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strangeradventuresofp · 4 years

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symphony (arthur morgan x reader)

this story involves smut!! please do not read this if you are not over 18 years old

a/n: not entirely back to writing yet, but i did this and i sorta like it so lemme know what you think. also this is my first time ever writing smut that wasn’t for a roleplay so im super nervous about it. but anyway have a story with my favourite boy

masterlist

It felt like your gut had been ripped open, like there were pins where your heart was before it cracked and shattered into thousands of fragments that would never be found. It was like someone had put a bullet in your skull and it was rattling around, hitting against every nerve and causing as much damage as it went along.

Your blood turned to ice in your veins at the sight of him. Never had you seen him look so weak. So helpless. How in his voice he seemed okay despite the state of his body – at least two open wounds, his shirt stained multiple shades of red that weaved in with brown from what had already dried. Hot tears stung in your eyes when they studied him. Despite the warped vision, it was obvious to anyone that he was in pain. How his face contorted and twisted whilst Miss Grimshaw washed over his wounds to get a better look. The grunts and curses that left his dried lips were unbearable to listen to.

Once you tore your eyes away from him, you assessed the others in the scene. Dutch stood at the foot of the table, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles whitened and cracked. Every now and again he mumbled words of encouragement or instructions to tell Miss Grimshaw what to do, despite her knowing much more about how to patch someone up.

Miss Grimshaw had taken charge immediately, as soon as he had been brought into camp by the others on the job. She removed his shirt swiftly, washing his wounds with a cloth and water. Her expert hands cauterised his wounds and though she winced at every sound of discomfort, she knew that she was helping, and so she continued.

Tilly was around helping Miss Grimshaw, running to get things that she needed presently or that she would need, or that she might need just in case. She fed him alcohol for the pain and listened close when she was asked to do something to help.

You? You simply stood there, frozen. Miss Grimshaw had asked you for something, but you neither moved nor even heard her request for your brain was travelling at a speed that caused you physical pain. The noises he made left an awful taste in your mouth, knowing that you couldn’t help despite wanting to more than anything in the world.

It was about then that Hosea took your hands in his and gently pulled you away with a “Come on, sweet girl.” And though you protested, you let him take you, because you couldn’t do anything else. You couldn’t just stand and watch him as he was an inch away from death. It hurt. Hosea took you far enough away that you couldn’t hear the sounds of pain that each felt like a bullet to the chest.

He held you to him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Hosea.” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth once you had remembered how to use your voice. The man smiled a fatherly smile.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all.” He assured, though you couldn’t seem to meet his eye. Gently, he squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance. Though, reassurance for what, you couldn’t be entirely sure. “I know you wanted to help. It’s difficult when the people we love get hurt.”

You scoffed. “I… I don’t even know what bein’ in love feels like. But, I guess, maybe…” Trailing off, your mind began to wander just as the thoughts pulled a sigh from your lips.

“Hosea, I don’t—”

“Do you think I don’t see the way you look at him?” Hosea asked with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused that you had tried to deny his claims.

“Sweetheart, you look at him like you’re starving and he’s a hot meal.”

“I do?” Your voice sounded so small against the deafening silence. As much as you wanted to deny it, Hosea was right, and he knew it. It was terrifying. “I—I’ve never been in love before.” Startling thoughts began cascading down you. You and Arthur were close, real close. You told each other everything. You could be vulnerable around each other. You were there for each other. Was all of that about to be ruined because you were stupid enough to catch feelings?

“What do I do?”

Hosea chuckled at that. “Get some rest, sweetheart. Try not worry about him, he’ll be fine. He always is.” While you appreciated his attempt of reassurance, you honestly didn’t feel much better at all. Instead, your brain was flooding with the thought of being in love with Arthur on top of the question of whether he was actually going to survive his injuries.

You stayed just out of camp for a while longer, until you could hear the noise inside start to die down until it was obvious that everyone was asleep. You crept back in, being sure to not make too much noise, you didn’t want to wake anyone. No, not that, you didn’t want anyone to know that you were visiting him. Grabbing a chair, you pulled it up beside where Arthur’s was body was lay and took a seat. You looked over him, humming lightly, Miss Grimshaw really did a good job of patching him up. Your hands wrapped themselves around one of his, and you simply sat at his side until morning, being sure to move away at least two hours before everyone else woke up.

~~~

A few weeks later

~~~

Chores. Although you helped out on jobs sometimes, since Arthur and Hosea taught you how to shoot properly, you enjoyed helping out around camp, too. It was the least you could do to help out Miss Grimshaw, considering she saved the man that you loved. Besides, most members of the camp were out either on jobs or shopping, or at saloon, so, you were spending your time washing clothes to help out.

Arthur, luckily, survived his injuries and although he was still recovering, he was back up and out on jobs again. Dutch did make sure not to put him on any dangerous (by his standard) jobs, despite Arthur protesting because he’s fine, it was just a couple of scratches and—Goddamn it, Dutch I don’t need supervision, I’m alright and—

“Careful you don’t rub a hole in that shirt.” A deep chuckle came from beside you. Your head snapped up immediately at the sound.

“Arthur!” You only then noticed how hard you had been squeezing the shirt in your hands and how hard you were scrubbing it against the washboard. Loosening your grip, you smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I—Wait a minute, what the hell are you doing up and around? Dutch told you that you rest today.” A laugh left Arthur’s lips as he held his hands up in surrender. “You should be resting.” With that, you stood, ushering him back to his tent where he could lay down. He took a seat on his bed, looking up at her with a strange expression. Was he… Nervous?

He reached out for your hand, gently tugging you over to take a seat beside him. Instead of letting go of your hand, he held it, his gaze fixed on it. He delicately traced over the veins that peeked through your skin, too delicate, like if he held you any firmer that you would shatter before him. His eyebrows drew together, and you hummed slightly, searching his eyes.

“Arthur? Y’alright?” You asked softly, your eyes furrowing in concern.

“I’m alright, darlin’, I just…” He took a deep breath. “Going through all that and, not knowing whether I was gonna die, it, uh, it made me realise a couple things. Shit, uh…”

“It’s okay. Take your time.” You assured, a smile crossing your face. Arthur looked up at you, a troubled look in his eyes that gave you an awful feeling in your stomach. You breathed out through parted lips, ready to take in the bad news that he was about to tell you. His eyes flickered slightly, quickly looking down your lips before he swallowed thickly, looking back up at your eyes.

“It made me realise that, I’m terrified of losing you. And—And I think that I… Shit. I’m in love with you.” Arthur’s face burnt up entirely as he confessed, flushing red from head to toe. When you didn’t respond, only blinking blankly at him, he pulled his hands away from yours, looking away as he rubbed the nape of his neck anxiously. Your hand reached out to cup his cheek, tilting his face back to you where you planted a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. You could feel how his breath was pulled from his lungs as you did so and his eyes lit up, though his face still looked worried.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan. More than anything in the world.” And with that, his lips captured yours in such a way that had your own breath hitching at the sensation. Your lips danced against each other’s rhythmically, and your chests moved up and down in sync.

You had always loved Arthur. From the moment that he had saved your life in the woods when you first met. This big, scary outlaw meant everything to you. This gang was the closest thing you had to family. No, it was your family. Things had always been different with Arthur, though. Things you had never given a second thought about until now. Longing glances from across camp, touches that were a little too long to simply be considered friendly. Putting his arm around you at the campfire so that you wouldn’t be cold, bringing each other stew so that the other wouldn’t starve. The way he spoke to you; how his voice changed to be much softer when he addressed you. The urgency in his voice when he thought that you were in danger. The way that he always worried about you, just how you worried about him. The way that he looked at you, just how you looked at him.

It all made sense now.

The kiss was incapsulating. In this moment where nothing else mattered, merely you and him. You each opened your mouths, delving your tongues in to dance with the other as your tastes swirled together. He tasted like honey and cigarette smoke, you tasted like wild berries and rum. His hand hovered over the curve of your waist for a few seconds, before he hesitantly placed it down, pulling you close to his chest. Your arms snaked up his chest and wound around his neck. Arthur hooked an arm around your waist, gently lifting and shifting you over to sit in his lap.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavier than usual as you looked at him. A sweet shade of rose covered the cheeks that you gently pecked before stroking with your thumbs whilst you cupped his face.

“We don’t have to go any farther.” Arthur declared; his voice low despite there being no one around. You breathed for a moment, scared of all the new feelings that erupted throughout your body. Though, the fireworks in your stomach couldn’t be denied. So, you smiled.

“You—Your wounds…” You mentioned, and he chuckled softly.

“Darlin’, I’m fine. But we can stop if you ain’t comfortable.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

A smile spread over Arthur’s lips at your words and he hummed in response. “Tell me if you wanna stop, okay?” He asked, cupping your cheek, to which you nodded before leaning in to kiss his lips once again. You couldn’t get enough of him. He tasted so good. Whilst your lips worked against his, his practised hands ran over your body and his fingers began to work at the buttons on your shirt, threading them back through the hole before pushing it off of your shoulders. His hands moved up to knead softly at your breasts, rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers which earned a mewl from your throat.

He pulled away from your lips, jaw falling slack when his eyes fell over your now bare top half. He hummed as his excitement grew, moving your head to the side with his thumb before burying his face in your neck which he peppered with open mouthed kisses and gentle nips that began to purple the flushed skin, branding you to him. With your noises of approval and your fingers unthreading the buttons of his blue shirt egging him on, he began to suck the skin at your clavicle to which a breathy moan was pulled from your throat.

Shrugging his shirt from his shoulders, you moved your legs on either side of his hips, straddling him. Your fingers gently caressed each of his scars that you felt. He was beautiful. As he continued to leave his mark on you, your hands reached up to tangle in his locks, tugging ever so slightly, but a growl left him, nevertheless.

“Do it again.” Arthur pleaded, his lips brushing against your skin to cause goose bumps. A low groan fell out of his kiss swollen lips when you repeated the action. His large hands cupped your ass, pulling you closer against him, his arousal rubbing against you through layers of fabric that separated you from feeling all of him. You needed to feel all of him. You moaned at the contact, fumbling messily with his jeans while you kissed him, but he pulled away.

He picked you up, laying you down before he shed himself of the remainder of his clothing. While his back was turned, you did the same. When Arthur turned around, he bit his lip at the sight of you, flushed, sprawled out for him on his bed. He licked his lips hungrily, cock twitching before he lay above you, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips which you held while his hand dug lower. His fingers spread you open, teasing by gently brushing against your clit. He smirked at your wetness.

“Arthur—” You whined. “Please.” He took your endorsement, groaning in delight at the sounds you made when he quickened his pace, curling his fingers inside you. The hot coil began to grow in your stomach, and he watched as you writhed beneath him, moaning deliciously at how good he was making you feel. His cock was painfully hard and ached for release, but he wouldn’t stop until he had brought you over the edge at least once before he fucked you.

“This for me?” Your hips bucked up in a silent plea for more friction and he chuckled slightly into your mouth before pushing a digit inside you. With a sharp inhale beforehand, you moaned in approval, causing him to add a second finger, pumping in and out of you at a slow pace.

“So good for me, darlin’.” Arthur’s voice was husky when he spoke, his words wrapped in lust and desire, eyes dark with adoration. His free hand reached up to toy with your nipples, pinching gently, teasingly to bring you closer to your release.

It wasn’t until your hips bucked uncontrollably and a strangled cry left your plump lips that Arthur pulled his fingers out of you, the hot coil snapping in such a wonderful way that left you aching for more. His mouth opened and closed around his fingers, coated with your juices. When the taste hit his mouth, a low groan rumbled in his chest, and the mushroom head of his member leaked with arousal.

Arthur didn’t touch himself once until he had brought you over the edge one more time with his tongue alone, and when that hot coil broke in your stomach once again, he lapped up the remainder of your juices, making sure to not waste a single drop by licking along the insides of your thighs for any excess. His cock throbbed painfully from the influx of lust, his hand stroking himself up and down a couple of times before he pushed himself into you. The sound you made from him entering you alone nearly made Arthur cum there and then, but he was determined to make you feel good. After pushing in about halfway, he pulled back out completely, groaning at the sight of your slick on his cock. You whined at the lack of contact, reaching to touch him but he swatted your hand away.

“I don’t think so.” He said with a chuckle before pushing into you entirely. You cried out, digging your nails into his shoulders, loving how he stretched you. “Mm—” Arthur’s hips thrusted against yours once as he moaned at how you clenched around him. “Such a good girl for me.” He set a fast pace, each thrust increasing in power and might, and soon enough an animalistic desire consumed him, his hips clashing against yours. Your names left each other’s lips among curses and beautiful sounds of pure pleasure. Series’ of moans spilled out from your reddened lips.

Arthur kissed you, hard. You could feel the swelling of your lips. The bristles of his unkempt stubble tickled your skin. When your tongues met, you groaned at the taste, your taste. Your nails sunk further into his skin and he groaned at the sensation, his spare hand reached down to focus your sensitive bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb. His cock throbbed against your walls as the familiar feeling began to grow in your stomach once again. He pounded into you with a near primal hunger, your plea for him and your beautiful sounds being the only thing to fill his ears. Arthur made his own share of delicious noises, both of your voices ruined with pleasure though it sounded like the most stunning symphony.

You felt your third climax nearing, the white-hot coil repeating but so much stronger than before. With your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on you, he made you feel wanted. He made you feel loved. It was nearing closer, and closer and you covered your face to which Arthur removed your hands from your face, pinning them above your head with one hand while the other returned to its spot at your clit.

“Nuh-uh, darlin’. Hafta see you.”

Soon enough, your release washed over you like a wave of pleasure. A ravishing sound forced itself from you, your legs trembled, your body shaking violently from the pleasure. Arthur felt your climax all over him, his body entirely racked with pleasure. As you clenched around him, he pushed in once more and pulled out, releasing with a husky shout that you would dream of for weeks on end. His juices lay atop the bedsheets and he sighed happily, pulling you in for a soft, loving kiss.

Arthur reached over into his pile of clothes to find a dark piece of cloth, his bandana. He soaked in some water from a bucket outside his tent and gently dragged it over you skin, revelling in how incessantly beautiful you were. At first, when he reached your folds, you whined from the overstimulation, but soon relaxed at the feeling.

Once you were cleaned up, he lay beside you, cradling you in his strong arms. You pecked his lips before resting your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Your eyes fluttered closed and Arthur hummed contently. “I love you, darlin’.”

lmk if you want to be added to any of my taglists!!<3

“I love you too, Arthur.”

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wlntrsldler · 4 years

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treacherous (j.p one shot)

PROMPT: based on treacherous by taylor swift. slight enemies to lovers? James Potter and Y/N can’t stand each other until they get to know each other.

A/N: does not follow the timeline at all. the events are not accurate but let’s pretend for the sake of the fic lol.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, a bit of wolfstar, and some sexual tension (brief)

WC: 5.6K+ (this is my longest fic yet omg)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

treacherous (j.p one shot)

“You’re so goddamn reckless.” James hissed, slamming his fists down on the kitchen table. “You need to wait for my command. This wasn’t a solo mission, Y/N/N. We work as a fucking team around here.”

“If I waited for your command, Prongs,” you replied, rising from your seat. You acknowledged his nickname with a bitter taste in your mouth. You knew you had to listen to James because everyone listens to James but you knew your plan would work. “We wouldn’t have gotten the mission done.”

“You went rogue!”

“But we got it done, right?” you seethed, eye drilling holes in Prongs’ skull. You felt Sirius offer a comforting hand, placing his on top of yours. Your eyes flickered to look at your best friend, features visibly softening. You sighed, slowly feeling yourself come down from your anger. “That’s the important thing, Prongs. I’m done talking about this.”

“Yeah we got it finished but at what cost?” James pushed, not backing down from his dominant exterior. “You could’ve died, Y/N. We don’t trade lives around here.”

“You don’t have to act like you care about my well-being, Potter,” you spat, starting to limp away from the briefing. You sustained some minor injuries because of your decision but you knew you’d do it again if it came down to it. “We all know you just don’t want another person’s blood on your hands.”

It was a low blow. Everyone in the house knew that James was feeling guiltier and guiltier everyday because of the events that happened over the past few months. The McKinnons, the Prewetts, his fight with some Order members— all of it was finally taking a toll on James. Maybe it always did take a toll on him and he just never showed that it did. Nobody really knew what the last straw was but now it was obvious— James Potter was tired, worn out, almost defeated in nature.

Yeah, what you said was a low blow.

James gulped, demeanor changing after your words rattled the room. Remus looked at James apologetically, not really knowing what to say. He didn’t expect that from you, nobody did. Lily cleared her throat, fixing the scattered parchment on her side of the table. Sirius stood up and patted James on the back, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze.

“Right, uhm..” he started, blinking back the effect of your words. “We can revisit this some other time. Great job today.”

James left the room without another word, your voice taunting him as he walked further and further away from the team. Is that what you really think of him? A leader, if that, who only cared about not being the person responsible for another death? Did you think that he didn’t care about you? That you were just a number to him?

Obviously you didn’t. You knew James Potter was a good man, deep down. You could see it in the way he put everyone’s needs before his. He wakes up every morning and gets everything done so the rest of you wouldn’t be burdened with such mundane things. James Potter cooked meals, cleaned the house you all shared, and bought groceries on the weekends because he thinks that you all fighting with him is something he can never repay you for. James Potter thinks that your trust as a team— as a family— is the most important thing in the universe and he’s so thankful that he has you all by his side, even if the whole world disagrees with your cause. James Potter is a good man.

You had a loud mouth. You found yourself, more times than you’d like to admit, scolding yourself after you let your mouth run amuck. This was one of those times. You let your anger get the best of you. The only reason why you even got angry with James in the first place was his lack of trust in you. Did he not think you could complete the task successfully?

“Y/N?” A voice from outside of your room called. You tried to get up from your bed, cursing as the pain shot through your right leg. “Hey, you in there?”

“Yeah,” you yelled out, realizing that it would be better for them to let themselves in rather than you try to open it for them. “Come in.”

Sirius entered, chuckling at your pained expression as you sat up in your bed. You glared at him, propping your injured leg on top of a pillow. “You good there, sweetheart?”

“Just dandy.”

He sat next to you, careful not to touch your leg. He smiled at you, sadly, and you knew what was coming next. A lecture as to why you should apologize to James or at the very least take his point of view under consideration. This was almost normal, and it was definitely expected. You and Sirius grew close, attached to the hip at times, and he was the one who would typically talk some sense into you. You knew that he and James were the blueprint of what an everlasting friendship should look like so you listened to him. Rarely were you ever the first one to apologize, though, but you knew this time was going to be one of those times.

“What you said to James..” he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “I think he kinda took it to heart, Y/N.”

“I know,” you sighed, acknowledging your mistake. “I don’t know why I even said that.”

“You don’t like to use your brain when you’re angry.” Sirius responds, laughing slightly. You push his shoulder playfully. “Just apologize to him, Y/N. You know he means well.”

“I know he does.”

“So I’ll leave you to it then,” he announced, getting up to leave your room. “He’s in his room, locked himself in there since the meeting.”

Ouch. You felt the guilt start to eat you up. Sirius shot you a warm smile before shutting the door behind him. Groaning, you lifted yourself up, trying to ignore the swelling in your leg. Was it the smartest idea to walk on an injured leg? No, but you were never one to have smart ideas anyway and today’s events made that clear.

You started to make your way down to James’ room but stopped when you saw him exiting the bathroom. You began to walk towards him, gasping in pain when your foot landed the wrong way.

“Goddamnit, James!” you shuffled towards him, gaining some speed. He stopped to see who was calling him. His face paled when he realized it was you and continued to walk towards his room. “Will you wait for me?”

James stopped in his tracks, feeling bad that you were chasing him with a bad leg. He waited patiently as you limped towards him, an annoyed look on his face. “What do you want, Y/N?”

You blinked, not expecting the harsh tone he was using. No matter how many times you and James argued and were at each other’s throats, his harsh tone always surprised you. He raised his voice, yeah, sure, but this— this was different. You tried to ignore it, knowing that you probably deserved this. “I just wanted to say sorry for what I said earlier.”

He froze up, looking down at his feet. He glanced over at your leg, red with bruises littered over your skin. God you were lucky you didn’t die, he thought. James shrugged, “I don’t care, Y/N. Is that all?”

“Well, blimey,” you snorted, already putting up your harsh exterior, “I was trying to be nice. Get that stick out your ass.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

That was it.

James walked away and entered his room before you even moved. You were left to crawl your way back to your room, quite literally. Half way through, the pain in your leg traveled to your hip and you gave up on walking. Remus found you dragging your body across the carpet and took it upon himself to carry you back to your bedroom. You thanked him, half-heartedly, not being able to forget James’ hurt expression from your sorry-excuse of an apology.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were all supposed to win the fight. You were supposed to reconcile and have a drink at the house, continuing to dance the night away. You weren’t supposed to lose.

Half of the people you knew were gone. Poof. Like they never existed.

You, Lily, and James stayed in the Potters’ home, resting after a long day of fighting. Dumbledore left to check on the Order, or what was left of them. Molly and Arthur joined him. Peter was— Merlin knows where. Sirius left to check on Remus. The world seemed so quiet. Empty.

“It’s not the end,” Lily tried to say, looking between you and James. She paced the floor, unsure if she even believed her own words.

There hasn’t been much spoken between the ones who survived. You started to wonder if you were one of the lucky one who survived or if this fate was more unlucky given the circumstances. You lost people you called your family. You all did.

This was a battle none of you expected. It was a surprise attack on the Order during a time when you all had your guards down. One minute, you were all in the backyard, excited as the Weasley’s announced another addition to their already large family. People were dancing, cheering, drinking, and for a moment it seemed normal.

And then they came. They slaughtered everyone that they could. You were lucky enough to get out before it got too crazy. You ushered the young kids into the room, casting protective charms as you held onto Percy Weasley with your other hand. You watched people fall. You heard people scream in terror as they were being tortured. You shielded the kids from looking out the window, afraid that if they were to see something so traumatizing, they would never recover. You were sure it would take years before you would.

“I’m gonna help Euphemia out,” Lily announced, getting up from her seat. You knew there wasn’t much that Euphemia needed help with, Lily just felt restless and she wanted to do something that she could control.

James nodded silently, staring at his shaking hands. There have only been a handful of moments where you’ve seen James Potter— confident, self-assured, James Potter— doubt himself or be nervous.

The first time was when he put on the Sorting Hat in your first year and he pleaded the tattered hat to place him in Gryffindor, though the hat knew better than to place him anywhere else. Then, second year came around and you four found out that Remus was a werewolf. You accidentally overheard their conversation, and it confirmed the suspicions you’ve had for a year. The third time was in fifth year when Sirius made the stupidest mistake of his life and told Snape about the Whomping Willow. He was afraid he’d lose his second family because of it, and he knew that Remus’ anger was justified. And the last time, before today, that you’ve ever seen James Potter nervous was in seventh year. It was the day after his date with Lily— a date that took him years to convince her to go on— and he realized that they were not compatible at all. Poor bloke was afraid to hurt Lily’s feelings and when he finally told her, she laughed and said, “I know, Potter. I’m glad you see it now.”

