he felt.

“Yeah,” she said softly as she looked at her giant of a husband.

He felt himself melt at the sight of her looking up at him while her hand rubbed his chest gently.

“You wanna another cider?” He asked softly, his hand gently squeezing her hip.

“Yeah, I can come with you.” (Y/n) said softly as she followed him close.

His hand gently grabbed her as he guided her to the bar top again.

“How’s my pretty girl?” His voice was deep and had an edge of huskiness in it, maybe a bit breathy as well. It made (y/n) swell with love knowing that she got him worked up enough.

Her eyes glanced up at him as she smiled softly. “Better now that it’s you and me.” She said softly.

“To many people, baby?” He asked gently, looking at her with the softest eyes.

“Somewhat?” She looked away nervously. His hand rested on the thin of her back as they waited in line.

“What’s the matter?” He whispered into her ear. It was his way of saying ‘we can have a private conversation right here’.

She fiddled with his collar as she straightened it out. Her eyes glanced around nervously seeing how she wasn’t the only one dressed in the style she was, she had to remember Anna, Lilliana, and Mrs. Price were all older than her, so they would have a different fashion sense.

“Am I childish, overly youthful?” She whispered in his ears. He leaned forward as both his hands grabbed her hips tugging her closer.

He wondered what had got her thinking like that, then it dawned on him. Those two girls were always targeting you.

A month ago, (y/n) had come home crying, having gone out to lunch with the two girls and Mrs. Price, who made sure to deliver (y/n) personally at the Riley’s residence after the luncheon they had. She had been a crying mess blubbering in Simon’s arms all the while Mrs. Price was explaining to Simon what took place as she’s doing her motherly duties in soothing the younger woman.

Soap had thought it was a good idea for the two ladies to welcome the newcomers, who Gaz and Soap had started dating at the same time because the girls were best friends and they had met the two at the club.

Simon could remember Mrs. Price said that one of the newcomers had ‘accidentally’ fumbled their tea and split it all over his lovely wife. He could remember Maria quoting the air when she said accidentally with an eye roll. She knew it was on purpose. Simon knew it was on purpose.

“No dovie, you're beautiful,” he hummed. “I love ya’ just the way ya’ are.” His Manchester accent made it sound like honey. “You're dead gorgeous and I’ll tell ya’ forever until ya’ learn it.” He paused as he ordered their drinks as it was their turn after a few minutes of waiting. He had it put onto the tab he had opened earlier and would have to remember to close later. “Don’t ya’ be listening to those girls, they ain’t got nothin’ on my pretty little wife.” He smooched her cheek. “They’re jealous. Jealous of your gorgeous looks, your gorgeous attitude, your sweet like honey, pretty girl. Don’t let ‘em damper your mood.”

These were the very moments she knew she had made a good choice in marrying Simon. Because he picked up the broken pieces when she needed a bit more support. He let her cry in his arms over nothing until she was soothed and better. He held her hand as he made sweet love to her constantly praising her and making sure she was okay. He was the best husband she could have ever asked for.

“I love ya’ now pretty girl, I love ya’ forever,” he kissed her lips as she giggled softly.

“Love you too.” She hugged him as he brought her left hand to his mouth kissing her knuckles.

“You're my good girl, don’t let ‘em damper the mood tonight.” He smiled at her as the waitress brought the drinks to them, handing it off.

“Yes Si.” She nodded as she followed him back out behind tight against his side.

The night went on and very little trouble appeared.

Maria suggested (y/n) and her take a walk in the vineyard and plan a day out where the two could go with Moira—or Murray for short—and have a shopping spree.

“Ye’ boys be good, I’m takin’ m girl and chatting, don’t worry Simon, she’s with me.” Maria smiled as she put her hand on (y/n)’s waist and walked her into the growing garden of grapes.

“Hold up lassies, Anne, Liliana, go join ‘em.” Soap smiled as he waved them off. “Good fer ye’ gals to figure out their dynamics and then ye’ can have girls' nights.”

“Oh yes, join us.” Maria smiled as she held her disappointment. (Y/n) hid her face dropping as she looked at Simon who gave her a reassuring smile.

Maria would fight on his behalf.

“Let me see, Murray likes the kind of stuff yer’ wearing now. I’m my we’ babes mama, and I’m not good with her fashion even if she is a teen.” Maria laughed. “I could pick out an outfit and she’d yak and say, ‘mam it’s uglier than a tit’.”

(Y/n) giggled at Maria repeating what Murray said.

“Look, teens dress like you too.” Anne snickered and snorted with the other woman, making Maria give them a glare.

“Such…youthful…mmm…” Lilliana tapped her chin. “That’s not the word I’m looking for, more like childish outfits.” Lilliana nodded her head as she sipped her wine. “And you don’t drink wine like an adult, you drink hard cider, probably beer too.”