Now, you were alone with a terrified James Potter and you didn’t know what to do. You stared at him from across the room, unsure of your next step. You cleared your throat, “Do you need me to do anything, Potter?”

“Huh?” he looked up, eyes weary and mind jumbled. He registered your question and he shook his head, “No, I’m alright. Um, are you going to be staying here tonight?”

You gulped, “Yeah, if that’s alright. I-I don’t really have a place to stay, but if you want me to leave I’m sure I can stay with Remus and Sirius.”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine,” James replied, quickly, getting up from his seat, “I’m sure mum and dad won’t mind. Please, make yourself at home.”

“I appreciate that,” you sent him a tight-lipped smile and rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes, ignoring the pain that shot up your leg with every move.

“I’m gonna help mum.”

“Okay.”

He left you in the room, rushing to help his mother, but you had a feeling it was to save the both of you from the awkwardness of the situation. Sighing, you began to make your way to your room upstairs. You were half way out the room when suddenly, the room was filled with your friends. Some of the remaining members of the Order popped in, stopping you from completing your plans.

“Well, welcome back everyone,” you remarked, sitting on the couch. “Nice to see you.”

James, Lily, and Euphemia all entered once they heard the commotion. James stayed by the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched Dumbledore take center. Lily and Euphemia sat beside you, on opposite sides. Euphemia gave your leg a light squeeze and a kiss on your temple.

“As you all know, today’s attack caused mass casualty,” your old professor started, eyes flickering to empty spots in the room that the old members used to occupy. “To prevent such things, we will assign teams to designated areas. We can no longer put all our eggs in one basket. We need to prepare.”

Dumbledore continued, “Euphemia, you and Fleamont stay with Mad-Eye. He needs your expertise. Remus and Sirius, your flat is near the Black family home, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, “Wanted to be close, just in case.”

Regulus. Sirius wanted to be close to look after Regulus.

The old wizard nodded, “Very well. You two stay there and make note of any movement. We suspect they’re having meetings there. Lily, Dorcas, and Peter, you three will be taking care of Hogwarts students who live in the muggle world. They’re in Hogwarts for sanctuary, but since Minerva and myself are going to be preoccupied, we need you to make sure they’re safe.”

“What a reunion, aye gang?” Dorcas chuckled, though her laugh was empty. Lily snorted, shoving her lightly as a move of endearment.

“James and Y/N, we need you two here. This will be our headquarters.”

Sirius scoffed, “Professor, are you sure you’d want to pair Prongs and Y/N/N? We’ve already lost a lot of Order members and I’m afraid that if you pair them, we’ll lose one more. One of them will end up killing the other.”

“Shut it, Pads,” you glared, scrunching your nose, “I’m sure Potter and I can be civil.”

“I can be,” James added, side-eyeing you.

“What does that mean?” you questioned, squinting your eyes at the boy by the door. You began to get up but Euphemia stopped you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“James,” she said, warningly.

“Alright,” Dumbledore clapped his hands, calling the attention back to him, “I expect you all to be at your posts by tonight. Stay safe, everyone. Our numbers are dwindling by the hour.”

By 11PM, the house was empty. It was only you and James left. You locked yourself in the comfort of your room, staring wordlessly at the ceiling. The house was unusually quiet. There was no loud laughter coming from the living room— four boys who had to grow up too fast. You sighed, swinging your legs down the side of your bed, wincing as you forgot about your injuries.

“Fuck me,” you muttered, closing your eyes for a moment until the pain subsided. Once it became bearable, you slipped on your house shoes and made your way down the stairs. You tried to tiptoe down the stairs, not wanting to wake James and go through another awkward encounter. However, once you got to the entrance of the kitchen, you realized your efforts made no sense as James leaned against the cold counter, a cup of tea in hand, and his glasses fogged by the steam from his drink.

His eyes flickered over to where you stood, suddenly making you feel self-conscious. You were wearing nothing but pajama shorts and a large t-shirt that you were sure once belonged to Sirius. James raised his cup a bit as a sign of acknowledgement.

You smiled awkwardly and poured yourself a glass of water, “What are you doing up?”

“I reckon for the same reason you are,” he replied, taking a sip from his tea. James snickered, “Nice shirt.”

“It’s Padfoot’s,” you chuckled, “Don’t tell him I still have it.”

“Actually,” James started, placing his drink down. He faced you, “It’s mine. I let him borrow it and I asked for it a few times now. He keeps telling me he’ll give it to me later but I had a feeling he was stalling because he lost it. Mystery solved.”

You blushed, “Sorry, did you want it back?”

“No, it’s alright. Looks good on you,” he coughed, ducking his head to hide the slight blush on his cheeks, “Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

James nodded, “Yeah, me either. You can sit with me for a bit, if you want.”

You pondered it for a moment until you finally decided that a conversation with James Potter was better than staring at an empty ceiling for the rest of the night. You limped to the seat in front of him, clutching your glass of water like a lifeline.

“Are you still hurt?” James questioned, getting up to help you to your seat. He held your arm as you sat on the chair. Once you were situated, he knelt beside you, inspecting your leg, “You are still hurt. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in embarrassment. “We all had bigger things to worry about.”

“Why didn't you just cast a spell on it?”

“I’m not the best healer around,” you admitted, looking down at him.

If it was any other circumstance, you would not have admitted your shortcomings to anyone— especially not James Potter. But perhaps it was the toll that the war had put upon you or the tiredness in your system… Or perhaps it was the way he was staring at you from his position on the floor, eyes wide with worry with the candlelight reflecting off his glasses and the look of absolute beauty on his face, that made you become so brutally honest.

“And why didn’t you ask one of us to help you?”

You scoffed, “Well, none of you are licensed healers, either. I figured I’d just live with it until it healed the muggle way.”

“Always so prideful, you are,” he chuckled, pulling out his wand. He muttered a simple incantation and then studied your once injured limb. “There. Better?”

You looked down at it, pleasantly surprised that it was indeed better. You nodded, a skeptical look on your face. James dusted off his pajama pants and made his way over to the seat he occupied before. You tilted your head, “Where did you learn that?”

“I learned for Remus,” James said, “After his transformations, sometimes he would still be in pain from turning so I learned a few things to help him. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn’t but Remus always says that just the thought that I wanted to help him helped with his recovery. Load of rubbish, I say but who am I to decide that, right?”

“Wow.”

James laughed at your reaction, drinking from his tea once more. A playful smile appeared on his lips, “I do have a heart, you know. I’m sure everyone else can see that but you.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know you have a heart, Potter. That’s not why I can’t stand you.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“Well, Godric, where do I start?” you hummed, a laugh escaping your throat. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, smirking at your answer. You bit your lip, “Let’s see… you’re arrogant, cocky, obnoxiously loud. You act like you know everything, all the time.”

His eyebrows shot up. James’ tongue poked out to dampen his cracked lips, “Don’t hold back, I guess.”

“Shut up,” you chuckled, “Your turn. Why do you hate me?”

“Because you hate me.”

“Come off it,” you stared at him, shaking your head. “Why do you really hate me?”

“Seriously, that’s it. I only act like I don’t like you because you don’t like me. I don’t actually hate you, you know.”

You were in shock. Your voice came out as a whisper, “Really?”

“Really yeah,” he shrugged, as if his confession was nothing, “You love Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily, and all our friends like they’re family to you. I can tell you’re a genuinely good person with how you treat the most important people in my life. I can’t hate a good person.”

You pursed your lips, “Well, I only dislike you because you act like I’m not a good witch.”

“What?”

“Come on, James,” you gestured with your hands. “You act like I’m a bloody awful witch and an even worse person. Always have since we were in Hogwarts. I just always assumed you thought I wasn’t good enough.”

James was baffled, “Are you being serious right now?”

“I mean, yeah,” you began to explain, thinking back to the many moments in the past where he made you feel that way. “I remember when we first all found out about Remus. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone but you still followed me for two months to make sure I didn’t say anything because you didn’t trust me. Or whenever Sirius would tell you to ask me for help on a prank that required some advanced charms, you would refuse to let me participate like I couldn’t possibly be any help to you. Or more recently, when we had that task to do and you blew up on me for not following the intended plan. You don’t think I’m capable.”

“Y/N, I never thought I made you feel that way,” James frowned. “I was just really scared for Remus. Even as a second year, I knew that he was going to be my best friend for life and I just wanted to protect him. I didn’t let Sirius drag you into our pranks because I knew you were aiming for a spotless record at Hogwarts. I didn’t wanna get you in trouble because honestly, a prank that didn’t end with at least one of us in detention was a failed prank.”

“Oh,” you squeaked, “I didn’t know that was where your mind was.”

“Yeah,” James continued, “A-and as for the last task, I just didn’t want you hurt. We’ve lost enough people already. I’d hate to lose you, too.”

“Careful, Prongs,” you teased, swirling the water around in your glass, “You’re gonna make me think you actually like me.”

“I do, yeah,” he admitted, “I’m quite fond of you.”

The both of you stayed silent after those words left his lips. It wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable. It was the first time you two had a proper conversation and you learned things about each other that you never imagined. James continued to sip on his tea and you stared at each other from across the counter. You smiled at him, admiring the redness of his cheeks.

“Well,” you finally said, standing up. You placed the empty glass in the sink and made your way to the stairs, “I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

James smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”

“Goodnight, Prongs,” you returned his smile, turning your back on him. Before you reached the first step, you turned back around, “James?”

“Mhm?”

“I think I can grow quite fond of you too.”

James’ eyes flickered from his tea to your face, his cheeks completely flushed pink by now. He bit the corner of his bottom lip, trying to suppress his smile. He chuckled, shaking his head, making his curls bounce around. You willed yourself to remember that image because it was the first time that you truly saw James Potter for who he was.

Over the next few weeks, you and James began to grow closer. Your late night conversations almost became mandatory. He began to leave a cup of tea for you across from him where you sat the first night. It took him precisely three nights to finally make your cup the way you liked it without being told. He started to light the fireplace in the living room after seeing goosebumps rise on your skin a week and a half after the first night. Then by the third week of your traditions, he began to walk you up to your bedroom door to wish you a goodnight there.

Sirius and Remus didn’t come to check in until a month later. Sirius, as always, made himself feel at home by raiding the kitchen and eating the food that you and James made earlier. Remus laughed from the living room, muttering about how Sirius acts like he doesn’t feed him.

Sirius sat beside James, peering over the pile of parchment on the side of his desk. He nudged his best friend’s shoulder, “Surprised you and Y/N haven’t killed each other yet.”

James blushed, “She’s not so bad, Pads.”

“Oh, I know that,” he hummed, taking a bite out of the biscuit in his hand, “Glad you know it now, too.”

“I never thought she was bad,” James frowned, placing his quill down to properly talk to Sirius, “Why does everyone think that I do?”

“Prongsie, darling, you would always shut up whenever she’d walk in. You’d avoid her like the plague.”

“I just knew she didn’t like me, that’s all. Figured that if I shut up, she’ll see that I’m not so bad.”

“Huh… Why did you want her to like you so bad anyway?” Sirius asked, sitting on the desk now, disregarding the work that James had done. He waited patiently for James to answer, but the answer never came. Instead, James’ cheeks flushed pink and the boy tried to hide his flustered expression by pretending to massage his temples. Sirius’ eyes widened and he jumped off the desk with excitement plastered over his face, “You fancy her! Merlin, how did I not see it before?! You fancy Y/N/N!”

“Will you—” James shushed Sirius, pulling him down by the fabric of his shirt. He was starting to draw attention to himself. James saw Remus stare at the two boys, puzzled as to why Sirius was running around like a dog. James wouldn’t be surprised if he turned into Padfoot just to swing his tail around. “Will you calm down?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, his lips still twisted in a large grin, “You fancy Y/N/N.”

“Yeah, I do,” James was embarrassed now. He didn’t expect to come clean to Sirius like this— not in the middle of a war. “I’ve always thought she was gorgeous, you know, even back in Hogwarts! I just never did anything about it because she hated me. I mean, really, genuinely, hated me. Then we got to know each other over this time and— I don’t know, Pads. She’s great.”

Sirius smiled so hard, James thought his lips would tear apart, “Yeah, she bloody is. Are you gonna tell her?”

His eyes widened at his best friend’s words as he frantically shook his head, “Merlin, no! Of course not! We’re in the middle of a war, Pads, and I’m sure she barely tolerates me. I doubt she’ll like me.”

Before Sirius could reply, you appeared behind the two boys, an eyebrow raised, “What are we talking about gentlemen?”

“Nothing!” James exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck in fear, “Sirius was just saying how he needed to get home. Right now.”

“Is this how you talk to your best friend that you haven’t seen in a month, Prongs?”

Remus entered as well, laughing as he spoke, “Come on, Sirius. We do have to head home now. Nice to see you both.”

“Always a pleasure, Moony,” you smiled, hugging them both before they apparated out of the house. You poked James’ cheek, “So what were you really talking about?”

“Guy stuff,” he lied, returning his focus back to the parchment that Sirius messed up.

“Guy stuff?” you snorted, grabbing his jaw and turning his head to look at you. James visibly gulped, all the color draining from his face. You cocked your head, not letting go of his face, “We’re lying to each other now, Potter? Shame.”

“‘M not lying,” he said, voice shaky. You were so close to him. He could smell the strawberry chapstick you dabbed on your lips. Godric, your lips looked so kissable.

“Yes you are,” you tutted, your palm now cupping his jaw. You didn’t even realize how intimate this move was, too busy looking into his eyes to notice your movements, “I can tell.”

“How?”

“You can’t look me in the eye,” you stated, eyes flickering to the different features on his face. You never noticed the small freckle on the bridge of his nose or the small, fading scar on the left side of his lips. “Whenever a good man is lying, he can never look at someone in the eye. So tell me, James, what were you guys talking about?”

James still refused to look at you in the eye. He couldn’t bring himself to because he knew you were right. The minute his eyes met yours, he would crack like an egg. Instead, he focused it on your parted lips, feeling your breath tickle the tip of his nose as you spoke. He mumbled, “I can’t tell you that.”

You didn’t know what came over you but when you spoke again, your voice came out as a sultry tone— breathy and slowly dragging your words, “Please.”

James’ eyes immediately jumped to look at yours once he heard the tone of your voice. He’d never heard you use that tone before and he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him weak in the knees. And for the sixth time in your life, you saw the nervous James Potter again. In a moment of weakness, he spoke, “You. We were talking about you.”

“Me?” you asked, shocked by his revelation. Your hand that was once cupping his face was now hanging off his shoulder. You twirled a curl on the nape of his neck around your index finger, slightly tugging it. It took all of James’ willpower not to groan at the pressure. “What could you have possibly been saying about me?”

“How utterly insufferable you are,” James nudged his nose with yours, tilting his head the slightest bit. His tongue poked out of his lips, licking them in both nervousness and excitement.

“I’m only insufferable because you make me this way,” you tilted your head the opposite direction. Your lips were moving towards each other with every breath you took.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you whispered, closing your eyes. You let your lips ghost over his, before pulling away. You opened your eyes to taunt him, a mischievous smirk on your face. You pulled away from him, untangling his hair from your finger.

“See, you’re proving my point. You’re insufferable,” James said.

And with that, he pulled you by your waist, a surprised squeal left your mouth. He placed you on his lap before he kissed you. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His lips melted with yours, tongues shying away from each other until he finally had the courage to caress yours with his. James squeezed your hips, pushing you down his lap. A soft moan escaped your throat and that brought James back to reality.

Before things could escalate, he pulled away— lips bruised and completely out of breath. You smiled at him, biting your bottom lip. He returned the favor, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t want to continue without telling you,” James confessed, “I like you. A lot, actually. I don’t want you to think this means nothing to me because it does. I-I hope it means something to you, too. If it doesn’t, let me know because I don’t want to do this if I’m just setting myself up for failure here.”

Your features softened at his words. You cupped his face in your hands, once again, and kissed the tip of his nose, then each cheek, then his forehead, and finally, his lips. It was an innocent one, less steamy and passionate than the first, but lovely regardless. You intertwined your fingers with his, “This means something to me, too, Potter. You’re not the only one who feels that way.”

“Really?” he asked, now grinning widely. He connected his forehead with yours, chuckling, “Who would’ve thought we’d get here?”

“Not me,” you giggled, “However, don’t think I won’t bicker with you now that I know you’re an incredible kisser.”

“I didn’t expect you to go easy on me,” James laughed, wrapping his arms around you. “But now, I can just kiss you to shut you up.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment with a fond smile, “Hmm.. I suppose that’ll work.”

James pulled you closer to his body, looking up at you as you sat on his lap. He murmured into the skin of your neck, “See? Insufferable.”

#frances writes #frances song fics #frances x taylor swift x harry potter #James Potter #james potter fanfic #james potter one shot #james potter imagine #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #james potter x reader #james potter x yn #james potter x y/n #the marauders #the marauders imagine #the marauders oneshot #the marauders fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine

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anari3l · 4 years

Text

domesticity

pairing: arthur morgan x reader /// words: 906 /// warnings: fluff /// summary: set post-game/arthur doesn’t die ... you and arthur live a happy, safe, and loving life in the wilderness with your daughter /// requested by anon: domestic, cute, fluff

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You hummed a soft lullaby that had been stuck in your head all day, hands covered in flour and egg as you kneaded the dough on the counter. Lifting the pile of dough into a cast iron pan, your gaze drifted to the window of the small kitchen, watching as Arthur heaved the axe over his shoulder as he finished chopping the wood.

Beside him, sitting in a wheelbarrow, the small toddler giggled, her golden hair reflecting the sun as she watched her father. Arthur chatted animatedly over his shoulder as he piled the split logs into the wheelbarrow behind her.

Laughing, you placed the bread in the oven. Times had been tough the last few years, running far enough away from both your pasts and the law before you and Arthur were able to settle down, into a life you both deserved.

“And you know what I told that lazy bum?” Arthur asked, his voice echoing through the clearing as he stepped onto the small porch, your daughter in his arms. Your daughter only laughed, nuzzling into her father’s arms.

“To get back to work, and stop goofin’ off!” Arthur smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her down on her wobbly feet. Holding the door open for her, he stepped after her, catching her right as she was about to topple over the edge of the woven rug on the floor.

“Be careful,” you smiled, turning to the table with a pot of coffee.

As your daughter ran off to the bedroom, stumbling a bit before sitting herself down in front of the toy crib and her doll, you smiled, watching fondly.

Arthur’s hand pressed against the small of your back as he rounded the table, heading for the wash basin.

“Wash up, supper’ll be --” you trailed off as you shook yourself back to the present, turning as Arthur was elbows deep in the sink. “Supper will be ready soon,” you smiled, stepping up to him.

“Should have enough firewood for a while. Still have to work on the roof this week, damn thing’s still leakin’ …”

You watched Arthur dry his hands on a linen towel before starting away, across the room to the fireplace. “Need to head to town …”

“Arthur,” you started. “Come sit. Relax. Stop fretting.”

“I ain’t fretting,” he smiled, but obeyed, sitting at the head of the small dining table.

“You’ve got enough time for all of that. You can be done with chorin’ for the day,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple as you removed his hat, running your fingers through his hair. “Nothin’ but time and stories to tell, apparently.”

“She really does like ‘em,” Arthur smiled fondly, turning to look over his shoulder at your daughter, playing by herself in the doorway of her room.

Pushing his arm aside, you took up a seat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. In turn, his arms found their way around your waist as he relaxed back in the wooden chair. “Well, what’s this?”

You kissed him briefly on the nose. “I know we’ve had it tough, Arthur,” you started, “Runnin’ with the gang almost killed us both, but we got out. Started a family.”

“What’chu gettin’ at?” he asked, blue eyes narrowed in faux concern. “You best not be frettin’ over my … how’d ya put it? My ‘brooding’ … are ya?”

“Well, you do get all broody when you get to thinkin’. Maybe that’s your problem!” you smiled. “Maybe I’ve finally figured you out after all these years. You think too much, and get broody.”

“So I should stop thinkin’?” he asked slowly, a playful glint in his eye as he followed your train of thought.

“Well, stop thinkin’ something bad is always gonna happen.”

“I’m just --”

You cut him off. “You’re protectin’ us, I get that. I love you for it, you know.”

“But--?” he prodded.

“Think on the bright side!”

He nodded, shoulders back in the chair as his hands held you around the waist on his lap. “Alright. The bright side …” he started. “We ain’t runnin’ with a gang, about to be hung for our crimes.” You nodded in agreement. “We’ve got a beautiful home in the woods, with a very beautiful and wonderful cook,” he smirked as you scoffed, a smile lighting your face. “We’ve got a little girl, who loves her momma more than her daddy does, if that’s possible … And, we’re safe.”

“She loves you more,” you tutted with a smile. “You spoil her with those stories of Hosea and Dutch’s exploits … you know how hard it is to put her to sleep when I can’t tell those stories as well? And those picture books are boooring.”

Arthur sucked his teeth before starting, “Well, I guess I’m just good at words. But she will always run to you with a little flower, or ask you to ride Buell with her.”

“Piggy back rides, wheelbarrow rides, tickle attacks, and sloppy cheek kisses from you.”

“That stuff she likes, or you?” Arthur smirked.

“Stop it!” you smiled, slapping his shoulder.

“I’m just teasin’,” he laughed. “Now,” he pushed you off his lap, before standing himself and leaning in to kiss you. “That stew smells delicious. I’ll go get our little trouble maker for supper.”

“Love you,” you whispered as he stepped back.

“Love ya,” he returned before walking into the other room.

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic

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meowdymista · 3 years

Text

For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”

#rdr2 reverse big bang #rdr2 #rdrbigbang #rdrreversebang2021 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #tilly jackson #arthur morgan #sunspott

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smcc212 · 4 years

Text

Normal

Pairings- Arthur Shelby x male reader(platonic), Polly Grey x male reader(platonic), a little bit of Isiah Jesus x male reader

Word count- 1,969

Warnings- Period-typical homophobia, internalised homophobia, underage drinking(is that a warning??), swearing. I think that’s it, let me know if I’m wrong.

A/N- Soooo Instead of writing things people have requested I’ve written this, I might write a part two(if people want one). Anyway! Enjoy some accepting Arthur Shelby, lads!!

I started working for the peaky blinders a few months ago, they never made me do anything dangerous, they always said I was too young. I went to them after getting kicked out by my parents. My father had caught you kissing another boy, dragged me home and told my mother. They disowned me immediately. With tears streaming down my face, I went to the peaky blinders in hopes of finding a job. Taking pity on me, they let me work in the betting shop. I’d be forever grateful.

I never told them that I was homeless. They didn’t need to worry about me, they’d helped me enough, in my books. They knew my parents disowned me, but that was all they knew. They thought I was staying with an uncle. Until...

After a long day of work, the Shelby’s invited me to the Garrison with them. They allowed me to have a few glasses of whiskey. However, while no one was looking I stole a bottle of whiskey, placing it in a hiding spot. After I’d finished the whiskey they said I was allowed, i was stuck drinking water, but I really didn’t mind.