(Y/n) frowned as she looked ashamed.

“What are ye’ girls yapperin’ about, beer is good, hard cider is better than wine,” Maria corrected them. “And she is fashionable, and me’ daughter is 20, an adult, only 5 years younger then Mrs. Riley here.”

“25 she’s practically a baby.” Anne snorted. “Simon needs a woman, not a girl. Someone who’s mature, honey you don’t fit the bill.” (Y/n) felt that nagging feeling in the back of her head that said: ‘run…run away…no one will find you’. She was starting to think they were right, she was immature and Simon just didn’t know how to tell her that.

“Oh that man loves ya’ beyond all means, yer’ his Persephone.” Maria ignored them. “These fools are just jealous and tootin’ their own horn.”

Maria wasn’t afraid to tell people how it was. She was an outspoken woman. Mr. Price would often tell (y/n) to watch Maria and learn, body language the fact that no fucks were given when she was handling a person who pissed with her family.

Just like that one time a man said Harry sucked at footy. The wretched man said no one would want an imbecile playing footy when he didn’t know his left from his right. Maria, pounced quicker than John who sat back with a can of beer in his hands and a smirk on his face. (Y/n) could remember that one clear-as-day. Simon had leaned over and whispered to her to remind him to never oiss her off. It was terrifying for the two newlyweds nonetheless. (Y/n) was 21, and Simon was 28. The two were afraid they were gonna get a foot up their ass as well for something they did, but didn’t do.

“Let me see your gorgeous wedding rings.” Maria hummed. “He married ya’, and put those precious rings on yer’ finger cause he loves ya’ more than the world.”

Anne and Lilliana paused as they looked at the rings.

Their eyes met one and another as they smiled at each other.

‘Oh dear lord, no. God, no.’ (Y/n) thought to herself.

“Pretty ring,” Lilliana, hummed as they leaned forward. “Can we see?”

(Y/n) hesitated as she knew how important these were to Simon, in fact they were so important to her she hardly let anyone touch her hands.

She showed them from a distance but Anna quickly snatched her hand up making (y/n) squeak out.

“There my mama’s rings baby,” Simon hummed as he smiled at (y/n). “I want ya’ to wear ‘em, they’d look so pretty on your hands.” He kissed your knuckles. “Marry me, pretty girl, make me the happiest man in the whole wild world. Make my mama proud and wear her rings, please baby.” He was so sweet as he proposed to her overlooking Scotland's pretty scenery.

“Yes,” she sobbed.

“Atta’ girl,” Simon lurched forward kissing her as he put the engagement ring on her finger. “Let’s keep the other one tucked away safely so when I get to see you in a pretty dress.”

“These are important to me and Simon, please just look.” She gasped as they gripped her fingers tightly.

“Now ye’ brats let her go.” Maria swatted at their hands.

They didn't let go of (y/n)’s hands and actually started to tug on her ring finger. She was trying to push their hands away as she felt her eyes well up.

“Oh she’s a crybaby too, so immature.” Anna laughed.

“Oh it’s so pretty,” Lilliana started to slip the rings off her fingers as (y/n) tried everything to stop her. Maria did as she called them a nasty word in her native tongue, and tried to get the ring back.

“Now ye’ girls need some manners.” Maria snapped at them.

“Be a shame if they got lost, he might leave you then,” Anna snorted at Lilliana’s words.

She didn’t want Simon to leave her. She didn’t want those rings to be lost. She started to cry as she shut down not knowing what to do. Her anxiety was through the roof. She glanced at Maria with pure panic.

(Y/n) felt her breath stop, her whole world stop as they tossed them behind them like they were nothing. Lilliana and Anne threw each one back like they were nothing. Like they were senseless gold or fake jewelry that would tarnish the wearer’s finger green once the coating was off of it.

Her eyes widened as she watched Maria chase after the area they went to but she couldn’t see them because they had rolled. She didn’t know what to do other than to cover her mouth and sob. “My rings.” She whispered as she saw Maria sit up straight and look at her.

The other girls walked off laughing as they went deeper in the vineyard and hadn’t been seen for the hour Maria and (y/n) were in the ground searching.

Her sobs got louder as she lost faith in finding the rings Simon had gifted her.

“Calm down m’babe, go get the boys and they can help search, go get Simon m’love.” She hushed her and pushed her up to the grounds where the boys were sitting and laughing. She had her mouth covered as she sobbed quietly trying not to gain anyone’s attention.

What if Simon left her and the girls blamed her for the lost rings.

He knew better, those two girls had caused you more trouble over their jealousy. It was just that fact that the anxiety and the fear crept up in her mind.