I left about fifteen minutes before shutting time. I went into the alleyway next to the Garrison and started to drink the stolen whiskey. At some point tears started cascading down my cheeks. I couldn’t help the thoughts that plagued my mind. How much easier life would be if I liked women. How I wished my family never found out that I don’t. Thoughts of ending it all, however, were the loudest.

I was so caught up in my head and thoughts that I never noticed Arthur Shelby sitting next to me. I was close with Arthur. He’d taught me how to fight, he’d talk and joke around with me, and he was always there if I needed to talk to him. I knew that I couldn’t go to him with the thoughts I were having though, or...at least sober me did.

“Why’re you crying, lad?” He asked, voice surprising soft. He was also surprisingly sober. “Eh? Come on, you talk to me.”

“I’m not normal, Art,” I mumbled, loud sobs escaping me, shaking my body. Arthur rubbed my back soothingly.

“Whatcha mean by ‘at, eh?”

“I don’t like women,” I cried, too drunk, too overwhelmed to remember to lie. “I like men.”

“And? I asked how you’re not normal.” I looked up at Arthur, shocked by the fact he didn’t start beating me.

“That’s what wrong...” I trailed off, staring at him in disbelief.

“Why’s that’s wrong? You like a bit of cock? So what? Doesn’t matter to me, does it?” I couldn’t respond, too taken aback by his words. A couple minutes passed before Arthur realised I wasn’t going to say anything. “Where’d you stay? I’ll walk you home.”

“No, it’s fine,” I quickly said.

“You’re far too drunk to walk home, let me help you, kid.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Where’d you stay?”

“Leave it.”

“No. Where?”

“Wherever I fall asleep,” I murmured sadly.

“What does that mean?” Arthur’s voice was thick with concern.

“I don’t have a home...” My tears, that had started to slow down, sped up again.

“Right then.” Arthur stood up, dragging me up with him.

“What’re you doing, Art?”

“If you don’t have a home, then you’ll stay with me until you do,” He said like it wasn’t it a big deal. How could he not see how big this was?!

“Th-thank you, Arthur.”

“It’s fine.”

The next day, I woke up to the smell of coffee.

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine,” Arthur said from his seat at the table. I smiled at him before I remembered what I’d told him last night. I jolted up, staring at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“Arthur, please, please don’t tell Tommy,” I begged. “I need that job! Shit, please don’t go to police! Please-“

“(Y/N), calm down, lad. ‘m not gonna tell anyone, alright?” He cut me off, speaking slowly to make sure I understood.

“Thank you, Arthur, thank you. I-I’ll get out of your hair, thank you, Arthur.” I stood up and started to make my towards the door, but Arthur’s hand wrapping around my wrist stopped me. I froze. This was it, he was gonna beat.

“You’re not going anywhere,” He said. I froze, tears burning my eyes as I tried to accept my fate. “For fuck sake, (Y/N), I’m not gonna hurt you. I don’t care if you like men, doesn’t effect me, does it? But for the love god, you’re not leaving, you don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Wh-what?” I stammered, turning around to face him. “You’re not... disgusted?”

“Disgusted?” Arthur let out a chuckle. “No, I’m not disgusted that you like something I don’t.”

“O-okay.”

“You’re gonna stay with me, yeah? Just until your old enough to get your own place, okay?”

“Okay,” I breathed out, still not fully believing that he was so excepting.

“Great! Now drink your coffee, have a shower and then we’ll go to the shop.” I nodded. “I’ll get you some new clothes today while you’re working,” He said as I sat down.

“It’s fine, Arthur, you’re already doing so much for me. Thank you.”

“First of all, stop thanking me. And secondly, you need some new clothes, kid. Don’t fight me on this,” He concluded, voice firm.

“Okay, Arthur. Tha-“ I cut myself off.

“Good.”

Work was the same as it always was, except, after Arthur talked to Polly, she was looking over at me the full day. Something in eyes...pity? Either that or something akin to it.

“Tommy! I’m gonna take my break!” I shouted.

“Aright, lad!” He shouted back, I stood up, put my cap on and started to head for the door. I was gonna go to the boxing and see Isiah. I fancied the Jesus boy too much, even though I knew he liked women. He was just amazing. Polly however had other plans and she stopped me, asking if we could talk.

“(Y/N), Arthur told me,” She said once we were alone. My eyes widened, I subconsciously took a step back. “Calm down. He told because he knows I don’t care, everything to do with my family’s illegal.” She laughed at the end of her sentence. I smiled softly at her.

“Okay, why are you talking to me then?” I asked, confused by the turn of events.

“I want you to know that if you need anything, I’m here. Also, if anyone says or does anything to you because of it, tell me, or Arthur, and we’ll sort it out, okay?”

“Okay, thank you, Polly.” I smiled widely at her.

“You’re welcome. Now fuck off,” She joked.

“Yes, mam.” I jokingly saluted before heading off, her laugh following me down the hall.

I stood ring-side watching Isiah box Finn, well... really I was looking at Isiah’s body, his arms-

“(Y/N), you alright there, mate?” Isiah laughed. I’d been so caught up in my own head I hadn’t realised the ‘fight’ had ended.

“Y-yeah, sorry, bit out of it today,” I laughed, hoping he hadn’t realised I was staring at him.

“It’s fine, mate, come on. I need to get changed.” I followed behind him. Once Isiah was dressed, we left, and once we were alone he turned to me. “Like what you see?” His voice sounded smug.

“Wh-what?”

“I saw you staring at me, when I was in the ring, did you like what you saw?” He chuckled, cockiness oozing off him.

“I-I-I.” I didn’t know what to do or say. The honest was yes, obviously I did, he’s gorgeous. The safe answer, however, was no. Fuck, what do I say?! Fuck, I need to say something! Anything!

“I’ve seen you fighting before,” Isiah began, moving ever so slightly closer to me. “I liked what I saw.” My thoughts were racing. Did he actually like what he saw, or was he trying to figure out if I liked men? Did he like men? Did he like me? Or was he going to beat me for liking men? Fuck! Why can’t I just like women! “So, did you like what you saw?” Fuck it, you only live once, right?

“Yes,” I breathed out. He smirked at me, moving closer, backing me up against the wall of the empty alleyway. Fuck! Why did I say yes?! This is it. This is how I die. I closed my eyes, trying to be ready for his first punch... but it never came.

“Good.” I felt his breath against my face. “One day, I’ll let you see all of me. Unfortunately, we can’t do that in an alleyway, love,” He sighed. I slowly opened my eyes, his staring into mine. He placed his hand on my cheek, brushing his thumb across it. “One day, I promise you, pretty boy.” He looked around, making sure no one saw before placing his lips on mine. “See you later, pretty boy.”

“Bye,” I murmured quietly as he walked away. I smiled to myself as I walked back to work.

The rest of the day went by pretty easily after that. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Isiah said. He liked me, right? Or did he only like my body? Who cares?! Isiah Jesus, the preachers son, wanted to, at least, fuck me.

“(Y/N)!” I heard Arthur’s booming voice, tearing me from my thoughts. “Come on, we’re going home!” I nodded, grabbed my cap and followed him to his home.

Once we got in, Arthur made me a coffee and poured himself some whiskey.

“So... What did you get up to today?” Arthur asked, smilingly knowingly.

“Nothing much. Same as usual, why?” I stared intensely at the coffee in my hands. It’s one thing to say that you’re okay with a man liking other men, it’s another to actually be okay with it.

“It’s just... You went to the boxing, yeah?” I nodded. “And Isiah was there?” I nodded again, slower this time. “Right. Then the two of you came back to the office with this...this glow about you.”

“Glow?” At this point I was starting to question Arthur’s sanity.

“Yeah. Not literally glowing, obvious, both of you just seemed the have something on your mind.” That smile. That smile on his face, it was genuine. Almost like he was truly happy for me.

“Well, it was a good day,” Was all I said back, because, well what else could I say?

“I’m sure,” He chuckled. “Anyway, while you were off having your ‘good day’, I sorted out your bedroom.”

“My bedroom?” My eyes widened as I realised he was serious about me living here.

“Yeah, s’only small, but it should do for now. Tommy’s coming into some money so we’ll probably be moving,” He shrugged. A smile spread over my face.

“I know you said to stop, but thank you, Arthur!” I beamed, and, without thinking, leaned forward and wrapped my arms around Arthur. He seemed taken aback for a moment, but then he hugged me back.

“You’re welcome, (Y/N). You’re clothes are in your wardrobe. I’ll be honest, I got Ada to help me with the sizes. I’ll get some dinner on while you wash up, yeah?” He said, pulling back.

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you!” I shouted back as I ran upstairs.

After showering and changing into some clean clothes- not a full suit, just an undershirt and some trousers- I went downstairs to eat dinner with Arthur. It may not have been the best food in the world, but I loved it. It was a full meal and I hadn’t had that in a while. Then both Arthur and I went to bed. Tomorrow was the start of the rest of my life, a good life; a normal life.

Tags:

@the-makingsofgreatness

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xlovelybeanx · 4 years

Text

✭ I’m sorry, this gif is too precious for me NOT to put on here. I’m back at it again with Banana Fish, but this time it’s a request from the lovely @wertzunge !! Thank you so much for requesting and I hope you like it!! <3 P.S. I had a lot of fun writing this!! You can always send me more if you want !! <333

Btw, I tried to keep the original prompt true so if anything seems off, I’m sorry. (Not really an experienced writer yet, but one day! ..One day!)

——————————————————————————

Title: “Ferocious Lynx.”

Pairing: EijiAsh ft. Skipper.

Summary: When Eiji hears a commotion coming from Ash’s room, the only thing to think is that something bad is happening - but when the poor boy walks on something else instead, he finds himself in a position where he can’t escape.

Warnings: Some swearing, I guess.. Other than that... It’s a wholesome tickle fic~!

Note: I’m gonna change the plot a little bit - instead of Skipper and Eiji getting kidnapped by Arthur and his men, let’s just pretend that Ash defeated them all with his mad skillz and got everyone safely back home. :)

——————————————————————————

It happened roughly a week ago. The deal that changed the black-haired boy’s life forever, the deal that made him considering running back to Japan as fast as he could. Due to the recent events, the attack at the bar by Arthur’s men, the concerned photographer asked to make a “deal” with the gang leader - basically letting him own Eiji for a week or two in return for protection.

The sly lynx, of course he’d accept because he was just too lazy to do anything himself! What Eiji hated the most of this, however, was the fact that it was so boring and lonely. The only people who came by were gang members, and of course Eiji couldn’t really speak to them - what would they talk about? ..it just seemed a little too awkward for him to start, and when asking questions and things to Ash, the younger one would just tease him about it! It made life miserable, but as long as Ibe didn’t worry about him, he guessed it was alright for now.

“..ahh,” Eiji sighed, sitting down on the older, slightly uncomfortable couch as he finished with his “job”. He ended up cleaning the entire living room, by himself might he add, because he didn’t know really what else to do. He wasn’t allowed to go outside, he would be easily recognized by everyone - he wasn’t allowed to mess around with Ash’s things (like he had anything there anyways) and most of all, he basically was treated like a maid. “Eiji, go get this, go get that” sort of thing from Ash. And while he didn’t complain at all, it started to grind his gears. Of course, he couldn’t get too mad because he WAS protecting him - it was the least he could do, anyways. “Safe, huh? ...well, if it makes Ibe happy..” he murmured, closing his eyes as he leaned against the headrest of the couch.

Suddenly, a loud scream was erupted from Ash’s room which made the exhausted boy jump in fear. ...what was that, he wondered as he stood up, a concerned look on his face. “That didn’t sound like Ash... but... something could be going down.” He concluded, face pale from the shock of hearing such a loud noise in the quietest of rooms. Standing outside of his room, he almost wanted to leave it up to him - maybe Ash could take care of it on his own. But if there was any chance that he was in danger, Eiji had to see him. He took in a breath, grasped the doorknob tightly, and opened wide. I’m gonna...

“AHAHAHA- W-WAIHAHAT! ST-STOP! PLEHEHEHEASE!”

...save you? Eiji’s eyes widened at the scene he was witnessing - Skipper, the one who saved him at the bar incident was pinned down underneath the ferocious lynx of a gang leader, basically begging for mercy as Ash launched a tickle attack on the poor boy. Eiji didn’t know whether to stand there or walk away - the initial shock of hearing the scream made him stand completely still, as if he was frozen. He could feel his face heat up incredibly fast, but he couldn’t move fast enough to hide it.

“...oh,” Ash calmly said, as he noticed the photographer’s assistant walk into the room, slowing his attack down so that Skipper could catch his breath. The young boy’s face was red with tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, grasping his sides ever so tightly. Eiji raised an eyebrow, fists clenched as he looked down in sheer embarrassment. So he didn’t need saving?! Why was he even concerned..? But then again, it felt kinda nice seeing that scene take place - Ash never really let his guard down, but in the split second that he saw of him tickle torturing a kid, he was totally relaxed. ..felt kind of odd, as well.

“S-Sorry, I... heard a scream..and thought something.. bad was happening,” Eiji mumbled as he fiddled with his hands, earning a slight chuckle from the blonde. He sat up, along with Skipper who was still out of breath, and raised an eyebrow. What was that look for, he thought as he mustered up enough courage to look up for a moment. The jade green eyes scanned him up and down before looking at his “little brother” Skip. “..Hey, do me a favor, yeah? Go to Chinatown and get Shorter, we have to do something later.” He nudged the other in the side, getting a squeal out of the latter - “FINE! Fine.. I’ll be back... in a bit..” Skipper said, standing up and walking out of the room. Which now only left a flustered Eiji and a devious Ash in the same room together. Alone. ..this could only end well.

“What? Jealous?” Ash teased, standing up slowly - the words sent another level of embarrassment through him and he shook his head, his nervousness getting the better of him. No words could escape his mouth, much less process through his head. Fact is, he wasn’t really “hands-on” with his parents much as a kid, so naturally stuff like this didn’t happen. Akira, his little sister maybe did it once or twice but that was so long ago that he’s already forgotten about it. “...ahh, so you are jealous. Huh. Well, if that’s the case, it’ll be a while before Skipper comes back so do you want me to tickle you?” Eiji’s face seemed to turn a deep shade of red, eyes darting back and forth. “..I mean... I g-guess,” he mumbled quietly. There was no getting out of it anyways, so he might as well just take it.

“..alright,” Ash grabbed him, as gently as possible and threw him on to the bed, pinning his hands above his head - a sinister grin was on his face, and the other really didn’t like where this was headed. Sitting on his waist, he leaned forward to his ear and blew softly on the outer part, watching the boy shiver and hunch up softly. “...huh. Would you like to tell me where you’re ticklish, then~?” His whole face turned red, shaking his head - even if he wanted to tell him, what would he say? ...it’s not like he remembered where exactly he was most ticklish. If he was ticklish, even.

“Gonna play the silent type, eh?” Ash asked as he gently slid his fingers around his ear, watching the boy’s eyes widen immediately. “...what’s the matter? You seem... a little squeamish today, huh?” Eiji couldn’t function anymore. Any words that had even the 1% chance of wanting to come out have immediately been stuck back in his brain. He was going to die - of embarrassment? Quite possibly so. “...mmm..” he shook his head, squirming in his grasp. There was so much he wanted to say, and yet, while looking deep into those jade green eyes - there was nothing he couldn’t read at that point. His face said it all.

“...you don’t know? Or do you not want to tell me~? That’s okay, I’ll figure out eventually,” those were the last words uttered before the blonde moved down and trailed at his pant line, making him squeak out involuntarily. “..w-wait,” Eiji choked out, the only word he could muster up before giggles slipped out of him. “Wait? Wait for what? For me to find your worst spot.. and then abuse it? ...mmm.. trust me, I can’t wait for that. Also... consider it.. payback for making me take care of you..” Ash grinned as his fingers wiggled teasingly underneath his shirt, making him clench his hands into fists. “Waihihit, s-stahahahap ihihit..! Ash!” Before he knew it, laughter was pouring out of his mouth - he can’t ever recall being this ticklish but the situation he found himself in seemed to answer his question earlier.

“What is it, Eiji?” Ash asked, his nails scraping gently across his pale stomach, making him want to jump out of his own skin. “H-Hehehehey! Nahahaha- c-cut ihihihit ohohohout!! Hahahahahahaha!!” Eiji’s giggles rose in pitch, making his voice sound very squeaky - something that seemed to edge the blonde ler on more. The sparkle in his eyes seemed to brighten the more he got a reaction out of the Japanese boy. “...p-plehehehehehease! Hahahahahaha!”

“...please what? Tickle you more? Oh don’t worry, you’ve got a lot of that coming your way~.” Ash slowly traveled his fingers way up, resting right underneath his arms. His fingers had not even starting moving, but the poor boy had already been sent into hysterics. Even just the light touch was enough to drive him up the wall. His whole body now was shaking, his legs kicking against the sheets of the bed.

“Does it tickle that much? I couldn’t imagine being that ticklish. Aha.” And that’s when the actual tickling began - the nasty ler scratched his delicate fingers into the center of his armpits, grinning as his work just only started. Eiji jumped out of his skin, squirming desperately as he could do nothing but laugh hysterically. “Woah, maybe that’s why you didn’t want me to know where you’re ticklish...” Ash couldn’t help but laugh with the hypersensitive boy. “HAHAHA- ASH! STOHOHOHOP IHIHIHIT! PLEHEHEHEASE-!”

“...now why would I do that? I’m only getting started..” the more he picked up the speed, the more increasingly squeakier his voice sounded - and Ash wasn’t going to lie: it was ... pretty cute. At first he was just surprised at the fact he was there, considering that originally he was checking up on them to make sure everything was as okay, but now? He was just surprised at how someone could sound so cute and not be known to him. “...aww, is it too much for you?” The blonde let go of his wrists to use both hands, using one hand to softly pinch his sides while the other digged mercilessly under his arm. “AHAHAHAHAHASH! F-FUHUHCK! STOHOHOHOP IHIHIHIT, PLEHEHEHEASE...!” Ash flinched back - ... that was the first time he ever heard the boy cuss. He knew it was getting bad then, if he had no other choice but to swear. His fingers stopped where they were, although they never really moved from their spot.

Out of breath and panting with still a couple of giggles flowing out, the other laid his head back and sighed in relief. It was finally over - at least, for now - and he could take a moment to take in all of a precious resource called ‘air’. “..t-thahanks..” he said, covering both of his eyes with his hands. Jeez, Ash did a number on the poor boy. “..are you that ticklish everywhere?” Ash asked with a somewhat serious tone, playful wiggling his fingers at him. “No,” Eiji said softly. “Not that I remember anyways. I haven’t been tickled since my sister did many years ago. I just..haven’t really thought about it.. until I saw you tickling Skipper..” There was a brief moment of silence before Ash burst out laughing, unexpectedly.

“H-Huh..? What’s so funny?”

“That’s cute,” he said, pushing his hair back from his eyes. Cute? Huh? The red hue on his face came back as he puffed his cheeks out, crossing his arms. “Cute, huh? What do you mean by that?”

“Just sayin’, it’s cute.” Ash repeated, turning around so that he was facing Eiji’s legs and Ash’s back was visible to him. Eiji was visibly confused - weren’t they ... done? A terrified shiver went through him. If... he’s doing what he’s thinking of, Ash might literally kill him. Physically and mentally. “Hey, Eiji?”

“Y-Yeah?” He asked, his voice seemingly small in comparison. There was a moment of silence before he turned around, holding eye contact with the pitiful male. “Are your feet ticklish?” His stomach dropped - nonononono... this was what he wasn’t looking forward to. He darted his eyes away, looking for an excuse to get away. “...er, actually, I j-just remembered ... I forgot to clean the kitchen! I’ll just, uh, being going now...”

“Can it. You cleaned the kitchen yesterday, remember? Oh, well, I guess you don’t remember me being there. I am a master of stealth, after all.” That little... his cheeks puffed up as he realized there was no getting out of this. Covering his face as he wiggled his socked feet, he remained silent - and that was all he needed as an answer. Tracing a single finger up the sole of his foot, the reaction? ...interesting, to say the least. The smaller one squeaked loudly, covering his mouth - eyes widened in surprise that he was the one who made that noise. “Jackpot,” Ash murmured, mostly to himself as he scribbled at 10 fingers on both of his socked feet.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-! WAHAHAHAHAIT! YAHAHAHAHAHAMERU!” Eiji couldn’t help but cry out in his native language, seeing as this was probably the worst torture in his life - Ash merely chuckled. “‘Yameru?’ Does that mean stop in Japanese? Cause if so, you already know my answer.” Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes, threatening to spill out - man, could Eiji have walked in on ANYTHING else? It feels like he’s being murdered! “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! I CAHAHAHAHANT TAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIHIT!!”

“Oh, poor ticklish Eiji,” Ash fake whined, dragging his nails slowly up the poor boy’s feet. All the while he’s doing that with one hand, Eiji doesn’t even notice the fact that Ash is taking off one of his socks and throwing it to the side of the room. But when he feels all 5 of his fingers against his bare skin - you’d start to wonder if he’s the most ticklish person on the planet. Eiji screamed, pushing against the blonde’s back weakly - from how much he’s been laughing, it feels like his chest and face are on fire, and his laughs have begun to turn a little wheezy. Picking up on this sign, the younger stops, getting a little worried.

“...ah, whoops. Did I kill ya?” Ash asked as he turned around to find a tear-soaked, messy haired Japanese boy laying down on his back. The other couldn’t speak at the moment - he was still processing the fact that he stopped, since there was still tingly sensations all over his body. It made him jolt a couple of seconds but it didn’t seem to affect him that much. “...n-no,” he wheezed out, “...y-you almost did...” there came a sarcastic and light chuckle out of him but when that was done, he was lucky to have air.

“You guys finished with your one-sided fight?” There was a voice that everyone in the room recognized - Shorter, the purple haired Chinese boss was standing right inside the doorway, his arm resting against it. But somehow, even Ash didn’t even see him coming. Eiji was too embarrassed to speak and Ash immediately went back to being a boss for the day. “Yeah, we’re done,” he said as he jumped off the other male, letting him be alone for a minute. “Let’s go get him, yeah?” Shorter and Ash fist bumped before heading out the door, leaving Eiji alone in the room where he just got tickled to death.

What a day this had been...

#banana fish #anime #anime tickling #tickling community #sfw tickles #ler!ash #lee!eiji #fanfic #wowitorturedeiji #ticklish #eiji okumura #ash lynx #asheiji #skip

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littlestarofthewest · 4 years

Note

hello, hello! saw you’re considering valentine’s day requests, so i figured i’d drop in, as that’s my birthday, too! worth a shot, yeah? if you could bless me with a teen/young adult morston first kiss and/or first time, i think i could die happy - 🦅

Happy Birthday 🥳 For now I just went with the kiss, but maybe I'll think about a part 2 😄

Jägermeister and Cigarettes

Pairing: Arthur x John | Words: 1360 | Tags: underage (no smut!), smoking, alcohol, modern AU

John is staring up into the night sky, a hollow feeling in his chest. It's what always settles inside of him after anger or fear. Following the line of a shooting star with his eyes, John makes a wish.