“Her cousin and Farah are tryin’ for a baby,” Simon hummed softly. “Been givin’ me a bit of a baby fever. Never thought I’d be one for having my own kids, but here I am. She’d look gorgeous pregnant.”

His words would have made her heart beat a bit faster if it wasn’t for the fact that her rings were missing.

“(Y/n),” Price shot forward very fatherly over the girl since she didn’t have her father or mother who had sadly passed years ago. and he was the one to walk her down the aisle with Maria. “What’s wrong?”

Her knees were dirty, and her hands looked like they were digging in dirt.

Simon was the first to bolt out of his chair as she refused to look at any of them. Concern was etched on Simon’s face as he knew when she cried there was a reason, whether it was a silly one or not, it was enough to warrant him to coddle her and figure out what was wrong.

Her eyes never left the ground even as Simon cupped her face and tugged her close.

“Baby, what’s got you upset?” He was gentle as Price was behind her shielding her from other passerbys.

She sobbed and covered her mouth as her other hand clung to Simon. She felt light headed and terrified.

She knew she just needed to spit it out. “Maria and I…” she felt a hiccup break her words as she was crying heavily. “We’ve been searching for an hour.” She sniffled as she started to hyperventilate and her words started to get jumbled.

Simon’s heart cleaned as he brushed the hair from her face.

An hour? An hour of searching for what?

He wasn’t understanding, but he knew one thing: wrapping her up in his arms and getting her to calm down was the first thing to do.

“Shh, shh,” he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Shh, love it’s okay, it’s okay.” He smiled at her softly. “Deep breaths, nice and easy for me, pretty girl.”

She did some of that but other than that she was back to babbling and trying to get her words out.

“And I can’t find it.” She sobbed her hands refusing to clutch too tightly to his white shirt, knowing she’ll get it dirty.

Simon's concern deepened as he tried to make sense of (y/n)’s words. "Can't find what, love? What are you looking for?" He continued to hold her against him, one hand gently stroking her back to try and soothe her sobs.

Then her words were finally freed up knowing she needed to convey the message Maria sent her to tell the men.

“The girls asked to see our rings, and Maria and I didn’t know they were going to rip it off my finger. It hurt and we tried to stop them, and they threw both my wedding band and engagement ring.” She sobbed. “It was your mom’s wedding band and engagement ring, I can’t find them.” She felt like bile could escape from her mouth at any second.

“They did what!” Soap looked like he was gonna have a conniption while Gaz covered his mouth as he looked apologetically to the two of them.

Simon's eyes widened in shock as he processed (y/n)’s words. The girls had stolen her rings and thrown them away? And not just any rings, but his mother's wedding band and engagement ring.

Anger boiled within him, but he forced himself to stay calm. (Y/n)’s tears and pain took priority. He held her tighter against him, his voice strained. "Those bloody girls. They’re gonna pay for this.”

“I can’t find them.” She huffed as more tears welled up in her pretty eyes.

“I’m gonna go talk to the manager and make sure they know that we have a missing engagement ring and a missing wedding band.” Price patted Simon on the back. He disappeared quickly as Simon rubbed his wife’s back trying to soothe her as he whispered to her.

“We’re gonna find them baby, I won’t stop looking until they're back in your fingers.” He kissed her cheek. “So breathe baby, we’re not leaving until they're back on your finger.”

“I’m gonna go down with Maria and start searching in the area she thinks she saw them go.” Soap said as he looked at the two of them. “We’ll find them.” He reassured the two.

“Better find them, and you better keep those rotten women away from my wife!” Simon snarled at the two men.

“Yes LT.” They saluted.

Simon stuck close to (y/n) as he tried to calm her rapid heartbeat and her fears that didn’t seem to be washing away until she saw those rings in either his hands or her own hands.

Johnny and Gaz looked in the area’s Maria had pointed to them, while her and John searched the area she swore up and down it landed at.

The doubt and fear hadn’t settled in (y/n)’s stomach, right now she wished it would go away. She was about ready to throw up all that dinner that Simon worked hard to cook her.

“We’re not gonna find them.” She felt her anxieties creep into the back of her mind.

“Baby, we’re not leavin’ until those damn things are back in that hand.” He pointed to her left hand. “I promise you that.” He cupped her face.

“But Simon,” she was exhausted. “What if…what if we don’t find them?” She fretted as she looked at her husband with tears falling down her cheek.

Simon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He knew how much those rings meant to his wife, and the thought of losing them was torture for him.

He knew from day one they had made her feel special, feel well loved by her husband who adored her so much. She felt like it was her fault she lost them and it was on her now that they were missing not having protected his precious rings.