"Marston? You up there?" a voice shouts from below, startling John. It's uncanny how often Arthur shows up right when John thinks about him.

"Sure am," he shouts back before fishing a pack of smokes out of his pocket.

He listens to Arthur climbing their self-made ladder up to the tree house and lights his cigarette. Arthur crawls up and sits down next to him with a long sigh.

"Your dad a dick again?" he asks.

"Yupp," John says before taking a drag from his cigarette. "Full on dick, hairy balls and everything."

Arthur huffs a laugh before stealing the cigarette from John. "My folks are at it again. I think my mom's going to leave any day now."

The hollow feeling in John's chest gets worse. It's like stepping off the edge of a bottomless pit. "You'll go with her?"

"Naw. If she really goes through with it, she's better off without me."

"And your dad?"

"Who knows if he'll even notice," Arthur shrugs.

He leans over to give John his cigarette back before reaching into his pocket for a fresh pack.

"You got your own smokes? Why are you smoking mine then?"

"Sorry, I forgot. Force of habit." Arthur puts a fresh cigarette between his lips and taps his pockets before turning to John. "You got a light?"

"What would you do without me?" John teases and Arthur smiles.

"Not smoke and live a healthier life."

He keeps grinning about his own stupid joke, and John sits up, drawn to Arthur like the moth to a flame. Arthur's smile is dangerous. It sometimes pokes at the hollow feeling in John's chest as if it wants to take its place.

"Here," John says, leaning over to Arthur.

It's a stupid thing to do. After all, John could just give Arthur his lighter, but Arthur doesn't question it. He holds the tip of his cigarette against John's to light it.

While Arthur looks down to focus on what he's doing, John takes everything about Arthur in. His hair that's always on the side of too long but still never as shaggy as John's. His lashes and the clear cut jaw. His goddamn lips.

Arthur's the reason John knows he's not only into girls. They've only known each other for about a year, but John feels closer to Arthur than anybody else in his life and he wouldn't mind cranking it up a notch.

John's so lost in thought, he doesn't notice that Arthur looks up. His blue eyes are holding John's gaze, even when he draws back from the cigarette. The way Arthur looks at him always makes John feel as if he's made out of glass, unable to hide anything, especially not his immense crush on Arthur.

"You didn't think I forgot," Arthur says, confusing John even more.

"What?"

Arthur reaches into his pocket and brings out a small green bottle that he hands to John. "For you."

"Jägermeister? Seriously?"

"Hey, I paid for the smokes, that was all I could steal from my dad's stash."

"Yeah, but for what?"

Arthur stares at John as if he lost his mind. "Jesus, Marston, don't tell me you forgot your own fucking birthday."

A jolt rushes through John's body as if he got hit by lightning. He's been counting the days but completely forgot over all the arguments with his dad. Not that anybody else would remember, least of all his dad. Only Arthur.

"Fuck," John huffs and Arthur laughs.

"What would you do without me?"

"Not drink this shit and live a healthier life."

Arthur falls back, using his own arm as a makeshift pillow. "Happy birthday, dumbass."

"Seventeen," John says, turning the small bottle around in his hand. "As old as you are."

"Until my next birthday."

John knows Arthur's teasing him, but he doesn't mind. It's things like these that make their friendship work. Arthur actually cares. John just wishes he would care a little bit more.

"This is a shitty present," John says, making Arthur chuckle.

"Yeah? What would you want then?"

Of course, John knows, but he can't say that. The problem is that he can't think of anything else he'd want from Arthur. When he doesn't answer, Arthur throws away his cigarette and props himself up on his arms to look at John. His face says that he won't let this go, so John shrugs.

"It's alright. It's better than nothing."

"Oh, come on," Arthur says, his voice without ridicule for once. "Tell me what you want and I'm sure I can get it."

John bites his lip, unable not to look at Arthur's at the same time. The sheer thought of acting on his wish fills him with hope. They share everything and take care of each other, and this is Arthur, after all. He won't be mad.

"Marston?" Arthur asks and John can't help but lean over him.

He lets himself fall into the blue of Arthur's eyes, ready to drown. With every inch that John moves closer, he feels more out of breath and a helpless gasp escapes him when his lips hover so close over Arthur's that he can feel his warm breath.

The seconds tick by and John's about to retreat when Arthur lifts up his chin, just enough that their lips meet. It's not as wet as John imagined but soft and warm. They part, both taking a few shaky breaths before they both sit up.

John wants to apologize but Arthur nods to the bottle in his hand. "You gonna open this or what?"

"Sure," John says, clearing his throat.

He takes the first sip since it's his bottle after all, and they hand it back and forth a couple of times. John feels the alcohol and it's probably the only thing that keeps him from freaking out.

Arthur didn't take his head off for the kiss but they also didn't declare their undying love for each other. John doesn't know what it means, and he's too afraid to ask.

"John?" Arthur says, sending a shiver down his spine with the word. There's something up whenever Arthur calls him by his first name.

"Hm?" John hums, forcing himself to look at Arthur.

He smiles, that stupid Arthur smile that makes John's knees go weak. Then he reaches for his chin, a barely there touch to keep John in place before he leans in and kisses him again.

This time, it's a little wet, Arthur's tongue teasing John's, sharing the taste of Jägermeister and cigarettes. When they part, Arthur brushes John's hair back, and his fingers trail along John's cheek before he takes his hand away.

They look at each other for a long moment until Arthur's the one to clear his throat. "You could have just told me that you wanted to be boyfriends."

"Shut up," John grunts, punching Arthur's arm.

Arthur pushes his elbow in John's side and takes the bottle away from him. "We should just run away together."

"Yeah right," John says, before fishing the cigarettes out of Arthur's pocket. "And then what?"

"Get an apartment, jobs," Arthur says with a shrug. "I don't know. It can only get better than here."

John laughs. "Wait, now we're living together?"

"Sure," Arthur says, and he sounds so serious that his voice shakes John to the core, the one word filling that abyss in John's chest.

"When?" he asks, a sudden longing in his heart.

"When you can finally grow some hair on that chest," Arthur says with a laugh, tugging at John's shirt.

John groans and pushes Arthur over, crawling on top of him. "I'll show you what I can grow."

Arthur looks up at John with a dangerous spark in his eyes. "Promise?"

John doesn't care to answer. He kisses Arthur instead, and it's a few more hours before they climb the ladder back down, an empty bottle and a crumbled up cigarette pack staying behind.

#morston #rdr2 fanfic #my writing #modern au #fulfilled requests

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butiaintgonnaloveem · 4 years

Text

Keep Me Company

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader

Word Count: Approx 3300

Warnings: Adult language and situations, non-overly graphic sexual times

A/N: Written and submitted for @wi-deangirl77‘s That’s Some Supernatural Schitt writing challenge. Thanks for being patient!! And my gosh, @plaidstiel-wormstache was a magician with her beta skills.

Set sometime after S12. Arthur Ketch and the woman in this story have an established relationship. You know how it goes, something casual develops into something more...maybe.

Arrogant.

That’s what he is, but the word’s not sharp enough to be an insult. Not one he’d care about anyway.

“You seem a bit wound up. Something on your mind?” he asks.

She wants to tell him that she hates him. It’s the easy thing to do. It’s not even like he’s a good person, but it wouldn’t be true and he’d see it for exactly what it is - antagonism.

Always polite, patient, and god damn glorious in bed. He’s done nothing outright to deserve such wrath, either. Except for doing nothing out of the ordinary at all.

“How so?” she tries for casual and evidently fails based on the look of annoyance he throws her way.

“You’re quiet. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re bored.”

“Well…” she trails off, unsure of what to say or how to say it. She knew what came next - sex. Of course, before that there were drinks. Her glass would never be empty, from bar to table to the hotel suite, which is not usually the issue. Then there was dinner, followed by a dessert that would be left unfinished at the table. As she mulls it all over, she wonders if maybe that was where this night went wrong; unfinished thoughts clouded by alcohol, or maybe the wine was too relaxing. Either way, the brain to mouth filter malfunction was unstoppable.

“You should be nicer to me,” she blurts out.

That gets an eyebrow lift in response, then a squint as he thinks over her words. “I do believe I have behaved like the gentleman I was raised to be.”

“That’s not,” she heaves a sigh as she collects her thoughts, “I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then by all means, please elaborate,” he says as he sets the cloth napkin on the table and sits back. He’s letting her pick this fight and he knows it.

“I don’t appreciate being put on the spot.”

“I don’t appreciate my companion keeping secrets from me.”

That word. So emotionless and generic. It’s what sets her off.

“You know that you sound like Humperdinck?”

“What?”

“Your voice, your accent. You sound like Prince Humperdinck from ‘The Princess Bride.’ He was an arrogant asshole too.”

His lips purse and she watches the corner of his mouth twitch. “What, exactly, does that have to do with our evening?”

“Nothing. It just annoys me.”

He scrutinizes her, “I see.” He calls for the check and doesn’t bother to initiate further conversation. He still gets up first and helps to pull out her chair for her. Then guides her with a hand at her waist, and steps forward to open doors.

The car ride is silent aside from the quiet music playing and while it’s not comfortable, she’s also foolishly not telling him the night is over. Her back aches from the tension and from twisting her body to face away from him and toward the window. The dark tinted glass doesn’t give much of a view of the outside, but she can watch his reflection from time to time as it catches the light and catches him with that damn smirk of his.

Arrogant and smug, what a combination.

When they finally make it into the hotel suite, he drops the careful grin he used in public, twisting his neck with obvious annoyance.

“Well now, shall we talk like adults or do you plan to insult me for the evening?” He pulls the door closed behind her and then moves to the closet, meanwhile she stands still in the entryway of the suite, stubborn.

“I can do both.”

“As fun as that sounds, it’s not what I had in mind for our time together.” He removes his jacket and hangs it in the closet, smoothing down its front before turning back to her.

“Right, because that would mess up your routine, and here we are already ahead of schedule.” She turns so the zipper of her dress is facing him, “Go ahead, let’s do this.”

He pauses with one hand at the knot of his tie, ready to loosen it. Again, the look of scrutiny aimed her way. “Ahead of schedule? What does that mean?”

She turns to him and sighs, her expression flat, she was fed up. “It means, Arthur, that every time we do this, it’s the same thing. A call, a fancy dinner, drinks, dessert, then back to the hotel suite, another drink, you undress me and then we end up in bed.”

“It’s more than that,” he argues half-heartedly, “And you’ve never left unsatisfied.” It almost sounds like a question, or perhaps an accusation.

“That’s true, but…”

“But what?” he steps closer, hands in his pockets and face unreadable.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Her face burns hot, hating herself immediately for how needy it sounds.

He stares, his face unchanging. His breathing measured and posture the usual - upright and commanding.

Her body burns hot and cold while her stomach twists and flips. She’s afraid to move because just about anything might set off the instinct to cry at the moment, either from anger or embarrassment. She tries to keep the tremble from her voice as she asks the next question on her mind.

“Maybe this one is easier: would you miss me if you never saw me again?”

“You know that in this line of work--” He begins, calm, rehearsed, but it angers her further.

Arrogant, smug, and standoffish.

“I am not asking for promises. Jesus Christ, I know exactly how things are, I don’t need a speech about how we might die on a hunt, about how we need to focus on the bigger picture. Okay? I know all of that.” Her face falls, “I also know that you are not the heartless killing machine that people describe you as.”

He opens his mouth to deny it but she cuts him off.

“No! No, Arthur. I mean, yes, you kill, but you’re allowed to care for people too. Like it or not, you cared for Toni in some way I will never understand, and,” she hesitates, “And there was Mary Winchester.”

He visibly reels just at the name, but does well to keep control over his reaction, not letting much more out even as he speaks. “Why? Admitting something like that puts us both in danger, allows others to use it against you, and for what? A moment of happily ever after? To satisfy your curiosity or to feel as though you’ve won?”

“You’re not void of emotion, no matter how hard those bastards tried to beat it out of you. I feel like you care, and I’ll admit that I want you to. But whether you honestly do or don’t, I just don’t want to feel like a whore you pay for with an expensive meal and a hot shower. If nothing else, don’t you at least consider me a friend? Or is ‘companion’ really the best I am ever gonna get?”

In a blink, he resets to a more neutral expression, lips only slightly pursed as he thinks. “Is all this really because I called you my companion at dinner?” He turns and moves to a marble counter, pouring the bourbon into two tumbler glasses. He hands one to her and out of habit, she takes it, hand trembling, holding it to her chest as she watches him take a large sip.

“I don’t need you to tell me anything that isn’t true.” Her gaze drops to the amber liquid in the glass, “I don’t need promises or anything else. But, what I do want is to know that I am not just a placeholder, or a warm body.” Looking back up, she checks he’s listening, seeing if her words are hitting their mark, “I care about you, and I would sure as hell miss you if you left my life after tonight. I just...I just want to know that...God this all sounds so much worse than I imagined.” She turns and paces away, fingers swiping along her bottom lashes to collect the tears gathering.

“I thought you weren’t asking for promises,” he accuses.

“I’m not!” She erupts. She immediately realizes it was the wrong reaction as he squares his shoulders and widens his stance for an argument. After taking a sip and letting it slowly roll down her throat, she softens her tone and tries another approach, “I’m asking for emotion, for you to tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see a difference.”

Arrogant, smug, standoffish, and dense.

“You’re serious?”

“I would hardly call myself an expert on this subject. And by subject, I mean genuine human emotion. Though, you know, it never ends well for those who want the best of both worlds. Believe me, it’s best to draw the line right there.” He tells her, using his free hand to indicate an imaginary line, but failing to meet her eyes.

And there it is, slight as could be, but still a chink in his armor. There was the man she knew wanted affection, but denied himself at every turn.

“Yeah, I am getting that. For all your skills picked up from the Men of Letters, how are you so terrible at this?” She takes another sip from her glass, “Nevermind. Do not answer that.”

Arrogant, smug, standoffish, dense, abstentious.

She takes a moment, weighing the pros and cons of her thought before expressing it out loud, “Do you think that avoiding happiness is going to keep you from being hurt?”

He scoffs, slipping the tie loose from his collar and pulling it from around his neck. In an uncharacteristic move, Arthur drops it onto the chair nearby instead of neatly setting it away. He sips on his drink while considering the question, eyes wandering like the answer might suddenly appear written on the walls. Moments pass during the quiet, but when he finally lifts his head to speak, his expression has softened.

“I don’t avoid happiness.” He talks as he sets his drink down and moves towards her, “I have plenty in my life to keep me happy,” he takes her drink from her hand, “I try, and evidently fail, to avoid attachment or sentiment.”

He takes her hand, pulling it up to his mouth and kissing across her knuckles, then turning it over and gently placing a kiss to her palm. He then turns her hand again, leaning his cheek into it, meeting her curious gaze.

“I see the weakness in those who invest too much in others. I’ve felt it in myself. Misplaced expectations and projections of fears and needs muddling things up.” He grips her other hand and holds it between their chests, tight but not too tight. It’s meant to keep her attention on him, not that she could focus on anything else when he’s that close and unguarded.

“With something to lose it’s nearly impossible to make the hard choices, and that is who I am. I’m the one called in for the less appealing jobs; someone with nothing to lose and no one to leave behind.”

“Arthur,” she whispers, heart aching and chest tight with hurt. But not by his words this time, by the truth in his tone. Hurt for him.

“It’s alright, love. It’s the role I play,” He lets their hands drop from his cheek, his grip loose in her hand, but she clutches it tighter.

“Do you really believe you wouldn’t leave anything behind?” She asks, watching him, waiting for another flicker, some small flinch to indicate he would let himself have this.

He frowns at her, like an animal that can see so plainly the object of desire, and yet knows there’s a trap they can’t make out. He pulls his hand from hers and turns.

“Nothing but ghosts, and maybe a few women,” He huffs, trying to turn the heaviness of the question into a joke.

That’s it, that’s the last rejection she can take. She turns for the door, even opens it, before he’s in front of her, stopping her, eyes full of terror for abandonment.

“Don’t leave,” tries to order, but winces at the desperation in his voice.

“Ask me to stay,” She whispers. “Or tell me that I mean nothing to you and let me leave. You really can’t be that desperate for a fuck, can you?” She stares at him dead-on, letting him hear it in her words, and read it in her body language that she isn’t bluffing.

“I…” He clears his throat, straightens his shoulders, trying to gain control of the situation, while fidgeting with discomfort. When he doesn’t say anything, she makes another move for the door behind him.

“Stay.” He watches her, as if unaware he’s said it.

Vulnerable. A word she never thought she would use for him.

She doesn’t need him to say it again, she heard it loud and clear. It doesn’t stop the knee-jerk reaction as she stares back and eloquently asks, “What?”

“You know, I don’t often make requests unless I am certain I will get what I want,” he tries for the usual Ketch swagger, but it sounds more broken than anything.

“I couldn’t have been more clear that all you had to do was ask.”

“Then stay?”

They watch each other for a few seconds, making certain that neither would move. She lets go of the door, allowing it to slam shut behind her, then puts a hand at the back of his neck and pulls him in to kiss her. He’s pliant, but steady as he goes along with her guidance. His one arm reaches around her waist while the other spreads wide at the back of her head, holding her mouth to his.

His feet move along as she shuffles them back toward the bed, but he stops them before they can tumble onto the sheets.

He pulls away, eyes steely blue and dark, and huffing breaths against her cheek. “It was never my intention to make you feel unappreciated.” His fingers move while he speaks, nimble fingers pulling down the zipper of her dress and letting it fall open and loose on her back.

She looks up at him, making certain he sees the genuine acceptance she offers, “I know.” She shrugs her shoulders, letting the straps fall and the fabric begin to fold down and around her, caught over his hands.

He slowly begins to lower himself down to the ground, onto his knees, hands gently skimming over her body, her dress following, before both rest at her hips, eyes never leaving hers. “I certainly never intended to make you feel unwanted.”

A trembling breath passes between her lips while she looks down at him. He stares back confidently yet penitent as he kneels in front of her, hands spreading over her as though eager to grab, but full of restraint and remaining tender.

“I fully intend to make it up to you,” his voice is soft and steady. His thumbs move to meet at the center of her stomach, just below her belly button. Then, with fingers spread wide, he slides them down, pulling the dress until it falls in a circle around her feet. He hums and looks her up and down appreciatively, “Many, many times over.”

Sometimes he can be vulnerable and affectionate, too.

She looks up and says a silent ‘thank you’ to no one in particular. Her hands rest at her sides, sometimes flinching when his touch almost tickles, but patiently waiting as he teases her. His lips skim along the skin above her underwear, and his hands roam across her lower back, ass, and the backs of her thighs. His breaths are warm and controlled, heating her skin as he moves close, but not exactly to where she is starting to grow wet.

Her own breaths become shaky and uneven as she waits for what feels like an unfair amount of time, one hand clenched in a fist as she debates just shoving her fingers into her own underwear to get things moving along. With the other, she pushes through his hair. It’s longer than he’s kept it before, and she can feel where it’s twisting into curls at the ends. Her fingertips tickle along the back of his neck, just under his hairline, feeling the sweat already start to dampen his collar.

She pulls her hand back to drag her nails through, drawing a low growl from him that she feels more than she hears. He tilts his head with the movement her hand as it strokes through his hair and he stares up at her again, pink splotches marking his cheekbones and giving away his excitement.

“You can really get started with that anytime now,” she tries to joke, but it’s edged with desperation.

“As you wish,” he says with a playful glint in his eye.

She gasps, “You -” but doesn’t finish because of course he takes that moment to start to press his thumb in circles of pressure over her, making her nerves tingle, setting off a rush of pleasure. “Ohh. More,” she whispers.

He cheekily replies again, “As you wish.”

Vulnerable, affectionate, playful.

There is no stopping her smile now, “You bastard,” she accuses, but the insult falls as flat as she does as he pushes her down to the bed. She lands with a surprised laugh which turns airy as he pulls her underwear down from her waist.

He starts to kiss at her calf, moving his way up her legs with his mouth and hands constantly wandering, massaging, tickling. “I am a bastard, but I still know the classics. I am certainly more like Westley than you give me credit for.”

“Tell me how perfect my breasts are then,” she mumbles.

He chuckles and stops at the tops of her thighs, muttering something that sounds like an affirmation before he uses just his fingertips to graze along her sensitive skin. He watches for a few seconds as he spreads her wetness back and forth. She feels the heat of his breath as he moves in, and gently presses his lips and the tip of his tongue against her. When he places his mouth on her, she immediately bucks up into him, greedy for pressure and movement.

With a blink, he turns his look upward, leering at her. His lips spread slightly as he applies more pressure, allowing two of his fingers to tease at her entrance, all while he watches for her reactions.

She remains still, playing along with his little game for a moment, but when he slides away, just shy of where she wants his fingers, she loses all patience.

“What happened to making it up to me?” She pushes herself up to rest on her elbows.

He shifts himself onto the bed until he is face to face with her again, looking her over as though trying to memorize her.

“Well, you are going to stay, aren’t you?” He stares into her eyes as he waits for her answer.

“Yes,” she tells him, unwavering.

“Well then,” he slides back down her body, stopping to kiss across her collarbone and down one breast, and then the other. The soft kisses tickle more than they linger, but lead in a direct path back between her legs, where he settles on his knees on the floor. “I’ve got time, haven’t I?”

Thorough. That’s another word for him.

#arthur ketch x reader #arthur ketch fanfiction #arthur ketch fanfic #spn fanfic #spn reader insert #arthur ketch smut #spn smut #my writing

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neon-junkie · 4 years

Text

Lovesick - Chpt.1&2

Summary: The last thing Micah Bell ever expected to happen in his storm of a life is for him to get soft on a woman, but that's exactly what's happened. And now, Micah has to figure out if he wants to keep suppressing those feelings or finally act on them.

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 4414

Rating: SFW

Tags: Pining, Secret admirer, Feelings denial/realisation, Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Mental breakdowns, Crying, Slow burn, Friends to lovers, Falling in love, Mostly Micahs POV.

Notes: I really really really really really enjoy the idea of Micah getting super-duper soft on someone and struggling with those mushy feelings, so why not write a multi-chapter fic about it?? This was heavily inspired by the song 'Whiskey - Tejon Street Corner Thieves'. I can totally picture Micah being the kinda guy to suppress his mushy feeling with alcohol. I was gonna make this a short fic where a very drunk Micah confronts the reader like "ahh I'm drunk and i hate you because you make me feel like this," and then I got carried away because I'm a sucker for super slow burn >:)

He hates you. He despises you. Even just the thought of you makes him sick to his stomach, sick to the point where he can barely stand up straight. And whenever he sees you? Whenever you come over to him with that soft smile on your face and talk to him as if he's a normal human being? God. That makes him so much worse. He hates the way you make him feel, the way no woman should make him feel. He'll happily point and laugh at any man that allows a woman to tell him what to do, to make a man soft and worship the ground she walks on. But Micah's found himself in the last predicament that he thought he'd ever end up in; he was expecting to finally have a noose stay around his neck and steal him from this world, but instead, he finds himself here. Micah looks up from his knife, sharpening it over and over whilst he leans against a tree on the outskirts of camp. It's gentle out here, calming, with a pretty view of the red sand that welcomes the lake as the waves rock back and forth. But no picturesque setting can at least settle the flames that burn inside of him. Micah's always been a loose cannon, a devil walking amongst the earth. He never really questions his actions, he just does them, especially when the bastards on the other end of his gun deserve it. But that fire inside of him is slowly turning into a sickness, a dizzy and sweaty sickness that makes him question his actions simply because he worries about what you'd think.