He gave (y/n)’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, his voice low and reassuring. "We'll find them, love. I promise. We won't stop until we do.”

It’s all she needed to hear and take in to slowly get back to searching. It had taken him multiple times to finally get it through her head he would have those rings back as soon as he could find them.

“You gave those to me hoping I would keep them safe since they were my engagement and wedding bands but I couldn’t.” She cried softly as she searched the ground near him.

Simon's heart clenched at her words.

Yes, he had given (y/n) his mother's rings with the hope that she’d keep them safe. But he never expected her to be put in this situation. Who would? He’d never expect two girls to be that jealous and put his wife in this much emotional turmoil.

"Love, it's not your fault," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “You didn’t ask for this. Those bloody girls had no right to touch your rings. They had no right to touch you, pretty girl.” He stopped and filled her face. “And I’m gonna protect you until the day I die, and if that means tellin’ them girls off, then that’s what the hell I’ll do.”

Their hands searched the ground as their eyes looked everywhere. It wasn’t until thirty minutes later Maria bounced up with excitement and happiness.

“I found one, ye’ lads keep yer’ eyes open for the engagement ring, I found the wedding band!” She shouted happily as she rushed over to (y/n) gently placing the ring on her finger. “Sweet babe, we’ll find it, I promise.”

Simon watched as Maria comforted the woman he loved so dearly. His anger subsided momentarily, replaced by relief and gratitude to Maria for her kindness. There was truly something special about the mother of three.

"We will," he said, agreeing with Maria. His voice was more steady now. "We'll find that engagement ring, even if we have to tear this place apart."

The two of them went back to searching as they looked through the ground as thoroughly as they could.

It wasn’t until another fifteen minutes had passed after Maria came barreling with the wedding band that they had found the engagement ring.

Simon's eyes caught a glint of something shiny among the blades of grass. He crouched down, gently pushing the grass aside to get a clearer view.

His heart nearly stopped as he saw what it was—(y/n)’s engagement ring.

He had found it, he felt his heart flutter as all that stress and worry subsided and it was gone. The relief was back and he couldn’t be happier than ever to present the ring back to his precious wife who had been stressing and withering as the time went on.

"Love, come here," Simon called out, his voice calm but urgent. He motioned for her to come closer, his eyes never leaving the small glint of gold in the grass.

He plucked the object from the ground and smiled seeing the ring shine in the golden rays that were the sun's final moments before the moon came out. “Come now my pretty girl.”

As soon as (y/n) reached his side, he held up the engagement ring, showing it to her. "I found it, love. I found it."

She felt her mind go blank and her eyes well up as she let out a sob lurching forward and hugging Simon.

Simon wrapped his arms around (y/n) holding her tightly in his embrace, tears streaming down her face. He held the woman tight, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

"It's alright now," he whispered, his voice soothing. "We found it, love. We found your ring." Simon carefully placed the engagement ring back on his wife’s finger, his touch gentle yet firm. As he did, he couldn’t help but place a soft kiss on her cheek as a way to reassure her everything was alright. "It suits you," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. "It always has. Looks gorgeous on my girl.”

She wiped her eyes as her hands found the back of his neck as her nails scratched into the base of his hair.

“I’m so sorry I lost it,” she murmured into his neck. “I didn’t mean to lose your mama’s ring.”

Simon gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender and reassuring. He wiped away her tears with his thumb.

"Don't apologize, love," he said softly. "Those girls took them without your consent. It's not your fault. And you didn't lose them��we found them.”

(Y/n) knew Ghost would defend her until his last breath, and even at that, he would transcend and defend her for beyond human measure.

“I love you,” (y/n) said softly.

Ghosts hand gently caressed her face as he wiped her tears away. “Love you too, pretty girl.” His voice was breathy and a whisper.

(Y/n) was glad she wasn’t in the mix when Ghost confronted the two girls. She could hear the words Ghost growled to them as he lectured them on proper treatment of people in general.

He sounded in that moment, more like a lieutenant than he did her husband and it was a strange thing to hear in his voice when he had always been soft and cute with her.

“He’s gonna be a good father.” Maria hummed as she stood proudly with her hands on her hips.

“Yeah he will,” (y/n) smiled as she rocked in her feet back and forth waiting for him to return to her.

When he did return, (y/n! spent the rest of the night tucked to his side constantly on the receiving end of his hushed whispers of love and adoration.

“Pretty girl,” he cooed as she looked up at him.

“Yeah?” She said softly, eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

“Ready to go home, pretty girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on pretty girl,” he smirked at her as she knew that look. “I think I need to remind you how pretty you truly are.”

Those words were a reminder that this night could last even longer than she thought they would.

“Yeah pretty girl?”

“Yeah.”

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