He was so disappointed in himself the first time it happened. He'd trailed across to Valentine saloon with yourself and a few other camp members, only because you'd invited him. The other men didn't pay much attention to him, but you did. You stuck beside him all night, practically pouring liquor down his throat as he tried to calm that feeling he gets whenever he's within ten meters of you. A stranger had tried to grab you on your way back over to the table, and Micah was straight to his feet, storming over and landing a punch perfectly on that poor fuckers nose. At first, you were glad that Micah had your back. But the more punches Micah landed, the more that stranger's face turned blue. You only had to bark Micah's name once to catch his attention; his head perked up, the stranger's blood splattered across his face, but his wild eyes had calmed the second he locked onto you. He dropped that man to the floor and left him to the elements, following you out the Saloon and apologizing over and over for getting so carried away. "He shouldn't have touched you," Micah had told you. "I know, and I appreciate you sticking up for me, but you got so carried away. He's probably gonna die from those injuries. You've gotta stop being so bloodthirsty," you told him as he helped you up onto your mount, climbing on top of Baylock shortly after. "Bloodthirsty?" Micah questioned. The word echoed throughout his brain, settling in his stomach as his nerves were turned to a different kind of mush. He felt cold and isolated, like he had disappointed you and ruined any chance of you ever falling for him, not that there probably was a chance to begin with. "Yeah, bloodthirsty," you repeated, nodding at the same time. He apologized to you again and told you he'd sort himself out, that he'd stop acting on impulse and anger. You tried to laugh it off with him; "Of course you will, and I'll grow wings and fly." Micah laughed along with you but the fact that you doubted him so much kept him awake for days, not that he sleeps much anyway. How dare you. How dare you have such power over him, despite not even being his, or being aware of it. Sure, you're kind and polite to him, but you have no ties to him. You've barely flirted with him, and surprisingly, he hasn't tried flirting with you either. Whenever you're around he can't put on that cheesy act, he can't throw a few pick up lines your way and hope for the best. Micah finds himself actually wanting to impress you, to show you his best side in hopes of winning you over. It's sickening. Micah scowls and sharpens his blade a little harsher. He's not frustrated at you, not one bit, but he definitely is frustrated at himself. He can't believe he's fallen for a woman; he's not just fallen, he's tripped over and fell face-first into a ten feet deep grave, and he wouldn't be surprised if you decided to leave him down there, or bury him alive. Amos once used a specific word when he first started feeling like this when he met his wife - lovesick. Micah hates that word, he despises it, but only because he can feel it right now. It fits so perfectly, so snug. To be in love with someone so much that they physically make you sick. It's amazing how one person can do that to another and not even be aware of it. Micah's surprisingly acted like his usual self when he's around you, though the odd stutter has slipped out, along with his hands that are now almost always clammy. He hopes you haven't noticed it, especially when he put a wad of cash in your hands after a robbery you'd assisted him with. He has slipped up once though, and he knows he slipped up because you approached him the next day to check if he was alright, to which he excused himself again and ran off. It was hard not to notice the mess Micahs knuckles were in the day after that saloon fight; they were swollen, an array of purple and red blotches, some parts of his skin had even torn. "That looks nasty," you said as you caught Micah's attention. He brushed it off, saying it was nothing, but you continued to push at it. "I've got something that might help, let me go fetch it," you said. Before Micah could protest, you'd already ran off. He took a seat at the campfire with you and on command, held his hand out. Micah watched you as you dabbed the ointment onto a cloth and then oh god, you're holding his hand. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Your fingertips are pressed against his palm, your skin against his, as your other hand holds the damp cloth onto his knuckles. Was this it? Was this the day that Micah was going to embarrass himself in front of you? Was he going to throw up? Maybe pass out? You're being so kind and gentle, helping heal his wounds, something that nobody has ever done before. "She's just a friend, she's just being kind to you," Micah tells himself over and over, trying to remind himself that you'd never fall for a devil like him. "How longs this gonna take?" Micah asks, trying to mentally prepare himself for however long he's going to feel sick for. "Oh? You got places to be, Micah?" you ask with a laugh, eyes briefly meeting his before focusing on his hand again. "I'm a busy man, sweetheart. Someones gotta bring in the money," he tells you. Oops. The pet name didn't mean to slip out, but you don't cast a scowl or begin to hurdle abuse at him, you seem to barely notice it. "Of course you are, Micah. The busiest man in the camp, always sharpening his knife or cleaning his guns," you say with a laugh. "I mean it. I've got a robbery that needs attending to," Micah lies, though you seem to be falling for it. "Fine, fine," you sigh, moving your hands off Micahs. You look up at Micah, expecting him to thank you and leave, but he sits there blankly. "Well? Ain't you gotta go rob some folk?" you ask. "Yeah, sure. I'll see you around, thanks again," Micah quickly mutters before jumping to his feet and running off. He managed to rob a few folk on his ride around the area, the ride that was meant to settle his nerves and clear his mind. It worked, and Micah felt like his normal self once he began robbing folk, but all his progress crashed and burned when he trailed back into camp that night and accidentally locked eyes with you. What a fool this man is. The sound of your laughter catches Micahs attention. He's been stood leaning against this tree for god knows how long, thinking about you, not that his mind isn't always occupied with thoughts of you. But that's a different kind of laugh you're letting out, one that Micah's only heard when it surprisingly been directed at him. He peers over his shoulder and gazes into camp to find you talking to Arthur. He's babbling away about whatever, talking to a few of the girls though you're sat amongst them. They're all laughing along with him, and Micah isn't sure if you're laughing louder than the others, or if he's just more focused on you. But either way, it hurts. Micah hates feeling jealous, just as much as he hates feeling lovesick. But Arthur? Why does Arthur have to be the one to make you laugh like that? Why can't he just fuck off and leave at least one of the women available? He's a big, dumb idiot, but he knows how to make the women swoon, especially all the camp ones. Micah holsters his knife and throws the whetstone to the floor in anger. As the stone hits the ground, he instantly regrets his outburst, knowing that if you saw that, you'd be disappointed in him for acting out in anger. He checks over his shoulder but you've thankfully not noticed, still fixated on that big dummy. Micah rubs his face, trying to brush away that feeling inside of him but it's no use. He hears your laughter again and begins walking away. He needs to get away from that situation. He doesn't want to hear nor see other men flirting with you, not only because he gets jealous, but because it reminds him that you'd never go for a man like him. Maybe Micah should avoid you for a while? Maybe he should give himself some space in hopes of killing off all those feelings he has for you? ------- Micah's not been seen around camp for a week now. He left in the night without telling anybody where he's going, not even Dutch. He's occupied his time well, doing all his favourite things and visiting two close friends of his. His thoughts of you become less and less, and eventually, he feels settled enough to return to camp, ready to suppress those feelings and push you away. He returns during the evening, trotting back into Clemens Point to overhear Pearson shouting that dinner was ready. Baylock is hitched and his saddle is removed, swung over the hitching post so his mount can relax. Micah spends the evening lounging about, speaking to a few camp members, half-eating his food, the usual stuff, but there's been no sign of you. Good. He doesn't need to see you right now. The night is spent drinking with Bill before he goes off on guard duty, leaving Micah to have another glass of whiskey on his own. Nature eventually calls, and Micah forces himself to his feet so he can wander off into the forest and empty his bladder. He hums to himself as he does so, his feet stumbling ever so slightly but he only considers himself tipsy. If a stranger were to waltz into camp with their guns blazing, Micah knows he's somewhat sober enough to take them on, and that's the only reason why he doesn't consider himself to be drunk. He takes his time wandering back into camp but a noise in the distance perks his ears up. Micah stands still, his feet coming to the halt so he can focus on the sound rather than the crunching earth beneath his feet. It's a whimper, as if a baby deer has been left by itself nearby, no momma to be found. Micah follows the sound, curious to know what's crying out nearby. He'd normally ignore it, but his gut is telling him to follow, even though he told himself that he'd stop listening to his gut so much as it always got him caught up in some kind of trouble, usually feelings related. Micah wanders well into the outskirts of camp, trailing down along the shoreline and coming to a halt when he finds the source of the sound. It's you, your knees up to your chin with your arms wrapped around them. You're sobbing into your lap, your knees muffling most of your cries though some had seemed to slip out. Micah finds himself in a predicament and curses whoever is in the sky for pulling him into this one. Should he sneak away and let the guilt of knowing he left you alone to cry settle on his shoulders for however long it chooses to stay? Or should he go over and comfort you, knowing that sickness inside of him will spark up again? Although, it's already begun to return. He sighs as he rests his hands on his hips. There's no getting rid of these feelings, is there? This isn't a somewhat simple matter where he can pull his revolvers out and shoot at the thing that's eating him up. This is something new, something that he can't just run away from, though this isn't the first time he's run away from his feelings. Micah knows that if the situations were reversed, that you'd come running over to let him cry into your arms. And as much as he wants to, he doesn't want those feeling to begin controlling him again. Before Micah can make a decision, his feet are already pacing over to you. It seems he was set on his decision the second he saw you like this, and he was only stalling to try and prepare himself for those feelings to return. Micah clears his throat, catching your attention. "You alright?" he asks with that drawl, though he knows what your answer is. A pair of glossy eyes look up to meet his, and Micah feels his heart beginning to melt at the sight. "Sweetheart," Micah sighs without realising, settling down beside you. "I'm fine, Micah. Really," you tell him as you wipe your eyes, letting your legs settle and no longer be bunched up against your chest. "Now, I know that ain't true," he shakes his head. "What's a matter?" he asks. You give your eyes another rub as you clear your throat. "Y-you ever think you're alone in this world? Like, I know I ain't technically alone, but I sure do feel it," you tell him without hesitation, knowing that Micah is the kind of person who can relate. The other camp members would begin to tell you how many people are here for you, trying to reassure you, and although that's a kind gesture, it's not the one you're looking for. Micah, on the other hand, knows what true loneliness is like - to have nobody but yourself, and to be like that for years on end. Maybe you were two sides of the same coin. His ears perk up at your words, surprised that you felt such a way. It tugs on his heartstrings, an organ that everybody doubts Micah has, but you're the only person who seems to remind him that he does have a heart after all. "I know what that feels like," Micah says with a laugh. "I'm surprised you feel like that, 'specially with being the camp's favourite," he continues, his eyes flicking out at the water before returning back to you. "I wouldn't call myself that, I'm no Arthur. I know I fit in just fine, but there's only so much a group of friends can do, you know?" "Oh, I don't exactly know how that feels, sweetheart. But I understand what you're feeling. You're lonely-lonely, ain'tcha?" Micah asks, and doesn't seem surprised when you nod in agreement. "Mhmm," he hums, "I know how that feels." "Ain't you ever had someone be sweet on you before, Micah?" you ask him. Micah can't help but laugh a little at your question, assuring himself that you know what his answers going to be. "Course not," he replies somewhat confidently, though he doesn't seem proud with his reply. "I'm surprised," you tell him. Micahs eyes flick over to you like a spooked owl, uncertain if he heard exactly what he thought you said. "You're what?" Micah questions, his face relaxing as he tries not to look a wide range of negative emotions, ones that he'd rather not show. "I'm surprised. I know the camp doesn't exactly like you, but you've always been so kind to me. You've helped me out on more than one occasion without me asking for it, you'll carry my ass during a gunfight, and you always seem to give to me but never take. Hell, you're here comforting me now when I'm certain some folk would have pretended not to notice me," you tell him. Micah has to dip his head a little as you speak, covering his eyes with the brim of his hat. You can tell that nobody has ever said such words to him, though he's doing a good job of suppressing that sickness inside of him, preventing it from coming up to the surface to show you just how soft he is on you. He's meant to be a rugged outlaw, a man that kills and robs for fun, when really he feels like a child at Christmas whenever he's near you. "Guess that's what friends are for, huh?" Micah replies, trying to keep his gaze hidden and his eyes forward. "Yeah," you nod, moving your eyes over to the scenery. You can't help that a lone tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, a leftover from earlier, but Micah looks at you from under the brim of his hat at just the right time to see it escape. You've done a good job at suppressing the loneliness inside of you for so long, but every now and again, your emotions get the better of you and you just need to let it all out. "Hey," Micah says as he sits upright, reaching out to wipe the lone tear from your cheek without thinking about it. "You still got some left inside of ya?" he questions, to which you nod in agreement. "You need a shoulder to cry on?" Micah asks, his stomach turning at the thought of you finding comfort in him. He's expecting you to brush it off, to say you're fine, but instead, you're nodding again and shuffling closer to him. At first, you simply lean against his shoulder, your cheek and temple pressed against his red shirt. You cling onto his arm like a nervous child, letting your tears flow once again. Micah's trying his best not to feel sick; he's never had somebody find comfort in him before, even though you're only clinging onto his arm, but it's enough to soften his heart and cloud his mind. A choked sob escapes your lips and Micah finally snaps at the sound of you in pain. Without thinking, he scoops you up, pulling you onto his lap and holding you tightly against his chest. There's a brief pause from you and Micah's certain that he's finally done it - he's finally stuck his foot into a door that should be closed, but his mind eases out as your arms wrap around him and your head buries deeper into his chest. The feeling of your tears against his skin makes Micah hold his breath, eventually letting it out slowly as he rests his chin on the top of your head. He's not quite sure what to do with his hands; one rests on your waist, whilst the other begins to trail up and down your back, comforting you in an uncertain way as he's never done this before, but he seems to be a natural as you find peace in this storm of a man. Micah hears you let out another choked sob and he holds onto you a little tighter. "Let it all out," he coos in a voice so soft that it could send a lamb to sleep. He's taken aback, not knowing he had such softness inside of him. Micah has to hear that tone again, to remind himself that he has that ability to be so gentle. "I'm here for ya," he says, the words slipping out of his mouth. The faint sound of a "thank you," from your lips finally melts Micahs ice-cold heart. And to think, this time yesterday he was pacing around his camp, telling himself over and over that he wasn't going to let 'any damn woman' turn him into such a mess. Maybe he could make an exception? Well, he knows he can because he already has. You take your time, letting out all the tears you have left. It feels nice to have somebody comforting you, especially as it's someone you weren't expecting. Everybody needs to cry sometimes, and you're sure Micah knows that far too well. Within time, you feel yourself calming down. Your lungs and muscles begin to relax, your breaths becoming longer and deeper, and your eyes are no longer glossy. You continue to take comfort in the man wrapped around you, holding onto him a little tighter as you move your head from his loosely buttoned shirt, up to the curve of his neck. His beard brushes over your forehead, but his cheek eventually rests against it as his body relaxes. This is a feeling that Micah could definitely get used to - the feeling of you snuggled up to him, your body fitting perfectly against his like a two-piece puzzle, even though he's struggled to put the pieces together for so long. That sickly feeling in his stomach is slowly settling, moving up his body and burning in his chest, though he prefers the burning over the sickness. "How're you feelin'?" Micah asks you, giving your back another gentle rub. "I'm getting there," you tell him. "Got a headache now though," you say with a slight laugh. "Must be dehydrated, though it's good you let them tears out," he replies. "You want me to go fetch you a drink?" Micah offers. He'd rather sit here with you in his arms, but he'd put your needs over his wants any day. "You've done enough for me, lettin' me cry all over you and soak your shirt," you say with a laugh. "I should probably get to bed anyway," you sigh, not wanting to move though you assume Micah is sick of you crying all over him by now. You're definitely mistaken. "C'mon then. Let's get you to bed," he says, his voice still as soft as earlier. That softness is intoxicating, a gentleness that you've never seen before; it urges you to hold onto him and never let go, but you force yourself off him, shuffling away so Micah can slowly get up onto his feet. You give your eyes another rub and as you open them, Micahs hand is out waiting for you. He helps you up and almost seems reluctant to move his hand away, but he forces himself to, not wanting to cross any boundaries. He walks you back to camp. It's silent for once, surprisingly peaceful as nobody is up drinking, singing, telling stories around the campfire. Micah urges you to get to bed whilst he fetches you a drink and you do so, scooting into your enclosed tent. "Here," Micah says as he crouches down in the entrance and hands you a cup of water. You gulp it down before thanking him, filling your body with the water you'd lost during your breakdown. "Now get some sleep. You must be exhausted," Micah coos. He's about to stand up and leave you to it, but you call out his name. Micah turns his attention back to you, a pair of sad eyes in the darkness of your tent. All he wants is to crawl in and settle down beside you, sleeping peacefully for once, but only because he doesn't feel like he needs to keep his guard up around you. "Thank you," you tell him again, a lot clearer than your sobbed manners from earlier. "S'alright, darlin'," Micah replies with a small nod. He flashes you a smile before finally getting up and leaving, letting you enjoy a well-needed rest. Micah trails over to his usual spot by the campfire. That feeling of whiskey in his blood is long gone by now; the shock of seeing you in such a state must have sobered him up, and he doesn't feel the need to pick up another bottle and begin wrestling those emotions again. He's somewhat content, though he fears that this was just a chance encounter, that tomorrow you'll be back to being the camp's favourite member to flirt with, and he'll have to stand on the sidelines and watch but be too scared to take any action. However, Micah feels calm enough to get some rest, even if it is just letting his head dip and having a snooze on this uncomfortable chair. It's better than nothing, and he knows he'll be awake before anybody else, preventing them from seeing him in his most vulnerable state. If only you had asked him to stay. Micahs mind becomes clouded with the thought of curling up beside you. He'd rest however you want, cuddling or not; he'd even be happy if you turned away from him or just used his body for some extra warmth. Micah wants to tell himself off, to slap himself around the face for being so desperate for your affection, but he'll allow himself to dream about such things just for tonight. The thought of settling down beside you sends him to sleep, with his hands resting on his stomach and one ankle crossed over the other.

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Text

Red Dead Secret Santa

Howdy @mileycyprus-hill I’m your secret Santa this year! I hope you like my gift to you!

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Arthur sits astride his horse, his fingers aching from the cold. He shaked his hand a little, trying to fend off the ever-pressing chill. Even inside these rabbit-fur gloves, the low temperature bites his skin. Not only that, but his toes are chilled, his nose, his neck and ears. The one thing that keeps him warm is the thought of coming home to you and his two children.

You’ve been Arthur’s anchor for many years now. Even before the gang fell apart, you were his rock. His best decision was to marry you, and his two favorite days were when his children were born. However, despite having a proper home now where you can live a quiet, peaceful, and most of all safe life, Arthur still has his wandering spirit. He definitely doesn’t stay away for as long of periods as when he was just a gang member. Usually he’s only out a couple of days.

He’d left three days ago to go “hunting with John”. Or that’s what he told you and the kids. In reality, he’d taken a trip down to Blackwater to do some last minute Christmas shopping. He wanted something special for all three of you, and luckily Blackwater, being the large port for trade that it was, provided just that. After he’d done some shopping, he’d continued wandering to hunt for game, mostly as an excuse to you for being gone so long.

The wind blows hard again, picking up a cloud of the freshly fallen snow and nearly taking his hat. His hand steadies it, securing it back onto his head and keeping him warm. Oh what he wouldn’t give to be in his warm home with the most important things to him. The steady mare beneath him snorts, seeming just as miserable as him. He pats her neck. “Almost home, girl.”

Around him, the iconic sharp mountains south of Valentine appear out of the fog. They’re covered in a beautiful blanket of snow, thanks to the major winter storm that had come through the night before. He looks up at the darkening sky, feeling even colder at the sight of the thick clouds.

After another hour of riding, Arthur finally reaches the fork in the trail that will lead him home. Just as the snow begins drifting down in fat flakes again, he sees the lights of his cabin. His heart lifts at the sight, thinking about your face.

When his mare’s in her stall with some food and a blanket on, he heads to the cabin with the gifts tucked away inside the furs in his arms. The moment he opens the door, he hears a squeal. Smiling, he drops his load on the floor and bends down to pick his five year old daughter up.

“Papa!” she huffs in his face. She pokes his red nose. “Cold, papa.”

“Yep, I’m cold, darlin’.”

“I get a blanket, papa,” she says and he puts her down, chuckling as her short legs carry her off. His eyes immediately find you. His entire body warms at the sight of you coming over to him to greet him with a kiss. He returns it enthusiastically, loving the feeling of you in his arms again, right where you belong.

“Where’s my boah?” he asks gently when you pull away.

As though on queue, the two year old comes toddling out. He’s carrying his stuffed horse, his eyes the same color as yours nearly hidden under his mop of dirty blond hair. “Pa!” he hollers at seeing Arthur. Once again, he bends down to pick up his son.

“Hey son. You been good for your mama?”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” you tease, patting Arthur’s back as you go over to the stove to pull dinner off.

Smiling, Arthur puts his son down and then takes off his winter gear before helping you pull out the dishes.

“Mm, smells so good, darlin’,” he says, looking at the meal before him. He’s just glad he got home in enough time to eat with his family. “So, how was our little girl?”

You sigh a bit. Your daughter has always been a daddy’s girl and when Arthur leaves, she can be a downright nightmare. She pouts a lot, but the likelihood of her throwing a tantrum multiplies by ten. “She’s… well, you know how she is.”

Arthur smiles and decides to go and find her. After all, wasn’t she getting him a blanket? He goes to her room that she shares with her brother and finds her laying in bed on her favorite blanket. She instantly grins when she sees him and he knows she’s been waiting for him to come fetch her.

“Come on, baby. You gonna come eat?”

“I have a blanket, papa.”

He chuckles and picks her up, her blanket still clutched to her. She instantly lays her head on his chest. He loves how cuddly she is with him. He remembers briefly how when she was about a year old, she’d gotten sick. Both you and him were so scared she’d die, and Arthur spent many nights with her tucked against his chest as he sat in a rocking chair by the fire, trying to keep her alive. Ever since then, she’d been his biggest fan.

When he walks out with her in his arms, you smile again and the four of you sit down to eat. Arthur silently says a thank you to whomever might be listening that he got home tonight. After all, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. He wouldn’t miss spending it with his family for anything in the world.

The next day is spent in some chaos. You and Arthur always clean the house from top to bottom during the day of Christmas Eve, hampered by your two kids. Although your daughter tries to help, she’s only five. Plus it’s Christmas, which means she’s more hyper than if you’d let her drink some of your morning coffee. Her brother isn’t much better, and being two he’s as destructive as a tornado. However, you and Arthur manage to keep them mostly in check. It’s still a relief when night comes and you can finally sit down to eat dinner.

Arthur always catches a wild turkey for Christmas Eve dinner and this year is no exception. If Arthur prides himself on anything, it’s his ability to take care of his family. He sometimes regrets not giving the same attention to Eliza and Isaac when they were alive, but he’s grown a lot since they died. When the gang fell apart, it really shook his world but when you stuck by his side he knew he’d die for you.

Arthur sits down at the table, sighing as he prepares to carve the turkey. You’ve done your best to create a beautiful dinner; Arthur grabs your hand and tells you it looks wonderful (although he’s sure the potatoes have a little more garlic than needed). Luckily your kids are sitting relatively quiet, although it’s clear they’re jittery.

After stuffing yourselves, Arthur does what he’s done every year since you began your family and sits down in his chair. His daughter immediately crawls into his lap, a book in her hand.

“Papa, here’s the book,” she says, handing it to him and then curling into him. He chuckles and opens the book. He reads this every year on Christmas Eve after dinner. You sit in another chair with your son on your lap. He’s clutching his stuffed horse again, but he’s got his wooden cowboy that Arthur made him for Christmas last year. As Arthur begins to read, your son plays with his toys, thankfully quietly.

You love listening to Arthur read, how the words come alive with his deep tones. You love watching him even more right now with his daughter tucked against him. He’s been such a blessing as a husband. Never have you had to worry about how ends would meet, about food being on the table, about your children’s safety and it’s because of his efforts.

When Arthur finishes reading, he closes the book and his daughter yawns. “Hey, why you goin’ to sleep? We ain’t done yet, baby. Ya need your Eve gift.”

Immediately she perks up and hops off his lap. “Papa! Go get it!”

He chuckles and stands up, and so do you. He kisses you briefly before heading outside into the darkness. It’s traditional for your kids every year to get new pajamas and a new story book before bedtime.

After a few minutes, he comes back in with two packages, similarly sized. Your daughter immediately squeals with excitement, but your son runs over and grabs his leg. “Pa! Up, up!” He gestures for Arthur to pick him up.

“A’right, gimme a second, boah. Ya gotta open your present first.”

He hands the kids their gifts and they immediately rip into them. His daughter giggles when she sees the pretty little night dress of her favorite color, while the boy inspects his new boy’s union suit. He’s young enough to not really understand the tradition yet, so he’s a little disappointed. However, he sees the children’s book and gets excited. Although he can’t read yet, he loves stories.

After the kids have opened their present, Arthur puts his arm around you. “A’right kids. Who can get dressed in their new pajamas first?”

Your daughter stands up, giggling madly. “Me! Me!” She books it into her arm, closely followed by her brother, although his stubby legs greatly hamper his speed.

When the kids are in their room getting dressed, Arthur grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him. He bends down and kisses you deeply. His behavior tells you that, if the kids were already in bed, he’d be laying you down near the fire and making sweet love to you. It’s all you want as well, but too soon the kids’ door opens and your daughter comes bustling out in her new PJ’s, followed by her pouting brother. It’s obvious who finished dressing first.

Arthur rewards both of them, telling them how good they are. He then tells them it's time to read one of their stories for bed and that the sooner they go to sleep, the sooner they get presents. You follow them all into the kids’ room and watch as Arthur sits down on your son’s bed. His daughter, as always, crawls into his lap as he reads one of their new books. It’s expected when he finishes, they both argue to him to read the other one. If it hadn’t been Christmas Eve, he probably would’ve said no, but tonight’s different.

By the time he’s done reading, both kids are drifting off. He stands up and lays his daughter in bed, pulls the covers over her and kisses her head. After, he does the same for his son. When he’s done, you go in and say your good nights and give kisses as well.

After both kids are put down, you and Arthur clean up the house and then lay out the kids’ presents for the morning. Without a doubt, your daughter will come out of her room in the middle of the night to gaze at them to make sure they’ve shown up. You don’t mind though, she never opens them until morning when you and Arthur have woken.

When everything’s done, Arthur pulls you into a one-armed hug and gives you a squeeze. “Come on, beautiful. We got a long day tomorrow.”

With a yawn, you nod and let him guide you to your bedroom. Once there, you begin pulling out your nightgown to change. Arthur’s hands are suddenly on you and he’s kissing your shoulder from behind.

“You ain’t gonna need that now, darlin’. I’m gonna keep you warm all night.”

Sighing, you let Arthur slip your clothes off and begin touching you. With surprising speed and strength, he picks you up and tosses you onto the bed. Giggling, you watch him crawl over your naked body. With a wicked grin, you can tell exactly what he’s going to do.

“Can I give you my gift early?” he says, but he doesn’t wait for you to respond. Sighing in the pleasure of his touches and kisses, you know it’s going to be a long night.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr secret santa 2020 #red dead fanfic #awkward asks

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deadbiwrites · 5 years

Note

Hi there!....I couldn't pass this up for sure, my pick would be number 8, “I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations.” but really I'd love to see you do any of these :)

(holy crap how long has this ask been here I'm so sorry)

For @vox-ex, a probably VERY delayed response!

“I really don’t understand how you get yourself into these situations,’’ Lena mutters around the knife clasped in her teeth as she uses both hands to tug at the waterlogged netting. Satisfied that it’s far enough away from Kara’s skin, she begins hacking at it.

“What was I supposed to do, just let them fish there?” Kara asks, standing semi-meekly in a puddle of seawater on Lena's italian marble floor.

Lena grunts as she manages to saw through one of the ropes. “No, just… how?"

Kara flushes crimson. “I was dropping off a friend.”

“A friend,” Lena repeats flatly. “In the middle of the Pacific?”

“Yes.”

“Did this friend have gills, perchance?”

“... maybe.”

“Kara,” Lena laughs, shaking her head. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, but I just… she needed help. And the DEO-”

“-isn’t what you thought,” Lena murmurs, eyes sympathetic. “I know.”

“Anyways, I was like, so close, too- I’d already gotten her where she needed to be, and I was on my way back-, then I heard a dolphin, and it was clearly hurting, so I went down, and he was tangled in a bunch of netting- illegal netting! And it wasn’t just him, a few other dolphins were too.”

Lena’s eyes flash. “Did you see the boats? What company they worked for?”

“Oh, I saw the boats,” Kara grumbles. “My friend Arthur took care of them, though.”

“Arthur…?”

“Oh! Um… Aquaman?”

Lena snorts. “Jesus. Of course, why would you not know Aquaman?” At Kara’s pout, she continues her careful sawing. “Alright, sorry, continue.”

“Anyways, I’d already been up for a long time, and I was like, really pushing my powers to the limit on that trip out there. And then there were all the dolphins, and I was holding my breath a bunch and having to swim pretty deep- by the way, it like, royally sucks, being that deep underwater. There is no light, at all. And it sounds weird, and it’s-” She cuts off, shuddering slightly. “I dunno. The ocean is beautiful and amazing and must be protected, but it freaks me the heck out."

"That's fair, it's not my favorite either. So, the net?"

"Right! So turns out, I like, sapped my powers doing all the ocean rescuing, and I got my foot caught and I struggled a bunch and sorta kinda almost drowned…"

"Kara!" Lena yells, slapping at Kara's legs through the netting.

"Hey, I am weak right now, woman! That means no hitting!"

"Sorry, I'll hit you when you feel better."

"... thanks, I guess? Anyways, obviously I'm fine, Ar-Aquaman saved me. Even brought me back here! He's a nice dude."

"If your friend rescued you and dropped you off, why are you still wrapped up in a fishing net?"

"..."

"Kara?"

"Okay, so he's not that nice: he said he thought it'd be funny."

Lena snorts, grinning victoriously as she finally cuts the last bit of the net free, moving to her feet just in time to catch Kara as she staggers forward. "Hey there, Supergirl, take it easy."

"'m tired," Kara murmurs, soaked to the bone and shivering in Lena's firm embrace. "And cold."

Lena tucks a lank lock of hair behind her ear and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Okay. How about the world's hottest bath to warm up and scrub the ocean off of you, and then bed?"

Kara hums in agreement, stumbling a bit as Lena half-carries her off to the en suite, leaving the very heavy fishing net on the kitchen floor to worry about later.

Lena starts the hot water running in her ridiculous, amazing pool/tub before they work together to strip Kara out of her suit (and with as clingy as the material is when it's not soaking wet, that's no mean feat). Finally free of her suit, Kara trips her way into the tub, and when Lena moves to pick up the shopping wet cape, she pouts and makes grabby hands at her. "Please?"

Lena shakes her head, chuckling at her utter inability to say no to Kara ever, before stripping out of her own clothes and lowering herself into the scalding hot water.

"Mmmm," Kara hums happily, wrapping Lena up with arms and legs. "Much better."

"I'm gonna boil alive in here," Lena laughs, dropping her head back onto Kara's shoulder. "This is how I die- turned into soup in my own bathtub."

Kara giggles, nosing at Lena's neck. "My favorite soup." Lena can feel the smile that spreads across Kara's face. "Makes sense, since you're already my favorite thing to ea-"

"No," Lena says firmly (though it's undercut by her smile), clapping a wet hand over Kara's mouth and sloshing some water over the side of the tub. Kara's eyes are squinty and twinkly as Lena feels a trail of wet heat across her palm. She recoils on instinct. "Did you just lick me?"

Kara shrugs with a devilish smile. "You usually respond better when I lick you."

"Oh god," Lena laughs. "You know, I got in here to help you feel better but I think all you wanted was to make terrible sex jokes."

"And for you to be naked," Kara corrects. "That part was very important to me, and it is definitely making me feel better."

"You're a scoundrel," Lena tells her, dropping a quick kiss to her lips before settling down again.

"I know. Don't tell anyone else, though. I have an image to maintain."

"Noted."

It's quiet for a bit as they just take break, soaking (or boiling) and enjoying each other's company before finally, Lena speaks.

"I can't believe Aquaman's real name is Arthur," she mutters. "Just... what a nerdy name."

Kara grins. "Wait 'till you hear about Nightwing…"

#supercorp fanfic #prompts!#ask response #ask me!#vox-ex #supercorp #supercorp softness

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writings-of-a-daphodil · 4 years

Text

Fire Keeper: Chapter 19

Douxie x fem reader

Masterlist in Bio!

Series Summary: You are Jim’s older sister who is taking a break from college and has moved back home to Arcadia. You end up joining Jim and his friends on their adventures.

Chapter 19 summary: The past gets messy. It's got a very fluffy ending.

A/n: It’s finally here and it's 7,547 words, yay!!!

“Death to all trolls!” Called Arthur as he rode towards the forest.

“Death to all trolls!” His knights repeated.

“Let's get out there, boys, and rip their faces off!” Galahad cheered and you wrinkled your nose at the violence.

“Medieval Bessie, go! Ho-ho! Cow-ho!” Steve prompted his cow forwards and you decided to do the same with your horse. Past Douxie was supposed to be helping you ride, but he was overly excited to be going on a mission.

You tried to steer the horse in the right direction, but he just went towards the left. You huffed in frustration when he wouldn’t move. You knew it wasn’t the horse's fault, but that didn’t stop you from getting a little irritated.

“Would you mind helping me?” You asked Past Douxie, but he was in his own world.

“What a beautiful day for a ride. It just makes you want to-“ he stopped talking and suddenly you noticed that he wasn’t on the horse anymore.

“Huh?” Steve asked. You looked to see your Douxie moving past Douxie back inside the gate.

He came over to you. “Would you like to help me?” You asked as he got onto the horse.

“Gladly,” he responded, taking the reins.

“You do know that repeated sleep spells can cause memory loss permanently,” Archie informed, soaring past you.

Douxie shrugged. “Huh, don't remember that. No matter. Let's go! The king needs us!”

You held onto Douxie as he sped up the horse. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to be on one, but it calmed you to know that you could catch yourself with magic.

~~~~

Eventually you had to abandon the horses and while you had enjoyed riding him, you were glad to be on your own two feet again.

You went to walk with Merlin so you could distract him from Douxie’s plan. You silently followed the old wizard, doing your best not to irritate him, while also trying to keep him away from Claire and Douxie.

Your job was going well, Merlin seemed to be content with ignoring Douxie and just focusing on protecting the king. He occasionally talked to you, inquiring after your name and whether you had magic or not. He seemed satisfied with your answers, but he warned you about using your magic.

“Arthur has never been fond of magic and he also doesn’t like strangers. You’ll need a good excuse if he notices you,” Merlin was saying.

“I was just going to say I was hoping to be your new apprentice,” you said and Merlin considered it.

“That should be fine,” Merlin eventually responded.

You looked over to Douxie as you and Merlin settled into vigilant silence again. He looked tired and you frowned. He was putting too much pressure on himself. He had been stressed before you had gone into the past, but now you didn’t know how he was able to function.

When he saw you staring at him he gave you a small smile and a wave. You waved back, focusing on a knight as you felt your face heat up.

“No sign of them, sire. Trail's gone cold,” the knight announced. You looked past him and saw the trees swaying gently. You would have expected a place called the wild wood to be more creepy, but it seemed like a nice place.

Douxie began to walk over to Arthur who was looking into the woods. “Say, my liege, didn't you used to spend time in this wood?”

Arthur sighed wistfully. “Yes. As a boy. Much time was lost in this accursed forest. I often fled to these woods to escape from my growing responsibilities.”

Douxie gave you a bright smile, full of hope before waving his hands discreetly. Bright Blue magic bloomed around you, bringing to life three children. You smiled as they laughed, remember it when you and Jim were carefree and could just play together. Now he was somewhere in these woods and you were supposed to be hunting him, not that you’d ever harm your little brother.

“On your guard, men! We've been bewitched!” A knight called and you rolled your eyes, they were so scared of magic.

“What's happening? It's coming for me!” Another painicked. “It's dark magic!”

Merlin scoffed. “Stand down. We're not in danger. Uh, my lord...”

You turned your attention to Arthur, who seemed to actually be bewitched. “Gwen,” the king breathed. “My betrothed. My beloved. She was the heart of me.”

Morgana came over. “Mm, we loved these woods. The freedom they offered. The wood showed us kindness for our courage. Gwen and I were never scared. Arthur, however...”

You smiled as a creature that looked like Nari offered the two girls a gift. However, your smile faded when a much younger Arthur pulled a dagger on her.

Arthur scowled. “I knew what danger lurked in the darkness.”

“Gwen! Away from her, demon!” Young Arthuer yelled, scaring Nari away.

“As we grew older, and duty kept me inside, Morgana encouraged Gwen, brought her out when she should have stayed safe within Camelot,” Arthur explained.

“Arthur always blamed me for our moonlight trips. But that night, it was Gwen pulling me out of the door. We'd stumbled into a Stalkling nest,” Morgana said sadly.

“Gwen!” Past Morgana yelled as a Stalkling growled.

“It was afraid,” Morgana said and you looked away as you heard the illusion scream. You recalled that a Stalkling had hungered your brother on his birthday, it was scary to think of what could have happened to him.

“That night, Gwen went into the woods and never returned.” Arthur sighed. “You, sister, should have known better.

Morgana looked away. “You never forgave me. And when my own gifts blossomed, you saw yet another abomination. Ordered Merlin to teach me to control that part of me... though Gwen loved magic as I did.”

“Yes. Yes, she did. I... I miss her terribly,” Arther whispered.

“As do I... brother,” Morgana whispered back. You felt a tear slip down your face. It was so sad what had happened to Gwen. Having lost friends, you knew how hard it was to come back from it. You couldn’t imagine losing Jim or Douxie or anyone.

You hadn’t known Douxie for as long as Arthur knew Gwen, but just thinking of losing him made the tears fall faster.

Lancelot snapped you out of your thoughts. “Troll! We found one!”

Arthur growled. “I will lose no one else to those creatures. To arms!”

Douxie sighed. “No, no, no, no, no! Not now!”

Claire looked over to you. “Oh, no! Jim!”

“Steady, men! Remember your training. Kill the beast!” Lancelot ordered.

“Wait, kill? I thought this was catch-and-release!” Steve yelled as he ran off.

“Using magic? On the king? Are you mad? Come, we must protect Arthur,” Merlin hissed at Douxie and you followed him silently.

Douxie fell into steps beside you. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying.”

“Oh...their story really got to me,” you mumbled.

“It’s gonna be okay Y/n, Jim will be safe.”

“I hope so,” you replied. You ran over to another clearing where you saw the knights take down a gumm-gumm. You couldn’t say you were too heartbroken over it, but Morgana didn’t seem too happy.

“Take the beast down!” Arthur ordered.

“Arthur, no!” Morgana cried out.

Lancelot threw his sword to Steve. “Squire Steve, will you do the honors?” Steve hesitated and the gumm-gumm tried to attack him. You got ready to use your magic, but Arthur stepped up.

“Careful, young squire. Show these beasts no sympathy.” Arthur killed the gumm-gumm and the knights cheered.

You watched them, but when a scream sounded behind you, you whirled around to see Bular by Steve. Protective sister mode kicked in and your hands glowed orange as you got ready to fight the gumm-gumm prince to protect Steve.

Bular grabbed Steve by his collar and threw him aside. You ran over to the poor boy and caught him with magic. You were honestly grateful that you didn’t have to take the beast on. You had seen how hard it had been for your brother to kill him.

“Thanks, Y/n,” Steve rasped. You helped him to his feet and went over to help deal with Bular. He couldn’t die or the future would be changed drastically for you and your brother, but you also couldn’t let him hurt anyone here.

“The Gumm-Gumm prince himself!” Galahad laughed “Oh... Come on, let's see what you are-“

Bular threw Galahad to the side and with that Arthur charged. “For Camelot!”

“I'll drink your blood out of a goblet made of your skull! I'll carve you open, let your guts spill out!” Bular snarled. You ran over to the knights with bows and got ready to redirect any arrows as Douxie and Merlin went to help Arthur.

“My king!” Galahad cried.

“Arthur!” Lancelot ran over to help. Bular raised his hand for the finishing blow, but Douxie stopped him.

“There's no spilling anything today!” Douxie grunted as he did his best to keep Bular from killing Arthur. Merlin used his own magic to create a seal on the floor and when Douxie dragged him to it, a bright green net of magic trapped Bular.

Arthur stood and walked over to the troll. “Finish it, then, fleshbag!” Bular taunted.

“The spawn of Gunmar. I won't dull Excalibur's edge with you,” Arthur snarled. “Drag this monster back to Camelot! I have plans for him. The rest, with me! My blade hungers.”

“As you wish, milord. Onward!” Lancelot called.

“Who's the monster here?” Morgana asked.

None of you knew how to answer, so when you continued walking you went back to your respective posts. Merlin walked by Morgana, so you got the chance to talk to the sorceress. It was pretty interesting getting to know this side of Morgana.

Once you told her you had magic she gave you tricks, asking if you could do shadow magic. When you said ‘no’ she was understanding and told you about this tea recipe should you ever need it. Douxie already had the recipe, but it was kind of Morgana to think of it.

As you talked you began to wonder how Morgana could have possibly turned evil. Of course you had never met her back in your time, but you had heard horrible stories about her.

You heard Arthur shouting ahead and you all ran over to the clearing.

“Wait!” Douxie yelled.

“My king, it's not safe!” Merlin tried, but Arthur ignored them.

“Oh, no,” Claire muttered and you nodded your head in agreement.

Morgana waved at you and Claire to follow her. “Come, handmaiden. Not a moment to lose.”

“What are you gonna do if we catch them?” Claire asked.

“Whatever I have to.”

With that the three of you ran over to another clearing.

“This way!” You whispered, trying to guide Morgana away from Jim’s aura. But suddenly you heard a clatter and panting. Morgana ignored your advice and went the other way. You had no choice but to follow her and help Jim.

“There you are,” Morgana shouted, jumping off a ledge. You followed her, ready to use your magic.

“Morgana?” Jim asked.

“Jim! Jim!” Claire called. She hadn’t made it to the clearing yet, but you would do your best to battle Morgana. You went to stand between Jim and the sorceress, ready to protect your little brother at any cost.

“You will not hurt him!” You growled, your hands already lighting up, ready to fight.

However, Morgana surprised you. “Don't be afraid. I won't hurt him,” she promised, kneeling next to Jim.

“Jim! Don't kill him! You said-“ Claire cried, not yet in the clearing and seeing what was happening.

“I'm sorry you were ever in a cage,” Morgana apologized.

A knight shouted in the near distance, “Down in the clearing!”

“Go. I will draw away the others. Go!” Morgana ordered, helping Jim up.

“I'll find you,” Jim promised. He gave you one last look before going to run. You got ready to face the knights when you heard Jim cry out behind you. Now it was Arthur about to kill him.

“Arthur!” Morgana yelled.

You didn’t care about being inconspicuous anymore, you had to keep Jim safe. You raced over to him, ready to fight King Arthur himself if it meant saving your brother.

Claire followed you. “Jim!”

“So, sister. Your true loyalties stand revealed at last. I warned you not to return with a clean sword,” Arthur growled. He brought the sword down, but yours materialized and was right there to meet it. Unfortunately, Arthur was stronger and you began to struggle.

“Can’t. We. Talk. This. Out?” You gasped. Suddenly, when you were sure your arms were about to give out, Morgana took your place, using the staff to keep Arthur’s sword off Jim.

“What? What are you doing?” Arthur asked, addressing his sister, completely ignoring you.

“What I should have done years ago,” Morgana retorted.

“You dare raise arms against your king?” Arthur asked, shocked.

“Run, Jim!” Claire cried, helping you get him to his feet.

“Get back here, you gravel-eater!” Lancelot yelled, shooting an arrow at you. Both of your hands were holding Jim, but thankfully Claire took care of it, blasting the arrow aside with her purple magic.

“No!” Claire screamed.

Lancelot stared in shock. “What the...? She's a wit-oh!”

Steve hit him on the head with a rock. “Oh-ho, man! That troll-that came out of nowhere! Right, guys?”

Lancelot got up again and Steve hit him. You winced and turned back to Jim.

“Go!” Both you and Claire ordered. He gave you and Claire a quick hug each before running off. You watched sadly as he faded into the forest. You hated letting him leave. You were so very worried about him. It just wasn’t fair that you couldn’t be there to protect him.

Eventually, you turned and ran back over to the clearing. You heard the clanging of swords and raced over to Merlin.

The old wizard gasped. “Morgana? She takes Arthur's life?”

“No, no! No, wait, wait! We don't have to figh-“ Douxie ran to stop them, but Merlin blasted him to the side. You went to help him up.

“Are you alright?” You asked.

“Yeah, I just don’t get why they won’t listen to us. They’re supposed to be the adults, but all they do is fight.”

“We’ll figure it out,” you promised.

“Defend the king at all costs!” Merlin ordered.

Morgana glared at him. “You, too, old man?”

“I do what I must for the greater good!” Merlin yelled.

“Traitors!” Morgana yelled, flying into the air. “You throw us in chains, fearing what you cannot control, but we of magic are not lesser creatures, we are more!”

That was when you realized that maybe Morgana wasn’t right. You believed that everyone should get along, it wasn’t right that one species was better or something. They should be equal. Morgana and Arthur were on opposite sides of the spectrum; he believed that humans were better while she believed that magical creatures were better. History was on Arthur’s side when it came to people and trolls finding peace, so you would have to side with him if you couldn’t reason with Morgana.

“Stop! We found another way!” Claire yelled, coming into the clearing.

“We did, this doesn’t have to get any worse!” You cried.

“We can do this peacefully!” Douxie added.

Morgana sighed. “The time for peace ended long ago.”

Morgana continued to attack Arthur and you and Claire went to stop her. “Morgana, he's not the enemy,” Claire yelled.

Morgana scoffed. “I trusted you! Now you side with my brother over your own kind? You're one of them. You're all against me, but I am more powerful than you know. Ortum obumbratio!”

Gold and black shadows of Morgana rose from the ground and you screamed. You looked to your own shadow and you saw it rise to fight you.

“Oh, buckets,” Douxie cursed and you backed over to him. The shadows chased you all out of the forest to a cliff.

Had you been there in any other situation, you would have stopped to admire the beauty; the sun was setting and the ocean was magnificent, but now you had to fight for your life. Once Morgana had deemed you a traitor to her cause, she was ready to end your life.

“Your cruelty towards magic-kind knows no bounds! You have taken and taken, and now we take back!” Morgana cried.

“Protect the king!” Merlin ordered again. You blasted your shadow in the stomach and went to help Arthur. However, his shadow sent him tumbling to the edge of the cliff. You raced to use your magic to help him up, but he ignored the offer. He climbed up on his own and stood his ground.

“Enough!” Arthur yelled, raising Excalibur to the sky. The clouds parted and a beam of light came down, enchanting the sword. Arthur brought it to the ground and a ball of magic exploded from it, knocking you to the ground. You flew away from the king, hitting the ground hard.

The air was knocked out of you and you struggled to get up.

Morgana cackled at him. “You outlaw magic, but fight with an enchanted sword! You snuff out any power that isn't yours, but I won't go so quietly.”

“I denied your true nature for so long because you are my sister. But when I look at you now, all I see is a demon! A witch!” Arthur roared and he and Morgana continued to fight. You watched in horror as the time map showed the timeline deteriorate. It flashed red and blue, but red seemed to be winning.

“And all I see is a little boy driven mad by hatred and prejudice! Goodbye, brother.” Morgana cried. She waved her arm to do a spell, but Arthur got to her first, cutting off her hand. Morgana gasped.

“Morgana! No! No, no, no!” You and Douxie yelled.

Arthur hesitated. “No...”

“Brother?” Morgana whispered, she took a step back, underestimating the distance between her and the edge of the cliff. You watched in horror as she disappeared.

“Morgana!” Douxie yelled.

“No!” The rest of you echoed. You watched as Arthur took a step away from the cliff. He eyed his sword and smashed it against the ground. Pieces flew everywhere and you created a shield as a piece of shrapnel almost hit you.

You let your shield down and looked over to Douxie. He looked absolutely beaten and hopeless. You didn’t know how you were gonna fix this.

~~~~

After a while Merlin convinced Arthur to leave and you walked home in silent defeat.

“Now magic has truly taken everything from me,” Arthur muttered angrily.

Claire looked over to you. “She's gone. We failed.”

You opened your mouth to say something soothing and optimistic, but nothing came out. Instead Douxie spoke, “No, I failed. Master I-I'm so sorry.”

“This is why you don't meddle with time,” Merlin said.

“But I tried. I tried to fix it,” Douxie argued.

Merlin sighed sadly. “Don't you see, boy? There is no 'fixing' anything. Every change has consequence. Knowing the future is a responsibility to bear with caution, lest you cause worse things to happen.”

Douxie sank to the ground, staring at the flashing time map. “Morgana's dead, Excalibur's broken. That never happened.”

You and Archie went to go and comfort him. “We are in uncharted territory.”

~~~~

You couldn’t believe it was only a day ago that Merlin was vowing to save the king. He had accomplished his goal of course, however, he had failed to save Morgana. After you had spent time with her in the wild woods you felt awful about her death, but there was also the fact that she wasn’t in her right mind. It was all very complicated.

Now you were about to go with Merlin to help fix Excalibur. You huddled up in a jacket that Douxie had found for you. It was freezing and the fog wasn’t helping.

Archie sat by you on the rail of the boat, gazing at the sea. “I try to avoid water.”

Steve came over to the two of you. “Personally, I always pack my swimsuit. Extra-personally, it's actually my birthday suit.”

You rolled your eyes at him then looked at Merlin. “When are we going to get there?”

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Merlin stated harshly.

“I was asking if I had time to check on my brother,” you responded, giving him a dead look. You had the patience to wait, you had taken a trip to the moon that had lasted forever without complaining after all.

“Ah, yes,” Merlin said and that was all the confirmation you needed before closing your eyes. You felt the shift and focused on what you remembered Jim’s aura to be like. When you opened your eyes you were no longer on a boat, but in a room.

You looked around and saw Jim, his friend, and...Blinky.

“Clearly he’s delusional,” Blinky was saying to Dictatious. He suddenly raised his hand and slapped Jim. “Snap out of it!”

“Ow!” Jim yelped as Blinky continued to slap him. “Blinky, it’s me, Jim!”

“‘Blinky’? For the last time, that’s Blinky’s Gakadrigal to you, outsider.”

“And my nightmare’s real,” Jim muttered.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Dictatious said, shaking Jims hand. “Forgive my brother. Your traveling companion was a little more hostile upon waking up.”

“I startle easy. That’s on you,” the other troll said.

Blinky began to rant and you snuck over to Jim. “Are you okay?” You whispered.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. How are you?” He whispered back.

“I’m alright, I’ll try to check in daily okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then. Stay safe.”

“You too.” You gave a small smile before returning back to your body and to the freezing cold boat.

“How is he?” Claire asked.

“He’s fine.” You chuckled. “He just met a very irritated Blinky.”

Claire smiled. “Good, I’m glad he’s safe.”

You were cut off from saying anything more when the boat turned the corner. You walked over to the edge of the boat by Douxie and saw a bunch of wrecked ships.

“Whoa, it's a ship graveyard,” Steve marveled.

“We've arrived,” Merlin announced.

“Huh. The Lady of the Lake is real! I thought she was just a myth,” Claire said.

Douxie smiled. “Oh, no, the Lady's very much real. Though, only Merlin's allowed to meet with her... until now.”

“Because her power is beyond your comprehension. It was from her mystic waters I helped Arthur first retrieve Excalibur and unite the kingdom. Hisirdoux, the sword please,” Merlin requested.

“Yeah! Quest, quest, quest, quest!” Steve chanted.

Merlin hopped off the ship and began to walk towards two face carvings. “Watch the ship. I shall return shortly.

“What? We have to wait in the car?” Steve whined.

“But I thought we were doing this together,” Douxie protested.

Merlin sighed. “You should be thanking me. I got you out of Camelot. Arthur's unstable and the people are afraid. And not only that, Y/n practically committed treason, so the less Arthur sees her the better.”

You smiled sheepishly as Douxie tried to go after Merlin. “I thought you trusted me. I won't just sit here without making things right!”

“And I will not lose another apprentice!” Merlin shouted and it echoed throughout the cave. Douxie took a step back and you grabbed onto his hand in silent comfort.

“Who dares to disturb my slumb-“ the door on the right asked suddenly asked and you jumped. Douxie chuckled at you and you gently elbowed him.

Merlin cut the door off. “It's me, Merlin. Open up, you idiots.”

“Oh, it is you! All right, walk in,” the other door said, sliding apart so Merlin could enter.

Douxie ran after him, but the doors slammed shut before he could get through.

“Lake's closed!” Righty said.

“None but the master wizard shall pass. No amateurs. That's you,” Lefty taunted.

Douxie stood back. “Causa crepitoose!” He yelled and a blue blast hit the doors, doing nothing

Righty laughed. “Is that all you got, punk?”

“Come on, get close so I can bite your legs off!” Lefty howled with laughter and you rolled your eyes.

“Come on, ignore them,” you said, leading Douxie over to Claire and Steve.

“Ugh! Merlin's magic is so annoying!” Claire groaned.

Douxie sighed. “The talking door is right. This sorcery's uncrackable.”

“Well, at least we don't have to see Steve's birthday suit,” Archie said optimistically.

“Too late! Whoo!” Steve yelled and you were glad he was by the water where you couldn’t see him.

“Oh, no! My eyes!”

“Oh, I can't unsee that now!”

The four of you minus Steve walked over to a grassy area and Archie helped you collect sticks. Once you assembled them he set them on fire.

“Thanks, Archie,” Douxie said, giving a small smile.

“Jeez, how long is Coach Wizard gonna take? It's been forever!” Steve whined, walking back to you.

“What if the old man needs our help?” Archie asked, curling up onto your lap. Even with the fire and your jacket you were still shivering.

You watched as Steve stood and charged at the doors, trying to scare them open. You weren’t surprised when it didn’t work.

“Uh, Open Sesame! Abracadabra! I'm begging you, man!” Steve tried after violence failed. “Hey, door dorks, open up!”

“Why don't you open up?” One of the doors mocked.

Steve huffed. “Maybe I will! So, I'm-I'm really scared that I won't be a good knight.”

“Well, you won't be, but don't be scared about it. You know, then you worry about, like, what is your purpose on this planet?” Lefty said.

You turned away from Steve to face the fire again. Douxie scooted close to you and wrapped his arm around you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, trying to hide your blush.

“You seemed cold, so...yeah,” Douxie explained.

You faded into silence, the only noise in the cavern was Steve’s therapy session with the doors.

Claire opened up her book on shadow magic and Douxie stood up excitedly. “Merlin doesn't know shadow magic. Claire! You could make a shadow portal and slip us right through!”

Claire hesitated. “I don't know, Douxie. I don't have my staff.”

“I've seen you do magic without it,” Douxie said.

“But Merlin said-“ Claire started.

“Merlin's not here,” Douxie countered and you noticed Claire’s aura twist with fear and anger.

You were about to tell Douxie to drop it when Claire yelled, “I don't wanna become her!”

She went to sit on the log by the fire. “What if the darkness takes over, like Morgana?” She asked. You walked over to her and gave her a hug.

“Claire, you are nothing like Morgana, you are way better,” you reassured her.

Douxie sighed, coming over. “Claire, look, I know you're scared, but you're not her. You can make the magic your own. I never had the gift for shadowmancy, but you do. You can do great and wondrous things. I've seen it.”

Claire sighed and nodded. “Okay, Douxie, I'll try. But I need you to walk me through the spell book, Teach. I don't speak Wizard-ese.”

Douxie shook his head and backed away. “You want me to teach? I'm not even a good student.”

“You've got that right.

“The worst!”

You glared at the doors. “Back off!”

“Quit it!” Claire snapped.

“Who asked you, knobhead?” Archie growled and you smiled a bit at how you all defended Douxie.

“Why are we yelling?” Steve cried.

You turned to Douxie. “Some of my favorite spells are the ones you taught me in Bulgaria, you’ll be a great teacher.”

Douxie laughed. “Right. Put your hands out like this. Beyond there is your destination, your emotional anchor.” He put his hands out and Claire mimicked him while you levitated the book in front of them.

“Got it,” Claire said.

Douxie nodded. “Then pull the magic around you. It will be your door to the Shadow Realm. That's it, that's it. Steady. Focus. Eyes on point, mind on anchor. You got this.”

“I'm scared,” Claire cried as the portal began to form. You saw how her aura twist and you began to sing a lullaby.

“Magic is emotion. Don't let fear control you. Use it! Stay true to yourself. That will protect you from the shadows,” Douxie encouraged and you saw Claire’s aura slowly start to go back to normal.

“Uh, Doux?” Claire asked, her aura suddenly twisting again.

“Don't be afraid, Claire. This is your magic. You can control it,” Douxie reassured. “Keep your eyes on point.”

Claire started panting and you tried to sing louder, but suddenly the portal rushed at her, taking her.

“Claire!” All of you screamed in unison.

“Doux, how do we bring her back?” Archie asked as Douxie flipped through the spell book.

“Hold on. I can figure this out. It's gonna be fine,” Douxie said, sounding anything but fine.

“Fine? Shadows just ate her alive, man! What are we gonna do?” Steve asked.

“We will figure something out,” you promised, already trying to hold your hands out like Claire had done. You may have not had the tolerance for shadow magic, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t perform it.

“Whoa, whoa, Y/n, stop,” Douxie said, rushing to stand in front of you. “You can’t do this, you’ll get sick again! There’s got to be another way!”

“I’m going to get her back,” you said. Your heart was racing with panic and you tried to take that fear and use it to bring Claire home. You focused and just when you felt the portal expand in front of you, Claire made her own. She dropped back into reality, right on Douxie and Steve.

“Are you hurt?” Archie asked Claire.

“Claire! Claire, are you all right?” Douxie asked, rushing to get up and help her.

“Give her some space,” Archie ordered.

“I saw her-a vision of Morgana!” Claire exclaimed.

“Oh, hot dang,” Steve whispered.

“Was it really her? Or was it guilt, or fear, or...“ Claire started.

“The Shadow Realm is a place of mystery. We understand if you don't want to go back in,” Douxie said.

“Yeah, shadow magic is nasty stuff,” you mumbled, swaying on your feet before crashing into Douxie.

“Y/n? Are you alright? Talk to me, Y/n,” Douxie begged.

You let out a string of coughs as Douxie helped you sit down by the fire. “I’ll be fine,” you promised.

“What happened?” Claire asked.

“Y/n used shadow magic again,” Douxie said and you could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I wasn’t gonna let Claire get stuck in the shadow realm. I knew what I was doing and I will be fine with a little rest and tea.”

“Mhmm,” Douxie mumbled, but he still seemed upset with you.

You sighed before turning to face Claire. “How do you feel about getting us past those doors? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No. It's okay. I'll be all right. Thanks for talking me through it, Teach,” Claire said. “And thank you, Y/n, for trying to go in after me.”

You coughed. “Of course.”

Claire stood up and got ready to open a portal.

“No way this works, witchey!” Righty taunted.

“True.”

“Not your fault your teacher's a dunce.”

Douxie ignored them and you glared at them even though you were sure you just looked like an angry puppy with your watery eyes and runny nose wrapped in a large jacket.

“There is your anchor,” Douxie said, using magic to send a glowing blue orb towards the doors and past them.

“Let go of the fear,” Claire mumbled.

“No, no, don't do that,” Lefty said.

“Uh, no, no, no! Not good! Bad, bad idea!” Righty cried as a large shadow portal formed.

“Yes, yes, yes! Claire, you did it!” Douxie cheered.

“Yes! That's what I'm talking about! Shadow magic!” Claire celebrated.

“Whoo-hoo!” Steve shouted.

“Nice job Claire!” You smiled before coughing again.

“Wow, she picked that up fast.” Douxie grinned.

“She had a stellar teacher,” Archie praised.

Douxie smiled even wider. “What are we standing 'round for? That magical sword won't repair itself. Let's go! To the Lady!”

“Gentlemen, after you,” Claire said, gesturing for them to go into the portal. You went to walk into the portal, but Douxie stuck his hand out, blocking you.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Are you sure you should be traveling through a shadow portal right now?” Douxie asked.

“I’m fine and I’m not letting you go alone,” you argued.

Douxie opened his mouth to counter, “You’re sick and I’m plenty capable o-”

“I never said you weren’t capable, I’m just saying it doesn’t hurt to have back up. If you guys don’t come out later it will be a suiside mission for me to go in alone, but if I go in now we have each other's backs.”

Douxie slowly removed his arm and you felt bad about arguing with him. You walked through the portal and shivered, Douxie was right, it did make you feel worse and so, when you were out on the other side, you threw up. Thankfully Douxie didn’t see and so he didn’t force Claire to send you back.

“We made it!” Claire exclaimed as she walked through.

“Thanks to you.” Douxie smiled at her, creating a magic light.

Steve sniffed. “Ugh! This lake stinks like butt thunder!”

Douxie frowned. “I'd say we've arrived.”

“Yeah, but where's Merlin?” Claire asked.

“Gah!” Steve yelped as you heard wood creak near you. Douxie shined his light on a boat. It would have been already scary for an old piece of wood to be floating in the creepy lake, but this one had to have Excalibur on it, putting it on a whole other level.

“Uh, he can handle himself. L-Let's just stick to the plan and find the Lady. And everything will be fine,” Douxie reassured, not sounding at all confident. You walked over to him and he helped you onto the boat. You shivered and coughed and Douxie put his arm around you. You looked up at him, but he was looking ahead.

You knew you had worried him when you made the portal. You felt really bad that he seemed to be upset with you.

“What the...?” Steve screamed as lanterns on the boat posts lit up and you began to move. You huddled closer to Douxie who thankfully didn’t protest.

“Come on, Steve. Get it together. Knights don't scare,” he whispered to himself. You watched as the water in front of you began to glow and up rose a turquoise lady in an odd veil.

“It's... It's her!” Claire marveled.

“I am the Lady, Nimue, Eldest of Oracles. Why do you seek me?” She asked in a clear voice.

“Okay, everyone, just be nice to the goddess. I'll sort this,” Douxie cleared his throat. “Oh, mighty Lake Lady... we are here to request your aid.”

“And we're missing an old wizard, if you've seen one,” Archie added.

“I can give you what you seek,” Niue said.

Douxie took this as a sign and continued. “Only you can help us on our quest to fix Excalibur and save Camelot.”

“That is not which you truly desire.” She gestured to Douxie. “You seek redemption from a scorned mentor.” She moved to Claire. “Escape from guilt.” She went to Steve. “Validation of knighthood.” Finally she moved to you. “Safety for you and your friends.”

You sighed in relief when she didn’t say ‘Douxie’ or something embarrassing. You had half expected her to say Mao, though, you really missed the kitten.

She moved on to Archie next, but she seemed to hesitate with him. “And you seek...roasted salmon?”

“Guilty,” Archie admitted.

“What? Come on, Arch!” Douxie glared at his familiar, but turned his attention back to Nimue as the boat rocked.

Nimue moved away from the boat. “You are not the first to try and deceive me. You are not worthy!”

“Uh, guys…” Claire panicked as the water around you began to bubble.

“Uh, Mr. Magic Man?” Steve asked.

“That is no lady!” Douxie yelped as tentacles came out of the water.

“You seek, you take, and all receive their final reward,” Nimue rasped in a gravelly voice.

“Time to prove my knightly skills. I'll protect thou-thee. Uh, huzzah! Huh?” Steve screamed as Nimue picked him up and dropped him in her mouth.

“Steve!” You all cried.

“Now, onto your rewards,” Nimue threatened.

“Y/n, get out of here now, you’re not fit to fight,” Douxie said, trying to persuade you.

“Not without you,” you responded, shielding all of you as one of her tentacles whapped the boat.

“Such puny creatures make tasty meals,” Nimue laughed, a tentacle wrapped around Douxie and you yelped, doing your best to blast it without hurting him. Douxie reacted though, cutting her with what was left of Excalibur.

“I hate to say it, but perhaps we should've stayed in the ship!” Archie called as he flew around breathing fire on Nimue.

“We need to subdue her so she'll fix Excalibur!” Douxie said. Once Archie was back on the boat you and Douxie worked together to send the boat backwards, rocketing away from Nimue. Archie helped by sending fire.

“We need to get Steve out of this seaside freak show!” Claire countered.

“Oh, fuzz buckets.” Douxie cursed as the Lake Lady rose up infront of your boat again. Douxie sent a blast at her. She retaliated by ripping a piece of the ceiling off and hurtling it towards the boat. Thankfully you and Douxie reacted fast. The chuck of ceiling glowed orange and blue and

“You've been a very bad Lake Lady!” Douxie yelled as you rammed the pillar at her stomach.

You watched as Merlin and Steve fell out and you did your best to cast a spell that would slow their fall.

“Oh! Hey, I-- I did it. I'm a hero,” Steve slurred before collapsing.

“My revenge tasted so sweet,” Nimue groaned.

Douxie scoffed. “Wait, revenge? What revenge?”

“You attacked us, lady!” Claire yelled.

You opened your mouth to add your own retort, but you stopped when you noticed symbols around the cavern. They were written in green magic, Merlin’s green magic.

“Long ago, I gave him the blade, but he imprisoned me here in this cave without hope,” Nimue explained.

“Wait, Merlin trapped you here?” Douxie asked, shocked. You went to grab his hand.

Nimue roared. “Now my prison will be your tomb!”

“Take her down, man, or we're all gonna get dead!” Steve cried.

“But who'll repair Excalibur, Douxie?” Archie asked.

“Well, she's not going to! What do we do, Douxie?” Claire asked and you sensed Douxie begin to have a panic attack. You smiled at him and squeezed his hand and he smiled back.

His decision was made and you watched as he raised the broken Excalibur and blue lightning coursed up it. “Tenebris exilium!” Douxie shouted, throwing the sword at the wall. It shattered, creating a way for Nimue to leave.

“Wait, you let that tentacle lady bounce?” Steve asked, you looked back to him, he was clutching a tooth next to an unconscious Merlin.

“And destroyed Excalibur?” Archie stated.

Douxie looked away. “What are you waiting for? Just go! I may not know how to fix this...” he sighed, “but I do know that you shouldn't be stuck in here.”

Nimue hesitated. “You are... different. You are kind. This gift must be repaid. The sword was meant for those worthy. Do good with it.”

The way the lady phrased that made you pause. Nimue never said he should give it to Arthur, she told Douxie to ‘do good with it.’ You put that thought aside and focused on what was happening.

“I shall return it to its rightful place. Thank you, Scary Monster Lake Lady,” Douxie said.

Steve waved goodbye as Nimue left. “Good-bye! Sorry I almost slayed you, Monster Lady!”

Merlin coughed. “Hisirdoux, what have you done? Uh... oh. Is that Excalibur?”

Douxie smiled proudly. “Indeed. I've resecured Camelot's stability, just as you'd planned.”

Merlin looked around, getting his bearings. “Ah. We must return to Camelot, where we will discuss your blunders later.”

Claire nudged Douxie. “Nice work, Teach.”

“And I got a monster trophy! Whoo! Quest!” Steve whooped.

~~~~

It was a day later when Arthur threw a ball. The next day there was to be a tournament. It was supposed to be a ball of mourning and everyone was dressed up.

When you had gotten back from your quest Douxie had given you some tea and you were feeling much better, though you knew you and your friends were still in trouble. One of the many things troubling you was how Douxie seemed upset with you. It was hard to tell, but you could sense some sort of underlying anger or something at you. But it could just be all in your head. After all, He had found the gorgeous black dress you were wearing.

It was stunning, with silver embroidery along the skirt and over deep black silk. You felt absolutely amazing, you just wished the dress wasn’t for a funeral. It was your first ball and it was one of mourning.

You looked at the crowd at the courtiers. Many of them didn’t look to be in mourning. You had stopped reading their auras long ago, but those you had read didn’t seem too upset by the death of Morgana. They were only excited about the return of Excalibur and what that meant to them.

You were only at the ball because Arthur wasn’t going to be there. Merlin was still concerned that you’d get in trouble if Arthur saw you.

Many people tried to talk to you. It was the court gossip that Merlin had taken a new apprentice, and people wanted to know everything about you. It was kinda funny watching people fawn over your lies.

You looked around for Douxie, maybe less people would ask you to dance if you could find him. Steve was off doing knight stuff and you didn’t know where Claire was.

You made your way through the room, eventually realizing that Douxie wasn’t there. It made sense, even though he was proud of himself for getting Excalibur, he was upset that he hadn’t saved Morgana.

Once you were out of the ballroom, you began reading auras again. It would be easier to find Douxie that way.

It was like deja vu searching for him through the castle just like you had done on your first day in Camelot. It felt like forever since then, so much had changed.

You finally found him in the gardens, an area of the palace that you had never been to. “Hey,” you called, walking over to him. You could hear the music from the ballroom and you realized that you were right below it.

“Y/n,” Douxie said and you took a step back, he still seemed to be kind of upset with you.

“Douxie, I know you’re not happy with me,” you started, “but I made the choice to use shadow magic. I knew what I was doing.”

“I’m sorry if I came across as upset. I was just scared and it’s terrifying to see you so sick, it’s like I could lose you any second.”

You gave an understanding smile. “I’m sorry about that, but you know what, you need to relax. You have so much on your shoulders, you should have some fun tonight. This is my first ball and I want to enjoy it.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. Grabbing his other hand you began to dance. The song that was playing was clearing one that you would waltz to and you were glad you knew how.

“I’m so sorry I pulled you into this,” Douxie said, twirling you.

You shook your head. “You do know I had magic long before I met you and that my brother was fated to be the Trollhunter, right?”

“Well, yeah, but I got you stuck in the past.” He lifted you in an arch and you smiled brightly.

“No...a piece of ice from the Arcane order did that. You need to stop blaming yourself for everything Douxie. I know things are bad, but we will find a way to fix them.”

Douxie looked ready to argue with you, but instead he leaned forward, it was a good second before you realized what he was doing and you moved to close the gap.

It was definitely something to be kissing Hisirdoux Casperan, something wonderful. It was so full of love and you smiled into it. It was a sweet little kiss, filled with the promise of more. And it was all too soon though when you broke apart.

“So, uh, that happened,” Douxie stuttered.

“I’m glad something happened,” you heard Archie mumble and you twirled around to see the familiar sitting on the bench, you hadn’t known he was there. “It’s been painfully obvious that you two like each other from the moment I met you.”

You laughed a little. “Huh, that obvious?”

“Very.”

****

Tada! I really hope y’all liked it and are excited for more. I have no clue when more is gonna happen, but it will happen soon. I have a fun idea for chapter 19.5! Anyways, thank you all so much for all the kind comments and I hope you have a fantastically safe and wonderful day!!

P.S. if you want to be on the taglist feel free to ask. I hope it works and please message me if it doesn’t.

#douxie x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan x reader #hisirdoux x reader #wizards imagine #trollhunters imagine #toa imagine #tales of arcadia imagine #douxie #toa douxie #wizards douxie #hisirdoux casperan #trollhunters #trollhunters douxie #toa #tales of arcadia #tales of arcadia douxie #wizards #fire keeper

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fakefeltflowers · 3 years

Text

Howdy, I rewrote Sam's back story for something unrelated and though to put it on here. Sam's full name is Sam Orion and they live in a small town known for it's spooky happenings. Also, warning for animal death, namely chickens and cattle.

---

The Orion estate is a patchwork quilt of crops and fields for livestock, passed down from generation to generation, growing like a benign tumor.The estate itself was just about as old as Sarton itself and became a fixture of the community, for better or for worse, and with the estate came the hunters. Back when the estate was little more than a ramshackle hut that leaned at a 45 degree angle, there had been hunters. When Sam was a child, they only had a vague understanding of the family’s history and the rumors. They knew that ‘back in the old days’, whenever that was, their family had been known for being reclusive and cagey. The old family shot at any animal or person that had the gall to come too close to the fence that encloses the scraggly wheat fields or to the miniscule coup. But that was back then, not like that was something that happened now. Then Sam turned 16 and the chickens began to die.

During the dog days of that summer, Sam was supposed to take care of the chickens. As far as anyone could tell, Sam had done a fairly good job, they even managed to raise a few chicks themselves. You could understand why they’d be concerned at the sight of a dead chicken just outside the coup. Fearing the worst, Sam rushed to survey the damage, but instead there was nothing. The remaining chickens were stressed and refused to come out of the coup, but otherwise fine.

Confused, Sam went back to observe the carcass, eyes raking over claw marks and feathers matted with a sticky black substance that burned their eyes. There were bite marks but there wasn’t anything eaten. It wasn’t the kill of an opportunistic predator, it was too sadistic and there was too little eaten. But the other chickens were fine and the carcass was disposed of. Still, Sam couldn’t stop themselves from crying all morning.

“Kiddo, they’re just chickens. We still have eight of them left, just leave it be. I’ll take care of it,” said their father, Arthur. He said to himself that it would just go away on its own, of course he was lying to himself and Sam.

8 chickens became 7, 7 became 5, 5 became 2. The cattle followed suit, one by one their blood mingled with the poisonous black fluids and smeared a trail through the grass leading to the woods that stood on the edge of the estate. It was a mocking trail of bait made specifically for the impatient and the naive Sam. So, they resolved to fix the problem, like they would ‘back in the old days’. Armed with a hunting rifle that had been just a little too big for them, they clambered out of their bedroom window. Following the trail of dead grass to the entry into the Whispering Woods. Then Sam waited, refusing to let the tiredness that weighed their eyelids down over take them. Eyes glazed over, Sam watched the warm wind shake the leaves that obscured their forum. They watched bugs lazily flutter by. They watched the unmoving dark lines of trees. They watched and they watched and they watched-

Sam woke with a start at the sound of snapping twigs. The moon hung high overhead as they scanned the tree line for the source of the sound. Hidden among the towering trees, a shaggy beast with a pale face paced along the forest floor, it’s long body blending in with the tall grass that bordered the treeline. Of course, not that Sam was paying much attention because at that point Sam had fired the rifle in the woods, shattering the nighttime silence. In response the beast galloped into the dark of the night, a taunting laugh echoing behind it. The hunt had begun.

‘How long has it been?’ thought Sam, a thought that had at first started as a dim whisper that only grew louder as Sam’s legs began to protest and thorns had cut through their jeans, staining their calves a rust color. The trees had managed to weave together so that barely any of the moonlight was able to illuminate the forest floor. Sam’s knuckles were white from clutching the rifle, the cold steel of the barrel sapping any residual heat from their body. They realized that they had begun to shiver despite the warmth of the summer air.

‘It’s too dark out here. I shouldn’t even be out here, what was I thinking-’

“Sam?” a voice called out, cutting Sam’s clarity short. Who was that? It almost sounded familiar, but it was hard to make out.

“Sam?” the voice repeated. Sam unconsciously began to follow the voice, it was their father after all. They needed to go home, they were so tired.

“Sam?” the voice called out, even deeper into the woods.

“Sam?!” the voice became panicked, ‘He’s hurt,’ Sam thought as they started running. The voice repeated their name over and over, becoming shrill and panicked, to a certain point it barely sounded like Sam’s father, but at that point it didn’t matter. At that point Sam was too scared to rationalize, too scared to think of anything but home.

“SAM!” the voice called out one last time before it suddenly stopped. Sam found themselves at a clearing with a creek running through it that was otherwise empty. A dawning realization was replaced by fear as they heard the rustling of leaves above them, shortly followed by the sound of something heavy softly landing behind them. Sam whipped around and locked eyes with the beast, its hollow eye sockets swimming in a sea of dirty white canvas and sharp teeth. Sam knew that they were too close to aim the rifle but nonetheless the barrel belched out a wisp of smoke with a pop of light. The bullet that was haphazardly spat out whizzed by the beast and lodged itself into a tree just right of the beast. Momentarily distracting the beast, the shattering wood gave Sam enough time to twist their body so that the beast’s long claws only managed to graze the flesh underneath their sweater.

The icy water that soaked through their jeans would be shocking if the gun hadn’t slipped from their grasp. Then the icy fear in their veins was replaced by a burning hot pain that radiated from Sam’s chest. Their vision began to blur as Sam saw their blood began to oxidize into a thick black substance that burned their skin and eyes.

The beast began stalking towards Sam, that familiar mocking laugh fell out of a maw filled with sharp teeth as Sam began to choke on the taste of hairspray and apple seeds.

Suddenly, the maw of teeth shattered with a deafening gunshot, abruptly jerking the beast’s head to the side. Sam scrambled to their feet, grabbing the rifle and aimed at the beast, shooting wildly until they ran out of bullets. Then they realized that there was still another gun firing, attached to their father, who was entirely focused on the beast. Of course, at that point the beast was little more than a shadow of its former self, it’s jaw hanging loosely by a scrap of canvas and its fur was slick with the stinking black that seeped out of Sam’s chest. Eventually, Arthur’s gun had run out of ammunition, causing the beast to chuckle lowly and began to back away.

“‘I’ll take care of it,’” the beast said in Arthur’s voice, though that didn’t distract him from reloading. But before the shooting could resume, the beast had already disappeared into the woods.

---

The sound of fizzing hydrogen peroxide was the only thing disturbing the dense silence in the kitchen. Sam did their best to not cry out as Tayna gently blotted the reddish-grey foam off their chest, instead they hissed in reply.

“I’m gonna clean this out with some alcohol, this might sting a bit,”

“Fuck!” Sam jolted away as the throbbing pain sharpened into a stabbing pain, “just, lemme do it,” they said as Tayna muttered an apology. As Sam gingerly blotted away at the claw marks on their abdomen, Arthur stared them down with an indiscernible mix of anger, disappointment and something else Sam couldn’t quite place.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he said as Sam began to dress their wounds.

“Arthur-” Tanya began, but was cut short.

“No, really Sam, what the fuck is wrong with you? Sneaking out at night with a gun like a moron, I told you I’d take care of it!”

“But you didn’t,” Sam said, avoiding eye contact with their father.

“What?” The clock above the stove top read 3:52 am, but Arthur’s voice continued to rise, “You have no right to go out in the middle of the night like that. Not only did you disobey your curfew-”

“No, you don’t get to make me the wrong one here, you knew damn well that what was killing the animals wasn’t normal!”

“And it would’ve killed you-”

“What if it went after Jack?”

“Don’t you dare bring up your brother in this,”

“I can’t believe you hid this shit from me after refusing to do anything about this, you’re supposed to take care of us!”

“I can't believe you have the gall to come into my house after nearly getting your ass killed, acting like I’m the bad guy,” the two’s voices overlapped, escalating into a shouting match. At this Tanya has joined, attempting to be a peacemaker, but it only added to the chaos, eventually waking up the whole house.

Every family member that lived in the house stood in the kitchen, tired, angry and confused. Even littlest Jack, who was only 5 years old at that point, stood at the bottom of the stairs that lead into the dining room with bleary eyes. They all stared expectantly at Arthur and Sam, who was beginning to put their shirt back on so they could avoid making eye contact with anyone in the room.

“Listen Sam, we’ll discuss this in the morning proper. Go to bed, all of you.” Arthur finally said, and people began to filter into their bedrooms, with Sam being the last one to fall asleep at the ripe hour of 5:30.

---

The sound of croaking magpies woke Sam up the next morning, though at this point it was closer to noon. Every fiber of their body screamed in protest as Sam rolled out of their bed. Not to mention the feeling of their bedsheets clinging to their still sticky body as residual sweat and blood coated their body. Unfortunately, the shower and the new set of clothes did little to ease the nausea.

The rest of the morning was less a blur and more a haze of events, a confirmation of some rumors, a disproving of others. Some monsters were real and others were made up to sell t-shirts and keychains and others were a little bit of both. A vague introduction to a house on the edge of the estate, a bed, a wall of weapons. Something about never trusting strangers and that the monsters would keep coming.

“Are the monsters ever gonna stop?”

“No, Sam, they aren’t. But you have to try,”

#yeah the quality is low but that's okay #i'll also publish this on wattpad or something for archival purposes #so yeah this version is a bit different #I originally imagined Sam meeting Splendor right off the bat but I think it's more interesting this way #also sorry for the anti climatic ending I was getting really burnt out plus I was using this for a rp fourm backstory #crunch and all that #sam scraps #creepypasta oc #creepypasta au #eyestrain #kinda #red #oc #writing #animal death #creepypasta

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rons-hermiones · 3 years

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty Five

Before he knows what’s happening, he collapses onto the chair next ti her bed, body overcome with sobs. Hell, he's wailing, blubbering like a sodding baby at the mere sight.

Never in all his life has he ever been overcome with so many emotions. Love, fear, relife, guilt, a fierce need to protect her, and so much heart break he can almost feel his chest ache.

Emotional range of a teaspoon my arse.

It isn’t until he’s calmed considerably Merlin knows how much later that he debates peeling his hands from his eyes. He’s afraid seeing her that she’ll vanish right before him or that he just can’t take it.

After settling from harsh cries into silent tears, Ron leans closer to the bed ridden girl. He’s careful not to touch her, but he’s close enough that he can make out every contour on her face under the cuts and bruises. He’s close enough that if she was awake his breath would surely tickle the edges of her hair, blowing it slightly into her face. And if he was lucky enough she’d scrunch her nose the way he loved whenever her hair got in the way.

Merlin I miss her.

He can feel the twisting of his gut curl further as he thinks of everything he wants, no needs, again. Before he can let it worsen, he wills himself to speak.

“I’m here now love, I’m here darling.” He whispers throatily.

Ron resists the urge to stroke her hair, he can’t. No matter how much he wants to…

So, he continues speaking, “I’m never leaving you again Mione, you hear me?” Of course she doesn’t. “I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again love, never.”

He swears he sees her brow twitch the slightest bit. At this, he goes on.

“And that includes me.” he admits raspily, “I’m so sorry darling for all the times I’ve hurt you. I swear I’ll never do it again. I’m going to try so hard each and every day to make it up to you, to protect you. From Lavender, Cormac, from anyone who crosses you. I’m going to make sure you never see a dark wizard again, okay love? I’ll even-”

“Hermione.” A broken voice floats from behind.

Ron has half the mind to pull his wand, just in case, but soon settles as his eyes meet the looming figures.

“Merlin.” Harry says in the same tone as he saunters forward.

In his eyes is the same look Ron had only moments ago. Heartbroken. Guilty.

Weasley opens his mouth to comfort Harry, but the words die on his lips. He just can’t. No words fit. Nothing he could ever say would be enough to make the painstaking feeling diminish. Nothing but Hermione herself.

“What did I do?” The Boy-Who-Lived cried out.

Now that, Ron wouldn’t take, “No.”

His glassy green eyes snap to blue ones in surprise at how strong Ron’s voice sounded.

He shook his head, “don’t say that Harry, please. It happened and even though I’d give anything to take it back, we can’t. We just can’t. That’s not how things work, so please, don’t make this any harder than it is.” He pleads to his best mate.

The air is silent and tense for a moment. Harry’s gaze never waivers from Hermione’s form, and Ron’s stare never diverges from Potter.

And what Harry says next shocks him like no other, “okay.” He says simply, walking to the other side of the bed.

Harry understands too. He understands that Hermione is all that matters now.

As he plops onto the chair he gently places his finger tips atop the small strip of exposed skin between the cast on her arm and the part of the gown covering her shoulder.

Ron looks away quickly, unable to do what Harry is at this moment. It’s all too familiar. He can’t lose her again.

Needing a distraction, he soon remembers his trail of thoughts from whispering to Hermione. He gulps, preparing to share them with his best mate. “Harry, I need to be honest with you right here, right now. I promise on my last breath that I will kill them. Bellatrix, Greyback, Malfoy, Dolohov, all of them. I’ll do it, or I’ll die trying.” He said with so much conviction, eyes never leaving Hermione’s battered form.

“Ron-“

“Don’t give me that crap. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. You may be the Chosen One mate, but no one, and I mean-“

“Ron,” Harry said harshly, “I was going to say I’m with you.” He finished a little softer, but still with an edge.

“You’re with- what?” He questioned a bit taken aback.

“I said I’m with you.” He repeated steadily.

“You are?” Ron doubted. Normally Harry would adamantly refuse a claim, fearing for Ron’s safety.

He nodded after a moment, “yeah I am. Too many people have suffered because of-“

“Don’t say because of you.” He cut off.

“I wasn’t.” Harry assured, “I was going to say because of all this- him, the war. Something needs to be done, for the future. For Sirius, Cedric, my parents, and especially for Hermione.”

Ron can’t do anything but nod slightly in agreement as he allows himself to rove over Hermione’s stil form again. Everytime feels like a small part of his heart cracking slowly and painfully.

His fingers twitch as he physically longs to reach out for her, but again, he can’t.

Needing a distraction from his own thoughts and from the questioning gaze Harry’s throwing him, he goes on, “They found a wand. Not hers.”

He nodded in response, “Bill said as much. Do you really think she apparated? We haven’t even had lesson yet, even if she did-”

“She’s bloody brilliant, Harry.” Ron insisted, “so much that she’s always five steps ahead. I mean, I wasn’t even quick enough to save her before she went off and did it herself. Useless.” He mumbles the last line.

“Hey,” Harry says sharply, “just like I’m not allowed to blame myself, neither are you, okay? We’ll have all the time in the world to feel sorry for ourselves later once we know she’s gonna be alright.” He finished softer.

And Ron doesn’t have the heart to argue. He’s so mentally drained and he’s so dead set on prioritizing Hermione, that all he can do is nod feebly.

They fall into silence. Both just watching the subtle rise and fall of Hermione’s chest. They’re almost transfixed by the sight, to have her back it’s almost like a dream.

But that’s exactly what Ron’s afraid of.

All while these fears run wild, Harry can see Ron’s hand unconsciously itching to lay atop hers.

“Go on Ron.” He whispers. He knows he doesn’t need his permission, but he can sense his friend needs a nude.

He snaps out of his state at his best mate's voice. The ginger seems to know what Harry means and looks like he’s about to break down all over again, “I-I can’t.”

“Yes you can. You won’t hurt her, we both know that.”

Ron pushed down the urge to fight with him on the topic and spoke, “It’s not that.” He croaked.

Well, not entirely anyway...

“Then what?” Potter questioned.

“I’m so scared Harry. I’m fucking terrifed that if I touch her this will all fade away. It won’t be real. Just another nightmare.” He shakes, tears streaming down his face.

Harry premivley wipes his eyes as he fgeels the moisture build, “It’s not Ron, I promise, please, trust me. It’s real. You found her.”

“No I didn’t-”

“Please.” Harry pleads from across the bed, making a show of taking Hermione’s other bandaged hand gently.

With a shaky breath Ron extends his lanky fingers as they slowly come in contact with the back of her other wrapped hand.

He nearly doubles over when he doesn't phase through.

Her hand is so small in his own. Smaller than it’s ever been before. And it feels almost fragile.

Though sometimes Ron may treat her like she is, never has he associated Hermione with being fragile. She’s tough as anything and the bravest Gryffindor of them all. But now, sitting here, all he can think is how that’s the very thing that they tried to strip away from her.

It makes him sick.

So much so, he feels a bile rise in his throat.

Not wanting to lose his shit anymore than he already has, he gently caresses the back of her hand, using the soft skin to anchor his thoughts.

It’s amazing that even though she was tortured, broken down, and beaten, she still was so soft, so insanely beautiful.

Her cheeks may not have the same flush. Her skin may be paler and dotted with horrible hues of purple and slashed red. Her shape may be disfigured by the protruding bones, but she’s still her. She’s still Hermione and that’s all that matters right now.

The thought alone makes him break down all over again.

This time he allows himself to rest his head on the edge of her bed, right next to her thigh. He cries at the feeling of her hand in his own. At the feeling of his head pressed against her. Because she’s real, she’s here, she’s finally here.

“Son.” A soft voice calls as a gentle hand finds itself atop his shoulder.

Ron looks up through misty eyes to find his father hovering over him. As he surveys the room he realizes Harry is gone.

Merlin, he must’ve been blubeering like a fuvcking baby longer than he thought.

“Dad.” He croaks, wiping at his runny nose with his sleeve, “did you find anything?”

“How is she?” He averts. Ron notices.

“Exactly how she looks, I reckon. I’m sure Mum already told you about what the healer had to say.” He shrugs.

“Yes.” Arthur nods, “yes she did. I just can’t help but wonder-”

“Dad,” Ron cuts off, “Did you find anything?” He repeats surprisingly calm.

Mr.Weasley sighs, his boy has grown more than he cares to admit. It’s almost frightening.

“Yes, I did.” he says sitting on the chair Harry once occupied.

“And?” The younger boy presses.

“And tonight the Department of Magical Transportation did in fact get a notice that an underage witch apparated to Diagon Alley the same time your brothers found Hermione.”

Ron huffefd, they all suspected it, but to hear that Hermione really did it. Well, let’s just say he would be more amazed if she was awake to hear his praise.

“However, while we know for certain it was Hermione, that information didn’t actually show up in the Ministry report.” He informed.

“What? Why?” Ron questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Well since the wand she used was registered to someone of age to perform apparition, it could only notify the service that someone did apparate. If it’s not on an underage or unlicensed WIzard’s wand, it's trickier.” Arthur elaborates.

Ron had no time to focus on the logistics. Only one thing stood out.

“So you know whose wand it is then? Whose?” He prones.

His father eyes him wearily before speaking, “The wand-” he stops, voice scratchy, and clears his throat, “the wand belongs to Narcissa Malfoy.”

Ron blinks a few times in disbelief, mouth falling in an ‘o’, “Wha-how?”

“Only Hermione could tell us that son.”

If she remembers. The words are unspoken, but Ron can see his father fighting the urge to say it. Like they still think they could protect him from everything.

“You have to understand Ron, wands, they’re very sacred things. Especially to old Pureblood families, especially to people like the Black’s and the Malfoy’s. Neither will like the idea that a Muggleborn was able to best them and use one.” Arthur spoke in a hushed voice.

The weight that lifted ever so slightly at the sight of Hermione soon falls back on him. This time ten times heavier than before.

“So what you’re saying, is that you think they’ll come for her?”

Arthur nods sadly.

Ron turns red with anger.

“We’ll do everything we can son. The Order will be around, the wards-”

“The wards?” Ron yells, “The Order? Please! Where did they get Hermione, where did they get her parents?” He boomed.

“Ronnie please-” Mr.Weasley tries as he notches Hermione squirm slightly from over his son's shoulder.

“Everyone needs to do better! Everyone! Do you even-”

A strangled sound makes him halt. “Mmm…”

His wide eyes flick to the bed as Hermione’s face tightens into a painful scowl.

From behind, his father leaves, feeling that he’s intruding. The door squeaks in his wake.

Ron falls to his knees and grasps her hand, “That’s it love, you can do it. Come Mione. Come back Darling.” He pleads through glassy eyes.

“C…” The noise sounds like a hiss.

“That’s it, come on love.” He encourages as he strokes her hand hoping that somewhere inside her brilliant mind she's registering all of this.

“Cissy.” She barely manages through the pain.

Ron’s eyes find his fathers in nothing but confusion. Was it just mummers of nonsense or could it mean something? But what?

Whatever it is, he just hopes she remembers when she wakes.

#Ron Weasley #ron x hermione #Ron and Hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #Hermione Granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

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